By utter fluke this chapter is called sparks. Be careful with pets and wildlife this weekend. No blowing stuff up like Dempsey, not even the House of Commons however tempting that is. Thank you in advance for all the reviews. I wanted to explore Dempsey's hopeless timing, asking Harry if she cared whilst sporting a dodgy tash on a dance floor.

Friday arrives. The cleaner has been. His apartment is spotless and Dempsey is uncharacteristically on edge. Did she mean it?

Say what you like, falling in love sure spices up the working day, he thinks. Or it might've done, had he seen Harry. She's been at the court and he's been grilling a suspect. Much like opening bank statements and reading weather reports, Dempsey avoids bad news by not calling her. He is almost convinced that she'll tell him to sling his hook in perfectly nuanced tones.

Almost.

There are still forty five minutes in which to torture himself. He dumps the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and chops. He is exhausted from going around in circles and leaping to crazy conclusions like a lovesick idiot.

A knock on his door disturbs him. It's probably his neighbour from upstairs needing help with his car again, it's that sort of week.

He finds Harry standing on his doorstep, with her hand in the air. The key he gave her when he moved in - an exclusive invitation that he didn't take the time to explain- hangs from her index finger. Her face is flushed, she is both on the verge of tears and astonished, as if he wasn't meant at his own apartment door.

"Are you okay?" He asks, genuinely worried for her wellbeing.

"Dempsey," she says, her voice thin with something he can't fathom.

Oh shit.

"You got my letter," he states, as his chest tightens. Jeez, he's an idiot for thinking she might've breezed through his heartfelt outpouring.

She nods. "May I come inside?"

He ushers her into his living room, noticing that she's restless and doesn't sit down; "I would prefer to stand."

This moment reminds him of her behaviour at his old flat; as they enticed Kathy with fantasies, or reality in his case. Harry had her arms around herself then, as if they were enough to keep his confessions at bay.

"I'll sit," He perches on the edge of the couch. "Harry, I - "

"Dempsey, you had your say; it's time for me to have mine," Harry holds out her hand to stop him.

He nods and clasps his fingers together, fearful of her pulling off the tape and wounding him.

"Dempsey, when I got your letter today…" She takes a breath, "You overwhelmed me. I'm not sure how I drove here. I understand the inopportune timing as you wrote, but I need to know; why now?"

There's a pain in her voice. He regrets that he's bought another woman distress. This woman.

"I didn't think you cared about me," he offers simply. "Then Richard happened." It's pathetic, but it's all he has.

"I wish you had said. I dragged you into this mess and all the while you felt.. this," Harry holds the letter up.

'Harry, if I had told you how I felt before him, would you have gone out with me?" He asks carefully.

"How can you ask me that?" Her voice is a rough whisper.

Please say no. "I'm being honest."

A tear spills down her face. Bits of his heart break.

"Do you have any idea how I have tried not to feel anything about you? You arrive in my life, tell me my gender is wrong for my job and flirt your way around this city. I'm well practiced in the art of burying anything I might feel about you so deeply, I barely know," she takes a shaky breath. "When my father said he knew a decent man, I went for it but you've never let me forget about you. You turned my life upside down."

Dempsey hangs his head. He knows he's been an arsehole; he hadn't thought much about his impact on her. "I'm sorry. I didn't -"

"I don't want your sorrow. You told me that you long for me and that you might not ever know,. You haven't given me a choice to reciprocate," Harry looks exhausted and his mood sinks. "You asked me if I cared for you on a dance floor in the middle of case when I didn't even know half your story. I had no idea what Coltrane meant to you; then you're telling me that Mara was having a love affair. Your timing hasn't improved."

"I don't know how much more open I could've been then, I wasn't allowed" he tries again, rattled by her brutal assessment. "I didn't want to drag you into my mess."

"That was unfair on us both." Harry is firm and he's humbled now as he was then, when she didn't boot him onto the streets after his confession or request a new partner.

"But I had to keep you at arms length to stop you hurting me." Finally she sits down, her hands grip the sides of the armchair.

"I didn't go near Mara, not like that," he protests weakly remembering his words in the bedsit.

Harry deflates a little. "I read the case reports. I know."

"That.." he points to his letter, "is all my cards on the table. Total honesty."

"Dempsey…" Harry pleads.

The alarm sounds on the cooker and she seems to notice that there's been other activity.

"Dinner," he says sheepishly and darts around her to rescue the food.

"You cooked dinner?" Harry queries, following him. "I thought you would be at the drinks do."

"I told ya, I was cooking for you." He investigates the oven and stirs pasta. "Do you want some?"

She dabs at her eyes, her bravado at odds with her tearfulness. "Yes, I will."

Harry sits at the table he took time to lay. He dishes up and they toast his mother who gave him the instructions. A candle sits between them; it is Harry who lights it. He thinks the moment for kitchen table romance has long sped past, off down the dammed A40 along with all his chances.

"We said total honesty." He begins, putting down his fork.

She closes her eyes briefly. "This is hard for me, Dempsey and I don't think it's easy for you. I never expected you to feel like this about me."

"It ain't easy," he agrees. "But I guess I knew when I met you, I'd fall in love. I kept avoiding it."

Harry's eyes widen.

"I've never said that aloud before," he realises, not letting her look away.

The tap drips. Nobody has burst in with a gun. No bomb exploded.

"How did it feel?" She blinks.

"Well, I guess that depends on how it felt for you." He tries not to grin at the relief that she is still sitting beside him.

Harry's lips twitch into a tentative smile. "I'm not sure, I may need to hear it again."

He nods and leans across the corner of the table; strands of her hair catch his mouth, "I'm in love with you."

Her hands tense; one grips her fork and the other moves on top of his. "I'm not ready."

"Ready for what?" He's got a good idea of the answer.

"Ready for you, Dempsey," Harry keeps her hand on his. "I've spent so long trying not to care about you, I might catch fire. You could destroy my composure completely."

"Is that some sorta English expression?" Dempsey quips, trying to contain his need to sweep her up and take her to bed.

"No, it's not. I'm simply saying slow down." She squeezes his hand and offers a cautious smile.

He's got the rest of his life. "I'm fine with that."

Dempsey clears the table. He flops back in the chair and fidgets a little.

"You have a question," Harry says after a moment of studying him. "I know you."

Dempsey does need an answer, he remembers her worry about Richard. "Do we have a spark?"

Harry looks at his mouth and clears her throat. "Yes, we've always have a spark."

He takes a drink and gathers his courage. "When you feel like starting a fire, I'm your guy."