Title: New Habits Die Hard
Summary: People who spend a lot of time in each other's company will pick up their habits. No matter how much they deny it.
A/N: Inspired by a friend who when I asked her if she wanted a chocolate, tipped her head to the left, bit her lip and nodded. Something she had never done before – but her boyfriend did all the time!
His father had gotten a passport specially.
When Detective Chief Inspector Ian Poole (retired) had glanced at his passport five years ago, to find it had expired, Richard distinctly remembered him announcing he wouldn't be getting another one. "I'm not paying £70 odd quid when there are plenty of places in the UK we haven't seen," he had said. Every holiday his parents had taken since had been within the UK (with a jaunt to Ireland, which you didn't need a passport for if you were British).
So it came as a surprise when his parents had called him and informed him of their impending visit. They had already booked the tickets, so there was no talking them out of it. When he expressed his surprise to Camille that night at Catherine's, the eponymous lady (who was pouring his tea) had said simply, "Well of course they want to visit, Richard, you are their son and they miss you." Camille had nodded, giving him a significant look – a reminder of how he had had to buy her many drinks one afternoon after she had correctly guessed her father would have heard about the hurricane and be worried. Though Richard couldn't actually say if he had been worried – just that he had asked quite quickly if everything was okay. Might have just been curiosity.
"They only say me a month ago!" Richard pointed out, referring to his brief foray back to London with a prisoner in tow.
"Not for very long," Catherine argued back. "And they probably want to see the place that has whisked you away from them, your new home."
Richard's instinct was to open his mouth and immediately deny that Saint Marie was his home. And he did open his mouth, but he found the words wouldn't come out. Eventually Camille leaned forward and placed a finger under his chin, shutting his mouth for him. She leaned back and smiled at him in a way that made him spill his tea when he tried to put the cup back down.
"Don't worry," Camille said.
"Don't worry about what?" Richard asked.
"We won't impose ourselves on your parent's little visit."
"Oh," said Richard, surprised by Camille's offer of restraint. He had rather expected their curiosity to get the better of them and pop up everywhere. Perhaps demanding embarrassing stories from Richard's childhood. "Um, well, of course I will probably bring them to the station just to show them it and introduce you all. And we'll probably be here for the odd cup of tea. Not sure how to fill the rest of our time yet."
"Now that," said Camille. "I can help you with."
A few weeks later, Richard found himself sitting in Catherine's bar opposite his parents. They were relieved to have been presented with drinkable tea, especially after a day of touring historic plantation houses whose cafes had all failed to supply a decent pot of tea. He was acutely aware of the island's residents watching them curiously. Camille was at the bar, pouring over a printout he had given her the other day. Despite her promise, Richard hadn't been entirely sure she would keep her word, so had devised a plan to distract her. He had bet Camille an evening of drinks that she couldn't get more or as many correct answers than him at The Time's cryptic crossword. She was frowning over it this very moment. He felt pretty smug about his plan. A moment of inspiration seemed to hit her, and she leaned forward to fill out an answer. The small of her back was revealed by the action. He didn't know a back could be so lovely…
"Richard, did you listen to anything I just said?" His mother asked now. Richard dragged his eyes away from Camille and hoped nobody noticed what had been distracting him.
"Sorry, Mum, miles away." His father gave a little huff of amusement. Richard strongly suspect he did know what he had been looking at.
His mother just sighed, "I was asking if you knew a way to get to Marie-Galante easily. I read the houses there are beautiful as well."
It took Richard a moment to remember what Marie-Galante was – one of the small islands that made up Guadeloupe. Having only ever been to Basse-Terre (and usually then under protest) he had no idea if there a direct connection to Marie-Galante or if the trip would involve first going to Basse-Terre. He wasn't particularly keen to go either way, so in response to his mother's question he just shrugged.
His parent's stared at him. Then they looked at each other, and back at him. His father looked like he might have died a little inside, his mother just had her eyebrows knitted together. Shrugging was a bit rude, he thought to himself, but surely not that rude.
"What was that?" His mother asked.
"I…er…shrugged. Sorry…I should have just said I don't know how to get there. I can find out…"
"Never mind that," his father cut him off. "Do that shrug again." It came out as an order.
Richard, very confused, attempted to oblige them. His father shook his head and his mother tisked, "No," she told him. "That isn't how you shrugged just now."
"It isn't..?" Richard said, trying to recall what action he had made which his parents found so disturbing.
"No," his father agreed. "You shrugged," he paused, looking around him, and then leaning forward said in a loud whisper, "in a Gallic way!" Seeing that Richard didn't understand, his father demonstrated. He bent his arms at the elbow, palms up, and shrugged. It was a gesture Richard recognised, he'd been on the receiving end of them from Camille many a time, and occasionally Catherine.
