Hello DiP fandom! This is my first attempt at writing for this category, so I do hope you like it. I discovered the show only a few weeks ago and instantly fell in love with Richard and Camille. After 3.01, I knew that I had to jump into the fandom and write something to make myself feel better, so I started on this little story.

Also, I must always thank (and in this case, also apologize to) my fabulous editor and forever friend kaheels. I am sorry for tricking you into getting attached to this pairing, knowing where it would lead. But I so appreciate your continued support and help in making my writing the best it can be. You are the best. And I owe you one. (More like three.) ;)

This takes place sometime between series 2 and 3. So without further ado...

Deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

This was absurd. He knew that. But the Commissioner had been very clear; no special consideration was to be given to Camille during this investigation. She was to be handled with all the usual safeguards and protocols rendered to a normal suspect.

At least three eye-witnesses could place her at the scene, and one even claimed to physically see the attack take place (a rather questionable assertion, but Richard would work that out later). Add to that the facts that Camille didn't have an alibi during the time of the murder, and that the murder weapon was an item seen in her possession a mere hours prior, it was in many ways, very close to being a textbook open-and-shut case.

Except, of course, that it was Camille they were talking about. Which in turn, brought him back to his initial thought: This was absurd.

Richard's last reasonable excuse for not charging her with the crime was the blessed fact that she had absolutely no motive whatsoever. She didn't even know the victim, and had no reason for possibly wanting him dead.

Well, she had technically heard of the victim, but that wasn't too damning considering the fact that he was apparently some sort of celebrity from the U.S. (Richard had never heard of him, but when he admitted as much, he only got strange looks from Fidel, Dwayne, and the Commissioner.) And because the victim was a person of some note, his murder had drummed up all sorts of media attention. Richard had never seen so many video cameras on the island, and this was a tourist destination. No, the press was all over this case, which was why the Commissioner had ordered Camille be properly processed and detained until the investigation was concluded. No exceptions. He didn't want the global media reporting that the police force in Saint-Marie was anything less than totally fair, objective, and efficient.

So now, Richard's team was down a man (or, erm, woman), and facing one of his most challenging cases to date, all underneath a microscope, and with the Commissioner breathing down his neck for a hasty resolution. Brilliant.

To top it all off, he was fairly certain that the Detective Sergeant currently tucked away in his holding cell must be pretty cranky by now. Richard took a deep breath and grabbed a notepad and pencil from his desk on his way to the cells.

Camille was pacing inside the first one. Back and forth. The image brought to mind thoughts of a caged tiger, restless for its morning meal. And just as intimidating. She instantly came to a halt and turned to face him when she heard him enter. "Finally!" she exclaimed, flapping her arms against her sides.

Yep. Cranky.

"Where have you been, Richard? I have been stuck in here for hours!"

Richard blinked incredulously, "Me? I have been investigating a murder, thank you!"

"Very good," she said, in a way that still sounded like a berating instead of an applause. She planted one hand on her hip and gestured out at him wildly with the other one. "Now when are you going to let me out so I can actually be of some use in that?"

Richard hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other.

Camille froze. With a heavy sigh, she ran both hands through her hair. "Je ne le crois pas," she whispered in disbelief, turning away from Richard to do a little 360 in her cell. When she looked back at him, the Detective Inspector had the courtesy to look a little ashamed. "You aren't letting me out."

Richard quirked an eyebrow at her regretfully. "I'm sorry Camille. It's the Commissioner; The press has got him nervous. He's not giving us any slack on this one, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean 'press'?"

"Island's swarming with them. Newspapers, magazines, I was even stopped by a reporter from a website on my way back to the station just now. I didn't even know websites could have reporters. This victim of yours-"

"He wasn't my victim!"

Richard threw his hands up in defense and quickly rattled off, "Right, no. No-no. My mistake. Slip of the tongue."

Camille's flurry of rage simmered down when she saw that he sincerely didn't mean to say it. But she still gave him a warning look as he continued.

"As I was saying, THE victim, was apparently some sort of actor or something. Appeared in a few popular movies, I suppose."

