Ch4: The Whole of The Moon

To my kind reviewers. Yes - it's definitely AU, although in my head most of series 3 has occurred as it did in the series (well until ep3:6, I haven't seen the rest of the series yet so can't comment on that). This has/is all going on off screen. ;-)

"Excuse me…"

She couldn't locate the voice, groggily coming too after her long sleep.

"Excuse me…." The man next to her tapped her hesitantly on the shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you but I really do need to….." he nodded in the direction of the toilets. Camille scrambled out of her seat and stood back to allow him to pass, watching as he made his way down the aisle. From his body posture she would guess he needed to empty his bladder quite desperately and she wondered quite how long the pensioner had waited before having to wake her.

Uggghhh that was such an English trait; this politeness and reluctance to perform a perfectly reasonable action in the belief they were somehow being thoughtful and considerate. She would lay bets that inside he was a seething mass of frustration, cursing her under his tongue for having the temerity to fall asleep on a long flight when the temperature had been purposefully raised to allow people to do just that.

"You're so French." Richards voice echoed once again in her ears.

Well the French wouldn't have sat around for goodness knows how many hours shooting daggers with their eyes at the person next to them whilst crossing their legs. They would have woken her much earlier and with a smile.

It was funny. Until he'd arrived on the Island she'd never particularly thought of herself as French. When in Paris, they had teased her for being too "Island" in her nature, not European enough. But those differences had worked well in the teams she had been part of.

Richard had called attention to it regularly. Every time her opinions or methods had differed to his in fact. The phrase had been so well used that she had started to wonder if he used it as a protective barrier.

Remaining standing whilst her neighbor was absent from his seat, she scanned the planes occupants casually. From what she could make out, approximately two thirds were tourists. Western European tourists, not a huge surprise given that it was a direct flight to Paris. There were a few babies, with tired, stressed looking parents fussing over them for fear they began to cry and disturbed other passengers. That was another English trait, their hatred of other peoples children causing any sort of disturbance within their personal area, which became laughable in enclosed spaces like planes or restaurants. Whereas the Italians; she had spied a large noisy family towards the back of the plane, had no such concerns. They laughed and fought and argued passionately, and let their children freely move around with absolute conviction that everyone would love their offspring as much as they did.

To a single woman like Camille, each method appeared to have its own advantages and disadvantages although she knew which mother would get off the plane looking less harassed.

What would Richard look like as a Father? Oooh dangerous territory that Camille she scolded herself feeling a little giddy.

She thought it was highly likely that he would protest lack of ability, awkwardness, any number of avoidance tactics but that once a child – his child – was placed in his arms, he would melt like butter.

Forcing her brain to move on from the images crowding in, she smiled pleasantly at the man making his way back down the aisle, and slid in to her seat after him. Soon they would begin the long descent and the little bubble she had been in on this plane, and the bubble that she had lived in for the past two years would burst to be filled by the noise and bustle, dirt and anonymity of a big city.

"Oui Maman. I promise…..And you."

Camille sighed as she tapped on the red button, ending the call. She caressed the screen briefly and then placed it onto the smooth marble counter and sauntered across to the window, drink in hand.

It wasn't an amazing view but she liked to look out. She was high enough up in the drab apartment block to see the sky and she could watch the moon rise through the gaps between the buildings that crowded the narrow streets.

Did Richard ever sit and watch the moon rise she wondered. He had obviously enjoyed star gazing during his time on St Marie. Camille smiled, cradling her warm drink as she remembered a sultry afternoon playing one of his childhood games on the verandah of the beach hut whilst she pouted and teased, and if she was honest with herself, flirted. It was a nice memory – the image of him blushing and frowning at her.

He must have been sad to lose Lucy. She speculated whether his parents had held onto the tele…precision optical instrument. Would they have wanted to keep it or would they have cleared out his stuff? Did they even know?

Casting her mind back to the few necessary conversations she had had with them after ….well after the event, they had sounded quiet and composed but deeply saddened; an entirely normal reaction to losing your only son. She didn't believe that they had been acting, nor did she believe that Richard would have compromised the necessary secrecy even if was to spare them pain. It wasn't a question she was likely to ask, although a trip to see them and introduce herself was definitely on the cards.

The moon was shining above the rooves now, looking smaller from its position high in the sky.

The last month had passed by in a blur. A flurry of meeting and greeting people and settling into the job, moving into a colleagues room, and then back out of it into a rented apartment of her own. There had barely been time to eat, let alone plan her attack, plan how she was going to track down a dead man without anyone else becoming suspicious. But tomorrow was Sunday. She had spoken to her Mother already and had told her new team; a team that had been working hard to make her feel welcome, that she was heading out of Paris to catch up with old friends. There would be no-one to disturb her, she would be alone with her thoughts and memories and had decided she was going to let herself go back. Relive the day she usually worked so hard at forgetting. Search for clues, relook at the minute detail that she had been unable to deal with two years ago and had left to Humphrey with barely a protest. He had done a great job but had been solving a clear case of murder and there was bound to be small details that had been overlooked which would be important to her now.

She would find him.