The Burning I
"It makes more sense now." Harry reaches over, brushes his hand to bring him back from his memories of Joey. He looks confused, disconnected and in a place she can't find him. "I wish you'd said sooner but I understand you might not want to."
Dempsey collapses back into the chair in her bedroom. "I thought you'd think less of me."
"Impossible." Harry smiles at him but he still looks grim. "Not for the reasons you're thinking."
She gets up from the bed and goes to the linen closet in the hall. When he comes back in, he hasn't moved. She somewhat misses him checking out her legs and making a smart remark, so she can banter with him. Instead, Harry offers him a bath towel and tells him to use the shower. Washing away the debris helps them both and this she can offer.
She brews a coffee when she hears the water running, and then takes it upstairs only to find him cleaned up. He's on the other side of her bed, on top of the covers, sleeping. She puts the cup on the nightstand, beside her spare house keys. She puts food and money in his rucksack.
"Sorry." He drifts into wakefulness, briefly disoriented and makes to get up.
She climbs under the covers and reaches out an arm, "Stay."
In the morning he's gone, along with the keys. The mug is washed up in the kitchen. Beside it is a note that tells her thank you and signed with a 'x'. She puts it in the box in her study where she's stored the corks, dollars and other evidence of them.
The Burning II
"I wanted to tell you that I changed my mind, about his wife, if it wasn't too late." She blurts out."I couldn't get hold of you."
Dempsey is horrified to see her here. It's stupid dangerous this situation. It's the kind where he feels a constant prickle of danger. He can't lose her.
There's a shuffle outside the room.
"Get in the bed." He hisses and carefully edges the door open. He creeps along the corridor, his gun raised. Sweeps twice over. Nothing. He curses the rats.
When he gets back, she's smudged her make-up, got down to cheap underwear and messed up her hair. If she knew how often he was thinking of her between these sheets and the comfort it brought him, just to know she was out there and still alive, she may not climb so willingly.
"I meant just get in, not strip." He grouses, distracted by her brightness.
"I wanted to be authentic." She retorts.
"You might look like a fallen angel," He flops on the bed next to her, "But you could never be anything but my angel."
She's gone by the morning. It wasn't too late, he already knew he couldn't.
The Prizefighter I
He drove them back to his place. Where they were going to end up had it not been for the body of the fighter in the road. His aftershave and detergent, the leather of the gym equipment are as familiar as her own home these days.
Harry drifts to the window, recalling the gun shot and tried to concentrate on the view instead. She wasn't sure if he was seducing the poor girl or being nice, until she actually met his Aunt Thelma, who was a proper aunt not a Dempsey code for a quick roll in the sack. Thelma upended all she thought of him.
Harry feels like a turkey dressed for Thanksgiving and tells him so, as he walks through with wine for her, Bud for him, looking more like Dempsey and less Dwayne with his hair ruffled and the jacket abandoned in the hall as they walked in. Reluctantly she changes into herself and took the floor by the sofa. From here she can see up to the cloudy night sky.
He is sprawled out behind her after he had switched on the TV. Every so often his arm brushed hers as he asked a question about the news or something he didn't know about this country. She turned to study him, his eyes now fixed on the late-night murder mystery in which the cop gets the girl. Harry wants to laugh at the absurdity of sitting here next to him, both strangers in the places they inhabit. So close, so far.
His collar is unbuttoned more than it was before, his shirt untucked with his half-drunk beer on the floor. He looks composed, the lines on his face softer.
"Don't drop the American accent… it's sexy…"
She had been brave enough to call him honey on the way here, rolling her mouth around the unfamiliar and he'd flashed her a look that created storm. She wondered out loud if it made him think of home or her, and he'd replied quickly that it was all her. He gave the impression he wanted more but the moment appears lost as she sits here, her heart thumping.
"I want to kiss your body…"
This room will always remind her of those words, delivered in a voice she'd only heard again this evening in the car. Maybe it's that memory or the ridiculous cocktail, but something is changing. The drink swishes around her like a good friend urging her to do something.
