Note:

Hello, thanks for giving my fic a go. I used to write FanFiction years ago but haven't done so in a while. Strike and Robin's irresistible connection drew me back to it. I'm a bit rusty, and I don't have a Beta Reader, so apologies for any errors! This will be a long story, with plenty of fluff and eventual smut.

The Star Eyed Guard

Chapter One

Déjà vu and similar phenomena emphasising "gut feelings," "instinct" or "a hunch" over pure logic, reasoning and facts were not experiences private detective Cormoran Strike would readily admit to trusting. He had built an entire career on logic and reason: serving as an officer of the Royal Military Police and subsequently building a successful private investigative business with his partner Robin Ellacott. Indeed, he owed a great deal to logic and reasoning. And yet, if he were truly honest with himself, he owed even more to instinct. He owed his life. If he hadn't trusted his gut, the sudden, urgent feeling to shout, 'brake!' grab the shirt of Richard Anstis, and haul the two of them into the back of the Viking on that fateful day in Afghanistan, neither of them may be alive today.

And so, it was with curiosity that he acknowledged the feeling of Déjà vu quietly tapping at the door of his subconscious, requesting to come forth, as he sat across from his business partner in The Tottenham the week before Easter. Each of them were three drinks into the evening which was feeling alarmingly similar to one they shared approximately seventeen months earlier, in the bar of the Ritz Hotel, for her thirtieth birthday. Not only was the rare occasion of a non-work-related drinks date similar, but also the way their laughter had so naturally escalated, both in volume and frequency, now culminating in a feeling of fondness settling around them both like the reassuring breeze of a warm summer morning.

The red wine and central heating had given Robin's fair complexion that alluring pink flush he found so attractive, and the dim overhead lights made her golden hair glow. She was laughing at Strike sharing his experience of meeting his eight-year-old niece, Sylvie, for the first time. Strike had only recently met his half-sister, Prudence DonLeavey. Prue, as she had asked him to call her, was one of eight of his siblings from his parents' numerous couplings, and she shared the same promiscuous rockstar father, Jonny Rokeby. On their first meeting, Prue's daughter Sylvie had insisted on giving her new uncle a "make-over" with the vanity kit she had recently received for her birthday. In the spirit of making a good impression after discovering that he rather liked Prue, Strike found himself obliging.

All of this had been shared with Robin, and Strike couldn't help but notice her body language as she listened to the anecdote. Though the booth they currently occupied inside the pub was rather small, and the noise around them rather loud, she was leaning in unnecessarily closely. After her third drink, he had also noticed gestures which he read as displaying interest: she'd stroke her hair and tilt her head while she spoke, play with the opal pendant hanging from the delicate gold chain around her neck, smile coyly and laugh more frequently than perhaps his jokes had warranted. In the past hour, they'd both been more open about their lives outside of work than they had in the first five years of their acquaintance. Robin had recently returned from a week's break, and perhaps, he reflected, their reunion after their albeit brief separation had made them both more forthcoming. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Strike had been sharing details about his relationships with his siblings, and Robin talked more about her interests in art and music.

On this night, he was acutely aware of the ease with which they talked, the obvious enjoyment they found in each other's company and the undeniable sexual chemistry, which he at least felt. He was becoming increasingly convinced that she could feel it too. The tingle of bourbon, both on his tongue and on his brain, let him give way to a hunch: an instinct, a feeling, that tonight was the time to talk about that evening at The Ritz.

'And what did you say to that?' Robin had asked in response to the story of Sylvie agonising over finding the right shade of lipstick to suit Strike.

'I said, "anything but the pink, it's not my shade."'

Robin nearly chocked on her wine, imagining Strike in Revlon's Cherries in the Snow. After she had recovered from a second laughing fit, they both sighed merrily and a kind of contented silence fell upon them. They found themselves gazing into one another's eyes across the small table. Strike opened his mouth to speak and found Robin doing the same.

'Robin –'

'Comoran–'

'You go first,' she said.

'No, you –'

The loud ping of a text alert sounded from one of their phones, and keeping eye contact, both of their hands went to their respective devices, lying side by side on the tabletop. Instead of feeling the smooth glass of a phone screen at his fingertips, Strike felt warm soft flesh. His hand had landed right on top of Robin's. They both emitted a small, nervous laugh but found they could not break their eye contact or move their hands. After a few seconds, which felt like minutes, Robin slowly turned her gaze to their hands, and a smile pulled at her lips as she took in the sight of Strike's large hand over hers.

