Taste of Cornwall
By Rurple101
Strike had been beyond furious with himself when he had decided to show off in front of Robin, and had buggered his leg because of it.
You're a complete twat, he scolded himself mentally. She is not interested in you that way, and you need to stop thinking towards her this fucking way! It will fuck everything up and you need her in your life.
Humiliated and swearing in agony, he barely heard Robin's quiet and concerned voice from beside him.
"Here" she said, poking his shoulder gently and lowering herself on her knees. "Lean on me."
No, he thought guiltily. That's going across the boundaries of our relationship, Robin.
"No, no, I'm fine" he grunted, almost drowsy with the aftermath of the sharp shock to the end of his stump.
Robin now sounded exasperated and annoyed but still obviously worried for him. That thought made his heart swell and his humiliation dimmed significantly.
"Well your obviously not" she huffed determinedly, still nudging his shoulder. "Just put your weight on my shoulder, there's a pub round the corner."
He grinned, despite himself. She really knew him too well.
Strike consented and tried to not focus on the feeling of her slender shoulder or the arm that she had around his back.
"Bribery?" he asked as he straightened up, his legs still shaky but he was determined to not look as in pain as he was suffering.
"Motivation" she corrected him and he heard the smile in her voice without looking at her.
"I'm sorry Robin" he sighed heavily.
He really was, he really couldn't do anything properly nowadays could he? He kept pushing his leg further and further than he should be. "We didn't need this."
"Just say if you need to stop" she said kindly, ignoring his apologies.
Once they were in the pub he felt he had no choice but to remove the prosthesis to see what damage he'd done to his leg, as much as he loathed to expose his injury in public. They had chosen a table in a secluded corner and he subtly undid the prosthesis with a stifled groan of pain.
Taking long deep breaths to control the pain, he closed his eyes and completed in removing it from his stump. He then massaged the area, half hidden under the table.
He left the prosthesis in plain sight so that people around him would understand what he was not massaging in a public place.
Robin had gone to the bar to fetch them drinks and Strike stared at her fondly as she spoke to the barman, her brow furrowing slightly as she wondered what to buy him. Strike wasn't worried; he'd drink most real ales although he doubted a place this decent would sell his Doom Bar.
He really needed to stop caring so much about his secretary, he told himself.
He had never had such a deep and meaningful friendship before, and Robin represented something wholly good and pure in his life. He was scarred and damaged goods in comparison to her, and she was beautiful and made him smile very easily.
When he remembered swinging open his office door that morning, surprised to see it was unlocked and the sight of Robin sat at her desk, he couldn't help but grin stupidly to himself at the memory. She had unknowingly cheered him up, because he had only realised then, that it was his birthday.
He never really celebrated his birthdays with much enthusiasm and detested parties that his sister Lucy always wanted to throw for him.
Robin had understood him from day one in a way his sister hadn't seen all her life. She was resourceful, tactful, intelligent, attractive and friendly. What was there to hate about Robin?
She's perfect, he thought as he saw her start to walk back towards him with two pints of ale. And that's exactly why you can never have her.
As Robin walked towards him, making sure the drinks in her hands didn't spill, he spotted her look of concern towards his leg, and then her attempt to hide her glance.
He guessed she was anxious he wouldn't want to discuss it, but he could hardly ignore it now could he?
"A number of things you're supposed to do to keep it healthy" he said quietly as she sat herself down and put the drink down in front of him. "Powder and creams, baths…" he tailed off, reaching for his drink.
"Happy birthday" she said quietly, with a sly smile.
He froze in slight apprehension. "How did you know?"
She smirked triumphantly "I know your passport number off by heart as well" she said, shrugging.
He shrugged too; she was handling all his post and documents, he supposed it was no surprise she'd seen his birthdate as well. Hmm…that also meant she knew…
"Many happy returns" Robin said cheerily, clinking her glass with him. "…Mr Cormoran Blue Strike."
Damn.
He saw Robin sneak a glance up at him as she sipped her drink. He was still staring at her, not quite sure what to make of this situation.
"Are you going to tell me where that's from?" she asked hopefully.
"Nope" he said stubbornly.
You'll probably find out sooner or later anyway, he thought wryly as he drank heavily. You always have a way of getting information out of me somehow.
He saw Robin look towards her bag and he saw a slight blush on her cheeks as she rummaged with it, and drew out what looked to be a basket with clear plastic paper round the top.
"I got you something" she said bracingly, determinedly not looking at his face.
Robin was nervous; was she being too forward in buying her boss a birthday present? But when she had seen it, how could she have not bought it for him? She was desperately hoping he'd like it.
