Strike had to heave himself up the final steps to the office. Although it was nearly 11 pm he could see the glow of the office light. Had Robin left it on accidentally or was she working late again? There was no way he was going to make it up to the flat, his knee was bloody killing him. Robin and he were so busy he had missed his last appointment at Queen Mary's, although he hadn't told her that. He tried the door to see if it was locked and it opened. As he stepped into the outer office he called out, "I thought I told you, no more late nights this week?"

"I thought I told you no more protective big brother act!" She called back from the inner office.

"Fair point…" He mumbled, putting his bag of takeaway and beer onto the coffee table. He dropped onto the sofa, which made its familiar greeting of a fart noise, closing his eyes and grimacing in pain, "Do you want some takeaway? Or are you going soon?"

"No, I've got time for some food before the last train, I'm done here," Her bodiless voice travelled through to him.

He grumbled to himself because if he complained to her about the dangers of travelling alone on the tube late on a weekday night she would flay him alive.

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking at the shots I got this evening of Fembot," Robin had finally appeared in the doorway, "Think we've got all we need to wrap it up with the husband!" One of their latest quarries was the wife of a client who had started having an affair with a richer man than her current husband. He believed she was lining her lover up as future husband number four so had wanted evidence of her infidelity before he told her he wanted a divorce. Robin had called her Fembot as she reminded her of Tansy Bestigui, all fake boobs, scheming marriages and manipulation. Strike saw her eyes drop down and absorb the fact that he was massaging his knee. He stopped instantly and she sighed almost inaudibly.

"Okay, will you call him tomorrow then?" He watched her as she walked into the kitchenette and she bent over to get something out of a box in one of the cabinets. Before he could stop himself, Strike realised he had zoned out admiring the curves that had returned over the last three months. He mentally chastised himself for the lapse in control and focused on taking out the takeaway cartons.

Robin tried to awkwardly place some cutlery and plates on the table. Once he had helped her unload, she took a plastic pack out from where she had tucked it under her arm, "Take your prosthesis off and put this on your knee." She stated assertively.

He had become more used to Robin being like this since they had agreed on the terms of her returning to work with him: better communication on both sides; Strike not being overprotective and Robin, well Robin still felt she hadn't done much wrong in the first place.

"I think sticking cutlery into my knee is a step too far Robin," he gave her a wry smile.

"I wasn't talking about the cutlery,"

"What is that?" He groused sceptically.

"A Coolpak, I got some for you, it might help you to at least get upstairs – I'm assuming that's why you've come in here?" she smirked.

"I just thought I'd catch up with you and be kind enough to share my takeaway," Cormoran feigned modesty.

"I'm sure!"

After more barely muffled grumbling, towards which Robin just responded with laughter, he began to pull up his trouser leg and grunted with pain as he eased the prosthesis off. Robin focused on squeezing the plastic pack until there was a pop, "Here you go!"

Strike took the pack from her without a word or even looking at her and placed it on his knee. Robin felt the waves of barely concealed irritation in his body language but she just got on with heaping some rice onto her plate. She'd learnt just to ignore his occasional thorniness rather than take it to heart, he would always get over it sooner or later.

Instantly he regretted his sullen behaviour, the intense cold gave him quick relief. Deep down he knew she was just being her usual kind and considerate herself, she wasn't patronising him or babying him like Lucy tried to. He felt the tension ease from his body. Before he could stop it, he thought about what a bloody star Robin was. A small smile escaped him and he allowed himself another admiring glance at her under his lashes. Robin had just finished piling rice on his plate and as she turned to him she asked, "Is this enough?"

She caught his smile, the warm look in his eyes. She beamed back at him, her eyes flickering over the curve of his mouth, memorising it for later. Because right at that moment she forgot how to think or breathe. Strike felt like his chest was a speaker from the downstairs club. His heart felt so loud she must be able to hear it. Suddenly, Robin started. The beep of a notification alert sounded on her phone in the next room and finally, her gaze slipped away.

Strike took his plate from her as she got up to get her mobile from the other office and busied himself heaping curry and nan onto the plate. He focused on trying to look unfazed and reassert an unruffled, friendly air. Robin appeared in the doorway again, swiping her phone to open her message. Strike easily read her clearly annoyed expression.

"Everything alright?" He kept his voice casual.

She looked up at him and her face was paler than usual. There was a crease between her eyebrows and her mouth was almost in a straight line. He'd seen this look before at the wedding when Matthew was shouting in her face that he'd been sleeping with Sarah Shadlock, that they'd never stopped. So, she and Strike could go fuck themselves or each other, he didn't care anymore. Before Strike had been able to move a bruised muscle towards Matthew, Robin had punched her 'husband' square in the face. Strike had been impressed.

"Is it Matthew?"

"What gave you the clue? He's just texted me that the decree absolute went through three weeks ago! Three weeks he's kept that to himself – cuntliffe!"

Strike nearly choked as a mouthful of nan stopped his laughter.

"I mean…what the fuck!"

At this Strike gave her a sceptical look.

"I know…I shouldn't be surprised. Even now he's still trying to have control over me." Her voice broke with frustration and Strike's expression softened.

He took out the cans of beer, snapped one of the ring pulls and held it up for Robin, grinning, "Seems like the perfect time to me, he's not your problem anymore and we have a celebratory feast right here. Good luck to Sarah Shadlock!" He said flatly, toasting the air with the can.

Robin took the can but still humphed as she threw herself back on the sofa and slammed the phone onto the coffee table. He caught her eye and tried his usual tactic of getting her out of a bad mood, grinning at her until the corners of her own mouth began to involuntarily twitch upwards and he passed her a full plate.

"I am glad it's over and done with," she sounded as if she was reassuring herself rather than him, and this time spoke with more assuredly, "I just want to move on but with Stephen's wedding next weekend, I'm going to have to face our friends and my extended family! They're bound to still be judging me after that tantrum he threw."

Strike had to admit it had been a spectacular meltdown on Matthew's part. But, it had been mortifying for Robin who had tried her best to explain why she couldn't go through one more minute of the wedding. Eventually, she had refused to sign the register with the pen held ready between her fingers. Although Matthew was adamant it was down to Strike's impromptu entrance, Robin had outright dismissed the accusation. She told Matthew the result would have been the same whether Strike had arrived or not, as it had little to do with him. What it was about was the fact Matthew could not accept the real Robin. Strike's arrival had just woken Robin from the despondent spell she was under and reminded her of who she was and could be. That was when Matthew's head had nearly imploded.

"I can relate," Strike mused as he began to shovel food up with his fork. He'd had his fair share of disapproving friends and family when he had been with Charlotte or had made life choices they couldn't understand. But when he looked at Robin she still looked disconsolate, unshed tears shone in her eyes. He balanced the fork on the edge of the plate, moving it to his right hand. He lifted his left hand and placed it on her scalp stroking her silken hair. She closed her eyes enjoying the relaxing sensation of his tender touch. As he reached the nape of her neck he jolted back into reality, holding his hand frozen in mid-air as if she had burnt him. Eventually, he brought it down again on the crown of her head gently giving her a couple of clumsy pats.

Robin broke into a fit of laughter, "What was that Cormoran? Am I five?"

Strike covered his awkward expression with his hand, "Just eat your curry," he demanded as he took a quick swig of beer. Then another.