Before we start, I want to address something that's come up a couple of times from different people on different stories of mine, and that is that people find it exceptional that Dempsey doesn't "take advantage" of Harry when she's drunk. But when someone's as drunk as I wrote Harry in the previous chapter, they can't consent. If someone can't consent and another person has sex with them, that is rape. By not trying it on with Harry when she's drunk, he is not being some sort of saint, he is meeting the minimum standard of human decency. It makes me very uncomfortable that we could think of people who simply refrain from raping as being some sort of special case. We have free will, and we are capable of exercising that will to not rape people.

With that out of the way, on we go!

Dempsey had had a very successful afternoon's work. They had finally managed to make their arrest, seizing two years worth of incriminating papers documenting the trafficking of people into the country to work as prostitutes or unpaid labourers. He got stuck at work writing up his report and started thinking about that evening. He was not sure if Harry would turn up - but he hoped, of course. A celebratory drink was definitely in order.

When he got home, he grabbed a beer and wandered around his apartment. Somehow it looked both sparse and untidy at the same time. He piled the washing up in the sink, shoved his dirty clothes in the basket and straightened the cushions on the sofa. He felt jittery for some reason, concious of how his flat would look to Harry's eyes. She had not been to his very much - they tended to end up in her larger house with the real fire.

He got bored halfway through wiping the kitchen counters and gave up on the cleaning spree, settling down with a film and a pie-and-chips instead.

He had not meant for Harry to stay at his last night - he had meant to take her home, put her to bed and leave her there. But somehow... somehow she had ended up following him a little shyly into the elevator in his building while he stuffed his hands determinedly in his jacket pockets.

Harry yawned and looked at her watch as she parked outside Dempsey's building. Her mind returned for the thousandth time that evening to their night out, and to James' note. What had she done?

Something tickled in the back of her conciousness but... no, surely.

She huffed in exasperation and knocked on Dempsey's door. One could not fake the slow smile and the softening of his eyes that occurred when her partner saw her, she thought.

"Hey, sexy," he said, stepping back to let her in. "Hard day at work?"

"Dempsey, if I do not have a cup of tea in my hand in the next five minutes someone is going to scream and I can't guarantee it will be me." She stared at him pointedly.

"I'm just gonna put the kettle on." He left Harry taking her coat off to do just that. Harry was surprised that he bypassed the innuendo he could have got out of her statement. "We got our guy this afternoon," Dempsey called from the kitchen. Harry could hear the rush of water, the click of the kettle being turned on and the clink of mugs.

"Your politician?" she asked, as Dempsey came to lean against the door frame.

Dempsey raised his voice slightly as the kettle began to roar and bubble. "Yup. I don't think he'll be doing that for a while, though. I take it the stakeout was a bust?"

"The most exciting thing that happened in the entire eight hours I was there was that a bird nearly flew into the windscreen, but didn't."

"So what, you think this couple might be kosher after all?"

"I don't know, really."

The kettle clicked off and Dempsey went to fetch their teas, returning to sit beside her on the sofa, resting his feet on the table. Harry drank her tea quickly, basking in the lovely warm feeling spreading through her. Tea, she thought, was wonderful, as was sitting quietly with Dempsey after a long day.

They set their empty cups on the table and as they sat back up it felt natural for Harry to lean into him. Their bodies met from their knees to their shoulders.

A jolt of heat shot through Harry's body as a memory finally surfaced. Dancing with James - dancing close. And then... Had she really...?

She gathered all her courage. "James, did we...kiss...at any point, last night?"

For a moment, as he looked at her impassively, she thought he wouldn't answer, but then he nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Oh." She struggled to call the vision to mind, but there was only a hazy recollection of pulling him down towards her.

"That a bad thing?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. He looked almost disappointed.

"I don't even remember it."

He looked up quickly to search her face. "That's the worst bit about it?"

Harry fixed her gaze on her knees and prayed that the heat in her face would go away. How could she answer that? Dempsey just smiled.

"That's where the genie came in," he prompted quietly after a moment, nudging her gently with the elbow already pressed against her side.

"And something I did that...we both wished we'd do again?" Harry guessed breathlessly, every nerve singing.

"Last night you did."

"Maybe I still do," she admitted.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Then Dempsey turned, laid a hand on her knee, and said, "You're the genie here, Harry. You know what I want. It's up to you."

Harry felt paralysed, sitting on her partner's sofa and staring at his earnest expression. She knew what she wanted, but acting on that was another matter. "The genie would like a little help," she said at last.

Dempsey closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. Harry felt like she was flying. She brought up a hand to cup his cheek as they moved their lips against each other lightly. Dempsey kept pulling back slightly, teasing her, making her lean further forward unconsciously.

Abruptly, Harry pulled away, still holding his face with one hand. "Actually, Dempsey, you're wrong, I haven't a clue what you want," she said fiercely.

Dempsey smiled lazily, his dilated pupils framed by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. "More of that would be great for a start."

Harry was filled with a disappointed anger, flinching away from him. "So you're just after -"

Dempsey interrupted the potential tirade. "No, Harry, I said for a start. Then I want... Harry, I just want you. I wanna be around you. I wanna...be with you." He grinned mischievously. "But I'm not denyin' I spend quite a lot o' time wantin' to kiss you."

Harry searched his eyes for the truth of his words. "I think the genie approves of that plan," she said carefully. "And...I do too."

"Then let's make a start."

Without another word, Harry smiled, and kissed him deeply.

I wasn't really intending to get them together when I started but the whole premise seemed to be leading to that point so here we go. Reviews are lovely, if you get a moment. Thank you to the guests I've had for their reviews on the previous chapter.