Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mazu was standing right in front of her, those strange lopsided eyes fixed on hers. Robin, or rather, Rowena, knew what she was expected to do, and she also knew she had to resist, if she was going to ever leave the place with some dignity left. But Mazu wasn’t blinking and her hands had pulled up her tunic a little. 

Disgusted by the body odour but especially disgusted with herself, Robin kneeled in front of the woman and her lips touched those feet. But this time, instead of being allowed to stand up she felt Mazu’s weight on her, pushing her into that black freezing pool, and Robin was sinking, lower and lower, his lungs feeling with cold water and her brain void of anything but sheer panic.

With a gasp she sits up, panting, looking around the unknown bedroom.

Strike opens his eyes and he is wide awake, sitting up right next to her. She keeps on breathing laboriously and he can see scared eyes taking in their surroundings. 

“‘S ok, ‘s ok,” he says, even though he knows it’s not. Carefully he puts a hand on her back and he’s relieved she doesn’t flinch. As he traces slow circles he can’t help but feel how thin she is now, how her spine is visible through his t-shirt.

Robin’s breaths are a little calmer, and she finally looks at him.

“I thought I was still there.”

He knows what she means. Exhausted as she was, she is still terrified and not really convinced she is not a Chapman Farm anymore.

“You’re safe now.”

“I’m with you,” she says simply, and just as she did in the car earlier, she hugs him and he tries his best to convey all the safety in the world through his embrace. She doesn’t move for a while, but her breathing gets even little by little.

“Sorry…” she says. She’s repeating that a lot and he knows that’s not a good sign.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says. 

“I woke you up…” Robin finally lets go and he’s sorry that she’s no longer in her arms.

“Nonsense.”

She takes a deep breath that sounds like a sob and it all but makes his heart hurt.

Slowly, he cups her cheek and wipes a lonely tear with his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?” Maybe he was mistaken before, and talking is the thing she needs.

“Not really… I think… I think I can go back to sleep now.”

“You sure?”

She nods, and lowers her body, her head resting on the pillows again. He mirrors her, careful to leave some space between his body and hers, even though it feels wrong.

“Thanks,” she mutters.

“Literally nothing to thank me for.”

“Still…” she trails off. 

He remains silent, wide awake in case she needs him again. But after a moment her breathing becomes deep and he knows she’s asleep again. He tries to do the same but he can’t now. Robin’s recount of the past months replays inside his head, in vicious mental images. 

A daily life of scarcity and meaningless rites. She, being required to have sex with the members of the cult and making all human efforts to avoid it. Her weekly efforts to reach for him and leave him a note. And then… she mentioned Waze had touched her, almost as a passing comment, and it didn’t escape Strike she didn’t mention where. That particular piece of information makes his blood boil and it takes all his self control not to get the car and storm into Chapman Farm to beat the daylights out of that so-called leader.

He turns to his side and looks at her. She is sleeping all right, and he hopes this time she doesn’t relive any of that.

At some point he finally drifts off to sleep, his last conscious thought being that whatever it would take, he’ll make the UHC pay.

Strike wakes up suddenly. Robin is no longer lying next to him and for an instant he panics.

From the window where she’s standing, she notices the sudden movement.

“Over here,” she says.

He sits up, “fuck, Robin! I thought it was all a dream and you were still there." He rubs his face with both hands. "And like a sodden idiot I’d overslept and missed your window.”

She walks to the bed and sits next to him. “I’m here.”

Feeling bold, she takes his hand as she did when they first fell asleep. He squeezes her fingers and the simple gesture makes her feel a warm wave of comfort.

"You shouldn't have gone there," he starts, but she knows he needs to abandon that train of thought.

"I had to. It was horrible in so many ways, but I had to. And now we're going to take them down."

"That we will."

She smiles and for a moment considers letting go of his hand and trying to get back to sleep but he is still holding her fingers and she doesn't know when would that happen again.

"How did you know I would be there?" He asks.

"Huh?"

"You said you knew I'd be there tonight. How? What if I didn't…?"

She freezes. The same horrifying thought had occurred to her too. If he hadn't been there tonight, being back inside the box would be a relief compared to much worse things that they could've done to her.

"But you did," she says, trying for her voice to sound strong. "And I knew you would. I'd missed the day I was supposed to be there… I just knew that would drive you nuts. And I knew… or rather hoped that you wouldn't send anybody else. I mean… I would've loved to see Midge, or Barclay, or almost anybody, really, but I wanted it to be you.”

