Author's Note: My apologies for being late with this update. Something else needed my attention yesterday evening, and I just didn't have the time to get this chapter posted. I appreciate your patience. And won't ask for any more of it right now.

On to the story!


Chapter Ten: Hopes can be vicious things

It amazed Richard, the difference in temperature between a night spent in the caves of Mt. Esme and a night spent on an open rooftop in Honoré. Long after the sun had gone down, the heat from it still lingered. He remembered shivering most nights in that damp cave, but out here, he was working up a steady sweat. Though part of that might have to do with the pain.

"Try to hold still," Camille said, gingerly pulling his foot out of his boot. Ronnie and Camille actually had to unlace the entire shoe and pull the tongue out as far as possible before they could get Richard's swollen foot out of the boot. Richard winced against the pain, pinching his eyes tightly shut and holding his breath until he felt his foot spring free.

Ronnie lit his flashlight and shone it on Richard's foot as Camille delicately removed his sock. There were bold puncture marks across Richard's foot, about a half dozen of them, and they had interesting shapes, unlike any teeth marks he had ever seen. In a rare moment of curiosity outweighing squeamishness, Richard sat forward to examine his own foot. There wasn't much blood, to be honest he would have expected more, but it was bruising deeply, and the swelling that had set in made it look as though it belonged to a man three times Richard's size. He could already tell that putting pressure on it when the time came was not likely to be much fun. The bottom of his foot had been protected by the thick soles of the work boots Mrs. Beecher had given him, but the top of his foot had not been as well guarded.

Ronnie and Camille worked together to find items in their rather extensive medical collection that might be able to help, ignoring Richard's warning to use them sparingly. Ronnie found some sterilizing wipes and cleaned the wound, then Camille was able to suture the two gashes that were the deepest and which were bleeding the most. When that was finished, Ronnie sterilized all of the smaller wounds before wrapping the foot in some gauze and tying it off with Richard's own sock. They used an abandoned cinderblock and got Richard in a comfortable position where he could sleep with his leg elevated. For his part, Richard accepted all of these ministrations with limited complaint, just the occasional twinge or gasp. The suture part was the hardest…the alcohol wipes were pretty bad too. In the end, he thought he made it through without appearing to be too much of a wimp. He wondered if Camille noticed.

"Comfortable?" Ronnie asked, once Richard was settled and the kit was all put away.

"Quite," the detective answered, sitting up slightly and peering around Camille to see what she was doing. She had apparently pulled a few cans from her satchel and was peeling away the top tabs from them. Then she produced three silver spoons as well.

"Gentlemen, dinner is served," she said.

"Splendid, what's on the menu?" Ronnie asked as he settled down across from them.

"I'm glad you asked. Tonight, we have a feast of delights. Including baked beans as our appetizer…a main course of spaghetti and meatballs, by the acclaimed Chef Boyardee…and finally, for dessert, a delicious fruit cocktail." As she spoke, Camille lifted each respective can into view, displaying the label with a flourish of her hand. And Richard could be mistaken, but he believed he also detected just the hint of exaggeration to her ordinary French accent. He fought to keep back a smile.

"Ah well," Ronnie said leaning forward and grabbing one of the cans. "If it's all the same to you two, I think I'll have a go at those beans to start."

Camille looked down at Richard, reclined closely by her side. "And you?" she asked softly.

Richard gazed up at her, the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I'll take the dessert."

Camille gave an approving hum, "Good choice," and reached forward to grab it for him, also taking the spaghetti for herself.

They were having fun with it now, but the truth was, it actually was a pretty splendid meal. Most of the time, Richard restricted himself to one meal a day anyway, and his meal usually consisted of little more than a fruit, some boiled palm core, and maybe some nuts. Having a meal with this much variety in flavor was actually an indulgence, but considering the day they had all had, he thought it a reasonable splurge. Plus, whatever they were able to eat out of their satchels now meant more carrying room for their continued supply search tomorrow. So they all happily tucked in and enjoyed this rare extravagance.