"I did not shrug like that!"
"You did," his father told him firmly, settling back into his seat. "How much of the island did you said was French?"
"About a third," said Richard.
"You do seem different here," seeing Richard's look she added, "Not in a bad way. I suppose some of their culture was bound to rub off on you," his mother said, with a small sigh. She was acting like she was missing him growing up or something – Richard doubted very much he had changed that much.
Richard had found his eyes drawn to Camille again. Currently, she was talking to Catherine, who for reasons unknown was remonstrating with her daughter about something whilst pointing between her eyes.
"Yes," he father said loudly, dragging Richard's attention back to him. If Richard didn't know better, he would think there was a little smile at the corners of his father's mouth. "Especially if you spend a lot of time with a particular French person." His mother did smile at that.
Richard swallowed hard, reached for his tea, had a sip, and then asked benignly, "What do you mean by that?"
"Well," his father said slowly. "Wasn't that Detective Seargent we met this morning French?" His father nodded at the bar where Camille was sat. They had been introduced this morning.
"Yes," His mother agreed. "I'm sure you've mentioned Camille to us before now, as well. Don't you too…what do young people say, 'hang around' together outside of work a bit?"
"With the rest of the team," Richard said quickly. Deliberately ignoring all the evenings she had spent on his porch. And the odd weekend she dragged him out sightseeing.
"What was that coffee you ordered for breakfast again this morning, Richard darling?" His mother asked.
"A cappuccino," he said simply, wondering why his mother was asking now. Perhaps she wanted one instead of tea. He would have thought his mother knew what one was, even if she only drank instant coffee with 5 sugars.
"You only ever used to drink filter coffee, another habit you picked up here I imagine," she said. "What kind of coffees do your team drink then – I assume that is something you do occasionally?"
This was a very odd line of questioning, but if it got them off the subject of Camille he was willing to talk about it, "Er, well Dwayne and Fidel have theirs black…Camille prefers, um…"
"A cappuccino?" His mother supplied. His father coughed. It sounded like he was trying to cover up a laugh. "She perhaps the one who introduced you to them?" His mother was right, of course. He hadn't dared try the tea at some café they were at, and the filter had broken on their machine, so Camille had told him to just try the cappuccinos. Which were, in her opinion, divine. She also went on and on about how he needed to try new things so much he gave in, ordered one, and despite thinking it had about 4 inches too much foam on it rather liked it. Camille had taught him to order wet cappuccinos, which he always felt ridiculous doing, but he did prefer them now to normal coffee.
In response to his mother's question, he shrugged. And made a concerted effort to do it in the 'English' way. "Sometimes. And sometimes she drinks iced coffee." That was a drink he didn't have a taste for.
"You know, I thought maybe you two were close," His father said innocently. Richard realised he was being teased. He was being teased by his father. His father. Had old age mellowed him? Where was the giant of a man who had terrified him as a child? Who'd seemed disappointed that every achievement he had ever gotten wasn't somehow…better? He looked at his Dad with wide eyes and wondered if he could cope with this man. The last time he remembered being teased by his Dad was on a beach holiday…when he was six. "After all," his father continued. "She does keep glancing over here."
"No she doesn't!" Richard denied. Then, after a quick sidelong glance towards Camille, asked less confidently, "Does she?"
"Richard, I was a police officer for 40 years, I know when I am being watched," his father said confidently. "Or, in this case, when somebody I am with is being watched. And I know when somebodies attention is elsewhere." Richard got the feeling this last bit was referring to him, and not to Camille.
"She's probably just curious," Richard said, offering an alternative explanation. "She helped me plan today, you know, maybe she is just wondering how it went."
"Oh did she?" His mother asked, eyebrows raised. "Well we must thank her. Perhaps by buying her a drink?"
His father had leaned back to get a better view of Camille at the bar. Catherine had gone off to serve some other customers now, and she was quite alone. "What is it she is doing there?" His father asked, referring to Camille hunched stance. "Some paperwork?"
"Oh a crossword," said Richard. He had a sudden bright idea of saying that Camille hated to be disturbed when doing the crossword, but before he could his father stood up.
"A crossword fan!" He said. "Well, she is alright by me then, she can definitely come have a drink with us."
And he marched off across the bar without a backwards glance. His mother just sat across from him, smiling widely.
God help him. This was going to be interesting.
