I really wasn't going to write this as I'm sure it's been done before, but it been niggling at my brain for weeks.

Apologies in advance for any inaccuracies in medical details and London geography.

And a warning that's there's some descriptions of violence.

They found him just before midnight slumped against a garden wall in a suburban street in East London. The dog walker who'd called the ambulance stood in the pouring rain, valiantly holding his umbrella over the motionless body as his terrier shivered miserably beside him.

Chas was out of the car and running as soon as it drew up at the kerb. He knelt down and pressed his fingers to the man's neck.

'He's still breathing' the dogwalker said, his voice high with anxiety 'I checked every few seconds'

'Thank you Sir we'll take over from here, leave your details with one of the officers there' Chas pointed over to the uniforms emerging from the patrol car.

Harry reached them just as the sirens and lights heralded the arrival of the ambulance. Her heart squeezed at the sight of him, his face was bruised and swollen, streaked with blood despite the heavy rain. His left arm lay high on his chest, cradled in his other hand, she knew by the way he held it that it was hurting, probably broken.

What had happened, who had done this? The questions eddied in her mind as she knelt down beside him oblivious to the rain. 'Dempsey' she said, stroking the back of his hand.

There were lights and urgent voices, equipment spilling from bags. As the medics tried to move him into a better position Dempsey groaned and his body twitched, he mumbled something incoherent as he turned and vomited onto the pavement beside him.

Two days earlier.

Harry hung up the phone with a growing sense of unease. It was the third time she'd phoned his number this evening and she was now certain that something was wrong.

She rummaged on the shelf until she found the Yellow Pages. Ten minutes later she'd been assured by all the local hospitals that they didn't have a James Dempsey or an unidentified man of his description. The worry in her stomach started to gnaw harder. She tried to feel angry with him, telling herself that he'd probably met a friend and gone drinking, or had a better offer. But she was not convincing herself.

His last words as she left the office were 'see you at seven, Harry!' and he seemed completely normal; loud, cheerful with eyes sparkling at the promise of the evening ahead. For all his reckless unpredictability in most areas of his life, for practical arrangements Dempsey was always reliable. Harry knew that if they agreed a time he would be there on the dot or even a little early, and if he was held up he would always phone and let her know.

His punctuality was one of the growing list of things she loved about him.

But this evening seven o'clock had come and gone and he hadn't arrived. There had been no apologetic phone call, not even an uncharacteristic late arrival. Nothing. And he wasn't answering his phone so he wasn't still at home.

Harry grabbed her car keys, thankful that some instinct had persuaded her to stay off the alcohol this evening.

XxXxXxXx

Dempsey opened his eyes slowly, everything was hazy, he tried to lift his head and winced in pain. It hurt, everything hurt.

He had no idea where he was.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw filing cabinets, piles of boxes, broken chairs; he was in some kind of abandoned office. He was lying face down on a mattress, a filthy mattress and there was a stench of damp, unwashed bodies and various other odours he didn't want to identify. And he was cold, so cold.

'Harry' his voice was ragged as he closed his eyes again.

When he woke again there was someone else in the room. As he started to sit up the man lunched forward, kicking him heavily in the ribs. He slumped down with a sear of pain.

'Get up cop!' A London accent.

Dempsey groaned and tried to push himself up again. The face swam into view. As he opened his mouth to speak a sharp punch to the jaw sent him hard against the wall. He gasped for breath trying hard to stay conscious, as the instinct to survive kicked in.

Again he pushed himself up. 'Who're you?' His voice was barely more than a whisper. He could taste blood as a wave of nausea rose up.

The man's face was right next to his, his breath acrid. 'I'm someone who's going to make your life very difficult Mr Dempsey.'

The next punch knocked him out.

XxXxXxXx

There were no lights on in his flat.

Everything looked normal, there was no sign of a struggle. Harry opened the wardrobe and drawers, there was nothing to suggest Dempsey had not planned to come back here if not tonight then tomorrow.

There were clothes in his laundry basket, including a pair of her own knickers. Despite her growing worry she smiled at this evidence of the new intimacy between them.

She opened a drawer in his bedside cabinet and took out a blue folder. She held her breath as she slipped her hand inside and released it as she pulled out his passport. So he hadn't gone back to New York. Immediately she berated herself for doubting him, for doubting what they had. She smoothed her hand over the covers of his bed and thought back to that night here only a few weeks earlier.

Harry sat up and started putting on her shoes, rummaging in her handbag for her car keys. Demspey watched her from the end of the sofa, sipping the last of his wine.

'Harry..'

She stopped, her hand on the zip of her bag. He was looking intently at her.

'Harry, why don't you stay?'

She gave a sigh, 'James you know I can't, we've been here before…'

He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so simple yet intimate that she felt her resolve waver. 'I can't' she whispered.

'Why not?' His voice as quiet as hers. 'Please don't go home.'

And suddenly she couldn't think of any reason why not, he was imploring her with his eyes to give into something she had spent months resisting. To agree to what he was offering, something she wanted as badly as he did.

Harry raised her eyes to meet his and almost without thinking she said 'okay.'

Dempsey's eyes widened, he hadn't expected this, but he recovered quickly and stood up reaching his hand out to her.

He pulled her to him and kissed her then, slowly, both of them savouring the moment they'd anticipated for so long. Then he'd taken her by the hand and led her to his bedroom.

It hadn't been a one off as she had feared. That night and every other he'd been loving and open and passionate in his desire for her. A generous lover, he was entirely focussed on her pleasure. And he made her happy, she'd been happier in the last two weeks than she had ever been before, or at least since her mother's death eight years earlier. She hadn't told him yet but she knew she loved him.

And now she had absolutely no idea where he was.