She is ashamed that her voice broke at the end and without knowing how, he’s hugging her again, his solid frame comforting and just the thing she needed.

“You’re right,” he mutters near her ear. “It was driving me nuts. If you hadn’t shown up tonight, I would’ve gotten in with or without the police, and trust me, I would’ve gotten you out.”

She knows it wouldn’t have been that straightforward but she also suspects he needs to believe it so she doesn’t say anything. 

Suddenly she’s aware of his proximity in a whole different way. Her hands feel muscles, and her nose fills with a scent that’s just his, and it’s no longer just reassuring but also enticing in a way she’s never felt with anybody else.

“You kept me sane while I was there,” she says, and she knows this will be one of the most honest things she’s ever told him about her feelings. 

But she has been tortured inside a box, and almost sure she would be raped for the second time in her life, and probably killed, and she’s just tired of having to hide what she feels. If part of her brain nudges her and tells her this won’t be fair to Ryan, she chooses to ignore it. After all, he wasn’t there to rescue her the way Strike was.

“How?” her partner is not hugging her anymore, but his hands are holding hers and his eyes are looking at her, almost without blinking.

“I’d think about you, all the time. Even had mental conversations with you, imagining what you’d say when things became too absurd. You’d explain the tricks to me, or tell me how they were using this or that psychological technique, or you would even laugh at how absurd the chantings were…”

He rubbed his knuckles. “I don’t think I could laugh… not now that I know…”

“You would. Or scorn, at least,” she chuckles. “And then there were your letters… and the chocolate. That was brilliant.”

He smiled ruefully. “Would’ve left a stake if I could’ve.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I know it doesn’t compare to what you went through, but those four months? The worst of my life.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right! Just ask Pat when you get back. I messed it up, more than once mind you… and everything seemed to be so damn complicated and, and boring. And then at the end of the day I would find myself unable to talk to anybody. It’s really stupid, I know, nobody was threatening me the way you were being threatened. Still, trust me, I’m lousy without you there Ellacott.”

She smiles, knowing that he is talking about the agency but wishing he means something else as well.

There is just one way to know, she thinks, and she’s tired of being scared of things that shouldn’t be this scary to begin with. 

Slowly, she leans forward, to place a kiss right in the corner of his lips. 

He looks puzzled for a second, and then he cups her cheek and smiles. It’s the first real smile she has seen from him since before going to the farm, and if that’s all she’ll get, it’ll be alright. 

But that’s not it.

Slowly, he’s the one leaning forward now, and she closes her eyes just before she feels his lips on hers, soft and careful. Robin deepens the kiss, and her hands move up his arms to bring his body close to hers again. 

“I missed you so much,” he mutters against her lips.

She can’t speak, or won’t, because this kiss might mean nothing but it’s the best thing she’s had in a very long time. Much longer than the time spent at Chapman Farm, that’s for sure. And she knows that’s a very bad thing to think, considering that she’s supposed to be in a steady relationship, but she has to admit she always knew she and Ryan were never meant to be.

Strike pulls back a little and leans his forehead against hers.

“Are you ok?”

“I am now.”

“Good.”

He pulls her to lay on the pillows again but this time he’s hugging her and she’s leaning on his chest. She knows she won’t let go and strongly suspects he won’t either. 

“Try to get some rest,” he mutters against her temple.

She looks up at him and he kisses her again, softly.

Finally she feels as if he could relax, and sighs in content. Tomorrow there will be a hell of things to make right, between trying to get back to her old life, talking to the police and ending things with Ryan… and maybe one of the things she, they would have to figure out what this will mean for them. But she is ready for it all. She knows that now.

Chapter Text

Unable to fall asleep again, Strike looks at the ceiling, and then at the corners of the four post bed, and then at the ceiling again. A part of him has to admit he is perfectly content, but another part of him, the one that seems to be getting louder by the minute, is sure he has crossed a boundary he shouldn't have, and in the worst moment possible.

He would have gotten out of bed, quietly, if only to sit on the chair and think, but he can’t. Robin is sleeping, with even breaths and a relaxed expression he has almost never seen. Not even on the rare occasion she has fallen asleep at work and he has indulged in watching her for a minute of two. It would take a truly terrible person to wake her up, when she is finally having some real rest after so many months.

Also, it would be impossible for him to get out of bed because she is sleeping on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt in a loose fist.

