A/N: Hello, everyone. Four fanfics in this entire series? This is unacceptable. JK Rowling always said while she liked fanfiction for getting her readers into writing, she was afraid to read them, because it was like someone else had sneaked into her house and "rearranged all the furniture."
Well, while I cherish a good fanfic that rearranges plots, I don't write them. My goal is always to write the most believable stuff possible, as close to JK Rowling as I possibly can. So, that's what you can expect from me if you read this. I hope I will deliver.
EDIT: I was going to let this document expire. I wrote it a long time ago. But I figured someone out there might want to read it, even though I don't think it's up to par.
This contains spoilers of Career of Evil, so if you haven't read it, don't read.
Taken from the very end of Career of Evil, page 488-489:
"Do you," came a ringing voice from an unseen vicar, "Robin Venetia Ellacott, take this man, Matthew John Cunliffe, to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward - "
Exhausted, tense, his gaze fixed on Robin, Strike had not realized how near he was to the flower arrangement that stood on a fine, tulip-like bronze stand.
" - for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death -"
"Oh shit," said Strike.
The arrangement he had hit toppled as though in a slow motion and fell with a deafening clang to the floor. Congregation and couple turned and looked back.
"I'm - Christ, I'm sorry," said Strike hopelessly.
Somewhere in the middle of the congregation a man laughed. Most returned their gazes to the altar at once, but a few guests continued to glare at Strike before remembering themselves.
" - do you part," said the vicar with saintly tolerance.
The beautiful bride, who had not once smiled in the entire service, was suddenly beaming.
"I do," said Robin in a ringing voice, looking straight into the eyes, not of her stony-faced new husband, but of the battered and bloodied man who had just sent her flowers crashing to the floor.
Strike was rooted to the spot. Robin had not turned her gaze from him, and he did not break his from hers. He heard murmurs starting to rise around him. Neither Strike nor Robin were conscious of the fact Matthew's face had turned a beet red, his eyes wide, glaring at Strike with all his might. Strike would not have cared had he seen it. He thought he heard a camera shutter behind him, the picture-taker who didn't care about the discomfort Strike, Robin, and Matthew were feeling was probably a distant relative or a friend of the family. At least somebody had a good sense of humor.
Finally, Robin seemed to remember where she was. She blinked and saw the look on Matthew's face. Then, apparently to placate him, she reached out and squeezed his hand in reassurance.
"We'll talk in a minute, Cormoran," said Robin softly, still smiling.
Now Strike's gaze flickered to Matthew in time to see his face change from angry horror to pure triumph. Robin was back to looking at him, Matthew Cunliffe, not Cormoran Strike. He looked at Strike maliciously and said, "Could you please give us a minute, mate?" in unconcealed contempt. "We're a bit preoccupied here."
"Yes," said another man's angry voice from somewhere to Strike's left, "why don't you just sit down in the back?"
Mate. He had never heard that word spoken with such hatred. Strike didn't really know what other choice he had. He wasn't usually someone who was easily embarrassed, not since he was a child, anyway - but this was the closest to pure humiliation he had experience in the long time. With heavy footsteps, Strike strode back down the rows of people until he found a seat near the back. When he sat down, the people near him stiffened and shot him angry looks, to which Strike could not have cared any less about.
The vows were said, the kiss was made, and now Robin Ellacott was Robin Cunliffe. And there wasn't a damn thing Strike could have done to take it back.
"Are we tryina stop this wedding, Bunsen?" Shanker had asked him.
You idiot, Strike told himself. You fucking idiot. That's exactly what you wanted to do. Don't think about it. Stop. Just stop. But no amount of trying to suppress it - to keep his thoughts and feelings down - were enough anymore. Strike remembered learning about how human beings naturally try to suppress thoughts and feelings that were possibly damaging to the psyche. And Strike had tried so hard to deny it - to push it all down - but he couldn't anymore - it was too much watching this happen - this is exactly why he didn't RSVP to this wedding - this is exactly what he told himself he must not do from the moment Robin came to him - this is exactly why - why -
Robin had been looking at him, Strike, when she said those damning words, "I do." She had been looking right into his eyes, and he into hers. For a moment, Strike had almost thought she was saying yes to him, not Matthew Cunliffe. Stupid, he told himself. Why the fuck would she ever say yes to you?
