Extremely random and a little strange, I know... Hopefully you'll like! Lola xx
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It was just another suffocatingly hot, uncomfortably sunny and cheerfully busy day on the island of Saint-Marie. Rays of blindingly bright sunshine streamed into Honore police station, through the wide open doors that led out onto the porch. Dwayne and Fidel were following up a lead on yet another bootlegger; Richard and Camille were working intently in the office...
Or at least they were, until Camille broke the atmosphere of concentration:
"You know," she began thoughtfully, "I really fancy some ice cream."
Honestly, thought Richard disapprovingly, his brain slowly processing this peculiar comment. That was such a typically... Camille thing to say. Random and irrelevant - yet another reminder of her French nature.
Stil, if he was going to be completely honest, he could totally understand where she was coming from. The fan was broken (again) and the only fan-fixer on the island had promised to come on Thursday - which was today, incidentally, reflected Richard.
But he had long since learnt that 'Thursday' usually turned into about 5 days later... Which meant that the fan would be sorted out by... Monday. No, hang on a second - Tuesday. Or was it Wedne- Good god, the heat was getting to his brain. Ice cream would be lovely - oh, for some good vanilla ice cream... But no, work was work. And ice cream was not most definitely not work.
His green eyes flitted from his paperwork to land on his detective seargent. She was slumped in her office chair, legs propped up comfortably on her desk in a way that made it physically impossible for him to ignore her toned skin. Her arms were folded across her chest in what could only be described as a ponderous manner, her dark curls were tilted to the side and she was looking upwards, slender brows furrowed. She appeared to be thinking intently.
"Camille, we are on duty," he reminded her briskly, before his focus turned once again to his reports.
"Once, in Paris, we had a case about ice cream.. "
"Wonderful as that sounds, I must object to this conversation being had here."
"Mmmm." She muttered in response, and so the matter was settled. For the time being at least...
[10 minutes later]
"Chocolate would be nice," remarked Camille suddenly.
Richard shot her a bewildered glance. He'd been engrossed in work. "What?"
As if only just registering his presence in the office with her, she stared at him in surprise. "Oh. Well, ice cream of course," she clarified.
Her superior officer merely rolled his eyes. "Did you do any work in the 10 minutes since you last mentioned this ice cream business?"
Camille was lost in her own little world.
"Or mango. Yes that would be good actually. Mmm. Mango would be perfect in this weather," she mumbled dreamily.
"Euurgh." He gave an involuntary snort of disgust, causing her to widen her eyes at him in disbief.
"You don't like mango?"
"No, God. Frankly, I can't understand why anybody would. Far too sweet."
"Richard. You don't like mango?"
He frowned at her, confused. "Yes, I thought I just said that."
"He lives on Saint-Marie and yet he doesn't like mango." She shook her head dismally. "He'll never truly be a citizen of the island..."
"Luckily I have no plans to become a citizen of the island, so no problems there. And anyway, like I said, we are on duty. Work, Camille. Work."
Dutifully, she bowed her head and picked up a pen. Unfortunately, that was as far as she got.
"How about coconut? Do you like coconut?"
"Camille, whether or not I like coconut is entirely unrelated to this case," he said calmly.
Although they didn't occur all that often, Richard had grown accustomed to her spontaneous distracting comments, which meant that he'd also learnt to contain his annoyance... Well, mostly.
All in all, there was no denying that Camille was the best partner he'd ever had, the crew on Saint-Marie the best he'd ever worked with.
An occasional "Do you like coconut?" was no hard price to pay for the team he was lucky enough to lead.
"What flavours do you like then?" she asked.
"None," he said. Just let me finish these godforsaken reports...
"So you just don't like ice cream?"
Some 2 seconds later and he was already questioning his previous thoughts that she was the best partner he'd ever had. He rolled his eyes, "Of course I like ice cream."
"But you just said you didn't like any flavours?"