He doesn’t know what woke him up. Maybe she stirred a bit. Maybe it was her scent, now filling his nostrils with a mix of hotel shampoo and something that is just hers. Whatever it was, the sunlight is starting to filter through the room’s windows and he knows he won’t be able to sleep again.

Not with the turmoil inside his brain. Not with the guilt, that is growing larger and heavier.

Last night, he took advantage of her, of her vulnerability, of her need for human connection. And like an idiot, he said and did too much. 

Still, there was something marvellous about it all. He closes his eyes and imagines the flavour of her lips still on his, and for a moment he wishes for her to keep on peacefully sleeping so that he can pretend that this is them, and she would wake up and kiss his stubble, and they would make plans for the day.

As if they weren’t so scarred. As if she wasn’t somebody else’s.

The first thing Robin is conscious of is his scent all around her, and for a moment she just breathes in, eyes shut, relieving that long night. It seems impossible that just the previous morning she would have woken up at the crack of dawn in her hard bed at Chapman Farm.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. She’s still leaning on Strike’s shoulder, and he seems fast asleep. A new flow of memories, fresh, and beautiful, seems to warm her from the inside. His hand in hers. His telling her he missed her. His lips.

How much of that was missing a business partner, and how much was missing her, Robin?

Maybe it was just him being worried to see her thin, and hurt, and almost hysterical. Maybe he didn’t know how to make it better, and trying to comfort her, the kiss happened and today it would be a mistake.

After all, he is dating somebody, and she is too. 

For a moment she tries to imagine Ryan Murphy. She tries to recall how it feels to wake up beside him, and if his hand on her shoulder is as warm as Strike’s. She can’t. She remembers his face, and his voice, and even some of the things he wrote in the letters she found on the fake stone, but it’s like remembering a dream. Or something so old the details are blurred.

Unable to stop herself, she breathes deeply and Strike’s presence fills her again. 

She can’t remember why she agreed to go out with Ryan in the first place. Of course, she wanted to forget Strike, to stop waiting for him, to start to make a living of her own, but all those reasons somehow seem just feeble. A rationale that really made no sense.

It’s her partner she wants to be with. As clear as that. And just waiting for things to happen has stopped making sense.

With another deep breath she stirs, realising she was holding a fistful of his shirt. She moves her hand, her palm now flat on his chest. Strike opens his eyes and sighs, looking up. Robin tries to make out what kind of sigh that is, but there is nothing to help her.

“Morning,” she mutters.

“Morning,” he says, and his hand is no longer on her shoulder.

Taken aback, Robin moves to her side. Maybe he needs to stretch, or get up to use the loo.

As if he reads his thoughts, he stands up, and using one of the posts as support, he jumps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, without so much as a look at her. 

He was an idiot, it is clear now. Probably thinking he was Murphy, or just out of feeling hurt or vulnerable she hugged him, but now she realised her mistake. She took her distance, and that is probably for the best.

He should’ve stopped her, them, the night before. How, he is not sure, because it’s clear she needs comfort. But he shouldn’t have kissed her, or allowed her to wake up like this.

Maybe he can take some time getting ready so she can compose herself, and they can go back to pretend last night never happened. He is sure he will never talk about it, even if now it’s one of his more precious memories. 

When he finally exits the bathroom, Robin is still on the bed, her back leaning on the headboard. She looks at him and he tries for a small smile that feels like a grimace.

“D’you wanna have breakfast here before heading back to London?”

She cocks her head to the side, almost as if she hasn’t heard him. 

“Yeah,” she says slowly.

“Alright.”

Feeling uncomfortably watched, he jumps his way to the chair and gets his prosthesis. It has never been something to feel weird about in front of Robin, but now that her eyes are fixed on him, he feels strange. Inadequate.

“You know,” she finally says, as he’s finishing strapping the contraption. “When I was at the Farm… there are some things so awful I thought I was never going to tell you. When they were happening, I mean.”

He looks at her. She’s not looking at him anymore, but at her legs, covered in bruises and scars.

“You can tell me anything,” he says.

“Can I?” she seems to ask herself.

He thinks for a moment. Maybe there are things he doesn’t want to hear. He convinced himself just a moment ago that he’d rather not speak about the night before. Hypocrite.

“Point is,” Robin takes a deep breath. She can feel the box hard on her knees. She remembers the salt of her own tears, the exhaustion, the smell. “I can’t believe I went through all that and I can be such a coward now…”

“You’re not a cowa-”

“But I am. I’ve been for so long.” She looks at him again. “You’re not much help either.”