"Dempsey… James…" She hesitates on his name. "Are you ever lonely?"
He turns on the sofa and in the light from the television, she sees him blink. They rarely talk about how they feel and she expected him to be surprised.
"I am." She confesses.
His expression changes at this. She didn't see, to her utmost relief, pity. She knows his face, those expressions, the twinkle in his eyes. What she sees is understanding. His gaze remains steady. "You know everyone in London."
"People like the parties, Winfield Hall and my father. Most of them disapprove of my working and of my divorce."
She becomes fascinated then by his arm, as it drops from under his body down to the floor, and the touch of his fingers when lightly glide across her cheek in understanding. The shape of his forearm and the dimple where it joins his elbow and disappears under the sleeve of the rolled-up shirt sleeve. Arms that have saved her every time she has taken a leap.
Harry jumps when he speaks. "I'm miles from anywhere."
"Dempsey?" Harry shuffles forward on her knees and studies him. The look doesn't say no, so she leans in and hopes he'll catch her now.
When their lips meet, he pushes back against her. Stalkers, death and violence take a back seat. Lou Lou and Dwayne, Johnny and every other character they've played, vanished. What remains is his mouth against hers. She hears a small sound from deep within him, satisfaction or relief, she wasn't sure.
The swish of alcohol, the strength of feeling spurs her on to part her lips, and see what he will do next. She'd expects him to pick her up, or roll her onto the floor, begin to undress her and end this ache. He does none of this but responds with a reverence, as if he was holding back, too scared to break her.
She pulls herself onto the couch beside him and his hand takes hers. A terror takes hold of her and she wonders if this was misjudged, maybe there's someone else. Maybe this flirting was simply that and she would lose him forever.
Carefully she raked her eyes up to his face to only see wonder. Awe perhaps, "If I say something, I might wake up."
She pinches his arm and then kisses it better. He laughs softly and then really looks at her. "Are you sure about this?"
Harry nods. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified! You?"
She agrees and he runs his fingers over her hands as he speaks, "You want to know what I'm thinking? I'm remembering all the times when I've felt a bullet skim my body, when I was working deep cover and didn't see you, but I knew you were out there, covering me. A bright angel in the dark places."
He lets go of her hand and cups her face in his warm palms. "I'm willing to commit to this thing between us being real, Harry. It feels good and honest."
She feels loved. An emotion so novel and unexpected, nothing like she'd felt before and nods.
He tilts his head, rewards her with his Dempsey grin and rubs her cheek softly, "Better shine a light on this then, angel."
The Prizefighter II
Dempsey's broken into her house more times than Harry cares to remember. Now he has the keys, it's like he's moved in by stealth. There's a book of his on the side table, a box of cigars on the piano and a bottle of ketchup in her kitchen. In her bedroom, he has a drawer of clothes and his voice echoes in the small spaces that once were quiet. The fire is lit often, because he thinks it's a novelty.
Today she's arrived home and Dempsey's not there. The fireplace looks accusingly empty. Harry left him at the hospital getting his wounds checked. He politely offered to get a cab back to his place to save her waiting around. He looked even more hurt when she agreed and walked off. He doesn't need to know everything she's up to. It's good to keep him on his toes.
Harry grabs what she needs from her house, leaves him a message on the hall table in case he turns up here anyway. He does appear to forget where he lives these days.
Dempsey arrives at his home later than she expected. He's noisily complaining about running around town to her place first in search of his 'angel' and the cost of cabs in London. His grumbling stops when he finds her in his bath, scented with the bath essence he bought only for her, holding two flutes of the finest champagne. She refrains from saying she told him so.
"You want to get in before the water gets cold, honey." She mangles his accent sexily enough to make him want to slip in fully dressed. But she demands he gets all his clothes off so she can inspect his bruises and other areas.
The Jericho Scam I
"I can hear you thinking."
