Chapter Text
Strike limped heavily,the street lights causing his body to cast a long shadow across the pavement.The evening was drawing in fast now.The winter months making the atmosphere crisp and cool as the distinct acrid smell of bonfires permeated the air.
The burning, aching pain in Strike’s stump felt like hell, exacerbating his already fragile mood which bordered on uncivil. His large frame, awkward gait and furrowed brow had sent the other commuters exiting the train at Clapham Junction scurrying to avoid the surly detective who radiated aggravation and frustration.
Strike sighed heavily. It had been a very long week.Most of which had been spent on tireless surveillance. Trudging round East London streets following their latest seemingly peripatetic mark ‘Grease Ball’ (on account of his slicked back hair and simpering persona).
His stump felt like it was on fire. Though this alone was not the only reason for Strike’s black mood. His lack of presence in the office, and the other cases currently being covered meant he had barely seen Robin all week. She had been working undercover at a bar, along with Barclay investigating a local gang. Her surveillance meaning sporadic hours and late nights.
Strike tried not to analyse to deeply why Robin’s absence was having such a profound affect on him. He had reasoned she was his best friend and it was entirely acceptable to miss her. But the yearning to see her, hear her voice and be in her soothing presence if only for a few minutes had burnt deep inside him for days now. Feeling like an almost painful ache in his heart.
Fucking idiot!
Strike’s feelings towards Robin had become so jumbled lately he wasn’t really sure how he felt about her anymore. His confusion on the subject kept him awake for long hours at night. Tossing and turning in his large double bed as he agonised in his attempt to rationalise and compartmentalise his emotions regarding his beautiful partner.
Logic seemed frustratingly absent when it came to thoughts of Robin Ellacott.
The self imposed boundaries Strike had put in place early on in their acquaintance had certainly been completely obliterated.That was one thing Cormoran thought he could at least be very bloody sure of!
They were friends, and with that came a closeness and bond Strike had never sought. A connection he had never wanted to feel again, and had in fact deliberately avoided with Robin in the early days of their acquaintance. His younger self sensing the danger she posed to his equilibrium.
It was with some sense of frustrated satisfaction that Strike recognised just how right he had been. Robin had crashed into his life, literally and metaphorically throwing him off balance ever since.
Robin with her kindness, sharp intelligence, shared enthusiasm and aptitude for the job. Robin who could be gentle one moment but also possessed for want of a better word a ‘ballsy’ attitude. Robin who had unwittingly obliterated piece by tiny piece his determination to keep her safely at arms length.
Strike couldn’t help but laugh at himself. He realised he had never stood a chance really against the force of nature that was Robin Ellacott.
It had only been recently however that Strike had finally begun to begrudgingly admit that his feelings and errant thoughts had gone beyond the parameters of what a friendship should allow.
If he were just Robin’s friend he shouldn’t long to touch her … all the fucking time.
If he were just Robin’s friend he shouldn’t feel his heart miss a beat just from the mere sight of her.
Strike also acknowledged he shouldn’t like a complete and utter tit want to do anything to make Robin happy. The thought of which made Cormoran reminisce how Robin’s beautiful smile radiated warmth and made his heart ache for her presence all the more.
As if that wasn’t enough.A best friend, (Strike grimaced silently to himself), absolutely shouldn’t have dreams like the one he had about Robin last night! A dream which found him waking up sweating and in a state of painful arousal. Leading him to feel thoroughly disgusted with himself all day.
For fucksake. He had to get a grip and fast.
Strike felt a fresh surge of anger with himself as he made his way along the quite suburban streets. He only had himself to blame for his current mixed feelings towards Robin.
That night he had taken Robin to the Ritz to celebrate her birthday, had well and truly opened the door to his growing feelings for her. The evening that had felt so like a date, yet hadn’t been a date had jumbled his emotions beyond his usual ability to be detached, logical and rational.
That night had frequented Strike’s thoughts every day since. Any quiet moment he had leading his mind to slip back to that evening as he raked over every detail. Wanting to permanently burn every tiny minute part of it into his mind lest he forget anything.
Without effort Strike could easily recall the soft lighting and how it made Robin’s hair glow like spun copper-gold. Her fresh soft pale skin blushing prettily as they laughed and teased one another. The scent of the new perfume he had bought her evading his senses. The fact she was wearing it making Strike feel oddly proprietorial as though he had somehow laid claim to Robin and branded her as his own.
A caveman like notion that made Strike furious with himself!
Then of course there had been the end of the evening when he had insisted on escorting Robin home. They had stood at her door simply looking at one another for a long moment. To Strike it felt as though they were both seeing each other clearly for the first time.
In that moment Cormoran had felt as though his life would never be the same again. He had placed his hand tentatively on Robin’s waist lent down and brushed his lips against the apple of her cheek. Before pulling back and hastily retreating to the safety of the waiting cab, his heart thundering violently in his chest.
Strike had replayed that moment over and over in his mind in the weeks that had followed. How her soft skin had felt against his lips. The way her breath had hitched at his closeness to her. The gorgeous curve of her waist against his large hand. The soft fabric of her dress gliding sensuously against his rough palm as he pulled away.
Strike had mentally kicked himself up the arse so many times since that chaste kiss goodnight. Angry at himself for not being brave enough to let his lips drift to hers. Longing to know what Robin’s mouth would have felt like against his own. Craving the knowledge of how she would have responded to him.
Would Robin even have wanted him to kiss her?
The agony and uncertainty of the question Strike felt sure was slowly making him go insane.
However, when moments of agonised self doubt crept in Strike felt conversely annoyed with himself for kissing Robin at all. He was certain that the moment had single handedly caused his current tirade of confused thoughts and feelings towards his friend and partner.
