Strike picked at the salad that sat on his desk. He had asked Pat to order him one and he almost instantly regretted it when she placed it on his desk. He longed for chips but since taking a machete to the chest he was trying to hold to his promise to eat healthier and even though Robin wasn't there to keep him accountable he somehow felt like she would know if he had broken his promise while she was gone. He had insisted she take a week off of work after he returned from the hospital but he longed for her company. Strike had never been one to feel lonely, but he suspected the pain in his chest had more to do with the absence of Robin than the wound that was healing. Normally he would smoke or leave the office to track down somebody, but his leg was still not willing to accept the prosthetic and until the spasms stopped and the pain receded, he needed to stay in the office. Robin was due to return tomorrow and Strike had spent more time than he would like to admit rehearsing what he wanted to say to her about their moment at the Ritz. While in the hospital it all seemed easy and he felt embolden by her fear of losing him but now, in the familiar surroundings of his office it all felt like shit again. He absently rubbed his leg. Ryan Murphy was objectively handsome and a good guy. The kind of guy that would want to get married and understand the demands of her job and probably remember her birthday. Strike pushed the cherry tomato around the bowl, shook his head and threw the whole thing away. He needed some proper food. He stood up, grabbed his crutches, and made towards the door. He entered the outer office, muttered to Pat that he was leaving and opened the front door before looking up and running straight into Robin.

She grabbed his arm as he teetered on his crutches as he exclaimed, "What the hell are you doing here?" Robin smiled at what she knew was his combination of surprise at her arrival and the embarrassment of almost falling. "I came back early. There is only so much time with my parents and laying on my couch that I can withstand. Besides, we have new clients. Don't we?" And with that she breezed past him leaving behind a waft of perfume and what Strike thought was strawberry shampoo. Strike steadied himself on his crutches and forcing himself to not think about the smell of her shampoo or how it would feel to bury his face in her hair, he said, "Well, I was just heading out for lunch." Pat shot him a stern look which Strike ignored. Robin looked up from the stack of messages Pat had given her and said, "you aren't going out for chips, are you?" He stared blankly at her not sure if he should lie, when she looked him through her eyelashes, and he instantly caved. His shoulders slumped and he said, "well, I was going to but apparently I'm not any longer". Pat frowned and said, "I ordered you a salad which you told me to do, what happened to it?"

Strike shrugged, "I tossed it" Robin hid a smile and said, "C'mon. Let's go to the pub and we can have a catch-up. You can order either chips or a lager, but you can't have both." Strike raised his eyebrows, "that seems bloody unfair" Robin just smiled, "well those are the choices you get. You can think about it on the way there. Should I call a taxi or are you ok to walk?" Strike scowled as he followed her out the door, "we can walk".

As they made their way to the pub Strike noticed that Robin was unusually happy. She almost glowed in the sunshine. Was this because of plenty of rest or was this the giddy happiness of early love? Strike stuffed that thinking back into the box he had kept it for so long.

The walk to the pub was short and Strike spent most of that time focusing on his leg and crutches and praying he didn't fall. The pub had a cozy darkness to it that Cormoran found comforting from the brightness of the outside. Robin found a table in the back corner that had a booth on one side that provided them with some privacy from the rest of the pub. She dropped her purse in the chair across from Strike and said, "Stay put." Strike slid into the booth side and decided he wasn't going to ask anything about Robin's time off. It wasn't his business, and he had no right to ask what she did in her private time. He would stick to the cases.

Robin dropped into the chair across the table in front of Strike tucking her strawberry blond hair behind her ears and smiled at him. It was a beautiful smile and Strike's stomach rolled a bit. Strike drew out his notebook so he could give Robin an update on their clients when she blurted out, "how are you feeling?" The last thing Strike wanted to do was remind Robin how old and decrepit he is. The missing leg was enough, he didn't need to discuss the scar that was quickly forming across his chest. Strike cleared his throat and gruffly answered, "Yea, I'm fine." Robin raised her eyebrows in doubt, "Cormoran, please stop doing that."

He met her glare, "do what?"

