The sound of her car engine faded into the distance, and Robbie sat back down on the sofa. Apart from the low babble of the tv, the house was quiet. Although Laura lived just outside the centre of Oxford, somehow she had managed to find a little oasis of calm. Unlike his flat, there was no traffic in the street, and as he muted the volume on the tv, he could only hear the soft, regular tick of the clock in the hallway. It was peaceful, calming, and he reached for his mug of tea, before stretching his long legs out along the sofa.

Twenty minutes later, the buzzing of his own phone roused him from a light doze. He rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly. The tv was still flickering in the corner, the sound muted, and he realised that he must have dropped off. He smirked to himself, it was far easier to drop off here without that great lump of a cat depositing himself on his chest. Robbie's phone was still on the counter in the kitchen and he hauled himself off the sofa with a groan. His back really wasn't enjoying this new level of exertion… Her house was still unfamiliar and he fumbled in the dark for the switch. The phone blinked insistently and he smiled as he read the message,

'I'm here, might be a while. Go to bed. X'.

He looked at the clock on the wall and yawned again.

'I thought we weren't going to do this ;)X'

He pressed send, and wandered over to the sink, squirted some soap into the plastic bowl and began to run the hot tap. He flicked the radio on and half-listened to a comedy programme as he began to soak the remaining pans. He was just drying up the final plates when his phone buzzed once more,

'I'm going soft in my old age'

You and me both, pet. He smiled to himself and pocketed the phone. It was just past eleven, and he wondered idly whether, if he found a decent book on Laura's loaded shelves, he might be able to stay up on the sofa until she got home. Sabotaged by his body once more though, he yawned again at the very thought of it, and decided to grab something and take it upstairs. By the large fridge - a marvel of mortuary-style chrome, he noted with a small smirk - was a small bookcase, quite literally stuffed with cookery books. They weren't organized neatly, but piled haphazardly, partly by size and, it appeared, largely by what had last been referenced, if the curry book was any indication. His hands itched to sort it out for her, but he decided that might be too much, too soon, and simply elected to borrow a couple of titles. If Laura was coming over on Thursday, he'd need all the inspiration he could muster…and although he absolutely planned to rope Hathaway in, it would be gentler on his pride if he could at least buy the ingredients unaided.

On his way up the stairs, Robbie suddenly realised that he wasn't sure what he should switch off, what needed locking. Last night he had wandered around on autopilot, leaving everything to her, but he suddenly felt that he was now in charge. Surely Laura would have a routine…? He'd switched off the tv, and the back door was bolted, but would she want a light left on? He flicked the porch light switch, and noted the warm light that spilled out across the hallway, and hoped it was the right thing. Once in the bedroom he dumped the books on the bed and headed into the deceptively large en-suite. It was strange this cottage, there was more space than you expected, and although the lintels were a little on the low side, it was comfortable.

The bathroom was minimalistic, but warm. A large bath lined one wall, and the shower, as he'd found out last night, was both powerful and big enough for an ape like him. Unlike the other rooms of Laura's house, there was no clutter, and the white porcelain gleamed in the soft lighting. Last night, he'd practically fallen into the shower, but this evening he had time to ponder. Where was all her stuff? If he knew anything about women, it was that they almost always had an awe-inspiring stash of lotions and potions secreted somewhere. But there was nothing. The shower had a few bottles of shampoo and body wash, and there was soap, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, but nothing else. Curious. He stripped and was soon under the warm spray of the shower. Once again he stole a palmful of her shower gel and used it to wash his hair. He'd never understood why women insisted on multiple versions of the same thing…it was all just soap, wasn't it?

As he emerged and wrapped himself in a towel, he marvelled once more at the power of Laura's extractor fan. He loved a steaming hot shower, and always ended up shaving in a cloud of fog at his flat, but her bathroom bore no sign whatsoever of his shower. Amazing. He would very much like to ask her who had fitted it, but bearing in mind the nascent state of their relationship, filed it away under 'things to say when she already knows you're boring'. He stepped over to the large sink and, filling the bowl with some warm water, began to carefully shave. The mirror was enormous and he suddenly realised what it must be: a cabinet. Finishing up, he patted his face with a towel and clicked open the mirrored door. Bingo. He smiled to himself, and inwardly chuckled at the rows of bottles and jars. She needed none of these embellishments, but it tickled him to think of her in here trying on lipstick and curling her hair. It had been a long time since he'd lived with a woman, and in truth, he'd missed all this. He picked up the small bottle of scent on the bottom shelf, the name unfamiliar and, although he was hardly a conoisseur, unusual, and took a sniff. Ginger, something floral, a hint of musk. Laura. She'd been wearing it for years, he knew that much, but he'd never known what it was. Carefully he placed it back on the glass shelf and moved to close the cabinet. As he did so, a small stack of prescription medicine packages caught his eye on the top shelf. Automatically he averted his eyes, just as he did when in the presence of one of her corpses, and swallowed. He didn't want to pry. He shut the cabinet carefully, and began to dry himself methodically, trying not to think about what he had seen. Nosing around in her makeup and stealing books from her shelf was one thing, reading her prescriptions was quite another, and he wasn't that kind of person.

