Disclaimer: ABC own the characters; no profit is being made.

(following "In The Mood")

*

As the door clicked shut, time seemed to be suspended.

Diane's senses were tingling and she took in her surroundings with a slow, deep breath. It was coming up on dinner time and the setting sun filled the room with an ever decreasing glow. Shadows lengthened. The only sound was the snapping of tiny nuts and seeds as Miguel worked at his food.

They were facing each other but were worlds apart.

Harry still leaned heavily on the kitchen counter and she had taken up position against the back of the leather couch. His eyes followed her every move as she slipped one arm out of her coat, and then the other, and laid it
carefully beside her.

They hadn't been alone, really alone, in 38 days, and Harry had nearly driven himself mad by keeping count. So many times he had wanted to hold her but he was hindered by obstacles; his hospital stay, hours of reports and interviews regarding the Monroe case, relatives he hadn't seen in months coming by to wish him well.

She was now near enough to touch and he found himself fighting for control. Diane's whole world had been turned upside down and shaken violently by the events of the past few months. He knew she needed to sort things out and he had no right to make any claims on her or her time.

Harry was torn between his own needs and hers. And at this moment his own needs were running the show. Too tired to behave, he lapsed into defensive mode and tossed out a verbal gauntlet.
 
"I'd offer you some coffee but I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds."

Keenly aware of his cool demeanour, Diane refused to pick up the challenge tried to change the subject with a question.

"You think Grace will be okay out there?"

"Like she said, it's only three blocks."

"I know, but she looked pretty beat when I got here."

"Why ARE you here, Diane?"

She paused and folded her arms, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to clarify such a simple question," he said flatly.

His voice was deep and frightened her a little in it's intensity. The early evening shadows had passed by the kitchen and Harry was standing in near darkness. The remaining light passed through the slats on the blinds and cast stripes across his face.  He looked like he was behind bars.

"I brought food for Miguel," she answered.

"Oh yes." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Let's not forget HIM. The famous gray parrot who not only entertains with his endless collection of TV trivia, he also is capable of life- saving diversionary tactics."

Harry all but disappeared as the sun completely set. He was a disembodied voice. Still unfamiliar with the apartment's interior, Diane scanned the wall with her eyes for a light switch.

"Would you like me to fix something for YOU to eat, Harry?" she shot back. "I think Miguel has some sunflower kernels left over here. What could I get for you?"

In the darkness he was quietly pacing. Then, before thinking,  he spoke out, "You do have something I want, Detective Russell. But I'm on probation with you, aren't I? Are you ever going to enlighten me on the terms of this emotional incarceration, or are you just waiting for me to violate my parole?"

There was no mistaking Harry's meaning.

He was beginning to really unravel her, and she tried desperately to keep in mind his illness and fatigue. She wondered if that's all there was to his apparent transformation into Mr. Hyde.

Rubbing the back of her neck she tried a diversionary tactic of her own. "Well, come on then, Denby. Do it! Is that really all you want? You think you can take me?"

He said nothing.

After an eternity of silence, she heard him walking toward her, appearing out of the shadow like a spectre in his black sweater.  He had lost ten pounds during his last two hospital stays, and it gave him a tall, angular  silhouette.

Just as he was close enough to breath in her scent, he turned and went to the front of the couch to sit down.

"No Diane," he said in a deep whisper, "I can't take you."

The leather creaked as Harry sat back, stretching out his lean body on the couch and resting his head on the worn throw pillow. He held his full cup of coffee on his stomach and it rose and fell with each breath.

Diane could read him. Harry was backing down and trying to keep cool.

In spite of his present lack of charm, her own desire grew as she looked down. His sweater had bunched up above his jeans, revealing just enough abdomen to make her catch her breath.  The familiar fine line of dark hair that began at his chest, disappeared beneath his waistband.

Harry's cleanly shaven face was a mask of concentrated effort and she couldn't help but pity his mood. Rare is the man who can endure illness with levity.

Diane had been keeping him at a distance since their night at the hotel, but she didn't know why. At every opportunity he had reached out for her; kissing her hands at the table, touching her back as they walked, looking her fully and deeply with his amazing eyes.

During their stay at his mother's place he had said goodnight, every night, with expectation in his voice, but never pressed her when she turned from him to her room. Each morning he greeted her warmly without a hint of resentment. She never actually pushed him away, but she never initiated contact either or explained what she was feeling.

After seeing Grace leave his room at the hospital, she had completely shut him out, and it was cruel.

Swallowing her fears, she reached down and gently combed Harry's silky hair with her fingers. He closed his eyes, sighed and tilted his head back further. Diane continued stroking his hair and slid off the back of the couch. Kneeling behind Harry's head, she used both hands to massage his temples.