Strike looks puzzled, and she knows she’s not making much sense but old habits die hard and not speaking about her feelings has become something of a second nature to her.

But she thinks about the box, and the certainty she had of her own death in that dreadful pool. And how back then her thoughts went to Strike, as they always do.

“Last night was a lot,” she speaks again. “And maybe this will make for the most awkward car ride of our lives, but you know… I know what fear is. And this shouldn’t be it.”

“You don’t need to fear anymore. You’re safe,” he says gruffly, finally approaching the bed. “We took you out. It’s gonna be alright.”

“It’s not them I’m afraid of,” she says, as he takes a seat in the corner furthest from her. “It’s us.”

“Us?” blood seems to freeze in his veins. He literally has no idea of where she is going with this conversation but he can see there is something deeply different in Robin. Something that has nothing to do with weight loss or scars. 

“Yeah us. You, me…” she takes a deep breath. “Did you mean it last night when you said you missed me?”

“That’s a stupid question, of course I meant it.”

“You missed me how?”

“The agency is not the same without you. I can’t do it on my own, obviously.”

“Yeah, the agency,” she says. “Just that?”

Finally it hits him. They are having the conversation that could put an end to everything. But he remembers her lips, and her hand in his, and maybe, maybe she didn’t miss Murphy as much as she missed him.

“So you know,” she speaks again before he can make up his mind on what to say. “I missed you. Not my business partner, or my job, or that ugly couch in the office. I missed you, Cormoran, and that was even before knowing that you could kiss like you did last night, and that you could hold me and make everything alright.”

He stares at her, convinced that his heart might very well explode for beating so fast.

“I’ve been through hell and back, and I’m tired of feeling that the thing that scares me the most is not being at the mercy of a crazy sect, but telling you the truth. And the truth is-”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurts out. “Been for a long time.”

She blinks, not sure if she heard his actual voice or just something she imagined.

“What?”

“You’re right. Makes no sense to be this afraid. And I am, but it’s ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“Yeah.” 

She watches as he stands up and slowly walks around the bed. Now he sits right next to her, looking sheepish. “I thought you’d think last night was a mistake,” he says.

“You could’ve asked.”

“Was it?”

She shakes her head and takes his hand in hers.

“No,” she adds. “No mistake.”

Silently, he pulls her hand and places a kiss on her knuckles.

“Come here,” he says, and just as she did the night before, she leans on his chest as his arms encircle her. But this time she’s not looking for safety, at least not as she did the night before, and she strongly suspects he feels it differently too, as his hands go up her back and one buries in her hair. 

“To be clear, you’re the opposite of a coward,” he mutters.

She looks up and this time she sees the intensity in his gaze. His hand moves to cup her cheek, and he kisses her. 

Last night there was something tender and sweet in being held by him. It was reassuring, and warm, and solid, but also something else that started awakening other feelings. Now they seem to completely occupy every centimetre of her body. As his lips press and pull hers, as she feels his mouth open and hers responding in turn, there is heat and a wonderful feeling of discovery she wants to follow. But this is not the time. At least not yet.

As gently as possible, Robin pulls back. Strike’s smile reaches his eyes and she can’t help raising a hand and caressing his cheek. 

“Breakfast?” he whispers and there is something in his hoarse voice that has nothing to do with food.

But she has to be sensible, at least for now. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Robin looks at the menu. It’s not ambitious, but those five breakfast options are almost impossible to believe.

It feels as if her entire life has always been the constraints of Chapman Farm and now, the whole concept of being free to choose is unfamiliar. Almost indecent.

“What about eggs and sausage?” Strike suggests in a casual tone that could fool plenty of people but not her. She looks up from the menu in time to see his sharp eyes fixed on her.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “And… and coffee?”

“Absolutely. Coffee.”

He gives the order to the waitress and looks at her again. Her eyes jump around from one thing to the next, almost as if she’d never seen a restaurant before.

“I just need to get used to it again, that’s all.” She mutters and he can’t tell if he’s supposed to react to that. “Getting rid of this tracksuit will help.”

Back at the room he realised he should’ve brought fresh clothes but she just gave him a peck on the cheek and said it wasn’t a big deal to wear the Farm’s clothes one last time. Apparently it was.

“Would throwing them in the bin be enough? Or are you thinking of a ceremonial fire?”