"It's billed as the 'Taste of Cornwall," she said as she placed the package in front of him on the table. "But you can be the judge of that."
Intrigued, he looked at the contents closer and felt his insides dissolving.
It was a food hamper, with all locally produced products from his native Cornwall. His heart lifted when he recognised the beer bottle's label and drew it out, examining it closely. He felt that he was giving away too much of his feelings on his face as he glanced at her as he undid the strings and opened the parcel. It was rare of him to feel this touched by a birthday present.
He sighed in happy relief when he looked closer at the beer bottle. "I grew up two miles from where this is made" he said with delight, tapping the label with his finger absently. "It's good."
He felt ridiculously touched and flattered by her thoughtfulness, which was by far, his favourite part he liked about Robin.
"Robin…this is…I like it" he said repressively, but his expression seemed to please her.
If Charlotte was sat across from him now, he'd have kissed her softly yet passionately to verify his thanks, holding her face in his hands to draw her closer…but he couldn't bloody do that with Robin, although the thought was not an unpleasant one.
"Thank you" he said softly to her, meeting her gaze.
She was flushed, either with embarrassment at her overly thoughtful nature or because she was anxious she'd stepped too far from the normal path of their friendship.
He put a hand into the hamper and drew out some classic clotted cream fudge, undid the package and read the label. Ever the gentlemen, he offered the bag to Robin first who smiled as she took a piece.
"Made with Cornish cow's milk" he read from the card.
"Eating nothing but Cornish grass" Robin added with a smirk. "and looking at Cornwall."
Strike ate the piece of fudge whole and in a tidal wave of memories, was reminded of his fond childhood memories that hadn't been burdened with his many uprootings from St Maws. He remembered his mother, smiling at him and his sister as they placed on the beach, her face content and proud in a rare moment of genuine happiness.
"This is exactly what Cornwall tastes like" he said and grinned at her knowingly.
Their conversation veered off into details of the Quine case, but Strike couldn't stop thinking what a lovely person Robin was.
He really needed to stop thinking her as perfect, because then he would only idolise her and more and more, and that would soon become a very dangerous thing if he wasn't careful.
"Ready to go?" Robin asked after a further half an hour and their drinks had been drunk.
He nodded and gritted his teeth as he prepared to hoist his prosthesis back onto his leg. But his leg was screaming in protest and due to the still lingering pain, his fingers were clumsy and he couldn't do up his prosthesis properly.
He felt Robin standing over him and his fingers slipped again due to her watchful gaze. This was exactly why he hated his injury, not because of the missing leg, but because it made him look weak, and his male pride got in the way.
However, she surprised him.
"Here" Robin said quietly, moving his hands out of the way. "Let me."
He frowned up at her as her soft hands took the prosthesis from him, but she met his eyes as she quickly yet as painlessly as she could, slotted the prosthesis back into its place.
He grunted in pain as it slid home, and she grabbed his closest hand, squeezing it in silent apology.
"Do I want to know how you did that?" he asked calmly, not looking up at her face, afraid that his vulnerability would make her see him as he was; a damaged and broken old man.
She shrugged and he felt himself grinning.
"Did you Google how to do that?"
Her hair fell conveniently in front of her face which as she turned Strike was bemused to see it was scarlet. He felt slightly cruel at his causal teasing, she cared and he sounded like he was taking the piss.
She went to pick up his present and he took his chance and took her small hand in his large hairy one instead.
She looked into his eyes and Strike felt once again the intense and heavy connection that was between them, almost as if he was staring into her soul, and she into his. It was often in times like this when he felt he could read her plain as day, and he was sure she could read him like a book as well.
He had never met anybody like her.
"Thank you" he emphasized, squeezing her hand in his, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. It was imperative that she realised he did care, perhaps more than was wise, and that he wasn't deliberately baiting her.
Robin answered in a wobbly voice, filled with emotion. "No problem."
He stared at her, scrutinising her expression.
"Most people are disgusted by it, you know" he said casually to defuse the heavy tension in the air, indicating his stump as he attempted to stand.
The grip on her hand soon became compulsory and she stepped forward to steady him. He somehow did not mind Robin helping him as much as people like his sister, or even his close friends like Nick or Elsa.
"I'm not most people" she said lightly as she collected her handbag and his present.
No, Strike thought as he limped out of the pub, Robin's arm around him once more. You are most defiantly not 'most people' Robin.
Never change.
Never.
Author's Note: BACK AGAIN! Told you I would be!
I apologise if this sounds too soppy, but I never claimed this to be canon and I'm not JK so I can get away with it. Hope you enjoy!