It's the Saturday morning milk lorry that wakes him from an enjoyable dream about his partner. He's trying to feel guilty about it but as the day dawns, Dempsey feels a strange sense of a different longing. He glances around him at the empty sheets and sighs sadly. There's a knot of homesickness in his stomach that he wasn't expecting to feel. In the past he's kept it at bay, going to a bar for a few drinks and if he pulled a woman then there was even less to think about.
Trying to prove his worth to Harry leaves space to feel things he'd rather not. He daren't think about his mom in New York and his family around the table, yet the image won't leave him and neither does the longing he feels.
He pulls the duvet up over his head, swallowing his emotions, and hopes to wake up the next morning. When the phone rings sometime later, he hopes it's work and, in a way it is.
"Happy Thanksgiving." Harry begins without preamble.
"Oh… thanks." Dempsey is surprised she even remembered or knew about it. He's grateful to hear her voice.
"I would have rung earlier but Fry said you were going meeting someone last night and I didn't want to interrupt anything." He hears a note of trepidation in her voice.
"It's good to hear from you." He's not going to waste thoughts on damming Fry until he sees him, and he's quick to reassure her, "Ain't nobody here but me. Much as I like Dan, he's not sharing my bed. Nobody is sharing my bed these days unless.…"
"Dempsey…" He feels her smile down the phone, "I have a turkey here to cook and thought maybe it was time I knew the rules about Thanksgiving. Do you want to come over? Are you free?"
"Honey, I'm always free for you." He tries to flirt.
"When there's food involved." Harry observes and as much as he'd like to argue this point, he clamps down on the urge. He'll be her ideal guest.
He wonders where her invitation has sprung from. They've been getting closer lately, trying to find the even ground they'd found since he discarded Lupino, and she stayed with him as he tried to wrestle with how he felt after six weeks of nothing. Years of scratching at the boundaries were upended when Simone arrived and it's not been the same since. When Harry came back to the force, he tried not to act like an overprotective would-be boyfriend. Maybe he is doing something right after all.
"Thanks Harry, I wanna ring my mom, then I'll be over. Anything I can bring?"
"Ring her from here if you like, I don't mind." Harry replies, "You can bring a bottle of something, but just you is good."
"Thank you…" Dempsey clears his throat, just him is good? Then he recalls Dan's constant words of warning over his inability to express his feelings. "First time I've felt homesick since I've been here."
"Why on earth didn't you call me?" Harry admonishes gently.
"Last thing you want is me being miserable." Dempsey confesses tentatively. He does feel better for talking to her, but he's hardly a party hound.
"You've had worse moods." Harry doesn't share any more on this. He thinks of his first weeks of knowing her and cringes. "Don't think it's a date."
Oh. Dempsey wonders. In that case, she is thinking it's a date. He decides to take flowers just to see her lips twitch into a smile.
What he had not counted on was how entertaining it was to cook with Harry. It's not the meal that his mother would have made, but it's their attempt which makes it better. Her reaction to the flowers is as he predicted and the wine was more than he'd usually spend, but the two bottles have been enjoyed.
"You look happy." Harry notes as he puts down the phone after he called his mom to wish her happy holidays. He didn't know how to explain what Harry was to him because there aren't sufficient descriptives, so he meekly handed over the phone when his mother asked to speak to 'his girl' and didn't attempt to correct her.
Fortunately, they'd had one bottle of wine and Harry had chatted to his mother about the best way to cook meatballs and god knows what else. She's got herself an invite for next year.
"I am happy. Spoke to my mom, I'm well fed and you're here." He says nestled on the sofa with Harry in the circle of his arm, her head on his shoulder. The post-lunch nap is tempting but he's determined to be a helpful guest.
Harry is a little tipsy, she's started to drop her polished accent and he's really hoping she's crack out Sharon's slang but suspects she'll need a helluva lot more juice for that. She has indulged him with Lou's twang much to his amusement, she only stumbles over a few words before she collapsed into giggles. She gets to her feet to clear the plates.