Minutes passed and the tension began to drain away from both of them. As she softly said, "I'm sorry", he reached up and brought her hand to his mouth.  Diane traced his lower lip and he responded by lightly biting her finger. He didn't release her until he had a thorough taste and when he did, the sensation made her dizzy with pleasure.

The little sound she made brought a smile to his lips. Harry felt like he could breath again.

*

After setting his coffee on the table, Diane ordered him to turn over so she could rub his back and shoulders. He kicked off his shoes and obediently flopped over. The phone rang once, and stopped.

"Good girl, Gracie," Harry mumbled into the couch. He was face down and his right arm hung limply over the edge, fingers resting on the carpet. Diane pressed hard on his lower back, and he sunk into the cushions.

"Hmmm, this won't do, I'm afraid. No leverage."

He turned his head to the side facing her, "I beg your pardon?"

Diane pushed the coffee table back and said, "On the floor, Detective."

He carefully moved to the floor and lay down. Diane sat next to him, and without asking, she slid her hands under his sweater and pulled it up and over his head, and tossed it on to the table. Then she positioned his arms next to his sides so his shoulder muscles would be relaxed.

"Too cold?" she asked.

"Fireplace," he pointed to the wall. "Switch on the left".

Diane crawled over and pushed the switch. The bluish flames burst to life and the room began to regain it's heat. Starting again on his lower back she pressed down and he let out a small groan. Satisfied with the effect, Diane went to work giving Harry a massage.

*

"How long have you been supporting Gracie?" she asked as rubbed along his neck.

"A while. My oldest sister, Siobhan, asked me to watch out for Gracie when she left home and moved to New York about a year ago. She managed to get a pretty decent job and I helped to get her set up in her apartment. I thought that would be about all there was to it."

"Things didn't go as planned?"

"She got all tangled up with this low life and I tried to warn him off, but it just made Grace mad. I didn't hear from her in a while... couple of months. Then she shows up at my door one night with a busted lip and a story to tell."

"Did she tell her parents what happened?"

"No. They don't know anything about this." He paused and took a deep breath. “No one does."

Diane began kneading the muscles along his sides and Harry cringed with a loud gasp. In a lightening quick movement he rolled over and grabbed her hands tightly.  His years in the Marines had left him with instinctual reactions to pain and it startled both of them.

She stared at him wide eyed.

"It's all right Harry, lay back down. I'll remember to leave your ribs alone."

"Sorry," he let her go and resumed his prone position. "Now you know my weakness. I'm completely at your mercy."

She laughed a little and  continued with the massage, on his arm this time. The lines of his  body reminded her of marble sculptures she had admired in a museum many years ago. Working her way down from his shoulder, she used her thumbs to loosen the tension she felt along his biceps. Then when she reached his wrist, she held his hand and firmly pressed on the palms and each finger.

When he Diane felt him relaxing again she asked, "Is Grace afraid to tell her family because of the baby?"

"No, not really." He thought for a moment and then continued. "They'd probably be very proud of the choice she's made and how she's managed to make it this far. Her child is gonna get a great home, and Gracie deserves all the credit for what she's doing."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Could be a lot of things, I guess," Harry said as he turned his head to the other side.

Diane noticed the change in his voice and began to draw some of her own conclusions. If Grace was in New York under Harry's supervision, and ended up bruised and pregnant, Harry probably felt as if he had failed in his duties toward her and her family.  He might not be very keen on telling anyone either.

"Other arm."

Harry rolled onto his back and offered his left arm to Diane. He watched the firelight on her hair with fascination as she worked.

"You know, Harry," she began," Grace really misses her Grandmother."

"I thought she might."

Diane raised her eyes and studied his face. He was staring at nothing again, but didn't tense up. She decided to take another step.

"Now that she's getting closer to her due date, she said she's feeling kind of... well, needy. You know, afraid of labor, that kind of stuff."

"Oh, I didn't know. I mean she doesn't tell me, and I just figured she'd talk to her doctor if she had any questions. He's the best I could find."

"Well, it's one of those things you really need another woman for; someone you're close to. Someone who understands the whole process. It's a pretty major event in her life."

Harry listened thoughtfully. He draped his free arm across his forehead and continued to stare. Diane waited quietly, giving him time to think as she steadily rubbed his hand. She wondered how he handled his problems with Grace when he was under with Don Kirkendall.

As if reading her mind, Harry finally spoke. "Do you remember the day I came to the station and I gave you the story about how I'd blacked out and lost Don? "

Diane nodded.

"Well, I wasn't hung over but I'd had a hell of a night. Gracie paged me at the hotel and said she didn't feel too good. I made some excuse to Don and managed to get over to her place. She was hysterical and starting to bleed ."

