He prowled the SI10 office. A singularly bored Dempsey was never a good thing.
Spikings had taken his whisky home or drunk the lot after the last unexpected nightshift and Dempsey was restless. He had sat down at Harry's desk and looked at his own. It did look a mess. He shuffled a few things around, cleaned it into some sort of order and then gave himself a talking too, before bashing at the keys. He looked back at Harry's desk and checked the time. Again.
There was no point ringing her. She was 'out'. He'd been the ultimate gentleman when he drove her to a friend's hen party. Afternoon tea, all very English. Someone important getting married, he couldn't remember who or why, only that he was her plus one at the forthcoming wedding as long he, and the London criminal fraternity, were behaved himself. His late night lurking and chauffeuring was his way of earning her respect.
Dempsey loves a wedding, even if he grumbles to the guys in the office. He really likes a British wedding, this one will be at Winfield Hall and he likes Freddy. Most of all he likes to have Harry on his arm and to call her, briefly, his own. He wonders what dress Harry would wear if they got married.
His phone rang as he started to type again. He cradled in his shoulder as he answered, looking for a cigar in the desk drawer at the same time and then stopped. He promised Harry that he'll smoke less. "Yo, Dempsey."
"Is that Harry's, uhmmm… Dempsey?" The dulcet tones of a drunk woman asked over the thump of music.
"Yes, this is Harry's Dempsey." He rather liked that thought, but he's concerned, "Is she alright?"
"Uhm, sort of yes…yes she is." The voice faded away, "Yes, I'm talking to him now…. Could you pick us up from err… Stringfellows?"
Stringfellows? He didn't recall scones and tea last time he went. An elephant could have done a tango on the dance floor and he would never notice. His heart was too busy leaving his body, handcuffed to his libido and cavorting with Harry's, only reigned in by sheer willpower and common sense.
"James! I need you!" He heard Harry in the background. Lady Harriet is drunk and he can't think of any better reason to leave the office and rescue her.
"I'm on my way."
He found her instantly, just as he did the last time. It's a sixth sense honed from knowing where she was on crime scenes and erstwhile gazing at her across the office. It's a habit he ought to kick, Chas notices these days and grins at him when he does. But it's harder to give up than smoking, he finds.
Harry looked the same as she did when she'd left the office but her top buttons are open, and her skirt is screwed up around her thighs. Her hair is a mess. He had scant time to complete his assessment of her condition before she locked her eyes onto his. There was even less time to query her state because their glossy state was a sufficient answer. Even if that hadn't been, her squeal of "James Dempsey!" and throwing herself at him was the evidence he needed.
He lightly placed his hands around her back, "Hello Harry."
"You're here! My partner." Harry kept her arms around his neck but releases them a little to beam at him. He felt his heart tighten in a vice. She began to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, sending goosebumps down his sober body.
He tried to look casual about it and keep his voice even. "Where else would I be?"
"This is my friend Andrea." Harry waves a hand at a red-head who staggered towards them. Harry climbed up his body like a monkey, to slur this news in his ear. He nodded at Andrea, who has dropped onto a barstool with a huff.
He tried to ignore Harry's slide back down and the push of her hips against his as she does so. He willed his body not to react. Carefully he propped her on the floor. There's a knowing glint in her eyes that he catches. He could almost be mistaken for thinking she's stone-cold sober.
"Thanks for coming." Andrea hiccuped, distracting Dempsey from his curious appraisal. Her friend waved in the direction of the dance floor and bellowed out a hearty goodbye.
A hundred pairs of eyes landed on him, followed by a crowd of tipsy women, all asking one question, was he really Dempsey? Apparently, they'd heard 'all about him." In a past life, he'd love the attention, but he really just wants to get Harry home and safe. The music is loud and he has no wish to be carted off by anyone else. This thought made him pause.
"Leave off him, he's mine." Harry yells. There's a volley of wolf whistles and Dempsey wonders how often she refers to him as hers. She breathes against his ear, "You're my partner."
The descriptive should sound professional but she slows the words down, her grip around his neck and her hand on his chest made it anything but business-like.
Beside him Harry offered directions and he's astonished that she can rattle of road names, like a London cabbie, whilst drunk.
"How much did you drink?" He asked, taking a right turn towards Kensington.
"Tequilla!" Harry piped up.
"Long Island Tea, Harry said they reminded her of Jaaaaaaames. Is that you?" Andrea drawls out his name as Dempsey nods.
From the rear view mirror, he could tell Harry's friend was gearing up to say something. Andrea caught his eye with a lopsided grin, "You were right, Harrrrrrri…et…"
"Bout what?" Harry was singing mindlessly to the radio station she's found.
"He's really hot," Andrea tapped the back of his seat to emphasise the point. Dempsey cleared this throat and cursed under his breath.
"Sssssshhhhhhhhhh!" Harry whispered. She swivelled in the passenger seat, "He might hear you."