It was almost midnight when he finally settled into bed, cookery books piled on his knee. First he leafed through a Jamie Oliver, which looked relatively approachable, but all the recipes he fancied seemed to require a barbecue, some exotic cuts of Italian meat or fresh fish. Although Oxford market was impressive, it was hardly Venice…which was where most of the pictures seemed to taken. He sighed and picked up another one. Lebanese. Ten pages in, he sighed loudly and chucked that one away too. He was as partial to a kebab as the next man, but what the hell was tabbouleh? He couldn't even pronounce it, let alone make it. And anyway, a dish that seemed to consist predominantly of parsley didn't sound promising. He reached for the last book he'd brought up, a Nigella one. That was a name he knew, at least, although he'd never entirely understood the fuss Hathaway made about her various charms. He liked his muses in slightly smaller, rather blonder packages. But Hathaway was apparently besotted. He flicked through the various options, and settled on her chapter of roast dinners. 'Simple and homely'. He began to relax a bit. This was more like it...there were several options here…

Just after 2am, Laura crept into the house. It was strange having to tiptoe around in the dark, normally she just stomped around after a night call, making tea, maybe watching some telly until her mind wound down. But tonight she didn't want to sit on the sofa alone. Carefully she removed her boots and jacket, and laying her heavy coat over the bannister, she climbed the stairs. All the lights were off in the bedroom, but the moonlight meant that she could make out his shape under the covers. He was curled up and sleeping soundly. She undressed, brushed her teeth and efficiently wiped off her makeup with a cotton pad. Her nightshirt was hanging in the bathroom, and slipping it over her head she padded into the bedroom. As she slid in beneath the sheets, he turned towards her, wrapping a warm arm around her waist and curling her against him,

"Everything ok?"

His voice was little more than a whisper and heavy with sleep,

"Fine"

"Good"

She felt his hand stroke through her hair, and a kiss was pressed firmly against the back of her head. Within minutes, both were soundly asleep.

Robbie woke with a start, momentarily disorientated. An arm lashed out against him, its target unclear. Next to him Laura was jerking wildly in her sleep, desperately trying to speak,

"No…don't, not there…"

She was wrestling against the duvet, trying to throw it back, her hands repeatedly grasping at the soft fabric. Her eyes were tightly shut and in the half-light he could see that she was fast asleep. For a moment he was as paralyzed as she was, unsure what to do. It was a long time since he'd had to deal with someone having a nightmare, but his brain quickly caught up. She lashed out again, and a sob caught in her throat. He switched on the side lamp, and looked at her closely, tears were streaming down her face, her mouth moving, trying to form words. He didn't want to scare her, but he couldn't let this continue…she was obviously already terrified. He placed his hand carefully on her upper arm, stroking soothingly, but firmly,

"You're ok, Laura, you're dreaming… you need to wake up, pet"

She calmed almost instantly at his touch and, with new-found confidence, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close against him. Her eyes flickered and she sobbed, shivering noticeably. He pulled the duvet up around them,

"It's alright, love, it's only me, you're safe now"

She was caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness and was struggling to make sense of things. It was the same old scenario, the same terrifying details, the fear that usually wrenched her from sleep, but instead of waking, this time she was relaxing, the scene dissolving. Gone was the shivering, and she felt warmth spreading across her back, around her shoulders,

"You're alright…"

The words rumbled softly against her ear and she felt lips press against her neck, a hand stroking her arm. Robbie. She gasped slightly, disorientated again, and blinked in the soft light. Her heart was still pounding loudly in her chest and the inevitable wave of nausea rolled across her stomach. She swallowed deliberately and took several slow, deep breaths. Her voice was hushed when she finally spoke,

"I'm sorry I woke you"

He slowly eased her on to her back and propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes never leaving hers,

"It's ok, love"

The watery lines slivering down her cheeks glistened in the warm light, and he kissed her forehead tenderly, his fingers stroking her cheek,

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, her eyes closing slightly, still trying to calm her breathing. He looked at her carefully, she was exhausted. Now wasn't the time for questions, and he pressed another kiss to her forehead, before turning to switch off the light. She tensed slightly, obviously afraid of returning to her dream, and he rolled her towards him, curling her over to lie squarely on his chest, keeping her close until she settled back into sleep.