3. Be a generous lover, and your lover will never leave.

He throws himself face down onto the sofa on Saturday night. He's been to work for something to do, but her empty seat seems to jeer at him. A six-mile run burnt off some of the anguish and the film on that new Channel 4 wasn't his thing.

She has a date with a mentally stable man who is probably softly spoken, English with good teeth and calls her Harriet. They'll be eating a nice meal with jazz music in the background. He'll ask her about Freddy, and there won't be any talk of conspiracies in the Met. This man will kiss her on the cheek like a gentleman.

What gets him in the balls is that this guy asked her. Dempsey, an armed officer of the police has yet to declare his interest.

This is good for her; he thinks as he presses his face against the leather of the couch as there's no point doing much else. She needs to meet other people and look forwards to the rest of her life.

He needs that too. No wonder he's reading Cosmo.

It's different for guys, Dempsey concludes. He's not bad looking, thinks he might age well and he could find someone in a few years. Anycase, he lives this life, in this void, with the threat of being hauled back to NYPD; hidden behind carefree defences, constructed to prevent any emotional attachment. Harry is the only person who he's let inside.

He's responsible for this.

Dempsey flits around the apartment, and makes himself go to bed; he will not drive to her house. Just as he's settling down, the phone rings.

There's a yawn and Harry asks if he's heard from Spikings. They're required at a 6am briefing on Monday.

"No, he always rings you," he says petulantly.

"He's probably worried a woman will answer," she retorts, and there's some shuffling; he realises that she's in bed and wonders with whom. The guy would be a fool to turn her down.

"I'm not the one getting any action." He comments, gazing at the vastness of the apartment and imagining a faceless man kissing her shoulder, sliding the strap of her dress off her shoulder. "How was your date?"

He could do with some more punishment.

"It was alright," she says after a pause, and Dempsey drops his head to his chest in defeat. "His name is Richard. We talked about his job, and mine. His daughter is five years old, and he's raised her alone."

Dempsey feels a little sorry for the guy. "That's tough."

"I think the hospital takes up a lot of his time, so his sister and mother support him," Harry comments and sighs "I didn't tell him about my marriage; he might already know."

They're silent for a moment.

"You gonna see him again?" He asks even though he knows the words and is ready for the hurt.

"I think so."

And there it is. It stings to admit that Harry deserves this.

"Freddy raised a fighter," his unseen smile is weak.

"I suppose not," Harry yawns. "I'll see you on Monday, bright and early."

"You want me to swing by and disturb the love nest?" Dempsey quips in case she should feel pity.

"Dempsey, I'm not like you," she teases. "Yes, please."

On Monday morning before the briefing and whilst Makepeace is pouring coffee, he finds the guy. Orthopedics with a solitary speeding ticket. Five foot nine, aged forty-two. Dempsey takes some satisfaction from knowing he's taller and younger. He prints out Richard's photo, draws a dick on his head and bad mustache and gets a juvenile buzz from running the print through the office shredder.

This Friday, some two weeks later, he ends up in a bar with the guy, who reminds him of a golden retriever. Richard claims to come here often though Dempsey can't recall seeing him, and they're waiting for Harry to return from the bathroom. When Richard walked up to their table, Dempsey noticed Harry's sour look and how she'd been faking smiles ever since.

He has hair the colour of dishwater. Dempsey estimates his right hook and a left cut could take Richard out reasonably swiftly. He'd not want this man to walk Harry across St James' Park after dark. He'd lost Harry in the same place but nevertheless.

"You're a work friend of Harriet's?" Richard bellows over the jukebox.

Dempsey takes a slow drink of his beer. "In a manner of speaking."

"I don't understand."

Of course, he wouldn't, and that's the point. "I'm her partner."

"Oh, I see," Richard replies, clearly not seeing at all, "It's good to meet you, James."

"Dempsey is fine." He corrects tersely.

Richard is dressed in smart-casual, expensive clothes, and he probably knows the words to Wham Rap. Dempsey feels like Michael Corleone, radiating danger from a past into which he's stuck himself.

When Harry returns, Richard hands over a new glass of wine, and she accepts with a thin smile. Something isn't right, but Dempsey can't work out what it is apart from that she's smiling at another guy.

Richard gathers his coat. "I promised my daughter I'd read her a story. Can I give you a lift?"

Harry shakes her head, "I'm going to stay with Dempsey for a while."

If Harry said that to another man when they were dating, Dempsey isn't so sure he'd give a cheery goodbye and a hug. Maybe Richard doesn't see any threat in her work partner? That feels a lot worse than it sounds.

"He seems nice," Dempsey offers as they resume their Friday evening, not in the same manner as usual.

Nice. Dempsey can't think of any other description for the man. "I'm sure Freddy loves him, and Spikings would approve."

"There had to be a flaw." Harry jokes.

"I'm happy for you, Harry." If he says it enough, he'll believe it.

"If looks could kill, he'd have been dead quicker than if you'd pulled your gun," she catches him off guard.

"This is my interviewing-your-boyfriend face," he ignores her eye roll. "He thought I was a work friend, not your partner."

"I'm sorry, I owe you. I had no idea he was going to turn up," Harry sighs, drinking up.

He stands up with her and place an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I'll put in on the tab."

It seems to bind them a little and Dempsey sees her safely into her car. As he stops at the road works, he works out what was off.

Richard never kissed her.

Maybe that was the setting, but it's still strange. Dempsey is glad he didn't have to see any signs of affection, and he's not sure how often they've dated in the past few weeks, but it's ample time to get to know each other. Surely a chaste peck on the lips.

Dempsey is biased. He's touch-starved and in love. He spends too long in his apartment thinking of her; what he'd do with her and given any chance, he'd love her. Harry has got to choose him by herself. He isn't going to force her, even if that's what Cosmo tells him. He wants Harry to come to him by her own direction.

Still, Richard didn't kiss her. He bundled Harry to his side like Dempsey had hugged Chas when Arsenal won at the football, and his friend was delighted.