She chuckles, “I don’t think I want any more ceremonial things in my life.”

“Got it.”

The waitress comes back with their coffees and she takes a moment to enjoy the cup, the warmth, the scent. Her eyes closed for a moment, she sighs. “This really gives you perspective.”

Strike smiles but he’s still worried. He knows she will need some time, but still, every casual gesture, every smile makes him think about the things that made her so aware of her surroundings now.  

As their eggs arrive, an unpleasant thought nags at his brain. He knows what the right thing to say is, but he doesn’t want to.

“I have to let Murphy and your Mum know you’re safe.”

Robin looks at him for a moment and then shakes her head.

“It should be me. But not just yet. Let’s… let’s just have breakfast first.”

“Right,” he said, not sure if he really wants to be there when she talks to them.

For the rest of their breakfast nobody speaks any further. Robin thinks she could eat it all in a second, hungry as she is and delicious as eggs taste, but then she realises she can hardly go pass three bites.

Without giving it any importance, Strike asks the waitress to pack the rest of it to go.

As they leave the hotel's restaurant, he holds her hand and she feels her pulse race… more than anything she wants to explore this new development but there is something she needs to do first.

"Can I borrow your phone?"

He hands it to her without asking and Robin takes some steps in the direction of the parking lot. Strike doesn't follow her and she's glad. She doesn't want to be overheard.

"Hey, what's new?" Ryan's voice is neutral, probably thinking it's Strike the person he's going to talk to.

"Hi, Ryan."

"Robin! God, you're out! Are you alright? When did you-?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm alright. I left last night." Cormoran rescued me, she thinks, but there is no need for Ryan to hear her say it. "I wanted to let you know-"

"Thanks for calling. I was starting to get worried."

"Yeah…" Robin wonders how much did he really know about her situation. In her letters to him she never wrote much details and somehow she doubts Strike would have shared a lot. 

Ryan is still talking, about him being abroad and about coming home as soon as possible. "... then we can start making up for the time lost-"

"Ryan," she interrupts him. "I need you to know…"

"What?"

"Being away for this long made me think." She takes a deep breath and imagines him, phone on his ear, wondering what this is about. Breaking up over the phone is bad, she knows that, but she also knows this can't wait. "And I… I think we shouldn't see each other anymore."

It sounds lame to her ears and for a moment Ryan remains silent.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I'm going to need some time to myself." She cringes at the lie. "But it’s not just that. I really… I've thought about things… us… and I don't want the things you want. I don't like you the way you-"

"It's just PTSD, I've seen it many times. You'll be fine and then we can start planning…" She listens to his voice without really taking the meaning of what he's saying. Maybe he's right. Maybe she does have or will have PTSD, but that doesn't change the fact that it was Cormoran the person she thought about the most while being undercover. It is Cormoran who she thinks about now and, to top it up with the most amazing thing, he seems to feel the same way about her.

"Robin?" He has been silent for a moment and she doesn't know if she's supposed to answer something.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you this in person. It's not fair. But I didn't want you to come back thinking… It's just-"

"So, you're sure about this."

"I am, yeah."

He sighs. "What about we have a coffee when I get back to London and we can talk."

"We can do that but it won't change my mind."

"Give it time," he said and for a moment Robin wants to groan at the fact that Ryan seems to be under the impression that he knows better than she does what she needs.

"I'll go pick up my things at your flat."

"I'll let you know when I get back."

"Won't change a thing. Bye, Ryan."

"Bye Robin. I-"

But she cut the call before he could say anything else.

Feeling awkward at how quickly she let off his hand to ask for his phone, and then guessing who she was going to talk to, Strike walked to the room, wondering about Murphy's persuasion abilities and hoping he has none.

She enters the room after a while and he looks up, trying to read in her face how it went.

"So, that was rubbish," she said conversationally.

Robin gives him the phone and her hand lingers on his for a moment.

"What was rubbish?" He can't help but ask. 

"Ryan thinks I have PTSD."

"Well… even though you refuse to tell me everything-"

"I don't. It's not-"

"I'm sure you've been through pretty shitty stuff," he continues.

"Yeah… but I don't want people to get condescending."

Her eyes are bright and fixed on him. 

"Is that a warning?" He says trying to feel less uncomfortable.

"Were you thinking about being condescending?"

"No… I was thinking about you and Murphy."

"There is no me and Murphy anymore."

Strike smiles to one side, feeling relief washing over him. "That's good to know."