"So, you two met at work?" Ronnie asked early in the meal, reaching his can out to Camille to swap.

She hummed an affirmative sound and then said, "Yes, he impeded an investigation of mine."

"Ah, I did no such thing!" Richard objected, jabbing his spoon back into his fruit cocktail. "I arrested her under suspicion that she was tied to an investigation of mine. A suspicion that proved to be correct, mind you."

"Correct?" Camille repeated righteously.

Richard shrugged like it was semantics, digging in his can to avoid the cherries, which started to spark an even bigger reaction out of Camille before Ronnie interjected.

"Okay okay," the big man laughed, gesturing with his can and spoon in a way that told them both to calm down. "That sounds like a long story." He was still chuckling as he lifted a spoonful of pasta into his mouth. "So…" he said between chews. "How long was it then before you two started-"

Richard choked at that moment on a skinless grape. He lurched forward and coughed into his wrist, all the while trying to give Ronnie a look that might encourage him not to finish that question. Camille simply patted his back comfortingly and handed him her canteen to have a sip of water.

"Before we started working together?" Camille asked innocently, ignoring the questioning look Richard was casting her as he took a drink. "Not long. Pretty much immediately in fact. Our cases overlapped, and once they were solved, the Police Commissioner kept us both on as permanent assignment."

As Camille returned to her can of beans dismissively, Ronnie nodded at her, an expression of coy understanding on his face. The inspector's momentary coughing fit seemed to be under control now, and a silence fell over the group, Ronnie's attempt at a conversation starter effectively killed off.

"So, tell me about your plan," Camille said a moment later, trading the can of beans with Richard and taking the assaulting fruit cocktail away from him.

"Plan?" he repeated dimly.

"To get off the island," Camille explained with a nod.

The two men exchanged a look. "There is no plan," Richard said at last.

Camille seemed stunned at this answer, looking back and forth between them a few times, as if expecting one of them to laugh it off and say "Gotcha!" When the joke never came, she slowly lowered her can. "You have no plan?"

"Well, our plan is to survive. Wait it out until rescue," Richard supplied.

"But…that could take ages. Surely it would be better to make it to the harbor and…"

"Where would we go?" Ronnie asked.

"Guadalupe, obviously."

Again, the two men shared a look. "You mean, you've not heard," Richard said hesitantly. It hadn't really occurred to Richard, although it made sense in hindsight, that not all of the survivors on the island would have the same amount of information. At Camille's curious stare and subsequent hike of one shoulder, Richard set down his can and delicately said, "Guadalupe is the same story. The cryptos have surfaced there as well. All over the Caribbean, in fact."

Camille's mouth hung open as she heard the news.

"And parts of South America," Ronnie added regretfully.

"Even if we could reach the harbor (and with our numbers of sick and injured, that'd be a fair feat), and even if there was a vessel there big enough to carry and sustain a group of our size…we'd have nowhere to go. The boats we can dock here on St. Marie are not built for long voyages. Our fuel would likely run out before we would make it somewhere safe. And the island, though dangerous, has more sustaining resources than the open sea. So…our plan is to stay put."

Camille was silent for a little while, then, "I…I had no idea it was that widespread. I thought it was just our island."

Richard looked over at Ronnie, and they shared the same stomach-churning expression. It was one thing to struggle through a hopeless circumstance; it was another thing entirely to be the one to steal another person's hope.

"But rescue will come," Richard said, trying to sound hopeful. "Leave it to the Americans. They'll not want a bunch of those nasty things plaguing their seas. They'll want this mess sorted out first thing. All we have to do is sit tight and wait our turn; they'll get to St. Marie eventually."

Camille's silence stretched out, and Richard was close to wondering if she had tuned him out altogether. Then she inhaled suddenly and asked. "What did you call them?"

"The…Americans?"

"No, no the creatures, earlier. You had a name for them."