Camille knew Richard and his parent's must have arrived when Catherine bustled past her with a heavily laden tea tray. She was only able to resist the urge to look around for about 30 seconds, she glanced behind her and watched them all settling down. She told herself she wanted to see if they looked happy, after all she had helped Richard planned this day. Though, part of her also just wanted to know how Richard was coping. She knew it must be stressful for him to have his parent's here. They all looked fine at the moment, grateful for the tea in fact. The former DCI Poole looked up at that moment and Camille quickly looked away, turning her attention back to the printed off sheet Richard had given her yesterday. It was a copy of The Times cryptic crossword. She had been teasing him about his little habit, one that he paid for with a subscription to something called 'the crossword club'. It had led to a challenge from him that was now keeping her occupied.
Staring at 4 down, she tapped the pen against the lips, and then the answer suddenly came to her. Pleased, she leaned forward and filled it out, before turning her attention to 6 across, which might help her with one of the clues she was horrendously stuck on.
"What's this?" Her mother appeared, pulling the printout swiftly towards her.
"Oh, it is a cryptic crossword. Richard bet me I couldn't do better than or as well as him. I think he just wanted to distract me from his parent's visit, stop me interfering. He obviously thinks this is a bet he can win easily."
"But you used to do all those cryptic crosswords when you had that wonderful boyfriend at college. What was his name?"
"Adam," Camille supplied. For some reason she felt the need to look behind her, check Richard wasn't suddenly in hearing distance. Adam probably wasn't what Richard would imagine as her type. Not that Richard probably spent much time considering what her type was.
"Yes, Adam! Shy, bookish sort. I remember how cute it was when you brought him home, you two curled up on the sofa doing crosswords. You were very good at them."
"Yes," said Camille, with a little wink. "But Richard doesn't know that." Her mother smiled, sliding the paper back towards her. Camille took another glance at Richard to check if he had noticed the exchange and then, assuming her mother would go back to her bar tending duties she went back to her contemplation of her crossword. Tapping the pen against her lips, she frowned, trying to think of alternative meanings of the word crater that might help her solve the clue. Cryptic crosswords had been a lot easier in French.
"Urgh!" Cried her mother, causing Camille to jump. "These bad habits you've picked up from that Englishman! I am telling you, you two spend too much time together. Work should be at work – and you do keep insisting you are just colleagues. Though the more you pick up from him, the harder I find that to believe."
Camille sat back, and stared at her mother, going over in her mind what had just been said. Her eyes flicked back to the table that held Richard and his family, but they seemed to be in conversation. Besides, the bar was far too noisy for them to overhear. "Well, firstly," she began. "I would say we are colleagues and friends. And secondly, what habits are you talking about? I haven't picked up anything from Richard except certain…investigative skills. And that hasn't been all take, he has picked up a few tricks from me as well," she added with a hint of pride.
"Is that right? Well what about the tapping of the pen against your lips? Are you saying that isn't something Richard does?" The problem was, Camille couldn't really deny it. She had stolen a pen once at the station and imitated him in front of the whiteboard, tapping it against her mouth like he did. She had no clue it had become an actual habit. Not that she was going to tell her mother that.
"I've always done that!"
Catherine just breathed out sharply through her nose. "The pen thing I can live with, but you need to stop frowning when you are thinking like he does. You'll end up with wrinkles here!" She pointed between her eyes. "And look old before your time, like Richard. A pretty pair you'll make then."
Camille had sometimes thought the worry lines between his eyes, and on his forehead, made him look older than he was. Sometimes she imagined smoothing them out with her fingertips…nope, she shouldn't be going there. Camille turned slightly in her seat, and could see he was frowning now at something his parents were saying. She didn't spend too much time with him, did she? So there were a few evenings on his porch a week…the odd weekend trip…
"Well," her mother said. "I can see you're a lost cause. I can only hope he'll pick up more good habits from you then you do bad ones from him." She didn't give Camille a chance to respond, going off to serve some customers on the patio.
Camille went back to her crossword, not that she was able to read any of the clues on the paper in front of her. Did it really mean anything, her picking up a few quirks from him? Yes, it was something that happened to couples, but it must happen to colleagues…friends…as well. Had she picked up anything from Dwayne? Fidel? A voice jolted her from her thoughts.
"Good evening, Detective Seargent Bordey." It was Richard's father. He probably wanted a drink. She couldn't hide her surprise when he asked, "Since you and my son usually spend so much time together, my wife and I wouldn't want to deprive you of his company all evening. Please do come join us for a drink. Feel free to bring the crossword, I rather enjoy them myself."
The pen slipped from Camille's fingers. "Um," she begun badly. "Richard told you we spend a lot of time together?"
"Not in so many words," Mr Poole said with a small smile. He had Richard's eyes, and Camille found it a bit disconcerting. "Now please, join us." Somehow, it sounded like an order.
God help her. This was going to be interesting.
A/N: Yes, I am deliberately leaving it unresolved…you can all guess what happened in that little gathering!