"But he thinks it's because I have PTSD and I'll be back to normal soon enough."

"Will you?"

"If normal means pretending I'm in love with him while trying to ignore my feelings for you, then no. I'm not going back to normal."

He is a little taken aback about this burst of honesty. She said much more the night before, and even earlier before breakfast, but somehow seeing her stating feelings matter of factly hits him in a way that nothing has before.

He takes a step closer and places his hands on her shoulders. “All right,” he says, but he wants to say so much more.

“All right,” she repeats, placing her hand on his waist.  “I think I need you to hold me for a moment.”

“That, I can do,” he says, pulling her towards him. He hears her sigh and even though he wants to kiss her, the truth is she just broke up with her long term boyfriend and maybe it would be better for him to let her set the pace. 

Half an hour later they are sitting in the Volvo, ready to go back to London.

“Robin?” 

“Huh?”

“I think you should take the week off.” He says, as they take the main road.

“I think you should stop speaking if you’re going to talk nonsense.”

He chuckles, relieved to hear that some of her feisty side seems to be back. “I mean it though.”

Robin huffs, thinking that she should probably consider for a moment if he might be right, but not really wanting to.

“First of all, you’re tired.” He knows she can’t argue with that. “And drained.”

“Couple of good nights’ sleep on a decent mattress and I’ll be as good as new.”

He sighs. This is not the main reason but he doesn’t want to speak his mind afraid that it would make her angry. Then again, when had he ever been afraid of making her angry before?

“Listen, Robin, as strong as you are, as all right as you think you are now, truth is you’ve been through something huge. What if… what if it becomes too much?”

“Like panic attacks starting again?”

“That! Or you just being too tired to focus, or too affected by it all to keep objectivity-"

"What?"

"It could happen!"

"That is insulting! Do you think I can be a feeble as that?"

"All I'm saying is that we can all have biases, and you'd be entitled to have several regarding this case."

"More the reason to keep working on it, getting the facts straight and just… I need them to be destroyed. And this is about Will and his father and the job, but it's also about so much more than that!"

Strike doesn't say a thing.

She looks out the window at the passing trees and tries to remember if this is how she felt during that time in which her own feelings were getting in the way of her job, when she would have to hide panic attacks and bad nights filled with nightmares.

“You want justice, I get it." He finally says. "And so you know, I don’t want to be condescending. I know that nobody knows better than you what’s best, but I also know that sometimes we need somebody taking care of us.”

“So,” she says after a moment. “According to you, what should I do?”

He glances at her.

“Take a week off. Just one. Get your Mum to come to London and take care of you-”

“Are you mental?”

“What?”

“There is no way on earth I’m going to let my Mum see me before I’ve gained at least a stone back! Not to mention all these scars and bruises! She’ll freak out!”

“But she misses you.” He won’t tell her the details of his last two phone talks with Linda. At least, not know. She doesn’t really need to know about the way her Mum blamed it all on Strike, and how she left more than clear that she’d rather speak with somebody who cares, like Ryan, than with him.

“That’s ok, but I won’t get her to come here and… and fuss. She'll keep an eye on me and will try to stop me from working… That’s almost as bad as being back on the farm.”

“You don’t mean that,” Strike says.

“Well, not like that… but almost.” Her expression remains stubborn, fixed on the road.

“All right,” he says, taking her hand in his. Still feels like something of a marvel, the fact that he can, and how everything feels the same while being absolutely not. "What do you want to do?”

She sighs. “Do you realise how nice that question is?” She doesn’t want to elaborate but she knows he will understand. She’s been deprived of an opportunity to want stuff, to choose, for too long.

“I know,” he says, even though he is aware that he’ll never really know.

She remains silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want to, but I know I need to talk to my Mum. Tell her I’m fine… and promise to go see her, so that she won’t come to my flat.”

“You’ll be equally thin in London or in Masham.”

“I know that! But going there can take a while. I can always make up car troubles or whatnot.”

Strike smiled.

“I need to borrow your phone again,” she suddenly says.

Without a word he reaches for it, still not sure if he wants to listen. “Do you want me to pull over so that you can have some privacy?”

