Once again apologies for the medical stuff. This story keeps growing so I Think there'll be another couple of chapters at least. Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. Oh and I just watched the very first episode for the first time in years. My goodness the chemistry was there from the outset.
Dempsey was running, a stumbling, unsteady run. He tried to ignore the pain in his arm, the burn in his lungs and the waves of nausea as his head hammered.
All he could think about was Harry, and knowing he was running to her was what kept him going.
He had to tell Spikings where to find Mick and Derek Lynch.
His vision swam and he staggered sideways but kept his balance.
He seemed to be in the countryside now, there were fields and trees, black in the moonlight. The air smelled damp and it was cold, a drizzle of rain had just started and he was inadequately dressed for the weather. He stopped and leaned against a fence post, his breath heaving as he gulped down air.
At the sound of an approaching car he stood up and quickly scrambled over the fence and crouched down behind the hedgerow as it roared past. He couldn't take the risk that Lynch may be out looking for him.
Ten minutes later he emerged from a copse of trees into a suburban street, bright in the glow of street lamps. He wandered along clutching his arm to his chest, it was raining hard now.
There were welcoming lights in some houses and he wondered about the ordinary lives inside and what they would say if they knew there was an injured police officer outside who had just escaped from a gang of violent criminals. And then in the distance he saw a phone box and for the first time in two days he felt a small spark of hope. He would phone 999, phone Harry.
But as he made his way towards it he was gripped with a wave of pain and stopped, doubled over, leaning on his knees. He fought to keep his balance as his vision blurred and he sat down heavily on a garden wall, his eyes still on the phone box at the end of the street. All he had to do was get there.
He gave a long moan as a sear of pain shot through his chest and he slumped forwards. All he wanted was to lie down, to go to sleep and forget everything.
And then he could hear Harry's voice calling him. 'I'm sorry.' He muttered, 'I'm sorry, Harry.' Her voice became more and more distant as he faded out of consciousness and slid down onto the pavement.
XxXxXx
Harry woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of the phone ringing. She was exhausted.
It had been after nine before she'd left the office. The whole team were working flat out to find out everything they could about the Lynch brothers. There had been a breakthrough when they found out that another brother, Maurice, drove a burgundy Bentley. He was out of the country at the moment, they had tracked him down in Spain. The car wasn't at his London address and he said that it was sometimes borrowed by other members of the family, including his nephew Derek.
Dave and Watson were sent to go and pick up Derek Lynch the following morning.
Harry scrambled about for the light and grabbed the receiver.
'We've found him, Harry.' It was Chas. 'We'll pick you up on the way.'
Ten minutes later they were speeding through the London night. Chas filled her in while Spikings sat silently in the back.
'Dog walker found him collapsed in the street about half an hour ago. Called 999.' He paused, glancing at Spikings in the mirror.
Spikings leaned forward leaning on the back of her seat. 'He's injured Harry, we don't know how badly, but he could have been there a while and it's a miserable night. He's um, in and out of consciousness, not making any sense, ambulance is on its way.'
She nodded and bit her lip, not daring to say anything in case she broke down, instead she stared out at the rain and silently sent out a message. Just hold on, Dempsey, I'm coming to you.
XxXxXx
The journey to hospital seemed interminably long, the sirens wailed as they sped through the streets. She held his hand as the paramedic busied around him with monitors and tubes. He was restless and he moaned in pain as the ambulance took a fast corner. He tried to sit up, mumbling and gasping for air. The medic pushed him back gently by the shoulder, 'just lie down Sir, you're okay.'
And then he became quiet, barely moving, eyes closed, pale against the white of the trolley, his hand cold and limp in her grasp.
Harry had lost all track of time, she knew hours had passed as she sat by his bedside watching him by the dim light of his hospital room.
He had been out of surgery for several hours but hadn't woken up.
A doctor had taken her into a side room and explained that his arm was fractured in two places, and he had several broken ribs. He had internal bleeding as well as concussion and hypothermia with severe bruising to his face and abdomen.
She was fixated on the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat measured out by the lights and sounds of the monitor by his bed. She was well past exhaustion, but didn't dare to sleep, she felt that only her sheer willpower was keeping him alive. Her world had contracted to this room, this bed, this man.
On the second day Harry awoke in the chair to hear him muttering. She watched as Dempsey's eyes fluttered and his words solidified into her name. 'Harry' his voice was raw, barely a whisper. His eyes cracked open and he gave a slow smile, 'Harry', louder this time as he closed his eyes again and drifted off.
This was the pattern of the next few days, brief moments of lucidity from Dempsey and long periods of sitting by his bed watching him sleep. He always awoke with a smile when he saw her and was beginning to ask questions about what had happened to him although his memory was still hazy.
When evening came he would insist she went home even though he could hardly bear to let her out of his sight.
'You look shattered Harry, go home and sleep. I'll still be here when you come back.'
'I hate leaving you, James.'
'Please go home, sweetheart.' He showed no sign of loosening his hold on her hand.
'I can't sleep, I might as well be here.'
'Honey you have to try, you can't go on like this.' Harry yawned, her body betraying her and Dempsey laughed which turned into a coughing fit.
When he'd recovered enough to speak he whispered, 'go home'. At last she stood up, frowning with worry 'okay I'm going.' She leaned in and kissed him.
'See you tomorrow.'
'Yeah' he watched as the door closed behind her and lay back on his pillow, a wave of emptiness coming over him.
XxXxXx
The following morning Harry found his room full of people. She knew immediately that something was wrong.
A doctor leaned over the bed glancing up at the monitor with a frown, over his shoulder she could see Dempsey's face covered with an oxygen mask.
'Just give us a minute, miss' one of the nurses had his hand on her arm.
'What is it, what's happened, he was fine last night.'
'He suddenly deteriorated overnight, he's spiked a temperature, could be an infection, doctor's with him now, they're setting up IV antibiotics.'
The words 'suddenly deteriorated, knelled in her brain, an ominous reminder that he was still seriously ill.'
She felt numb. You shouldn't have gone home, shouldn't have left him she reproached herself.
As the doctor left the room he said 'we'll see what the antibiotics do, but he needs to fight this, the next 24 hours are critical.'
Dempsey had been assigned a nurse to monitor him, a quiet young woman called Carol who came in every few minutes to check the machines and the many tubes attached to him. She gave Harry a sympathetic smile, 'he's in the best possible hands'.
Harry sat watching him, willing him to keep going, to keep breathing. His breaths were laboured, irregular and shallow, there was a sheen of sweat on his face and his colour was high. There was no sign he knew she was there.
During the night she jolted awake to the sound of Dempsey's voice, the nurse was leaning over the bed, her hands on his shoulders. He was restless, trying to push the mask off his face, worrying at the tube in his arms.
He was mumbling, a stream of random words amidst incoherent sounds.
',..no….run….drive…fuck….Harry…..stop….get it…'
He kicked out at the blankets, trying to rear up as the nurse again tried to calm him.
At last he wore himself out and stilled, his breathing shallow.
The nurse gave Harry a flannel to cool his forehead and she could feel the heat on his skin.
For two days he swung from agitation to deep sleep. Sometimes he tried to sit up grasping out for the bedside table, sending its contents spilling onto the floor. He became more vocal, louder.
'No! No! You bastard! Leave her alone!'
Harry wept at his distress, none of her touches or words had any effect.
And then one night he woke up. At first he looked at her without recognition, his eyes were open but glazed. He stared at her and at last reached out his hand. She took it in hers and pressed his hand to her lips, Dempsey gave a small smile and closed his eyes again.