Work Text:
From Lethal White:
Slightly self-conscious in her clinging green dress and heels, Robin attracted a considerable number of appreciative glances from male passersby as she climbed out of her taxi at the entrance to the Department for Culture, Media and Sport. […] Robin squeezed backwards, half-sitting in Izzy’s lap to accommodate Strike as he clambered into the back seat.
[…] Strike pushed open the door, clambered out of the car, then turned and reached back inside to assist Robin. She accepted the offer of help. Her left leg was almost completely numb from where he’d sat on her.
[…] “OK,” said Robin. “The back of your head’s bleeding, by the way.”
Strike dabbed at it ineffectually with the tissues he had pocketed and began to limp up the steps beside Robin.
“We shouldn’t be seen together any more tonight,” he told her, as they passed over the threshold into a blaze of ochre, scarlet and gold. […] But as she moved away from him, towards the grand staircase, he called after her:
“Nice dress, by the way.”
Robin had been disappointed when “the reveal” of her green dress had been cut short by the phone call from Hutchins. She had been nervously anticipating the look on Strike’s face when she emerged from the bathroom wearing the present he had given her after their first case together. Reminding herself that it didn’t matter anyway, that she had no reason to be trying to impress him, she tried to turn her attention back to the job, to compartmentalize her thoughts and feelings the way Strike was able to.
She was quite taken aback then, when he had appeared suddenly in the crowd and before she knew it, was practically sitting on her lap in the backseat of the car. Despite the fact that she had been in considerable pain underneath his heavy weight, she relished being pressed against him. Her mind had wandered, imagining what it would feel like to have his skin pressed against hers. It hadn’t helped that he was whispering in her ear, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh.
He still hadn’t really looked at her in the dress. Granted, he hadn’t really had the chance, given the stress of the eventful evening. Robin wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she was certain she had no right to expect anything. But still, she had hoped for some acknowledgement that she was wearing his present.
His gifts to her since, such as they were, had been extremely lacking, leaving Robin to wonder just what exactly had been his motivation in buying her such a ridiculously expensive gift. Even more baffling was the fact that the most expensive and treasured present had come when they barely knew each other. As their friendship grew, the quality of, and indeed presence of, gifts had waned significantly.
Though she tried not to dwell on these facts, they kept resurfacing in her mind. It had also come to her attention that their friendship had also waned. Robin tried not to connect the cause of the distance between them, but she was a detective, observant and intelligent. It had not escaped her notice that her friendship with Strike had grown cold the moment she returned from her honeymoon and he had seen the ring on her finger.
Every time she remembered the look on his face, she was filled with longing, remorse, and guilt; longing for what she could have had; remorse for staying with her increasingly dissatisfying marriage, and for the pain it had apparently caused her partner; guilt for feeling longing or remorse, or anything to do with Strike outside of professional circumstances for that matter, when she had a husband at home.
Guilt was her predominant feeling of the night, being that she had quite enjoyed having Strike pressed against her. She hated how she thrilled at his touch when he helped her out of the car. She hated the disappointment she felt when he said they shouldn’t be seen together. And when he finally commented on her dress, she hated the brevity of it, which caused her to hate to the fact that she was disappointed in his compliment. What had she been expecting? You look gorgeous tonight? Let’s go back to mine? Shouldn’t she be thrilled that he had acknowledged her wearing of the dress? Shouldn’t she be pleased that he had said she looked nice?
And she was pleased, she really was, which of course brought the guilt crashing back down on her. The first time he ever comments on her appearance, and she analyzes it to death instead of accepting it and moving on. But, he hadn’t actually said she looked nice, had he? What he had said was, “nice dress,” which only reminded Robin that she had a husband at home and Strike had a girlfriend.
Worst of all, she hated the jealousy she felt when she saw Strike talking to Charlotte. Robin had tried to convince herself that all she had ever felt for her partner was friendship, and perhaps a crush borne out of satisfaction with the job she had always dreamed of doing.
But as she watched him in the crowd of smartly dressed men and women, his head bleeding slightly, she was forcibly reminded of her wedding day. He had been wearing the same suit then, and had been similarly rough looking. Her mind wandered to the hug they shared, indelibly etched in her memory. As she thought of his strong arms around her, she felt a swooping sensation in her stomach. She remembered his smell, his breath tickling her skin, his stubble rough against her cheek.
Another memory surfaced, of his lips accidently pressing against hers.
She watched him talking with Charlotte, and jealousy flared anew. There was a woman who knew the press of his kiss, better than Robin ever would. There was a woman who knew the strength and feel of his arms; a woman who knew the touch of his skin and, Robin chastised herself for thinking it, the warmth of his bed.
As Robin watched them leave the reception together, she wondered if there would ever be an end to this pain, to watching the man she felt more than a crush for dancing just out of her reach. She wondered if she would ever forget that she could have known the taste of his kiss, the strength of his embrace, and the warmth of his skin if only she continued down the stairs with him at her wedding instead of back up to her husband.
What if it never gets better?
What if this lasts forever?
I’m tryin’, but then I close my eyes
And then I’m right back, lost in that last goodbye
And what if time doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do?
What if I never get over you?
What if I gave you everything I got?
What if your love was my one and only shot?
What if I end up with nothing to compare it to?
What if never get over you?