Chapter 10: Conclusion

A/N: This is the final chapter, and I must acknowledge katedf who let me take a scene from "An extra day in paradise" and remix it for this chapter! I also extend my thanks to her for having a quick read through and removing all the words I get muddled up and replacing them with the correct ones.

What the hell had he done? He was skulking around outside Catherine's bar, apparently having used all his courage getting to Saint Marie. There was no way on earth he'd go to the station, he couldn't even call her, he'd become convinced halfway across the Atlantic that this was a terrible idea and that she wouldn't even listen to him because of the very fact he was here.

He decided to go hide at a hotel. Then he could call Camille, pretend he was still in London, feel her out. No, maybe he shouldn't even call. Maybe he could try Fidel, or was that too much like being at school – using your best mate to see if a girl liked you. Whilst he stood frozen to the spot, debating this issue, Catherine spotted him. She rushed out of the bar and in a characteristic display of emotion threw her arms around him before dragging him bodily inside and sitting him down.

"Nobody told me you were coming back, we could have had a party! There's still time," She held up a hand forcefully when he opened his mouth. "No protests! You've been gone for three months, even I started to miss you." She paused from her enthusing to look at him properly, quickly surmising the truth from his look of dismay, "Nobody knows you're here, do they?"

"It was a bit, spontaneous," he told her hesitantly.

"That's not like you," Catherine replied carefully. "Of course, people can change."

"You mean like when they crash a jeep and hit their head?"

She shrugged and replied mildly, "That is one example."

He remained silent, staring glumly at the table, and she realised that despite the unexpected arrival on the island, this was very much the man she knew, the one who loved her daughter but would never do a thing about it. This was the man Camille also cared for, deeper than she'd ever admit. It appeared any of the new found confidence he'd gained post head injury had been used up completely during his flight.

"You're here for Camille," Catherine stated boldly. "Let's not waste time trying to deny it. I think it's rather romantic you came all this way for her."

"But not very me," he sighed, eyes still downcast and far too embarrassed to actually look at her.

"She told me some of what happened in London, and I told her she was too harsh on you. I mean there you are, head injury, no memory of your former life, but you were as in love with her as you were before. You literally couldn't erase your feelings for her; it's a great story on paper though perhaps a little less glamorous in reality. She realised I was right and has been worrying herself sick. Just like you really, too scared to just pick up the phone and admit maybe she was a bit of an idiot."

He looked up, and she saw hope on his face that made her heart melt. The man was infuriating, and always would be, but his love for her daughter was a pretty redeeming quality.

"You don't think she'll…react badly to my unannounced arrival?" he asked tentatively.

Catherine didn't have the chance to reply, because Dwayne's voice could be heard getting ever closer to the bar, "I don't care Camille, you need to relax! I'm buying you a drink if I have to pour it down your neck!" They were inside before Richard had time to scarper.

Dwayne spotted Richard immediately, "What are you having, Chief?" he asked, like he was expecting Richard to have been here.

"Uh, well nothing for me right now, thanks," he said, not sounding entirely sure of his answer.

"Sir, are you back?" Fidel asked happily, when he didn't get a reply he quickly realised his boss probably hadn't heard him ask, what with the look that was now passing between him and Camille.

It was the very same he addressed next, "Do you think, maybe, I could talk…"

"Yes," she cut him off breathlessly – turning and walking straight out. He wondered if he'd misunderstood but then she stuck her head back in and said "Come on!"

He shot Dwayne and Fidel a confused look, and Dwayne rolled his eyes cheekily before telling him firmly, "Follow her, then!"

He did as he was told, catching site of Camille walking double time in the general direction of her flat. He only finally managed to catch up with her when she had to pause on her doorstep to unlock the door. Something she seemed to be having trouble with, as she dropped the keys nervously.

"Look, I know Dwayne and Fidel and your mother can be a little nosy but I don't think we had to come quite so far at quite such a pace for some privacy," he told her breathlessly.

"Oh, we do for the conversation I have planned," she said, smiling triumphantly as the door unlocked and then physically manhandling him through it. He heard it shut firmly behind her, and turned around to find her standing in front of it. Suddenly he felt a little like a mouse might when it realises a cat is watching.

"You got rid of the beard," she said, smiling as she took a step towards him.

"Uh yeah, why didn't you tell me how ridiculous I looked?"

