Robin woke up to a chill draft sneaking through cracks around the single frosted window in her bedroom. She pulled the covers up around her neck and shivered slightly as her shoulders puckered with gooseflesh. A fresh rush of nervous energy trickled through her. Today she and Strike returned to London and normalcy- except that everything was so conspicuously not normal. The very not-normalness of it all sent her mind reeling. It was a miraculous thing to have this, biggest, secret set free to the world at last, but residing within her, in the place where it used to lie was uncertainty. She had no doubt that Strike was in love with her- the thing she had fretted over for years was now a blissful reality. However, this very wonderful thing made everything else in her life so very different. There seemed to exist a little bubble here in Masham, as if they had happened into a strangely life-like dream where Strike told her that he loved her and then, adding to the implausibility of it all, somehow got on well with her family.

It gave her hope for what could exist between them, but she felt agitated at the prospect of the long train journey awaiting her. She and Strike had spent all of their private moments snogging and had consequently spent no time talking about how to approach their lives and livelihood now that every unspoken contract between them had been seemingly dissolved overnight. She let out a shaking breath as she stared at the uneven texture of the ceiling. The entirety of her life seemed to lay stretched out in front of her like a vista painted in orange hues. Was it dawn, or was it dusk? At times she felt the certain promise of a future with Strike by her side, and at others, she simply could not imagine Strike's sharing a bathroom with her, let alone a bed, or a life. With these thoughts eddying through her mind she threw the covers off and began the arduous task of packing her bags.

As Strike finished the last of his quick breakfast of leftover turkey and coffee, Robin hugged her father warmly.

"I still don't see why you can't stay for boxing day." said Gregory, voice muffled by Robin's hair, "Annabel will be coming later today."

Robin sighed heavily,

"Work." she said, as she released him with a smile.

"Well, your boss is here- couldn't you ask for more time off?" Gregory said, glancing over Robin's shoulder at Strike.

" I'm not the boss. WE are the boss." Said Strike through a mouthful of cold turkey, "I was fine with the extra day, but Robin's keen to catch another lecherous prick shagging a prostitute."

Robin frowned back at Strike, but her lip quirked in amusement.

"We still need to pay rents on the office, you know…." Robin said.

"Bit keen on the place, aren't you? We ought to think about sizing up. We have more staff and more business than ever before." replied Strike idly.

"All the more reason to go back to work," replied Robin, dryly. "that'll cost more."

Strike made a noise as he finished the last of his coffee.

"Martin said he would take you to the station," said Gregory, "Mum wants to be sure she's here when Stephen, Jenny and Annabel arrive."

Linda, who had already said as much twenty minutes earlier while bestowing one armed hugs on both of them, while precariously clutching a biscuit tin and a cellophane wrapped plate of leftovers in her other hand. She was heading off on foot to deliver them to an elderly neighbor, hoping to conclude the visit early so as not to miss a second with her precious granddaughter.

"No problem." said Robin

Just then the sounds of heavy footsteps came down the stairs, followed by a bleary eyed, tousle haired Martin.

"Morning." Muttered Martin, shuffling into the kitchen without making eye contact, " you ready?"

Robin eyed him skeptically.

"Yes. Are you sure you are?""

"Always." He said, still not looking at her as he dumped the last of the coffee into a thermos and turned to shuffle towards the door.

Strike gave Robin a sideways glance as he grabbed his duffle and pushed himself up from the table. She raised her eyebrows and sighed as she snatched up her own bag and followed her brother towards the door.

After a second of hesitation, Strike turned and walked over to Michael, who was watching his son amble grumpily away, and, sticking his hand out with rather more confidence than he felt, tried to wordlessly express gratitude to the older man. Michael looked down at the hand suspended in front of him for a startled moment before he graciously pressed his palm into Strike's with a smile. Neither of them seemed to know exactly what should be said, but Strike met his eye with a look that he hoped showed warmth and sincerity, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Michael seemed to understand and gave a brief nod before Strike turned to follow the door procession.

Outside, the winter sun was brilliantly bright, making diamonds in the frost and casting sharp shadows in the little Masham lane. Martin cursed fluently as he clambered into his mother's SUV and turned the key in the ignition. After a little awkward dance, Robin finally forced Strike into the more spacious front passenger's seat. Strike found he couldn't protest much as his leg was beginning to stiffen after several nights of curling up on the boney sofa. Just before he shut the door, Robin, who was chewing on her lip with apparent indecision, abruptly turned on her heel and dashed back into the house calling over her shoulder,

"I'll just be a moment!"

Strike and Martin glanced at one another, perplexed. A minute later Robin came hurrying out of the house zipping her bag closed as she came up the walk. She climbed into the back seat of the small SUV and Martin reversed out into the lane rather too quickly and Robin saw Strike's back stiffen and his hand clutch reflexively on the door handle. Robin was nearly always the one who drove when she and Strike were together, she knew he had PTSD about being driven by strangers and suddenly she felt slightly guilty for not offering to drive. Robin cringed inwardly as the car lurched into drive. Martin was neither a skilled driver nor a cautious one.

After a stomach churning quarter of an hour in which Martin seemed not to notice that Strike spent more time with his eyes closed than open, they came to an abrupt stop in front of the station. Strike did not move immediately, his hand still gripped the door. He felt rather like he had been unwillingly forced onto a malfunctioning amusement park ride. His coffee was churning uncomfortably as he waited on his frayed nerves to calm. It was an abnormally quiet ride as he had chosen not to speak for fear of losing his breakfast. Robin gave his shoulder a quick squeeze as she clambered out of the back seat slamming the door behind her. Strike opened his eyes to see Martin looking at him intently, twisting in his seat to face him.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, no problem." lied Strike, trying with minimal success to ignore his stomach.