Now, Camille seemed almost fond as her anger seemed to totally subside. "Oh Richard," she said, like talking to a child who had just done something cutely naive. She turned and walked herself over to her little cot and sat down, tucking her feet up under her and leaning back against the wall. "He played The Bolt. Biggest new superhero at the moment. I'm surprised you've never heard of him."

Richard rolled his eyes, just barely, and looked down at the pad in his hands. "No you're not," he clarified.

Now she was grinning at him. "No I'm not," she confirmed.

He too let a little smile tug at his lips, although his was for a slightly different reason.

She seemed somehow aware of this. "What?" she asked.

Richard gave a little shrug, regarding her in that jail cell with a strange sense of nostalgia. "Nothing, just...reminds me a little of the first time I met you."

She smiled again as she tipped her head back against the cool wall of the cell. "You and that stupid boat. I could have outswum Dwayne, you know."

"I have a funny feeling you're right. Here," he said, reaching forward and holding the small notepad through the bars. To keep her from having to get up to reach it, he executed a nice little toss and the pad landed by her feet.

"What's this?" she asked, opening it up to reveal the blank pages. She was half hoping that it would contain his notes on the case so far. But that was just wishful thinking.

"I'll be needing a list of names from you. Anyone who might wish you ill."

Camille rolled her eyes at the task. "I am a police detective, Richard. I have put dozens of dangerous and violent people behind bars. Any one of them could-"

"Yes, and I already have sufficient record of all of those names. No, I mean the ones I won't find on a police database somewhere. People from your personal life. Old friends, professional rivals..." Richard peered at her from beneath his lashes, "... ex-romantic partners." At that, Camille looked up at him and he instantly looked down at his shoes. "Just," he cleared his throat, "anyone you can think of that might um, want to frame you for something like this."

She nodded. "It might take me a while."

"I'll come back and check on your progress in the morning."

Just as he was about to turn and make his retreat, Camille straightened up on the cot and called, "Wait."

He did, and he looked at her expectantly. It was then that she realized she didn't really have a follow-up to that. "Can I invite you in?" she said, gesturing to her new, humble abode like a hostess welcoming a guest in for tea.

Or a beautiful woman at the end of a very successful date.

Richard paused and glanced down at the cot, then back up at her. He looked over his shoulder and had to lean back on his heel in order to peer into the main office area. Fidel and Dwayne were both working diligently at their desks. (The whole office was in overdrive, trying to bring Camille's accuser to justice. Right now, Richard was coming in third in a three-man race as far as case productivity was concerned.) "Um," he said, and when he looked back at Camille, she merely rolled her eyes at him.

"Come on, Richard. I won't try to escape, I promise."

"I, what? No. That isn't what I was... Never mind," and he walked back into the offices to get the cell key.

Both other men halted their work when they heard him enter. They gave him pointed looks and Richard felt awkward beneath their scrutiny. He lifted the key from his desk without even looking down, hoping it was subtle. The other men shared a knowing look, during which, Richard made his escape. That was uncomfortable.

He reentered the cell room and brought the key triumphantly into view. He was rewarded with a lovely smile from his prisoner, and he tried not to let that make him as giddy as it could. After unlocking the cell, he opened the door wide and walked inside. He wasn't entirely sure what the purpose of all of this was, and now that he was inside the cell, he suddenly felt odd.

Camille gestured to the cot and they both moved to it and sat down. Immediately, Richard winced and resituated himself. "God, that is acutely uncomfortable!" he said, glaring down at the insulting excuse for furniture. This was the first time he had ever actually sat on one of these things, and he suddenly found himself feeling a little sorry for all of the people he had locked up in here overnight, criminals though they be. "Are you going to be alright in here all night?" he asked, rather knowing the answer before she even gave it.

Camille thought about that for a moment, squinting her eyes up at the ceiling for exaggerated effect. "What would you do if I said 'no?'"

Richard bit his lip in thought and mumbled, "That's a good point..." He could hardly call the whole thing off, though that might be precisely what he wanted to do. Then his eyes landed on the cot in the other cell. "Ah," he exclaimed, and rose to his feet.

