As he dials, he realises her number is the only one he never has to think about, it's like it's programmed into his brain, like his fingers are wired to know the sequence of numbers. Funny really, because he shouldn't need to call the person he sees every day all that often, yet he does. He hasn't spoken to her in two days, not since she sighed, slammed her mug down, and finally went home to give in to the cold she'd been trying to fight against. Two days that feel weirdly like two years. The phone rings out and on the fourth ring he wonders if he should hang up. Maybe she's sleeping, or maybe she's feeling a bit better and has gone out for some air...
"Hello?" She picks up, sounding weary but thankfully not like he's just woken her up, which he's done enough times to recognise that particular tone.
"Hiya, princess." Hearing her voice makes him smile. "Just wanted to check in, see how you're feeling?"
"Still pretty crappy, if I'm honest...although slightly less so than yesterday, if I'm attempting to look on the bright side." She sighs and he knows she must be feeling rough if she's admitting to it. "Oh God, please tell me you're not calling because all hell has broken loose somewhere and we're needed at work."
"You didn't get the memo? Seems like we got lucky and all of London's scumbags have taken off for the holidays." He grins, picturing her relief. "So no, I'm calling because it's New Year's Eve, Harry."
"Are you calling to wish me Happy New Year, Dempsey?" She sighs again and he hears the slight confusion in her tone. "Because you're a little early."
"Nope." He hesitates for just a second because maybe he's an idiot for making assumptions that she will have cancelled any plans she had for tonight, or that she doesn't have friends coming over to keep her company. Screw it, she's been shooting him down since day one, he figures one more time won't kill him if it comes to it. "I'm guessing you've cancelled whatever fancy plans you had for tonight and now you're going to stay home, wrap yourself in a blanket, and get blind drunk on cough syrup. Am I right?"
"Apart from the cough syrup part, and missing out the fact that I'll probably sulk just a tad, then yes, you're quite right." She pauses and he can almost hear her thinking. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I'm coming over to keep you company, that's why, and I just wanted to check I wasn't going to be crashing a party." He grins, more confident now, despite being well aware that she could still tell him not to bother. "I'm bringing cough syrup, tissues, that hot lemon drink stuff...lemsip, and I figure you won't feel like cooking so I'll bring dinner too."
"Dempsey, you really don't have to do that. I'm fine, honestly." She pauses and he hears her cough, almost proving the opposite of what she's insisting on.
"Yeah, you sound it." He shakes his head, amused that even sick she's still stubborn. "Can't let my favourite girl spend New Year's alone now, can I? I'll be there around seven, make sure you put your best pyjamas on."
"Well, what else would I wear on New Year's Eve if not my finest pyjamas?" She's clearly not going to protest any further, and he's pleasantly surprised. "Actually...some company would be nice, if you're sure."
"Hundred percent sure." It's a real 'Dear Diary' moment, Makepeace admitting she wants company, and even more so that it's his company she's happy with. "I'll see you later."
He hangs up and he can't help the satisfied smile that spreads across his face. Sure, he could have headed to the casino tonight or called one of the guys...hell, he probably could have gotten himself a date if he'd thought about it. At the end of the day though, none of those things would have put a smile on his face like the thought of spending the evening with Harry in her pyjamas seems to have done. The oven timer cuts into his thoughts and he moves into the kitchen to check on dinner. He knows Harry will expect him to show up with a pizza or some ready meal or other, but not this time, this time he's making her a real dinner. He didn't sit through an hour long interrogation from his mom for nothing when he called to ask for her lasagne recipe.
Is it a date, Jimmy? Are you and Harry already dating? About time, you do know there's probably a whole line of guys waiting to snap her up, right? She's beautiful, Jimmy, what are you waiting for? Have you bought flowers? Chocolates? Why is your mother always the last to know?
Next time he'll just buy a cookbook.