Andrea agreed with drunken seriousness, "I was only thinking how it makes sense that you'd want to fu.."
"….Nooooooo!" Harry yelled, her face in her hands.
"He's a detective, he'll find out!" Andrea said with much pointing towards Dempsey.
Even Spikings would agree that it won't take much to guess the ending of that sentence. Dempsey frantically thinks about the report he hasn't finished that his boss wants on Monday morning, for which he'll be berated. He doesn't trust his voice not to break like a teenager, should he find any appropriate words.
Andrea murmured her agreement and then slurred with glee, "You said you luuuuurved him!"
Harry squealed in alarm and pointed frantically at Dempsey, "He's sitting there, he might hear us. Shuddup."
"Where do I go from here?" He hesitated to ask her and draw attention to his presence. Harry looks across at him for a moment, her eyes still wavered from drink but there was an affection in them that he only saw at times of life-threatening drama and near death.
"First right, then left. Pull up by the postbox." Harry nodded and gathered herself together as best she could, "I'm always right you know."
"Sure thing honey." He agreed, the affectionate term he uses only for her, slipping out.
"Sure thing honey," She parroted in his accent, the words like liquid as she sliding down the seat, despite the belt he had secured around her to keep her safe. She clawed up and looked at her friend who has stirred in the back seat, "He thinks I'm sexy when I talk in an American accent."
If only she knew that he thought that anything she said was sexy. Mangling his accent was the icing on the cake, the ketchup on his hot dog, so to speak. He groused at himself, this wasn't a healthy metaphor.
Andrea looked at Dempsey with eyes like a goldfish, and then back to Harry, "Richard likes it when I talk about accounts."
Dempsey ran a finger around his collar and tried very hard to not think about the image that appears in his mind. Spikings. Reports. Fry's inability to make a decent coffee and the leaky window in his spare room. The food shopping. Aunt Thelma's hairy top lip.
The friends dissolved into giggles as he parked up outside Andrea's house. A man, he assumes to be Richard rushed to collect his wife. He looked the sort of guy who might get excited about outgoings and balance sheets. Richard propped his wife on his arm and waved them off, "Thanks for bring her home, see you at the wedding."
"No problem…no, Harrry!" Dempsey grabbed his partner as her hands slides across his thighs, dangerously close to his flies. There's a devilish look in her eyes as she started to recite accountancy words in a mangled Brooklyn accent in Dempsey's ear as he drives the car away.
"Did you find that arousing, honey?" She slumped into the seat, licking her lips.
"Have you ever done it when you've been driving?" She demanded of him after a mile passed in content silence. She pointed to his lap, leaving him in no doubt to her meaning.
Oh God Almighty, someone really has it in for him today. "Harry, we're police, and I'm sure that's against the law."
"Oooooooh…Looooootenant." Harry crept her fingers across the console and he smartly put them back on her lap. He's amazed she gets his title correct. Why does this not happen when she's sober?
"You've never thought of it?" Harry demanded again
"Of what?" He strung out the conversation as he decided to take her home to his place. He didn't fancy his chances with her on the stairs at her house.
"You and me in the car?" She confirms. It's small degrees of torture. "A very dull stakeout one night."
"Jesus!" Dempsey croaked as he corrected the car steer. He has never felt such relief at seeing his road. He killed the engine and took a moment to compose himself as the cool night air hit his face.
"Drunk words, sober mind or somethinglikethat." Harry mumbled as she tries to stand up, throwing the door open and wobbling on her heels across the pavement. She stood herself up by the garden wall and he's aware of her eyeing him up. Gleefully she looks at him. "I'm stuck!"
"I've got you." Dempsey picked up her up into a bridal lift.
She looked up at him lovingly as he negotiated the front door. He tried to remember than she's not really herself. This isn't real.
Dempsey placed her carefully down in his bed, she made no protest about being there. He removed her shoes, pulled a blanket over her, and left her briefly to find water and aspirin.
Harry was snuggled deep into his pillows when he came back. Dempsey can't help himself when he slips onto the bed beside her. For a moment, he wanted to pretend she's really here with him. It's nothing like looking after Simone. Harry is a funny drunk and it's so rare in their two years, that it's a novelty to him. He's also aware that she has trusted in him to look after since that first night on the tequilla sunsets when she was so uncertain.
"Sorry." Harry stirred, her arm slipped across his torso and her eyes flickered open. "Ididntmeanttodrinkthismuch."
"I know. I'm glad I was here." Then, because he felt brave, he whispered into her hair, "I'll wait for you."
"Good…." She mumbled and snuffled into his shoulder. She smelt of tequila and hairspray.
"Love you too, Harry." Dempsey smoothed down her hair where it grazed on his stubble.
Gentle snoring indicated she was asleep. His eyes closed too, he dreamt of her and hangover cures.