And Matthew, when Strike got a glance at him, had looked horrified. Was Matthew scared Robin was saying yes to Strike?
Strike remembered overhearing Robin telling her mother on the phone that Sarah had been asking Robin about him. He could still hear Robin's voice a bit more high-pitched than usual as she mimicked Sarah's over the phone, saying, "He's so attractive - it's just the two of you in the office, is it?" Apparently, Sarah had been trying to cause a row between Robin and Matthew. You're just the pawn, Strike, the only reason Sarah would say that about you was because you a) worked with Robin, and b) are a man. Strike could've been any male - anybody - in order to make Matthew feel threatened. Women were bloody good at making men jealous over other men - making them feel threatened, and Matthew was dumb enough to fall for such manipulation. Strike wondered how Robin had responded to that question. Had she said, "You're crazy, Sarah, I'm not attracted to Strike!" as Matthew looked at her angrily? At that point, Strike decided he needed to get on the fucking phone fast - so he had called Elin.
Elin. Strike was only sleeping around with Elin so he could show Robin that he had a love life too. That women wanted him too. That he had feelings for someone else and not her. It was as if Robin had just won the lottery with Matthew, so Strike had pulled a couple old bills out of his back pocket (Elin) and said, "See, I've got money (love) too." You don't need me. You've got Matthew. And I don't need you. I've got Elin.
Stupid fucker, Strike continued to abuse himself silently. He felt nothing for Elin.
But had Matthew been afraid that she actually was saying yes to Strike? If so, he was even more stupid than Strike previously thought. Robin was so far out of Strike's league that the thought of her actually being interested in Strike was laughable.
The ceremony was over. And Strike was sitting awkwardly, not belonging anywhere. People were getting up. Strike excused himself and slipped out a door into a small room where there was no one. He paced, wanting to smoke, but he was sure no one wanted him smoking in this building. He put a hand over his face. The broken nose was still very tender. The cut above and on his ear was no longer bleeding and had been stitched nicely, but it was tender and puffy. He examined the gash to his right hand before quickly redoing the bandage up tight. Why would you grab a blade like that? What did you think was going to happen?
There was Matthew - even Strike as a straight man could tell Matthew was attractive, so he must be stunning to women - and there was Strike: penniless, bloody, ragged, no sleep - he suspected his whole face was swollen from the fight and the fatigue...
He heard the door behind him slide open. He turned, not really caring who it was who was interrupting his self-abuse.
It was Robin.
He froze midair, his hand permanently at the back of his head.
She smiled. "I take it you caught the killer."
Strike's brain wasn't working right anymore. Maybe it never had been.
"Yeah," he said hoarsely after an awkward amount of time had passed. He finally dropped his hand.
"Of course," she said softly. "I knew you would. It's always you who does."
She didn't speak and neither did he. She was waiting for something. What she was waiting for, though, Strike did not know.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out finally. "For - for all of it. Everything. I'm sorry for - I don't know if you've been upset over me telling you we're finished - you probably haven't," he added nervously, "but if you did, I'm sorry -"
"If I've been upset?" echoed Robin blankly. "Cormoran, I bloody cried my eyes out over you getting rid of me."
A lump formed in Strike's throat. "I'm sorry," he croaked out again.
"Why," she said in that same soft tone, "did you get so angry with me? I - I know I shouldn't have gone behind your back - I get that - "
"No, you shouldn't've," he said with a little more confidence, "but still, you only did it because you felt morally obligated to do so. I know that's why you did it. You have a big heart - you wanted to save..." he grew quiet again. "But Christ, Robin, you almost fucking died more than once on this case. Do you think I could live with myself if I lost you because of you working with me?"
He saw a kind of spark in her eyes - a slight surprise, or was that happiness?
Shit, Cormoran, he thought to himself. Too honest. His desire to look relaxed and composed was now outweighing his caring about not smoking in a non-smoking building, so he lit a cigarette. She did not tell him to stop smoking.
"I just mean," he said after taking a long drag, "that I would feel personally responsible for anyone working with me, that's all. I'm the one who got you into this mess, Robin. Therefore, I am responsible for anything bad happening to you in this line of work... You must understand that," he added hopefully, desperately wanting her to agree.