Outside it's raining. A typically miserable London morning, the morning light yet to break through and his voice pierces the darkness in her room. Maybe it's their bedroom now. In the afterglow, she had slipped from his arms and shivered in the kitchen at the thought of what's to come and the depth of her feelings for him, words that swim beneath the surface. In the lamplight, she scribbled out a list and brought it back to bed with two mugs of tea.
She is thinking. Of him being here with her and what that means for her job. Spikings all but told him to go on the run, she knows that and whilst their boss might turn a brief blind eye, it doesn't sit easy with her. Dempsey's words about trust and loyalty hurt. He's right, if the shoe fell her way, she'd expect nothing less from him.
"If you're going to think you'll have to do it a lot quieter, some of us have a busy day of being incognito to do." His voice is gravelled with sleep and then muffled as he pulls he close, kisses her way up her body, determinded to make love her to her again, as if twice already wasn't enough.
They have traded a lot these past few weeks. Here in this sacred space, she's trusted him with her body. He's a man on a mission, lighting fires in her soul, coaxing her into his endless, loving warmth. He's seen her let go for the first time those weeks ago, fired up by his watchful, heated gaze and she thrives on the ancipitation of him.
Now she's abandoning him to the cold and it hurts. She pushes the list into the hand that's fondling her breasts. He stirs and tries to read it without success.
"Addresses of a couple of squats, don't ask. Full of arty sorts and the odd punk, but no worse than some of the aristocracy I've forced upon you." She kisses him, "They know to expect you and it means I can find you."
Then she pulls him on top of her, so his skin imprints against hers. Shows him all he's taught her.
When he sleeps, she tries to think a little more quietly, knowing there's a piece of him in her heart and her body.
The Jericho Scam II
"They whistled at you." Dempsey grouses.
"I heard." Harry's mouth twitches into a wide grin, "You didn't like it!"
"I never said…" He dips his head, the only admission she'll get from him, now at least, that he's jealous.
"Well done for sitting on your hands and not shouting." Harry pats his chest affectionately.
"There's this woman I know. Blonde, blue eyes, packs a 38 and she tells me to keep my mouth shut."
"Oh, that woman with the very talented mouth. I might know her." Harry teases as she slides her way down his body and pauses. He groans. "What? I'm waiting for a smart remark?"
"That mouthy woman is too close part of my anatomy we both value. Sometimes I listen to her."
The Cortez Connection
She wanders into his apartment with the box containing Simone's blouse.
"It looked good on you." He hands her a coffee and observes his bedroom windows, now covered with board.
"It was a bit itchy." She comments of the blouse, and lifts her hair to show him "Around my neck."
He studies the marks with a grumble and wanders off, returning with soothing cream. He shows it to her and she nods before he gently applies it. "You shouldn't have worn it, if it hurt you."
"It made Simone happy…. thank you." She drops her hair down. "I didn't want to offend her."
"She does that plenty by herself." He walks through to the living room. "Look at this place. I had it tidy before she took a hold of it."
Harry follows him and looks at the pillows and blanket on the sofa, "You slept in here?" The words fall out before she can catch them.
He shifts them over so they can sit down. "Told you, me and Simone long gone."
"Are you alright?" She remembers Simone's observations.
"It's a reminder of why life is better here. She'd have a lucid day sometimes and then back on it by evening. I'd come home and find my clothes on the sidewalk, men in her bed, or the locks changed." He sighs, rubs his hands through his hair as he's want to do when he's worried.
"She didn't think I'd been in your bedroom before." Harry murmurs, "It was strange seeing her in your bed."
"Sorry, I didn't know what to do with her. She'd be in the cells otherwise with Spikings rattling the bars if I put in her hotel. I'll ring my mom, ask her to get someone to the airport and get Simone some help." Dempsey looks at her carefully."Are you alright?"
Harry flattens down his mop of hair with her hands, and nods to his question. "Sorry too."
"What for?"
"Taking her side and not listening to you."
"You know I'm not easy to manage." Dempsey shrugs. "At least you didn't hit the tequila sunsets together. Don't know I could deal with the both of you, you're enough for me."