"Oh, Cryptos. That's what I call them," Richard answered, hastily explaining, "Crypto-terrestrials. Meaning of the earth, but not understood. When the news first started reporting the story, they called them 'extra-terrestrials,' like they were from outer space or some nonsense. But they're hardly that. No, so I uh, took to calling them Crypto-terrestrials. Or…cryptos for short."

"Killer name," Ronnie said, lifting his can like a salute. "It's really catching on. I hear people around camp calling them that now."

But Richard didn't feel congratulated. He was still worried about Camille. After a moment, his concerns were proven valid when she said, "So, we do nothing? Just sit back and wait?"

Richard set down his can. He suddenly didn't feel much like eating. Camille's eyes landed on the abandoned can and she added, "What happens when the food runs out?"

Richard sighed and reached out to take her can from her, depositing it on the roof floor and closing her hand within his own. "That won't happen. Rescue will come before then."

But Camille didn't look convinced. Silence fell over the group again, and then after a short while, Camille stole her hand back, stood, and walked away from the others, going to stand by the edge of the roof and stare out over the city of Honoré. Richard watched her go, wishing that his foot was not rubbish so that he could follow her.

"Give her some time," Ronnie said, having read his friend's expression. "We all went through it. She just needs a moment to let it sink in."

Richard nodded absently. Ronnie was right, no doubt. But he still wished he could go to her, wished he had the perfect thing to say.

Trapped with nothing better to do, Richard sat with Ronnie and the two of them polished off the fruit cocktail and spaghetti. The beans, which had the most left in the can, they silently agreed to leave for Camille. Richard kept casting not-so-subtle glances over at the woman at the far end of the rooftop. She looked both tragic and noble, bathed in moonlight and looking out over her ruined city with a posture of gentle pensiveness. Under normal circumstances, the dilapidated rooftop, with spare shingles, rocks, and debris strewn around, wouldn't be a particularly beautiful sight, but Richard had to admit that Camille had a way of making things lovely. He found he couldn't easily look away.

"Now, my friend," Ronnie's voice broke him out of his reverie. "Are you finally going to tell me who she is?"

"Sorry? You know who she is," Richard replied with a furrowed brow.

Ronnie fixed him with a pointed stare and Richard suddenly flashed back to his school days, when he was about to be told off by Sister Benedict. "Don't play dumb, Inspector. It's a look you can't pull off."

"Hmm," Richard mused, his eyes shifting over to the woman once again. "Some would argue with you there," he said with the tilt of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as if sharing a private joke with his partner.

"There, see?" Ronnie said, pointing at the detective like he just caught him red-handed. "There is something there. The way you look at her, I can tell."

Smile dropped, Richard shrugged and shook his head, mouth opening to give an explanation he didn't have.

"Why is it you've never mentioned her?" Ronnie asked, a slight pang of hurt in his tone.

Richard looked up at that. He had been expecting teasing, expected some kind of ridicule that would draw attention to Richard's hopeless lack of "game" when it came to the fairer sex. In truth, that was the direction all of these types of conversations with other males seemed to take in Richard's experience, some school yard ribbing about how Richard didn't stack up, wasn't "man enough" to handle a woman like Camille.

That is what Richard expected. But all he saw when he looked up at Ronnie was the imploring expression of a good friend. None of the hostile mirth. None of the vulgar degradation. Just…confusion, and maybe a hint of disappointment too.

"We all have loved ones out there still," Ronnie elaborated. "Booker and I have spoken to you about ours many times. I have known you, worked alongside you for months now, taking care of all those people, and you never even mentioned that you had somebody-"

"I couldn't," Richard confessed deeply, his voice even surprising himself. He cast another look over at Camille, this time to make sure she was keeping her distance. He craned his neck forward and down, looking like a guilty canine, feeling the weight of what he was about to reveal press in around him. "I couldn't talk about her. I…couldn't even think about her. I said her name one time and it almost broke me." Richard kept his voice low and his eyes lower. He didn't dare look over at her now. "To go all of that time, and not even know if she was…" Richard cut himself short. Just speaking the words was bringing back memory of that torment; it was almost like she was gone again, and his insides filled with that anxiety and sickness he thought he had passed.