At three minutes past seven he's knocking on her door, a bag in one hand filled with various cold and flu remedies, a box of chocolates, and a bottle of wine. And because he's smart enough to listen to his mom when it comes to the important stuff, he also has a giant bunch of flowers, possibly too giant, but she's sick and he wants to cheer her up. Not to mention he remembers the way her face lit up when he bought flowers for her birthday and boy oh boy, there's nothing on earth like Harry's smile. She opens the door, dressed in pyjamas and an enormous sweatshirt, fluffy socks on her feet.
"You didn't have to go to quite so much effort, Harry." He winks at her and she rolls her eyes. "You're making me feel real underdressed here."
"I could still change my mind and decide I don't want company tonight, you know." She opens the door wider so he can step inside and he doesn't miss the faint smile that creeps onto her lips when he leans down and kisses her cheek. "But I suppose you're here now…"
"I sure am." He grins and hands her the flowers. "These are for you."
"You know, you're really rather good when it comes to buying flowers." She takes the flowers and there it is, the smile that could melt the polar ice caps. "These are lovely, thank you."
"There's all kinds of good stuff in here for you too." He follows her into the kitchen and sets the bag on the counter to unpack it. "Paracetamol, cough syrup, lemsip, tissues, wine...for medicinal purposes, of course. Oh, and chocolates."
"Are we having the chocolates for dinner?" She smiles at him again and takes a vase down from the cabinet for the flowers.
"Nope. Dinner's in the car. I figured it would end up all over your doorstep if I tried to carry it in with all of this stuff and then we really would be hitting the chocolates for dinner." He scoops his keys up off the table. "I'll be right back."
When he comes back, the foil-covered lasagne securely in his hands, she's finished arranging the flowers and she's putting the wine in the fridge.
"Dempsey...that does not look like a pizza." She walks over to him, eyebrows raised as she lifts the foil and peeks underneath, and damn if she doesn't look as cute as all hell with her messy hair, her fluffy socks, and her slightly pink nose. "Did you...make this?"
"Yeah." He grins at her, enjoying her surprise even though it probably says a lot about his usual eating habits. "It's my mom's recipe, I figured I should try it out, and you're sick, you should eat a proper dinner. There's enough that you can reheat what's left tomorrow too."
"Well, it looks amazing." She turns away briefly and switches the oven on, smiling as she turns back to him. "I'm impressed, I'm really...impressed."
"Hey, what can I say? I'm an impressive guy, Harry." He smirks and reaches for her, running his hand across her cheek. "So…"
He's not exactly sure what he was going to say but he's interrupted by the phone ringing. She rests a hand on his arm for just a second before standing up.
"Probably Freddy with his annual 'I'm about to start drinking myself into a stupor, thought I ought to wish you a Happy New Year first' call." She smiles and heads towards the door. "Sorry, I won't be too long."
He hears her pick up the phone and decides to make himself useful, heading back over to the kitchen counter, removing the foil and sliding the lasagne into the oven. It seems not to be her dad on the phone after all, and he tries not to eavesdrop but he's at the table and she's in the hallway so it's hard not to.
"No, no miraculous recovery, Angela...I'm fine staying home, really. I doubt I could even find the energy to get dressed, let alone last through an evening out...well, I'm not on my own, as it happens, I have...I actually do have company and he brought dinner so I'm fine...well yes, you do...yes, it's my...it's Dempsey...I have no idea if he had other plans, Angela, he just called and offered to bring dinner and some other things for me...you know, just things...cough syrup, tissues, lemsip, chocolates, flowers..."
She falls silent and he guesses Angela has some opinions on how Harry is spending her New Year's Eve, but whether they're good or bad he has no idea.
"Stop it, you know it's not like that, we're not...now hang on, I didn't say I wouldn't...I'm going to go now, I'm sure you're busy getting ready...Happy New Year, Angela, I'll talk to you soon."
"How is Angela?" He looks up at her and smiles as she walks back in.