At this, she cuffs his arm gently, enjoys being enough for him. "Would you settle down? What she said?"
"She had a point... even under the influence." Dempsey brushes a stray lock of hair back over her ear. He offers her the same coy glance as he did at the pub. She finds her answer in his eyes, just as she did then.
Then she helps him to tidy up, exclaiming in surprise that he has the first book in a series she loves and notes to bring him the next one. She changes the bed linen with him and they fall down on the bed. He hauls her over and they reclaim the space together, taking their time to explore each other with a renewed sense of trust.
"What was your ex-husband like?" He dishes out dinner, wandering around in sweatpants. His robe smells of Simone, but Harry wears it anyway. If it wasn't for Simone, she doesn't think she'd understand how much he has changed.
She shrugs, "Married him young, I was still grieving my mother and rebelling. He wanted my father's money. I caught him in bed with my best friend two months later. I was very relieved. The sex was awful. The end."
Dempsey pauses, she sees the flicker of anger across his face as he noticed her hurt, "I'd never do that to you."
"I know. You're nothing like him."
Guardian Angel
"We should go back…" Harry slips into the passenger seat next to him, hands him her car keys. He's always slightly humbled by her trust after she donned her pjs to wish her car good night. They seem to switch their cars like other couples change lightbulbs.
She still looks doubtful as she picks up the RT, and tells Chas she's seen an informer and they'll be back a little later. Dempsey is sure she could take the week off and Spikings would let her, he's so dammed pleased she's back. Her hands are shaking and he assumes she needs a little time, he's willing to do just about anything right now.
There's nothing more they can do here anyway. The dive team will take over and uniform are left to collect the rest. Dempsey slides her car through the debris and follows Harry's directions to a road he's never driven before, at the end of the docks. Empty save for a few hopeful anglers and a flock of vocal gulls.
"What's here?" He gets out of the car and leans against it, looking around.
"Nothing." Harry says, "That's the point. I'm about to tell you something and if I get it all wrong, or I've misjudged us, then I'll never have to come down this road again. If I say this at my place or yours, I'll be constantly in mourning."
Dempsey holds his breath. He watches her carefully as she collects herself and stands between his legs. They're always close these days, in her bed or his, but this is something different. He keeps his arms by his side and exercises all his patience. He fights an urge to pull her close and never let go.
"Joyce told me that the best way to protect you, is to be here with you. You said it yourself, we know each other's moves. In any case," She says briskly, "I'd miss you. You clearly miss me."
He grins, no point denying it but he keeps his mouth in check.
"I'll come back, until such time as we can decide what we want to do next." She rushes on. "It'll stop you staring at me like Mrs Christmas in a very naughty dress with a bucket of hot dogs and cigars."
Dempsey beams at her, but he is quietened by her finger on his mouth. He wonders if she has a Mrs Christmas dress.
"You see, you've grown on me, like an itch or something. When you said you didn't sleep with Mara, or Simone, I wanted to cry with relief. That's not like me. I conclude that I clearly need you since you were so minded to tell me that you needed me, in your usual fashion."
He raises his eyebrows. He wants to swing her around, but he's held in place with her finger, as only Harry can do. Gently he removes it, not before bestowing a kiss on it. "Would it help if I said I cared for you? Cared so much I'm sure I'm in love with you."
Harry glares at him as he beams, "I was going to tell you I loved you first, you infernal American idiot."
"Yank." He corrects and laughs, pulls her close and kisses her. Presently he lets her go, he's heard breathing is good and he's got much more of this life to live before he dies.
Harry pokes his chest. "There are rules."
"We can break them together." Dempsey mutters from somewhere near her collarbone, "Go on, tell me."
"You can't tell everyone in SI10. Make out sessions by the lockers and sex in your car, not this one, I don't think your legs could fit in the back seats, are forbidden at all times. No snogging in the pub."
"Harry, you're such a generous woman, we should get married."
"Alright then."