'I –' he started, but was interrupted by a familiar, French accented voice.

'There you are!' the female voice was saying, 'we thought we were going to sit around the back.'

Strike and Robin retracted their hands immediately, as if they had found themselves touching something red hot. They'd suddenly been brought back to the inconvenient reality that this evening had not been planned as intimate drinks for two, it was a party of four. They were, in fact, both in committed relationships with other people. Arriving late, their respective partners were standing before them. Robin had been dating detective inspector Ryan Murphy from Scotland Yard for eight months, and the French born Natalie Pépin was Strike's new girlfriend of three months.

The new arrivals separately offered apologies and greeting kisses to their partners, blaming the bad the weather, traffic and other inconveniences for their lateness.

'Accident on the A4,' Ryan was explaining, sliding into the booth next to Robin, who found herself wishing he'd been delayed longer so that she could hear what Strike had intended to say.

'Harry Thompson's mother forgot it was her turn to pick him up again…' Natalie, was saying to Strike as she was taking off her overcoat.

Ryan was asking Robin questions about her day, but she was having trouble attending to him over her racing mind. Just prior to their interruption, she was sure she had noticed something in Strike's expression which put her in mind of the night at the Ritz.

Ryan's voice broke through into her awareness. 'Did you get my text?' he was saying.

'What?' she asked abstractly, pulling her gaze away from Strike.

'Everything ok?' Ryan asked.

'Yeah,' Robin replied, forcing herself to look in Ryan's hazel eyes, 'I just forgot to tell Pat something before I left the office,' she lied.

'I wanted to know if you needed one of these,' Ryan said, thoughtful as ever, holding up an umbrella. 'I had one in the car and thought it was best to bring it when I didn't get your reply. Forecast is for rain.'

'Thanks' Robin said, smiling, internally chiding herself at not feeling more gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

'Hello again,' Natalie said to Ryan across the table.

'Hello, how's things?' he replied.

The party obligingly exchanged pleasantries and greetings until all of the necessary social niceties had been achieved, and they continued to make small talk as they contemplated their menus.

'I think I need a drink first,' Natalie said, placing her menu on the table. She stood and took her purse out of her handbag. 'Anyone else?'

Robin and Ryan declined, and Strike offered to accompany Natalie to the bar for another bourbon.

Robin watched them walk away together, her stomach turning. As was the custom with his intimate relationships, Strike did not talk much about Natalie to Robin. The business partners had brought their romantic partners to their subcontractor Midge Greenstreet's birthday dinner a fortnight earlier, and Robin had learned a little about Natalie then. She was French born, worked as a primary school teacher, and was absolutely gorgeous in a nonchalant, Gallic way. Tall and lithe, Natalie was doe-eyed, and her dark hair was styled in a short, chic bob with a heavy fringe. Robin imagined she was very good in bed and did all sorts of continental things to Strike while whispering breathlessly in her sexy accent.

'What do you fancy?' Ryan was asking, perusing his menu.

'Ah,' Robin said, trying to focus. 'I think I'll have the chicken salad.'

Almost a year ago, Ryan had surprised Robin by asking her out. She had only ever been in one serious relationship her whole life, and it had ended in divorce after her husband Matthew's longstanding infidelity had been exposed. Her inexperience had caused her to react to Ryan's interest with great confusion and anxiety. After a time, she found herself coming around to the idea and accepted Ryan's offer of a date in the context of Strike being in a relationship with another woman at the time. The first date had gone well and ended in a chaste kiss. Ryan, who had also been through a divorce, was the perfect gentleman, allowing Robin to take the lead, asking and not assuming things about her, and expressing genuine interest in her career, which was a blessing after the conflict it had caused with Matthew. Over the weeks, the dates with Ryan had increased until they were staying with each other most weekends and had developed the habit of sleeping in, breakfasting late and poking around antique shops to while away their Sunday afternoons. It was all very nice, she supposed, but she couldn't help the feeling that there was something missing.

Strike and Natalie returned with their drinks. Robin watched them talking as they sat back down in the booth. Natalie was reminding Strike that he had promised to watch her sing at a club on Saturday night. Hearing this, Robin assumed they had also reached a point of certain comfortable domesticity in their relationship. She felt a lump in her throat and her vision blurred briefly as tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, pretended to sneeze to cover this sudden surge of sadness, smiled at Ryan and inhaled a deep breath.