Strike sighed heavily. This evening he knew would not help the situation or his mood. He was heading over to Nick and Ilsa’s for their customary Friday curry night.
Robin of course would also be there.
This filled Strike with joy and trepidation in equal measure. If he was seeing Robin alone he would be elated. Their only real communication this week had been through text messages. Most of which had been centred around their current cases. This limited communication Strike knew had made her absence feel even harder.
Cormoran longed to just simply sit and chat with Robin. He had never had such an enjoyable relationship with a woman before. There were no expectations with Robin. No hidden agenda, subtle manipulation or passive aggressive behaviour. The like of which had formed the majority of his relationships with women in the past.
Robin simply accepted him for who he was. Never sought to change him but conversely called him out on his bullshit when he was behaving like a prick! Which Strike respected and found oddly very arresting.
Strike loved the easy banter and camaraderie he shared with Robin. The fast lively exchanges where they parried comments full of intelligence, wit and good humour. Cormoran also loved it when they exchanged amusing stories about their pasts. Something he had found increasingly easy to do with Robin despite his usual reticence to share anything about himself with others.
Past experience had taught Strike the hard lesson that being open and unguarded left you vulnerable. Charlotte had been the master at using any perceived weaknesses’s she gathered from the things he had related to her. Using his past insecurities as ammunition to hurl at him viciously during the ugliest of their rows. His indiscretion allowing Charlotte to hurt and maim him to maximum affect. The emotional scars of which he still bore.
But with Robin it was different. Gradually as he got to know her Strike found himself unfurling and allowing her actually see him. The real him. Which to his delight had not horrified her or turned her away. Instead it had cemented their friendship further by allowing a deeper understanding to exist between them.
They often sat laughing about silly inconsequential things that amused them both. Sometimes he shared memories, thoughts and feelings he had never shared with another living soul. Painful recollections that Robin just listened to quietly, accepting without judgment.
Nobody had ever made him feel the way Robin did. That he was not broken, damaged or to be pitied.
Robin truly was the best person Strike had ever known. To work with her and have the honour of calling her his best friend was a privilege. Her gentle presence acted like a soothing balm against his natural disposition, which leaned towards the taciturn and surly. She had unwittingly started to help him heal.
However tonight Strike knew he would not be able to fully relax or enjoy Robin’s company. The beady eyes of Ilsa Herbert would be watching his every move. Regarding every small interaction between himself and Robin with her sharp bright eyes. Making small comments, and smiling quietly to herself with almost smug paternal affection every time he spoke to Robin.
Strike knew he could ignore Ilsa’s obvious unsubtle attempts at match making. He had been subjected to her well meant meddling for years. He loved his friend dearly and knew she only wanted what was best for him.
But what Strike couldn’t bear to see was Robin’s clear embarrassment at Ilsa’s poorly disguised attempts to throw them together in whatever way she could.It had almost grown unbelievably painful and had the reverse affect to the one Ilsa intended.
Ilsa’s meddling had instead drawn into sharp focus the reasons why nothing could ever happen between them. Regardless of how he might feel.
Robin’s obvious discomfort at Ilsa’s matchmaking attempts had made it abundantly clear. Strike’s logical brain rationalising and concluding that beautiful, gorgeous, kind and clever Robin would never be attracted to a fat, old, fucked up cripple like him. The image of classically handsome Matthew looming like a spectre in Strike’s tired mind. A reminder of just how far removed he was from what Robin deemed attractive.
With this last thought in mind Strike finally reached the Herbert’s front door. All his thoughts of Robin making him forget another reason for his ill humour tonight.
Strike had no doubt a conversation about his upcoming fortieth birthday would be inevitable tonight. A conversation he had been trying to avoid with Ilsa for weeks. Strike’s present mood making him wish people would just leave him the fuck alone. He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. He’d rather ignore it and let it pass quietly unnoticed.
Strike sighed heavily and wrapped his knuckles harder against the glass pane than he intended. There was a brief pause and he heard in the distance the sound of Ilsa’s voice and the blurred obscured impression of her through the opaque glass as she made her way down the hall to let him in.
Within moments the door was flung open to reveal Ilsa. His annoyance with her moments before evaporating at her obvious delight at seeing him.
“Hello Corm.” Ilsa smiled brightly ushering him in and wrapping her arms around him as best she could. Ilsa was petite and barely came up to his chest!
“Robin’s here already and you’re late as usual.” Ilsa chastised whilst laughing as she took his coat hanging it on the banister before leading the way into the comfortable sitting room.
As Strike followed behind Ilsa his eyes automatically swept the room until they landed upon what he had been looking for.
Robin.
It had been over a week since he’d seen her and his heart gave an involuntary jolt. His eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of her sat on the Herbert’s sofa holding a glass of white wine. His breath almost audibly caught at the sight of her.
She was breathtakingly gorgeous.
Robin’s hair was falling about her face in silky waves. Her face looked soft and fresh, her creamy skin slightly flushed. She was only wearing the slightest touch of makeup which accentuated her beautiful full pink lips. Her eyes which were looking directly at him were warm and soft and resembled the Cornish sea on an autumn day.
“Hello stranger.” Robin said softly her smile lighting up her face with her obvious delight at seeing him.
Cormoran stood stock still rooted to the spot drinking in the sight of her. Seeing Robin after missing her so fiercely felt like looking through a magnifying glass and viewing something clearly for the first time.
These past few weeks spent in a state of agonised confusion over his feelings for the woman before him was suddenly thrown sharply into focus.
In that single moment all logic and rational flew out of the window. With overwhelming crystalline clarity Cormoran Strike knew he was completely, totally and utterly in love with Robin Ellacott.
… and as a result completely, totally and utterly fucked!