Harry closed his eyes against the vision and went on.

"I got her to the hospital and stayed with her all night.  They gave her some drugs to stop the early labor, but she was really wiped out--  I mean scared out her mind and there was nothing I could do about it.  I just paced around in her room like an idiot."

"By the time I met with you down at the 15th, I'd been up for almost two days and could hardly remember what in the hell I was doing."

Diane replayed their conversation in her mind. "The first thing you said to me was that you needed some help." Then she remembered all the awful names she had called him and the way she had thrown his apology back in his face.

"Oh god, I was a complete jerk, Harry.  I had no idea..."

"I know. I know. It ended up working well with the cover, so no harm done. Just to say, I knew then that being a financial help to Gracie wasn't going to be enough. I should have done something about it back then. I should have called Siobhan, or my mother. But I didn't."

She watched his pained expression and knew he felt genuine regret. Wanting to help, to make him feel better, she leaned over and kissed him. "I'm starved. Let's see what you've got in those tidy cupboards in your kitchen."

*

While Diane rummaged around in the kitchen, Harry grabbed his sweater and duffle bag and went to his bedroom. Never one to leave things lying around, he put the clothes away and pulled out a clean shirt from his drawer. Gracie and Diane had made a mess of his bed, but he left it just the way it was.

He checked the top of his dresser to see if the ladies had done any snooping before he arrived. Next to a small basket in which he kept keys, change and a few, half -empty tic tac containers, was a plain box. It was about the size of his hand and very old. Something he had only recently retrieved from his safe deposit drawer at the bank. He opened it slowly, being careful with the worn edges, and reverently touched the treasure it held;  his great-grandmother's claddah pendant on an intricate silver chain. It was stunning and small; two hands holding an emerald heart with a crown. The Irish symbol for fidelity.

Someday she would wear this. He knew it in his soul.

*

"I can't eat this stuff," Diane muttered to herself as she read the labels. Nearly every item on the shelf was extra spicy, Cajun style or red hot. She pushed past several bottle of Tabasco to the back and found nothing but jars
of japaleno peppers.

She still had her head deep in the cupboard when she heard Harry enter the kitchen. Without looking at him she said, "You seem to have a thing for food that hurts."

"It is my contention that properly seasoned food should make you break out in a fine sweat."

She turned to see him poking around in the fridge. He was now wearing a blue t-shirt over his jeans and he clearly looked hungry.

"For this momentous occasion, however, I think we will have to resort to an old Denby family tradition. Ever have breakfast for dinner, Diane?"

They stood side by side at the stove. She scrambled the eggs and he tried to time each pancake perfectly before flipping it. They chatted about nothing in particular and learned to dance around each other in the kitchen without anyone getting stepped on or poked with a hot spatula.  Harry brought out his stash of real maple syrup from Vermont and they sat down to eat on the floor in front of the fire.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said as he made a final trip to the kitchen.

Harry came back with a bottle of green Tabasco. He opened the bottle and took a whiff as if it were fine wine. Dangling the bottle over her plate he said, "It's new. You must try this on the eggs."

Diane looked at the green stuff nearly dripping onto her perfectly fine dinner and said firmly, "I do not like them Sam I am."

He grinned devilishly and began seasoning his own plate of food.

*

After dinner, they left the dishes on the hearth and sat together on the floor. Harry sides were aching and he found that sitting up with his back against the couch was the most comfortable position. He hadn't taken his pain medication yet, for fear it would put him to sleep. Diane lay on her side across from him, stirring the cup of tea she had set on a magazine in front of her.

"How are  you feeling now?" she asked.

"Never better."

His arms rested on his drawn up knees, but he looked as if he were ready to pounce. Diane watched him and tried to read his mind.

"What?" she said finally.

"Fair's fair, Diane. I believe in reciprocation."

Harry unfolded and crept over to Diane. He picked up her beverage and placed it on the coffee table, then said in tones that made her heart race, "On the floor, Detective."

She rolled onto her stomach, and before she had a chance to breathe he had slipped his hands under her white sweater and pulled it up over her head. He straddled her up on his knees, and placed her arms along her sides just as she had done to him. When he began the massage she found herself lost in the strength of his hands.

"Harry?" she said in a dreamy voice.

"Hmmm."

"If you ever do decide to leave the force, you definitely have a marketable skill here."

"Flattery, my dear, will get you....never mind."

He pressed on her back and got a satisfying groan from her. Harry marveled at her tiny form; the fine bones of her arms, the graceful curve of her delicate spine. She seemed absolutely fragile beneath him and he silently thanked God for making women.

"Diane, I would like to apologize for my lack of hospitality earlier."

"You were tired, Harry. It's all right."

