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Chapter 16

As the car crunched up the driveway, Robin smiled at the familiar surroundings. Strike's grip on her hand had tightened but she wasn't sure he was aware of it. She knew he had only agreed to this for her. She knew him well enough to know he was worried. Stephen came out the door, walking down the drive to meet them. Michael stopped the car, getting out for the wheelchair, Robin jumping out to help.

Strike sat where he was, watching as Stephen jogged closer. Strike heard him through the glass.

"Holy shit Robin, look at your face," Robin had hugged him, he looked over her shoulder at Strike, who lifted a hand to wave. Robin turned, opening his door.

"Hey Stephen, how's it going?" He turned to put his legs out the car, ready to pull himself into the wheelchair that had appeared beside him. As he moved, he saw Stephen's eyes widen as he noticed his neck. "Yeah... I know."

"Fuck."

"Stephen! Language."

"He's right though." Strike found it hard to balance on the uneven surface of the driveway. He felt a strong hand on his arm, Stephen instinctively reaching forward to help. He turned and sat down, "thanks."

"Mum... you said they were injured. You didn't say..."

"Stephen, it's cold. Let's get inside. Is Martin home?"

"Not yet," Stephen had his arm around his sister, looking at her bruised face. "Are you ok?"

"Better now." She smiled at him as she moved away, one hand on the wheelchair before Stephen stopped her.

"I've got it," he glanced at Strike, asking for permission, making Strike smile. "Martin's at the pub, Jenny's upstairs. I made up the room downstairs for you, obviously." He had started pushing the wheelchair towards the house, leaving the others behind. Strike remembered liking Stephen at the wedding.

"Thanks. Sorry about this... should be up on my feet soon."

"Look, mum told me what happened... although I'm getting the feeling not everything. But she said you got her back. Which is enough for me. You saved her. So, you stay as long as you need. What happened to..."

"Hung from a tree," he thought it better to just say it.

"Fuck. Yeah, she never told us that. Shit, you sure you should be here?"

"Best place for us."

They were in the hallway, Stephen now looking at him. He knew what Strike meant. Robin needed to be home.

oOo

The room was small, just like his room in the flat. It was also pink, not like his room in the flat. But he didn't care. Stephen was opening the blinds as Robin brought in the bags. Strike put his hand out to help, but she shooed him away. He just sat and watched, feeling uncomfortable.

"Sorry about the colour," Stephen was looking around the walls.

"No worries, stayed in worse."

"I bet. It'll be comfortable though, let me get that." He reached Robin, taking the prosthesis from one hand and the kit bag from the other. "Your room's set up."

"Great," Strike watched her as she spoke, looking the opposite of great. He wanted to speak to her, but not with Stephen there. Looking around, he noticed the room was clean and tidy, chest of drawers and wardrobe. The window was large and looked out to the fields. Feeling like he should say something; "Nice view."

"Yeah, my room's above. They fields are ours, the other side belong to the neighbours. You'll see our uncle in the morning. What?" She was looking at him, eyebrows furrowed. He was smiling.

"Yeah, just find it funny we've been here two minutes and you've turned all farmy on me."

Stephen looked at Robin, ready for her to blush, snipe back or apologies, things she always did with Matthew or when comments like this were made. But she didn't. She laughed.

"Well... you can take the girl out the farm."

"But you can always put her back and she sounds like she never left."

"Shut it you. D'you hear this?" She looked at her brother, a curious look on his face, but ignored it, "Mum's cooking, tea in ten. You want a tour?"

"Yeah course... only, stick to the ground floor."