Disclaimer: I do not own Death In Paradise or any related, original characters.
Story Notes: This little one-shot takes place season 3 episode 1. It contains *MAJOR SPOILERS* for that season, so if you have not watched it, please do not read (though please read it after you've viewed the episode! It's on Netflix now!).
It was so hard to believe that he was actually gone. And just when they believed he would never go, he was stolen from them. All that remained were haunting questions: did he suffer? Was he afraid? Did he think of her in his final moments? All these answerless questions, all these painful, frightening emotions.
Camille stepped into Richard's little house, all cluttered in an orderly way. Storage was scarce in the adobe, but Richard had made due. His things were still placed just as he had left them when he went out, fully expecting to return. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd sensed danger before the violent attack that had taken his life. After all, he was a homicide inspector. He was trained to find killers, both meditated and passionate. He was one of the most intelligent men she had ever met, and though he was inclined to sulk and to be stubborn and uptight and boring, she loved him all the same.
There was a glass vase on the dresser, a dead flower slumped over the edge of the brim. It was just a common island flower, nothing special, but she had picked it for him, and put it in the vase. Don't forget to water it, she'd told him. Or it will die.
It will die either way, he had told her obstinately. He had scoffed at the flower, called it a weed. She found strange comfort in the fact that he had not thrown it away. But it also made her angry. The flower was dead, just like Richard. She picked up the vase and threw it at the corner, and it shattered. The flower lay limp. After a couple, deep, shuddering breaths, Camille knelt and put it in her hand. She would keep it, put it in a book, she decided, let it dry up so that it wouldn't rot away. She would keep it to remind her of Richard.
That is when she saw the lizard. Richard had named him Harry. He claimed he didn't care about the silly thing, but Camille knew that Richard had been extremely fond of the green skinned creature. It was as close to a pet Richard had ever had, and she smiled when she remembered Dwayne offering to get rid of it.
No, that's quite alright, Richard had said quickly, I can do it myself if the fiend proves to be a problem.
Harry blinked at her, black eyes staring.
"He's not coming back," Camille said.
She paused, allowing Harry to offer an imaginary response. She wondered if Harry would actually ever really notice that Richard never came back. Did lizards recognize people? Maybe their scent? If he did, she felt sorry for him. "If he had gone back to England as he had wanted," Camille said, "he would still be alive. We could have talked on the phone, or written letters or postcards. But as it is, he is gone. Forever. He won't ever call or write or visit now. He should have gone back to England."
Harry had nothing to say to that. He flicked his tail, and moved his little feet a couple steps to the left. His head lifted to peer up at her. But she could barely see him through her tears. She cried as she picked up the shards from the broken vase.
The new inspector was coming, and would need a place to stay.
END