"No, I was jealous. Childish."

She was surprised at his confession, but now understood he mysterious appearance of Mr. Hyde.  All the days apart had taken as much a toll on him as his illnesses, and she had completely blocked it out. Who would have thought that Harry Denby needed anyone?

Her bra strap kept getting in the way, so he began to unfasten it. When she flinched, he leaned down, brushed the hair back from her ear and asked, "May I?"

"Yes," and Diane knew it was time to make some confessions of her own.

*

More than anything, Diane found it difficult to talk about her past, and the problems it caused with her ability to trust, and be totally intimate. Every time she tried to talk about it with Bobby, she became almost paralyzed. They would make love, but she was unable to fully let go of the demons that haunted her. She had settled for
safety in his arms, and hoped it would be a substitute for the abandoned passion she knew she would never experience.

For some reason, Harry's ability to get under her skin, had infused her with a strange and unfamiliar courage. He stirred her up and could make her spitting mad, or drunk with desire. Something inside her nagged away, telling
her to try, and she jumped.

"Harry, some things are really difficult for me."

He found it hard to believe that Diane Russell lacked either bravery or strength in anything, but the slight tremble in her voice caused him to listen in rapt attention.

"I've been hurt in the past and... sometimes it gets in the way of the present."

Harry tried not to change the rhythm of his massage, but his mind jumped to a hundred conclusions at once. How had she been hurt, and by whom? Maybe she was referring to a failed romance...No, not that. He sensed it was worse. Much worse.

"Did Bobby,.. hurt you?" he asked.

"No, no. Never." She paused, choking on her words. "It was my stepfather. I was little."

The rage that flooded his heart manifested itself on his face, and he was glad she couldn't see it. Everything in him wanted to hunt down and kill the bastard that had done this to her. It was primal, an instinctual, overpowering compulsion for vengeance. Then Harry was hit with every taunt and every manipulation that he, himself, had put her through while he was undercover, and he felt sick with shame.

He wanted to fall at her feet, but he lay over her instead and held her head in his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry Diane," he murmured.

After a few minutes she took a deep breath and went on, "It's just that I learned to, to separate my life. What happens to me and what I feel aren't connected anymore. I guess I had to disconnect them to survive."

Harry rolled over and lay next to her, stroking her hair as she continued. "I don't talk about it because I don't want anyone looking at me like I'm broken, and I don't want you preoccupied with thinking how you're going to keep me safe."

"You're a great cop, Diane. Everybody knows that," he said, trying to be encouraging.

"Yeah well, the other side of the coin is the bad stuff, right? She's one great cop, so cool, SO in control." Diane was angry now.

She slammed her hand on the floor.

"Dammit, I'm tired of shutting down everytime I start to feel something, but it's like I'm on automatic pilot! I don't want to lose another friend without having ever really known them. I don't want to be afraid of needing you because I lost Bobby."

"I've been trying to make some changes of habit, as well," he said clearing his throat.

"I know you have. If I weren't sober too, I'd just get drunk try to sound philosophical. But Katherine said that everything that's happened this past year has been for a reason; that it's leading me to something greater, and well,  I think she's right. I want to live and REALLY feel and find out what it is."

"How, Diane? How are you going to do that?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "But there's just no getting around the fact that you, Harry Denby, are part of it."

He loved finally being a part of something, even if he didn't know what it was. Harry now had a mission, and he would stick to it whatever it took. But at  the moment, there was a gorgeous woman beside him who had given him a precious jewel, her trust.

And he felt like a king.

*

Harry had meant to simply retrieve a blanket from the bedroom so they could snuggle by the fire. He didn't know how or when to touch Diane again after what she said, and he thought if he could just hold her and keep her warm that would be enough. In the darkness, he pulled the softest of his wool blankets from the cedar chest in the corner.

Then she appeared.

She was framed in the light of the doorway, walking toward him, silent as mist. As she came, he dropped the blanket and wrapped his arms around her, nearly lifting her off of the floor. He felt her pulse quicken as he kissed her neck, and as he returned to her mouth he asked, "What do you want, Diane?"

She held onto him desperately, clinging to his shirt as if she were about to drown. "I want...." she whispered as she kissed him, "I want... I need you to..."  Her words wouldn't come and she clung to him with her head to his chest.

Harry backed her to the edge of the bed and sat her down, giving her a very long, slow, deep kiss. Then he knelt in front of her with his hands wrapped around her waist. She slid her hands up into his hair and pulled him closer, "I want you to...." she hesitated again, struggling to speak.

"Shhhh, Diane," he said quietly, letting his lips drift across her eyelids. Taking her hands in his own, he brought them across his mouth and down the sides of face  "Show me."

End