"Listen," Martin said quickly, glancing out the window at his sister, "you aren't messing her around are you?"

Strike forgot his nausea in his surprise. He turned his head to study the younger man curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that- I don't know that she could handle another breakup. Leaving Matthew was hard on her" he said in a rush, "...and you ... well.. I'm not judging, but you've had a lot of girlfriends, mate."

Strike rather thought that if he and Robin were to ever end this thing between them, she would recover far better than he would. He did not voice this thought, however. She was the strongest, most resilient person he knew.

"You know, she's a lot tougher than you give her credit for." Strike said, at last.

Martin said nothing, continuing to watch Strike with an unusually serious frown creasing his brow. Strike was now uncomfortably aware that he was being asked by a younger man what his intentions were. Strike had been with a lot of women- but this was a first for him.

"Look, I'm not messing her around." said Strike, supremely uncomfortable yet, wanting to say something of the truth.

"She's my best friend." he said at last, meeting Martin's eyes with certainty, "and I… well…I love her."

Martin kept his gaze, and then nodded his head once in ascent, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

Just then Robin wrapped her knuckle on Strike's window, startling him out of the moment. He snatched up his bag and gave Martin a small smile as he pushed himself out of the car. Robin leaned down to bid a hasty farewell to her brother who flashed her a broad grin and blew her a mocking air kiss. Almost as soon as the door slammed shut, he revved the engine ostentatiously and peeled away with an unnecessary blast on the horn as he went. Robin shook her head and rolled her eyes as she turned back to Strike, expression now curious.

"What was that?" she said, gesturing to the place where Martin had been just moments before.

Strike shrugged noncommittally and began walking towards the station. He rather thought moments like the one he had just shared with Martin were best kept private- a gentleman's agreement.

Robin frowned at his retreating back, considering how much to push him- it seemed to her that something significant had passed between her brother and her partner. She made a mental note to try to ask Strike again later, and snatching up her bag she hurried after him.

Twenty minutes later, after Robin had purchased herself a small coffee and an emergency sleeve of biscuits for Strike, she settled into the seat beside him. A moment later she let out a restless sigh. She wanted to use this trip to have a little debrief after Christmas, but now that the time was upon her, she wasn't really sure how to broach the subject. She shot him a sideways glance only to see him already studying her.

"You alright?" said Strike carefully.

"Yeah," she said, but looking faintly flustered. After a silent moment she bent down to adjust her bag, for something to do.

Strike watched as she fidgeted with the belongings at her feet, eyes drawn by the little black rose necklace that swung free of the soft green clinging sweater. He smiled faintly at the sight of it. It struck him how much he liked to see her wearing it and for reasons he didn't fully understand, a warm satisfaction filled his chest.

With a lurch and low mechanical rumble the train began to move, the sudden motion sent Robin spilling forward, off balance. Instinctively, Strike threw an arm around her shoulder, gripping her tightly until she regained her balance and sat back in her seat looking faintly embarrassed, Strike's arm still holding her. After a minute, Strike released her and cleared his throat speaking to his knees.

"I had a good Christmas."

"You did?" said Robin, surprised.

"I did," said Strike, "do you think Linda will invite me again?"

Robin smiled, "...yeah, I imagine she will- you brought booze and helped with the dishes."

Strike grunted softly, catching her eyes with a faint smile.

"Cormoron," Robin blurted, "what happens if this doesn't work?"

His smile faded into thoughtfulness.

"I mean," She hurried on, "I don't think it's much of an exaggeration to say, the business is my life. "

"Whereas it's just a hobby for me?" chuckled Strike.

Robin jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"You know what I'm getting at."

Strike rubbed his side,

"Yeah, I do." he growled.

"I just…I don't want to lose the only thing in my life that's kept me going because we can't handle being in a relationship AND being work partners." Robin's eyes found Strike's, searching his face for the solution to her anxiety.

Strike reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly.

"I don't know the future any more than you do, but I just don't think that I could ever be so angry with you that I'd want you out of my life." he said at last.

"You fired me once." said Robin

"You always bring that up, don't you?" Strike said, shaking his head, "Look, if you decide in a week that this was all a huge mistake, I won't fire you and I won't leave the business. Nothing really works at the agency without both of us. I wouldn't dream of giving it up just because things are a little awkward. You're just too important to me. It's as simple as that."

"Who says it would be me giving up?" said Robin, indignantly, "I think it's more likely that you decide that it was all a mistake."

"Jesus Christ." said Strike, "I love you Robin- do you know how much effort I put into the last woman I loved? She wasn't exactly an easy person to love, either. She was a self-destructive trainwreck who either wanted to shag like rabbits or flay me with a kitchen knife."

Robin flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, as the tightness in her chest ease slightly at his words. She too could not imagine ever being so uncomfortable that she would give up her passion. Whatever would come would surely not change either of them to such a degree that they would quit the business they had so lovingly built.

"That suddenly sounds reasonable to me." said Robin laughing, "you can be an aggravating man, you know?"

"Which part sounds reasonable, the shagging or the flaying?" replied Strike, eyebrow raised.

Robin's cheeks colored, but she lifted her chin defiantly,

"Both, I think."

Strike's smile became infinitesimally more sly and satisfied as he let his eyes drift forward once more, giving her hand a brief squeeze. Strike let the implication of her words hang over them relaxing into the weighty silence.

Robin's adrenaline surged with pleasure at her own boldness. She, too, enjoyed the silence and the feel of their connected hands as the train rocked and swayed towards London. She was grateful that Strike could not see what was in her head.