"Of course," she said in a small voice.
They stood in silence.
"When I..." began Strike again thickly, "when I got that call from Carver, I was eating dinner with Elin. It was a fancy restaurant. I stood up so fast I just about knocked the table over. Food went everywhere, and I started loudly demanding to know where you were and what had happened to you. Everyone stared. I thought he was going to tell me you were dead - that Brockbank had stabbed you, raped you, cut you up into little pieces - " an involuntary shiver ran through him. "I started walking. I walked all the fucking way to your flat - it took me an hour." He took a deep drag from the cigarette again, which was disappearing very fast.
"Why didn't you take a cab?" she asked.
Good question, thought Strike. He shrugged. "I needed to clear my head, I suppose. Thankfully, Carver let me know in between his threats and curse words that you were alive and unharmed, except for some bruises, which even that I don't like." He went quiet again for a long moment. "I don't," he began again slowly, "regret the fact that I was angry at you. I don't believe you should've done what you did. I felt angry and betrayed, so angry... I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all. You've already been hurt."
She looked impatient now. "Cormoran, come on - haven't I proved myself to you yet?" she said in an exasperated tone. "Will you ever look at me as your equal? I fended off a serial killer, and you still think of me as delicate, incapable." She stopped and took a deep breath.
"It's not about you being equal," he muttered. "It's about the fact that I let you continue to work on the streets when a serial killer was targeting you. I let that fucking happen, Robin, and if you weren't so damn good at defending yourself - if you weren't so street smart - you would've died, and I would've let it happen." He remembered when she was attacked, Strike had completely lost it. He went running down the street screaming his head off like a maniac on drugs, convinced she was being stabbed and raped. "Do you have any idea how angry I was at myself when I left the hospital without even saying goodbye?"
Her expression was hard to read as another awkward pause fell. Then, unbelievably, she smiled.
"Well, I suppose we're putting this all behind us now, right?" she said with bubbling happiness.
That took Strike by surprise. "What?" he asked stupidly.
Her smile died from her face. "You... I thought you wanted me back?" Her bottom lip was trembling, and Strike tried not to look anywhere near her lips.
"'Course I do," he said finally. That had not been his real intention for coming here. "But you have to swear, Robin, swear to me you will never put yourself in danger like that again - especially without me having your back or knowing where you are! You have to be kept safe. That... that is if you really do want to continue working with me."
She nodded, her happiness bubbling over again.
She had not looked happy at the altar with Matthew... until she saw Strike. But Strike pushed this thought from his mind. It meant nothing. Fuck, Robin...
"If you aren't angry with me," Strike said slowly, "why didn't you call me back?"
Confusion was etched on her face now. "What?"
Fucking Matthew! Strike mentally screamed. But instead, he played ignorance. "I had called you and left you a message," he said with a forced look of confusion on his face to match hers. "I thought you were just too furious with me to reply."
Comprehension dawned on Robin's face. She knew Matthew deleted the voicemail. Strike knew he deleted the voicemail. And he knew she knew he deleted the voicemail. But neither of them said it. Neither of them named it. It didn't take the work of a detective to know what had happened to that voicemail and who was responsible.
"I must've accidentally deleted it," said Robin weakly.
"Maybe I mis-dialed," offered Strike, even though that made no sense, as he had listened to her voicemail message and knew he had reached the right cell phone.
She nodded in thanks. He stood there and watched her continue to bite her bottom lip. Those lips now belonged to Matthew. What Strike would have given to press his lips against hers. He looked away, not able to stand it. Don't think about that. His heart was banging in his chest. He should've done more to stop the wedding. But he hadn't. He should've told her how he felt. He was sure she would have quit, but if she had, he would not be in this situation right now.
Or, better yet, he should have never developed these feelings for her at all. How did he let this happen? And how did he just agree to let her back on with him?
They parted. Strike watched her leave the room, himself feeling quite stricken. But she was happy... she was happy, so he needed to be happy for her, his personal feelings be damned.
I was her alternative... standing right in front of her... And she chose Matthew. Of course she had chosen Matthew.
But how was he going to be able to work with her, alone in that office, indifferent and professional, when he had fallen in love with her?
I ship Strike/Robin so hard after this book.