She'd gotten close enough to start fingering his tie, which she seemed inordinately pleased he was wearing. Before he could protest that she'd mess it up, she stood slightly on her tip toes and kissed him full on the mouth. Now Richard Poole had been raised with good manners, so surely it was polite to respond for a little while? Eventually, however, he knew he was going to have to spit out what he came all this way to say.

"Camille," he said, breathless now for entirely different reasons. She pulled back to look at him, and he found he couldn't form a sentence after all. "I, um…"

She laughed quietly and hushed him, apparently she found his stuttering endearing because she was kissing him again. "You don't have to say anything," she somehow got out between kisses.

"But – I…" he tried again, but she just pressed her mouth harder to his so making any kind of intelligible noise was impossible. He found himself in the unique situation of being both very aroused and very annoyed.

"For God's sake!" Richard said, placing his hands firmly on Camille's arms and pushing her back. "Look I am TRYING to say something here, go…go stand over there."

She smirked, and entered her front room as he indicated. She stood on the other side of her sofa, mirroring the last time they'd found themselves in this situation, and quirked an eyebrow as she asked, "Far enough?"

"Ok, right, look, um, I," he paused, taking a deep breath and just spat it out. "I love you and when I saw you, in London, there were some indications that maybe I might just about be living in a crazy enough world where you might have feelings for me as well. Is, is that true?"

Camille was smiling at him almost wolfishly; he'd probably blush if he wasn't already as red as it was possible to be. She began to move slowly towards him as she replied, "Was the whole kissing you thing not enough of a clue?"

"Well, you know, I prepared that on the plane on the way over and I didn't exactly know you would react to my arrival so…"

"Enthusiastically?" He jumped out of his skin, whilst he'd been avoiding looking at her she'd stolen up to him again.

"That would be one way to put it," he said nervously.

"I do," she said vaguely.

"What?"

"Love you, I do love you," She made sure she looked him in the eye when she said it, wanted him to know how very sincere she was.

"Oh thank God," He leaned in and kissed her again, she responded eagerly – more so than he expected when she began working to undo his tie.

"What are you doing?" he asked, clearly alarmed.

"Do you need me to explain?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow, smirking when he blushed again.

"No, I mean, people will wonder where we've gone."

"They aren't going to come look for us, Richard. I'm pretty sure they'll figure out we're…making up," she teased him.

"But, you think, then they'll know we're…"

She rolled her eyes and took her top off. "Yeah, ok, never mind," he said.

She was grinning like an idiot. Judging from the deep, even breaths tickling her neck she assumed Richard had fallen asleep next to her. She reckoned an eight hour flight followed by a rather enthusiastic round of love making was a good excuse for a nap on his part. She found herself blushing as she thought back on it, remember the way he'd laughingly hushed her when she cried out in pleasure, afraid her voice would carry through the open window. She'd been so indignant when she came round from the haze of pleasure he'd induced to realise she'd been divested of all her clothes and he'd retained most of his. He responded to her complaints with a shy admission that he'd want to ensure she 'finished' as he delicately put it. He hadn't stayed clothed for much longer.

He stirred next to her, and she turned to face him. He blinked, looking a little dazed, before he realised where he was and smiled back at her, "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's ok," she said, still smiling. His fingers were tracing circles on her hip. "It's only eight, I imagine they'll still be in the bar if you want to go over and see them."

"Um, actually, I was thinking maybe we could stay here and, you know…"

She cut off the world's most awkward proposition with her mouth.

She lay half on top of him as she recovered. Her ear pressed to his chest, she listened as his heart dropped down to a more sedate speed and his breathing evened out. She thought she might just be able to stay like this forever.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, just to hear the sound of his voice.

"Barnacles," he replied absently.

He felt her stiffen in his arms and realised he should maybe have thought before he spoke. She pushed away from him and levelled him with a look that made him squirm.

"Richard Poole, you better qualify that statement with some obscure romantic fact about barnacles, because I am not happy that apparently making love to me inspires you to think about barnacles!"

He had a feeling he wasn't going to explain himself well, "Look, I didn't want things to be over too quickly so I had to try and think about something-"

"Are you telling me that you were thinking about barnacles whilst making love to me? Do you have some weird perversion about barnacles?!" She asked.

"No, well, yes, but I mean…"

She burst out laughing, burying her head in his shoulder.

"You're mocking me," he sulked.

"No, but come on, it is pretty funny," She poked him in the chest. "Barnacles."

They never did make it back to the bar, at midnight Camille was hungry enough to pull a shirt over her head and returned with two bowls of cereal. Richard was unhappy with the use of UHT milk but when the last meal you are was aeroplane food, the next thing you ate always tasted pretty amazing.