She seemed genuinely bewildered.
"Camille do you try to be irritating?"
"Oh, I bet I know what flavour you like," she exclaimed. Oh this was so blindingly obvious! How on earth had she never thought of it before?!
Noting her tone of apparent revelation, Richard stared at his seargent: she was beaming proudly, and he found it oddly... Attractive... However he instantly smushed down that incompetent, inappropriate reaction, raised his eyebrows and asked drily, "Pray, tell me. What flavour do I enjoy so much?"
"Tea!" announced Camille grandly.
He snorted. "Is there even such a thing?"
"Oui! Of course! It's very popular in Japan. And I'm pretty sure they also have Earl Grey in England," she responded airily.
How did she know about Japanese ice cream flavours, let alone English ones? It was almost as if-
"Did you plan this conversation?" he asked suspiciously.
"No. I'm just... naturally... very educated on the topic of... international.. ice cream flavours," she finished confidently. "But anyway, what was the answer to my coconut question?"
"The answer was let me finish these bloody reports," said Richard, making a mental note to ignore anything else she said.
"Have you tried-" she paused, seeing Richard's deadly expression.
"Yes?" he questioned, daring her to speak.
"It can wait," Camille smiled cheerily and made a point of flicking through some sheets on her desk. When she looked at him again, to check her act had been successful, she found his gaze still on her.
Almost... Was it? No. No, it couldn't be. This was RICHARD. Still, on anybody else she could've sworn that gaze was lustful... No. Pfft. Sometimes she despised her vivid imagination.
Anyway, Camille had a plan to put into action.
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Richard groaned and stretched out his aching limbs. The day was over; it was now officially Catherine's bar time. He was grateful that it was the end of the day, but in all honesty, work was not the torturous labour it had been when he'd first arrived on Saint-Marie. He no longer counted down the milliseconds until he could return to his shack and read a good book or spend time with Harry. Richard would quite happily go as far to say that his colleagues were also his friends, and that he enjoyed spending time with them, whether it be at work as colleagues or at Catherine's bar as friends.
Bold Camille, diligent Fidel, and wild, wild Dwayne. And of course himself, aggressively pedantic and nitpicky. They made an odd group. Richard chuckled internally. Right, time for some icy cold water from the fridge, before he closed the station down with Camille.
He trotted over to the fridge, opened it, and seized a bottle of deliciously cold water with the fervour that an alcoholic might grab a wine bottle. He pressed the plastic to the back of his neck, revelling in the blissful cold feeling. Finally cool(er), he breathed a little sigh, and closed his eyes.
Heaven. This was heaven.
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Camille glanced briefly at her boss, before strolling casually over to Richard's desk. Smoothly, she slipped a little scrap of paper onto his desk, right in the centre where he'd see it, before calling out, "I'll see you at my mother's bar for beers?"
He grunted in reply, and she skipped off.
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Heaven. This was heaven. Pure, sweet, cold delight-
Richard moaned aloud. His body heat had already sucked away the coolness of the bottle. Oh well, it was probably time he followed the others' lead. A beer would be nice.
Oooh, I wonder if you can get beer-flavoured ice cream...?
Shrugging away that thought, he hurried to his desk, eager for friendship and beer.
He was so eager, that he almost missed it: absorbed in fastening his briefcase and shutting down his computer. Swiftly, he shoved a pile of papers into a tray-
Hang on, what was that? A torn up corner from a sheet of lined paper? No, he would never have left something like that on his desk. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over, revealing the unmistakable scrawly scribbles that made up Camille's handwriting.
I know a good ice cream place if you're interested. Tomorrow 7?
If he was interested? Well of course he was interested!
This sounded suspiciously like... Like a... Like a date. But she couldn't possibly want to go on a date with him. No. Of course not. But maybe...
An additional spring in his step, Richard closed up the station and made his way to Catherine's bar, mind focused solely on what tomorrow could bring...
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