He snuck a glance up and saw that Ronnie was nodding, like he understood…which of course, he didn't. Ronnie's wife and four children were all tucked away, safe and sound in the cave. The loved ones he spoke of were his father and sister-in-law, so it wasn't exactly the same thing. Still, seeing that nod from his friend was strangely comforting to Richard, and he knew that weighing grief against grief was always a pointless exercise.

"And anyway, we aren't even-"

"Official?" Ronnie finished with a knowing smile. "Yeah, I could tell that too…"

Richard sighed and found his gaze returning to her, bolstered somewhat by the lack of condemnation from his friend. "I don't even know what we are, to be honest," he said quietly, not knowing where these confessions were coming from, but somehow powerless to restrain them now. "Something's changed, but I don't know what. We don't seem to be where we left off. But it sort of seems I don't know which way's up anymore."

"Well let me help you out, Inspector," Ronnie said matter-of-factly, causing Richard to look back at the other man. "Earlier, when you were holding her hand, looking at her like she hung this moon we're under…that was up."

Richard's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as they did when he scrutinized a piece of evidence.

"And," added Ronnie pointedly. "When you almost died and she threw herself on top of you, slapping kisses all over that chalky white face of yours, that was probably a clue too." Ronnie laughed a deep and resounding chuckle, and Richard felt heat rise to his cheeks.

The sheepish detective swallowed and looked back over to the subject of their discussion, and he felt a little whirlwind flutter around in his stomach. Perhaps Ronnie was right. Perhaps there was something beginning now with Camille, something actually attainable. As soon as Richard had the thought, he felt a surge of warning from the back of his mind. 'Be careful, Poole,' the voice said. 'You know how hopes can be vicious things.'

"Well," Ronnie said, in a distinct shift in tone that told Richard the personal talk was over. There was a part of Richard (a significant part) that felt relieved. "We should probably have a look out. Go on, you should get some sleep. I'll go tell Camille that I'll take first watch."

Ronnie gathered his rifle and then got up to leave, but before he could go, Richard felt he needed to say something. "I'm sorry…that I never told you. I should have."

The tall man paused and looked down at him. "I am sorry for that too. If I had known, I could have been a better friend to you."

Richard smirked a little at that. "Well, you're being a first class one now," he said and reached out his hand to him.

Ronnie shook it with a nod and then walked away.

Left by his lonesome, Richard took this opportunity to reevaluate his foot. It had been painful, keeping it elevated through dinner, and when he gingerly lifted his leg off of the cinderblock, his knee punished him for teetering on the edge of hyperextension all that time. With no one around to see it, he allowed himself an unadulterated wince and a "bloody hell" for good measure.

The color was a bit hard to see in the moonlight, but he was pretty certain that the swelling had already started to go down a little. That had to be a good sign. Bending his cranky knee, he reached forward and tried to grasp his toes. They felt cold, and they gave a twinge of pain when he tried to squeeze them, but otherwise, they seemed relatively normal. His hand wandered down to check his heel and he was relieved to discover that it felt perfectly fine. Richard knew that the real kicker (for lack of a better word) would be the middle of his foot. That's where the crypto had managed to pierce through boot and skin and latch onto him. And when the beast gave that nasty shake of its head, Richard knew he had felt something break. Barely wanting to even try, Richard gently reached timid fingers around the bottom of his foot and experimentally prodded against the pad. A sharp, spine-jolting pain shot through his leg and Richard held his breath not to scream. Yep…definitely broken.

Richard had a sinking feeling in his chest then, his mind's eye racing across the route that had brought him here. He remembered the balance required to get from ledge to ledge. He remembered the climbing up and down from the rooftops, the occasional bouts of running, and then the gradually-increasing slope of the climb back up the mountain. Richard looked at his foot, a grim realization creeping onto his face.