"As nosy as ever." She returns his smile with a shrug. "Baffled by both my inability to stage an overnight recovery and apparently by my being completely fine staying home tonight."
"And wondering why some guy from work is bringing you dinner?" He waggles his eyebrows and he's amused by the faint blush that colours her cheeks.
"You're not just some guy from work, Dempsey. You know that." She picks up the tissues and tilts her head in the direction of the living room. "Let's go and sit somewhere more comfortable while we wait for dinner."
As she sits down he notices her pyjamas for the first time and they make him smile. He's barged in on her evenings, even her middle of the nights often enough to know her usual sleepwear ranges from long t-shirts to fancy silk pyjamas, but today's choice is a surprise. She intrigues him a little more every day.
"Harriet Makepeace, are you wearing…" He runs his hand over her knee and grins at her. "Miss Piggy pyjamas?"
"I most certainly am." She grins back at him and doesn't seem to mind his hand still resting on her leg. "She's everything I aspire to be."
"She is pretty impressive." He nudges her shoulder gently and squeezes her leg. "I did not have you down as a Muppets fan."
"Why not?" She frowns faintly and he recognises her mildly offended face, which is definitely not the face he was hoping for. "I don't only listen to classical music and watch documentaries about the Russian Revolution, you know."
"Oh I know that. Are you forgetting who sat through Footloose for you?" He remembers her enthusiasm, and he won't deny he kind of enjoyed the movie too. "So, if you had to pick which Muppet I am…"
"Animal, no question." She answers without hesitation and looks just a little bit too pleased with herself.
"The slightly crazy guy on the drums who makes a lot of noise and chases every woman he meets?" Her smile becomes a giggle, and she giggles like that so rarely that he can't help smile too, even if she did just compare him to the most unhinged of all the Muppets. "I swear, if you weren't sick…"
They eat dinner, drink some wine, and then they move back to the living room, bringing the rest of the wine and the box of chocolates with them. He doesn't know how long they've been pressed comfortably together on the sofa when he feels her head come to rest on his shoulder. He thinks she's fallen asleep, so he startles slightly when she speaks.
"I hope you didn't cancel any big plans for tonight?" She sounds nervous, and with the exception of the time he leapt out of a plane and left her to land it, he's not really sure he's ever heard her sound nervous.
"Nope. No big plans. No plans at all." He realises in an instant that he wouldn't have hesitated to cancel any plans if he'd had them and he's relaxed enough, buoyed by the confidence of the feel of her resting against him, to tell her. "Wouldn't have mattered if I had anyway, I'd have dropped them like hot rocks if you needed me, Harry, you know that."
"I...I think perhaps I do, yes." She pauses and he can feel her hesitation, the way he often can when she's thinking about what she wants to say. "Dempsey...would you be absolutely devastated if you were to catch my cold?"
"Nah, I'd just use it as my excuse for growling at Spikings." He shrugs, figuring that they've eaten together and spent the last couple of hours thigh to thigh on her sofa, so if he's going to catch her cold there's not a damn thing he can do about it now. "Why?"
She doesn't reply but he feels her lift her head from his shoulder so he turns to look at her. There's a look in her eyes he's seen only once before but that night it was combined with way too much champagne and a tequila chaser. This time she's under the influence of nothing more than a huge plate of lasagne, a couple of glasses of wine and a minimal dose of cough syrup, so when she leans towards him and presses her hand to his chest he knows she means it. It's a slow, gentle kiss and her lips are soft and warm against his. When he slides his hand into her hair he feels her tongue swipe across his top lip looking for more, trying to deepen the kiss, and he happily obliges, letting her take the lead. She kisses just like she does everything else, with conviction, passion, total dedication, and holy cow is it sexy. When she eventually pulls back she surprises him by holding his gaze, her eyes bright and determined as she focuses firmly on him.
"Happy New Year, Dempsey." The hint of a smile broadens into the one he can't get enough of and he smiles back at her.
Yeah, he has a feeling it will be.