She shakes her head, already typing a number. “Won’t be long, I expect.” She puts the phone in her ear and a second later he can overhear Linda’s voice although he can’t understand the words. “Hey Mum! Yeah… yeah, the mission is done… yeah… a big success I’d say,” she says. Strike glances at her, his eyebrows raised and she sticks out her tongue, which distracts him completely. “Yeah, it was a bit long, but it’s over now… what? No, no need. I’m fine… yeah, I think I can get some days off and go to see you… sure. I don’t need to ask, Mum, I’m a partner,” her tone has become cold and he takes her hand again. She squeezes his fingers but her voice is still somewhat harsh. “I told you, this was my idea. He didn't want me to go!... Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as I see when I can leave… Yeah, alright. Tell you later, I lov- … Hiya dad! Yes… yes… alright. See you soon, then? Yeah, bye.”

With a grunt she throws the phone on the dashboard. “Why can’t she just-?”

Strike just smiles, sympathetic. 

“Worried, is she?”

“Understatement of the century.”

“She’s your Mum. Her job, isn’t it?”

“Not her job to patronise me, or to think I made a mistake with this undercover business.” Linda even mentioned she was looking forward to seeing Ryan next time Robin came to visit, and eager to end the phone call, Robin didn’t update on her relationship status. But she doesn’t want to share that part of the conversation with Cormoran now. 

Strike remains silent for a moment, and Robin has the impression he’s leaving some room for her to vent. 

"I wonder when we will hear from Jacob," she finally said. Trying to pinpoint on the most pressing of the many thoughts running inside her head.

"They'll need to get an order to enter the premises…"

"And then they'll probably hide it all… although how can they hide a sick kid… but of course they'll have help. Taio. Becca… and then there's all the weird stuff-"

"Robin, you don't have-"

"I know but they'll deny it, you see? And then they'll come for me-"

"Tell you what," Strike says loudly, making her stop rambling. He can see it. How her thoughts are turning chaotic, and how her breathing is becoming agitated. Even if she is not as frightened, it made him remember the night before, when she urged him to drive away the second she got inside the car. "Why don't you start on the report? Turn the recorder on, there's my phone. And start telling it all, from the beginning."

"Ok… but why?"

"You want to get back to work, right?"

"Yeah…"

"And it's making you crazy having all that information inside you and just having to wait for something to happen. We have a long drive ahead of us. Let's do this and it'll help you get your facts straight."

For a moment Robin just looked at him, and at the phone in front of her.

"All right."

She turned the recorder on.

"From the beginning," Strike encouraged her.

"I guess… alright. It all started when they approached me in the temple, all those weeks ago…"

Chapter Text

After almost an hour of speaking to the recorder, Robin says she is thirsty and tired. 

Being glad that she sounds more like herself again, Strike pulls over in the next petrol station. Not unlike when having breakfast, upon entering the small store, she remains motionless and speechless for a moment, her eyes travelling up and down the small aisles.

"Packet of crisps?" He tries to sound casual.

"Yeah… and water. And I'll use the loo."

She comes back when he's paying and, without a word, she leans against him. It feels timid, almost scared, and Strike wonders if it's just tiredness or if something in her telling about the cult has made her unsure.

"What about getting a pint when we get there?" He asks lightly, glancing at her.

It seems for his words to take a while before she looks at him and smiles. "I could kill for a glass white wine."

"You can have a box here," he says, pointing at the cheap offer behind the counter.

"Not that desperate. Let's have one when we get home."

"Agreed," he says, taking their shopping and placing his arm around her shoulders. 

“Cormoran?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Bijou?”

The question seems so out of place after all the descriptions of her life in Chapman Farm that it takes Strike a second to fully understand the meaning.

“I’m not with her. We went out a couple of times and then I ran for the hills.”

Robin looks puzzled. “But last night you said-”

“You were tired and in need of a proper bed,” he says. “Definitely not the time to talk about her.”

Robin just nods, but Strike notices her body pressing more confidently against his as they walk to the car. Unable to put into words everything that's going inside his head he kisses her head.

"I'm still tired," she comments as she sits in the car, and sure enough, a moment later she's asleep, her arms hugging her thin frame.

Strike is tired as well, but more than anything, he wants to get back to London and get Robin into a safe, familiar place. He didn't know what to expect when he decided to wait for her outside Chapman Farm, but even after reading about many of the things Robin described in her letters, he failed to grasp how bad it all had been.

Feeling guilty, he wonders again if he's taking advantage of her vulnerability somehow, but he can't see how he could have prevented everything that has happened since the previous night, without making it weird and even painful for Robin. And he didn’t want to. 

Still, what has happened so far, is nothing but a fraction of his wildest dreams and fantasies regarding her. Fantasies that he has kept hidden for too long and now are threatening to overflow his senses. 