"Hey, I can do that." Dempsey insists. Harry protests without rigor. "Second rule of thanksgiving, the cook never cleans up."
"Dempsey, there's bloody loads of it." She looks around the kitchen and he has to agree. "And leftovers."
"There's nothing better than turkey sandwiches when they're made by the woman you love." He declares as he begins to stack up the dishwasher. He pauses, plate in mid-air as he realises his words. Hell to his dammed big mouth.
"Best keep that quiet from Fry or he'll expect me to take his lunch too. I'd hate to disappoint him when I've got my eye on someone else." Harry is well aware of Fry's crush.
"Is that so?" He's almost certain he knows the answer. The question, he hopes is incidental but it's good to know where he stands.
"Well, there's this American guy I know, seems he's surprisingly domesticated." Harry observes as she continues to ignore his orders to sit down and begins to wash up the pans. He can't resist grinning madly at her.
"When I first met you, the flat was a tip. It's rather a surprise to know you can cook and clean."
"I was living from a suitcase." Dempsey recalls. "Sleeping on the sofa too."
"I was a bit distracted by your naked arse at the time." Harry teases. She says arse very politely.
"Makepeace!" Dempsey is genuinely surprised, she rarely starts the flirting, he'll begin and she'll follow and end it when they stray too far. This is entirely new.
"Well, you were the one flashing it about. Entertained me on a lonely night or two." Harry's lips twitch as he tries to maintain his composure. Then she throws him a curved ball. "If you'd known how long you'd be here, would you have done anything differently?"
"Third rule of thanksgiving, don't ask guests difficult questions." He says, catching her looking at said arse as he puts the last of the plates in the dishwasher. He meets her gaze and registers her blush.
"Forth rule of our thanksgiving is that Dempsey should stop being so evasive." She retorts tartly.
He ponders her question, leaning against the counter, giving it the attention it deserves because she's asked for a reason even if he's not sure of it. "I'd have been less of a dick. Definitely avoided sex with a serial killer."
There's the faint tick of the clock as Dempsey decides to throw himself all in. He might never get another chance.
"I would have hidden in the bathroom that time. Seeing you from the wardrobe may have been the stuff of my fantasies but you thought a lot less of me. I should have found the car keys sooner and quit mouthing off at you. Been more of a gentleman." He speaks quickly, hoping she'll let the confession about the keys go. She knows, he knows. Sometimes they don't need words.
Harry comments after a moment. "You threw me completely. Good looking but with so many opinions and I had to trust you to save my life before I even liked you."
"Good looking?" He grins and switches on the kettle. She blushes and nods when she hands over the coffee jar.
"Fifth rule of thanksgiving. Harry must not evade my questions."
"You didn't mention going home." Harry comments softly. "I assume you'd want to go back when Simone came over.
If that's what she thinks and it's why she's held back on him, then he really is hopeless at sharing what he feels. "Simone reminded me of why I'd left. London is my home, Harry, you gotta know that."
"I didn't like to assume." She throws the tea towel at him. He neatly catches it, folds it up, and hangs it over the oven door handle to dry."You'd make someone a good wife."
"Is that a proposal, Harry?" He's delighted by her teasing.
"Maybe." Harry finds the milk and gives him an affectionate nudge. "Sixth rule of thanksgiving, the guest must kiss the host."
He obliges, chastely, feeling like it's gentlemanly. Harry has other ideas when she surprises him by returning the gesture with all the spirit he loves about her.
"What's the first rule of thanksgiving?" Harry suddenly asks as he's trying to come to terms with the return of the kisses he's missed so much more than home. "We had six, but we missed the first."
"Hell, I dunno." Dempsey shrugs, looking dazedly at her, understanding that it wasn't just the New York Thanksgiving he missed, but his place in Harry's life. The weight he has felt these past few days has lifted, replaced with a lightness and happiness.
"You could always stay and we can break a few more rules together?"