They read files and checked names all morning, but didn't find any good lead. Harry could see James fidgeting on his chair out of the corner of her eye. He had never been keen on desk work and he was tapping nervously with a pen on the desk. She was starting to find the noise quite aggravating. Whether he felt her gaze on the pen or not, he suddenly stopped and threw the pen back in its holder. She quickly immerged herself in the reading of a file as he turned to face her.
"Found anything yet?"
She looked up as if surprised by his interruption and glanced at her file again. "No. You?"
He grimaced and looked away. "I feel like we're wasting our time here. The answers won't come out of old records."
"There's always been fifty percent of desk work in this job." She retorted.
"Yeah well, I've always been better with the leg work."
She was about to make a snide comment about this when Fry entered the office laden with sandwiches and beer cans. Tripping over something he lost his balance and sent everything in the air. Apparently he was still as clumsy as ever as the lads just laughed and picked up the food making a few jokes as if this was a regular habit.
Recovering from his fall, Fry came to their level with two cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, smiling stupidly.
"I'm back with food supplies." He announced proudly. It seemed he had intended to say this at his arrival, but his fall had crushed his plans.
Dempsey stared at him. "Me and Harry are going on the field." Fry gaped at him as if Dempsey had talked in a foreign language, so he added. "We're gonna find someone who knows what's going on!"
"What, now?" Fry asked, casting a disappointed glance to his sandwiches.
"No next week!" Dempsey mocked. "Of course now Fry! What do you think? We don't have a minute to waste!" With that he grabbed his jacket and left the room. Harry caught up with him in the stairs. "Improved a lot lately, did he?" he snorted, remembering Chas' words. Harry shrugged noncommittally and didn't answer.
...
They had been strolling down London's streets for nearly three hours now, and Harry's stomach was grumbling hungrily. With a fresh rumble she remembered Fry's sandwiches and wished she had grabbed one before following the bad-tempered American walking next to her. He was still that brash, insensitive, uncommunicative yank that had once landed unwillingly in her life and she wondered how she could have ever thought he could change.
She hadn't swallowed a thing since the brief breakfast this morning before leaving Winfield Hall and the day proved to be long and gruelling. As James turned in a sideway street unexpectedly she stopped.
"Ok, I've had enough! What are we exactly doing here?"
Dempsey was a bit taken aback. "Looking for clues." He said slowly. Wasn't it evident?
She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly to the right. "Oh, and you think clues are going to jump at us at the corner of a street or do you intend to actually do something to find them?"
Dempsey frowned. Did she really think she was helping with her smart comment? He raised his hand, one finger pointing at her and opened his mouth but before anything came out he realised fighting wouldn't help them. He let his arm fall back and shook his head. He sighed. "I used to know guys in the neighbourhood. You know finks, guys who always knew what was going on. Seems they moved and forgot to send up address cards."
Despite herself, Harry's expression softened a bit. "Maybe we could ask Thompson for names. Or Chas?"
"Maybe. I don't know." He grouched looking in the distance.
She shook her head. He always hated to admit he needed somebody's help. Since they had met, he had done it only twice. The first time was when a cop had tried to bring him down, and the second when she had resigned from the force; and both times he had come to her. The memory made her smile.
Suddenly she felt his arm on her shoulders and he started walking again taking her with him.
She groaned. "My feet are killing me. Is there really any use to keep on walking?"
"Yep sure." He announced happily and glanced her sideways to see her bemused expression. He grinned. "I spotted a guy on that street, selling hot-dogs. You can't work on an empty stomach, it ain't good."
"Hot-dogs? I'm not sure I'm that hungry." She complained, but there was a hint of laugh in her voice.
As they walked, his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, Harry couldn't help smiling happily. He was still bad at expressing his feelings, but it didn't prevent him from being attentive and caring, he was still able to read her and to make her smile and she wondered how she could have ever thought he could have changed.