Robin shook her head "unbelievable. The most celebrated detective in the city and he can't figure out what I'm talking about. Would you like to try again Sherlock?"

Strike took the deepest breath he could without pushing the pain in his chest, straightened himself up and said, "I don't need you to worry about me. Really, I'm recovering." Before Robin could respond a waiter arrived and placed their meals in front of them. Robin had gotten Strike a grilled chicken sandwich with a fruit cup and she ordered herself a strawberry walnut salad with chicken and a side of chips. Strike carefully examined his plate, looked at the side of chips and said, "are those for me?" Robin shook her head, "they are for me, and I will share them with you if you drop the bullshit." Strike hung his head low, took a deep breath and looked up at Robin, "Did I teach you this interrogation technique or did you pick this one up on your own?" Robin laughed, "yes, the chip technique is a Robin Ellacott original" Strike couldn't help but smile. Robin reached across the table and squeezed Strike's hand, "Cormoran, please. I need to know the truth. Please don't lie to me about this." He squeezed her hand back, "I'm sore. It hurts to laugh so don't tell me any jokes and I'm developing an impressive scar." Robin didn't move her hand and Strike noticed. "And your leg?" If she was going to hold his hand, he was willing to answer her questions, "it hasn't grown back if that is what you mean." His lame attempt at a joke didn't evoke even the smallest smile from Robin, instead she just glared at him. "Ok, ok, fine. It has mainly stopped spasming, but my hamstring is still screaming at me." Robin knew Strike would reject pity or sympathy so she offered neither instead she went for something he would respond to, scolding, "are you following what your physio told you? Doing your stretches?" but even that was too much for Strike and he pulled his hand back, "you're sounding like Lucy." Robin pulled her hand back and drank her wine, she had pushed too far. She regretted it immediately. Strike didn't like the feeling of being a petulant child that needed a lecture, and he really didn't like it coming from Robin. It is something she had never done before; it was one of the reasons why their relationship had worked so well, and he wasn't about to let her start doing it now. They ate in silence for several minutes before Robin finally said, "I'm sorry Cormoran. It isn't my business I just…" she wasn't sure what to say, that she cared about him? That she worried about him constantly? That she came back early because she missed him? She gave a heavy sigh, "I just want you to know that you can tell me these things and I won't think less of you. Best friends help each other, they rely on each other, and you always feel like you need to do everything on your own, but you don't. Please don't lie to me about your health. I don't want to lose you Cormoran. I can't" And there it was, she said it again. The difference is that this time she wasn't rushing out for a date. This time he wasn't strapped to an IV. Strike mentally kicked himself and thought that he was being a coward and he knew it. Robin's honesty deserved an honest response but before he gave it he needed to know one thing. He took a big gulp of his lager and said, "how was your date with Murphy?"

Robin hid a smile, but Strike saw it and his heart sank. She sipped her wine, wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked him straight in the eye, "It was boring." Strike choked on one of the chips he had snuck across the table. His eyes wide in surprise, "Boring? He's a CID officer, how boring could he be?" Robin shook her head, "an exciting profession does not mean an exciting person" Strike laughed a little as he took another bite of his sandwich, which he had to admit wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. With food still in his mouth he asked, "did he tell you about his latest arrests?" Robin shook her head, "No, honestly that would have been a welcome change of topic. Instead, he talked about golf and his divorce. And he brought me flowers." They both gave a little giggle at the reference to Strike's thoughtless giving of flowers. But the news made Strike feel a surge of hope that he didn't want to acknowledge. "Right. So, no second date?" Robin shook her head, "No, but I'm still glad I went. I was worried that I would feel weird being around any other man than Matthew. Kissing another man besides Matthew." And with this confession Robin looked down at her plate and started moving a strawberry around. She took a deep breath, swallowed her pride, strapped a smile on her face and met Strike's eyes again, "well, enough of that. Give me an update on where we are with clients and who I need to run surveillance on."

And just like that the moment had passed and once again Strike had chickened out. He took some comfort in knowing that they were both single at the same time.