In the morning when he woke she was watching him, her look was a contradiction of pain and joy. She pulled a sheet up and over their heads and kissed him soundly.

"What are you doing?" he asked, in reference to her attempt to build a fort using the sheet.

"Trying to pretend it's just us for a while," she told him, looking a little ashamed by her own behaviour.

"I know," he said, pushing the hair away from her face.

"You know what?"

"We have a lot to think about, and a lot to work out. But I reckon we will."

She smiled softly, "I was sure I'd be the one reassuring you all the time."

He made a face, "You probably will be. This is an early deviation from that norm."

Somewhere distantly he heard his phone ringing. He really hated to leave phones unanswered, but he also had a vague idea that Camille wouldn't find him leaping out of bed to hunt it down and answer it the most romantic act in the world. Luckily she knew him well, rolled her eyes and pulled the sheet back down. By the time he did locate the phone under a chest of draws, the person had rung off, and he only knew it was a call from the UK. Happily, before the mild anxiety that seemed to set it whenever he missed a call actually could, it began to ring again in his hand.

"Hello?" He answered.

"Richard, it's Dr Connor."

He tried to remember when his next appointment was scheduled for, "Aren't I supposed to see you Friday?"

"Oh good, I can reassure your mother you haven't suffered another fugue. She went to your house and you weren't there, and called me convinced you'd had another fugue and were wandering around London lost as a puppy. Not entirely sure why she didn't think to call you on your mobile…"

"Yeah, I told her I broke it…"

"Richard," chided Dr. Connor. "I know your relationship with your mother is difficult…"

"Difficult!" he cut her off. "No, my relationships with convicted murderers are difficult. My relationship with my mother is more than merely difficult!"

Camille laughed loudly from the bed, reminding him he was speaking to his therapist completely naked from an island on the other side of the world.

Dr Connor had not missed the laughter, "Richard Poole, where are you?"

"Um, Saint Marie," he replied a little sheepishly.

"Ok, I'm fine with that, though I am assuming you might miss that appointment Friday. However, Richard, not to nag as you are a grown man, but maybe you should call your mother and just let her know you're alive."

"Yes, Doctor," he assured her, before saying goodbye.

Camille was lying in bed, and even though the sheet covered her body she still looked damn tempting. She smiled suggestively at him, but he gathered his resolve and started hunting down his clothing.

"What are you doing?" She asked curiously.

"I need to call my mother, I didn't tell her or Dad where I was going! Apparently she called my doctor convinced I'd had a relapse!"

"Well as you just demonstrated you don't really need to be dressed to make a phone call, come back to bed and call her," Camille tried to pacify him.

"I can't call my mother naked!" he practically squeaked. "In fact I can't even do it when you're in the room, she'll know and besides that, I do not want to be talking to my mother whilst trying not to think about you naked in that bed – that could lead to some very interesting Freudian slips!"

He said all of this whilst he buttoned his shirt, and Camille was willing to allow him this eccentricity if only for the fact it meant she could undress him again later. Then he was out the bedroom door, nervously tapping in parent's home number. His mother answered, indeed sounding frantic.

"Mum, yes I know….no I'm fine. No I haven't had a relapse. I just decided to take a holiday, last minute," here there was a pause whilst his mother gave him a carefully prepared tirade.

"So where the heck are you, darling?" she eventually asked.

"I'm on Saint Marie," he replied, cringing in anticipation of what would happen next.

"It's that, that woman, isn't it? Is she taking advantage of you? You're still recovering Richard, it makes you vulnerable to her, her, seductive techniques…" before she could elaborate on matter Richard felt the need to interrupt her for the sake of his own sanity.

"She did not take advantage of me, or make me do anything I didn't want to do and even if she did seduce me I can assure you I was a perfectly willing participant!" He was forced to move further down the hall when Camille started giggling like mad from the bedroom, clearly having overheard his last outburst.

His mother was reduced to only being able to manage a shocked, "Richard!"

He did not expect what happened next, from somewhere nearby on the other end of the line he heard his Dad's voice, "Justine, pass me the phone and let me talk to him!"

"Darling you must talk some sense into him, get him to come home!" his mother could be heard to say as she passed over the phone.

"Hi, Dad," Richard opened nervously. "Listen - ,"

"No Son, you listen to me. One day, I hope you have a son who does something this surprising, this shocking, so you can understand how I feel." Richard closed his eyes, preparing himself for the sort of dressing down he hadn't had since 15. "Because I think it's bloody marvellous. Look at you! Chasing a woman half way across the world, ridiculous yes but also the right thing to do. You did get her, right?"