"How is it?"

Richard looked up at the sound of Camille's voice. "Good, good," he answered hastily. "Well, not great. But good. Swelling's gone down a bit, I think. Which is…good."

Richard suspected he wasn't exactly selling it, so he decided he should try to change the subject. "But uh…how ar-"

"I'm fine," Camille declared, in a way that didn't really sell it either.

Richard nodded haltingly, watching her not look at him. He didn't like that.

Needing another change of subject, apparently, Richard reached over and retrieved the can of unfinished beans, lifting them up to his partner, hoping to coax her to sit down. "These were left over," he said.

Camille hesitated a moment and then took the can from him. She sat down and stared into the darkness of the can to spoon out a bite.

Richard had told her, once, that he was incapable of reading her mind, although now he would wager that he could make a pretty good guess. It was obvious that, before their conversation over dinner, Camille hadn't really known exactly how hopeless their situation was. Based on what she had said, it was also clear that she had expected him to have some sort of brilliant plan for how to get them off of the island. But now, any high hopes she had been nursing up until this point were properly dashed, as crumbled and cracked as the streets of Honoré.

Internally, Richard rebuked himself for disappointing her.

Silence passed between them while she ate and he searched for something to say. He needed to say something. Offer his apologies, or somehow restore some of the hope he had shot from her skies. But words, as they did in practically every tender moment, evaded him. It wasn't long before Camille had polished off the last morsel from her can and was turning to position her satchel behind her as a pillow. Resigning himself to the fact that, despite a somewhat productive conversation with Ronnie, he was still rubbish at feelings, Richard too turned his attention to preparing his space for sleeping.

Using his healthy foot, Richard pushed the cinder block away, knowing that he couldn't get through an entire night with his injured leg elevated and his knee hyperextended. Plus, Holden wasn't there to yell at him for it. Looking to his side, Richard felt a tinge of disappointment as Camille settled herself down for the night, lying on her side, with her back to him.

Richard too laid back against his satchel, the Caribbean stars blinking down at him like a billion pinpricks through an endless, black curtain. He listened for the usual island sounds: deadly tree frogs chirping in the trees, crickets and locusts battling in volume, waves in the distance…but all of these were harder to hear than usual, overshadowed by the dull, hissing breath of the cryptos camped out at the base of their building. It was something between the sound of dragging an anvil across asphalt, and the sound Richard's television made when it was in between the good stations. He could hear it from all around him, and he got the impression that other families of cryptos had joined the few that had chased Richard up this building. The noise of the creatures had always been unsettling to him, but hearing it in these numbers was downright nerve-wracking. He found himself grateful for their little rooftop sanctuary, an island of a different kind.

Richard turned himself over to his side, slow and careful with the positioning of his foot. He tugged the satchel up under his head, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed, wondering if Camille's many nights on these rooftops had made her very skilled at drowning out the beasts' dreadful voices. With eyes pinched shut, Richard tried his best to fall asleep. But his eyes sprang open again a few minutes later, when he felt a soft poke at his shoulder.

Richard rolled onto his back and turned his head, coming face to face with Camille. He looked fixedly at the reflection of the moon in her gaze, a full orb bowed into a crescent over the slope of her beautiful brown eyes. When a few seconds had ticked by without her saying anything, Richard lifted an arm above his head, an experiment of invitation, and Camille wordlessly snuggled herself into his side.

Dropping his hand to close around her shoulder, the noise of the night seemed to fade away as one crystal clear thought presently materialized: they would be alright. She was with him, and everything would be alright.

Richard closed his eyes and smirked contentedly. God, but he was becoming such a sap.


There it is! Hope you guys enjoyed it! I have loved seeing your comments on this story. You are such thoughtful readers and the little details you guys notice always impress me. So keep those comments coming! I love it!