Leaving Camille's cell, he stopped only to collect the key from the lock before heading over to the other cell and letting himself in. Camille watched with a fair amount of amusement as he methodically stripped the other cot of all of its meager bedding and carried the heap back into Camille's cell. He stood before her and leaned pointedly with his entire body. Getting the message, and giving a tiny chuckle, Camille stood from the cot and let him have at it. "Extra padding," he explained as he doubled up the blanket and added it to the cot. Then he picked up both pillows and leaned them against the longest wall, providing a sort of cushioned back support to their makeshift couch. When he was done, he straightened up and looked back at his partner again.

"Thank you," she said, both oddly touched and mildly impressed.

"I'll bring you proper bedding tomorrow. And uh, while we're at it, you'd better give me a list of anything you'll be wanting from home. I can have your mother prepare a bag for you."

"Ah, my guess is, she already has," Camille said, sitting down on the cot once again and hiking one leg up underneath her.

Richard followed suit, but kept both his feet planted on the ground. "You're probably right," he concurred.

When silence fell between them, Camille just sighed and leaned her head back against the wall again. Initially, when she had asked him to stay, he imagined it was because there was something else she wanted to discuss with him. But now that she had the chance, she grew completely silent. Richard was slightly confused by this, but also somewhat pleased. Maybe all she wanted was his company. And that was a pleasant (if somewhat alarming) thought. Richard turned his head and looked down at her, acutely aware of the fact that her forehead was only a short distance away from resting on his shoulder. He was pondering what his reaction might be if that gap were to disappear, when her voice suddenly startled him out of that thought.

"So you cannot tell me anything about the case, can you?"

Richard sighed and looked straight ahead again. "Afraid not," he said, feeling as gloomy by the notion as she was. "Which is a pity...I should like to have your eyes on this one. It's proving to be...puzzling."

Camille shifted, another inch disappearing from the gap, though neither seemed to notice. "Don't they all start out that way?"

Richard merely hummed in agreement.

When she spoke again, her voice sounded smaller, more timid than he could recall ever hearing it before. "But Richard?" she said, "You...you aren't worried. Are you?"

Richard turned his head to look at her just as she lifted her head to look at him. They were mere inches apart. It took all of his willpower not to leap backwards from the proximity; instead, he calmly swallowed and said, "Worried that they'll get away with it?"

She looked back and forth between each of his steely eyes, and nodded.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm not worried."

"Sir?"

This time he did jump, but only slightly. He turned away from her to find Fidel standing in the door way, staring at them through the still open cell door. "Yes, what is it, Fidel?" He could feel Camille shift her weight slightly on the cot to lean forward to peer around Richard at her colleague.

"I'm sorry sir, it's just that, I printed those photographs like you said? And I noticed something."

Richard nodded, trying very hard to slip back into professional mode and forget about the beautiful woman peering over his shoulder. "Yes, very good Fidel. I'll be there in just a moment."

The officer nodded, passed one comforting glance at Camille, and then promptly vacated the doorway.

Richard turned and looked back at his partner. She had sat up straighter on her side of the cot and was looking down at the notepad in her hands, rubbing her thumbs across the surface of it thoughtfully. "I can't imagine who might want to hurt me like this," she said after a moment.

"Neither can I," Richard confessed quietly. When that caused her to once again lift her eyes to him, Richard returned the gaze firmly. "But I will find them. I will solve this... Do you believe me?"

With almost no hesitation, Camille solemnly nodded her head. "Yes, I do."

He pinched his lips together in a sort of stern resolve, and gave a curt nod in return. It was the first time that she saw any hint of exactly how angry this ordeal was making him. She realized she had never really seen him angry. Vexed, definitely. Irritated, yes. But this? This was a different kind of angry. A cold kind of angry. And it was then that Camille realized, whoever this was who was putting her through all this...she almost felt sorry for them. Because Richard Poole intended to destroy them.

Author's Note: So there's chapter one! I will have the second chapter posted soon, but in the meantime, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this one. Any feedback would be appreciated, as this is my first pass at writing these characters.

Also, after paying closer attention during some episode rewatches, I realize that this story apparently takes place in an AU where the cell bunks actually have bedding on them. lol. Oh well. Can't get it all right, I suppose.

And I do not speak French, so anyone who does it welcome to correct me. But according to google translate, what Camille mumbles to herself is "I can't believe this."

Thanks for reading you guys! And I'll have the next chapter ready for you guys soon!