"Yes, Dad," he said a little awkwardly.

"Good, excellent, well you keep hold of her. If she's what makes you happy, son, your mother will learn to live with it," the last part of the sentence was clearly not directed at him. "Talk to you soon. Bye, son."

Richard was left staring at his phone for quite some time. Long enough that apparently Camille decided to come check on him, wearing the same old t shirt she'd served him cereal in the night before.

"What?" She asked, looking a little fearful.

"It would seem you have a fan in my father. We can work on my Mum, bring her round."

"I'm sure we'll think of something," she smiled, he wrapped his arms around her as she leaned into him. "Does she want grandchildren?"

He immediately stiffened, and Camille got the feeling he was staving off hyperventilation. She smiled into his chest, "I'm joking!" she reassured him. "For the most part…"

She located them sitting out on a patio. She couldn't help smiling at the sight. Judging by the marks in the dirt, the table had been dragged a little way so that it was half in the shade and half in direct sunlight. Richard sat on the shady side, fully engrossed in a pretty serious looking book whilst the woman she assumed was the famous Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey reclined on her chair in the sunshine, beer in hand and apparently quite content to just watch him. It was a compromise, one they'd worked out for themselves, and she had a feeling this was a relationship that would succeed – though perhaps with the odd bump along the way.

Camille had noticed she was being watched, so Doctor Connor smiled in greeting and walked over. Richard looked up from his book, clearly startled to find her out of context.

"Hello, Richard, how are you?"

He stood up to shake her hand and introduce her to Camille, leaving the book on the table. Dr Connor couldn't help noticing he'd been engrossed in a book about the natural history of barnacles.

"Interesting reading choice," she actually couldn't think of anyone, besides marine zoologists, who would voluntarily read a book about barnacles. Beside her, Camille tried to supress a giggle, and she assumed that the detective had supplied Richard with the book as some kind of inside joke. "May I join you?"

"Of course, sit down, um, why are you here?" Back to being direct to the point then.

"Well, psychologist's take holidays too. Though actually this one is paid for, I told them I needed to come out here and sign you off to be fit for work again."

He shared a look with Camille, and Dr Connor knew that she must be forcing them to make some decisions they perhaps weren't ready for. However she was not here to make their lives difficult.

"How long do you want?" she asked, pulling her fit notes from her bag.

"Sorry?" Richard questioned.

"I can tell by looking at you that you two are perfectly aware of how much you need to work out. You know you can't return to your old post, Richard, not when you're having a relationship with your subordinate. I'm willing to date this for some point in the future to give you time to work out some details."

Camille spared the doctor a grateful smile, glad the woman was not just going to chuck them in the deep end. "We have already started considering the matter, so maybe a couple of weeks?"

"Sure," Said Dr Connor, adding her stereotypical indecipherable signature to the bottom of the form and passing it to Richard. He took it and put it away carefully in his case.

"God, where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink? Tea?"

"Only a crazy person would drink tea in this heat!" She said. Richard was looking rather concerned and Camille was trying to stifle a giggle again. Clearly somebody did actually drink tea in this heat. "Not 'I'm going to section them crazy'…" she reassured him. "I'll just have some juice."

He shot Camille a quick look, and she nodded indicating she too would like another drink. This disappointed Dr Connor greatly, as she suddenly realised that Richard's head injury probably had absolutely nothing to do with his increase in empathy scores. He'd gone and bloody learnt the skills from Camille, hadn't he? Well, that was a section of the paper she'd have to cut out.

Richard returned from the bar to find the two women chatting amiably, and was grateful for the existence of doctor–patient confidentiality. Mind, that didn't mean Camille couldn't reveal of few tit-bits that might cause his doctor to change her mind. This thought alarmed him enough that he decided to pick up the pace, even though he was holding three glasses. Unfortunately this lead to him stumbling into a parasol, hitting his forehead against it with surprising force – enough to cause him to drop the drinks.

Camille leapt up and hurried over, followed by Dr Conner, "Richard! Are you okay?" Camille took his chin firmly in her hand and started examining for damage.

"Sorry, who?" he asked, his face a mask of confusion. Camille and the good doctor shot him looks of such alarm he felt the need to back pedal immediately. "What, too soon?"

Camille's response was to punch him in the arm. It hurt more than the bloody parasol.

THE END.