He glances at her and it's easy to see past the bruises and find that beautiful woman that has been the centre of his thoughts for a very long time.

They will have time to explore where the new developments will lead them, he hopes. Right now, though, she needs to really convince herself she is safe.

She was walking down the corridor, passing the doors with the carved dragons, up the stairs, but there is another door, and a room, and so many things in the hallways it's difficult to navigate them. Old newspapers on the floor made her trip but she needed to find something and she needed to be fast. She wished there was somebody she could ask for help but she knew she was alone or as good as. Finally she reached the door she was looking for, the door that would solve everything. She opened it to find Jonathan Waze in his silk robe, looking at her smugly.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Artemis.”

He moved his well manicured hand and Robin felt long fingers on her shoulder, and then her neck, and she couldn’t breath. She knows what drowning feels like and this is it.

Robin wakes up with a gasp so loud Strike almost breaks in the middle of the highway.

“What-?”

But she is panting, and it reminds him strongly of those panic attacks he knows she doesn’t want to have. 

Slowly, this time he exits the road to the side and stops the car.

Robin is almost gasping for air, one hand clutching her neck, her eyes wide open, looking ahead. Feeling useless, he places a hand on her back. After a moment, her breathing becomes deeper, and she finally meets his eyes.

“‘M ok,” she says hoarsely. “I’m ok.”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he knows she’s not.

After a moment she sighs deeply.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

She considers it for a moment. There is too much Strike needs to know for the case, and adding stuff that it’s only in her imagination, even if based in very real people, won’t help them. “Not now… it was just a bad dream.”

“Yeah, I managed to figure that out.”

She smiles humourlessly. “How am I supposed to get my strength back if I keep on having nightmares?” Robin is embarrassed to feel tears in her eyes.

“I promise the nightmares will go away.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“Robin I’m-”

“Don’t you dare saying 'I’m sorry' or I’ll stop talking about it.”

Strike grunts. “Fair enough.”

“We need to agree that it was me who wanted to do this.”

He sighs and looks at the passing cars in the motorway.

“Why, though?” he finally asks.

She shakes her head slowly. "Let's just… let's go. I'll be fine."

He reenters the motorway and to Robin it seems as if his eyes are fixed on the road, but she knows he’s paying close attention and she also knows he is waiting for an answer and she has to be honest.

“I want to see how much I can do," she finally says.

“Yeah, I figured,” he is not smiling.

“It’s like…” she sighs. This is the first time she’s trying to put these particular thoughts into words. “You know when you paid for the detective classes and said we were going to be partners?”

“Yeah…”

“Since then… no, since the beginning… since those first times you would ask me to help you with stuff other than answering the phone and taking messages… I’ve always felt that you let me be me. That you want me to be me. You’re the only one, really. And somehow you saw potential even though I didn't know it was there.”

He just glances at her.

“You’ve always listened to me, respected me, and that’s made me smarter. Willing to prove what I can do.”

“That’s all very well, but you can’t just go around risking your life to prove-”

“I don’t want to risk my life,” she prompts. “That’s just something that has happened once or twice.”

“Or more.”

She rolls her eyes. “It's not what I'm looking for."

"Good to know, I guess."

"Listen, Cormoran," she takes a deep breath. "You're the only one who has given me the chance. And I don't want to get myself into stuff just to prove how tough I am… or maybe part of me does, but that's not it. It's about… at some point I realised I'm good at this-"

"You're bloody brilliant at this. Is unnerving."

She looks at his smile and can't help but grin a little.

"It's… it's like when I went to declare against the guy who… you know, the guy who raped me."

Strike swallows with difficulty, focusing on his fingers in the wheel.

"I was so scared. Didn't want to do it. But then he went to jail because of what I did, which means I kept him from doing it to other women. I made it better, you see? That's why I do it."

He glances at her and then he focuses on the road again. 

"You get it," Robin says. It's not a question.

"I do. And it's one of the things I love about you." He speaks without planning it and for a moment he glances at her, almost panicking. But Robin is looking ahead at the road too, a small smile in her lips. "So…" he tries for his voice to sound light, almost as if he hadn't been about to say everything he finds marvellous about Robin. "Where should I take you? Home?"

"The agency?" She says automatically. "All my documents are locked in the safe there." She doesn't add that, for her, that's the place that feels even more real than her own flat.

"Alright."