The winter light filtered through the high translucent ceiling as Strike and Robin made their way across the crowded platform at Kings Cross. There was a distinct Sunday feel to the day- the palpable sense of transition from one week to the next, as the sleepy throng bustled towards a return to normalcy after the holiday. To Strike, the three hour journey from Yorkshire to London had felt inexplicably long and yet somehow, simultaneously short. They passed the time on the train with a comfortable conversation about work- a topic that offered the distinct advantage of being interesting enough for both parties to discuss with ease. Although tension persisted in the form of a glance held a second too long or a look that was little too knowing, both of which brought the quickening of pulses and a warm glow of pleasure.

As Strike watched Robin out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly wished that they would not be parting ways at the tube. However, when made an effort to be rational about it all, he felt the importance of time apart to process and regroup in solitude. The non-rational part of his brain pushed back, offering weak pretenses to suggest they delay a little longer: a case catch-up over a drink being his personal favorite. He stifled these thoughts however, willing rationality to the front of his mind. They were still carrying Christmas gifts, and luggage, after all.

All too soon they were descending the stairs to the tube to take separate trains to separate flats. Neither said anything as Robin slowed her steps and turned hesitantly to face him, a faintly embarrassed smile playing across her face.

"Well," she said nervously, "this is me."

"Yeah." Strike said, trailing off, mind suddenly blank.

They looked at each other for a long moment, sharing a shifty smile as the seconds dragged by.

"I'll call you." said Robin, at last.

Strike made a noise and lifted his chin in ascent. Then, very suddenly, Robin dropped her bags and decisively took two steps to cross the invisible boundary that separated them, and, with no hesitation she pressed her lips hard to his, flinging her arms around his neck. Strike's surprise lasted for the space of a heartbeat before his sympathetic nervous system kicked in, and the bags slipped from his fingers as his hands raised reflexively to grip her waist, pulling her hips a little closer as he pushed firmly into the kiss. Her mouth was warm and sweet, but her manner was urgent and demanding. Strike's mind was sent hurtling into dizziness. She was so comfortingly familiar, and yet, as his hands held tightly to her hips he experienced a rush of pleasure at the very new feel of the dip of her waist under his palms.

Passers by gave them a wide, smirking berth as Strike and Robin communicated everything they were unable to find words for on the very public tube platform. Faintly the sounds of a train howling and squeaking to a stop registered to both of them, and all too soon Robin pulled away, breaking the spell. Strike's mind felt as though it had been doused in ice water as she stepped back out of his hands,leaving them reaching hopelessly in midair, his body sagging forward towards her. With a tremendous effort to force his mind back into his body, Strike straightened and let his hands fall back to his sides, trying to ignore the sudden feeling that they were empty.

"I'll call you." She said again, picking up her bags and swiveling to walk towards her platform and the train whose doors were just sliding open.

Strike watched her go feeling distinctly unsettled, rubbing his hand over his tingling lips. She looked back at him through the window as she found her seat. Coming to, he offered her a brief smile and bent to pick up his bags as he turned to walk towards the train that would take him back to Denmark street.

Later that evening Strike sat in front of the flickering tele, he had intended to watch something to distract himself and yet he had no awareness of what was happening on the screen. At the moment he was lost in his own thoughts, a warming can of Doom Bar in one hand and a cigarette quietly smoldering down to the filter pinched in the other as he replayed the conversation they had on the train over again in his mind.

'I think it's more likely that you decide this was all a mistake' she had said.

At the time he had brushed past this statement, thinking it to be mostly a joke. However, he now saw the problem a little clearer with some distance and reflection. Robin had only ever known Strike while he was trying to forget the pain caused by Charlotte, and then later, the desire he could not acknowledge that he had for her. He saw with painful clarity how a woman such as Robin, who viewed herself as having a rather bland love life compared to his own, would think herself a concession. He knew that he could likely never make her understand that his love life was, despite the variety of partners, truly unsatisfying. No woman was Robin. That had been the crux of it. He wondered if she knew? He wondered how long he had felt anything other than lust when he kissed someone? Everything she did was amplified and electrified, and even now as his lips remembered hers too easily, it made him feel as though every kiss before hers was had through burlap.

He shook his head slightly and glanced down at his phone. He missed her. He suddenly wished that he had something to text her about. Although it had only been 6 hours since they had gone their separate ways on the train platform, his mind had been with her the entire time. This whole experience was new to him. He mentally shook himself. He needed to pump the brakes and get a little bit of his self possession back. With a sigh he decided he shouldn't text her tonight. He needed to wait for her to reach out to him, she needed to set the pace going forward.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his fingertips and he yelped in shock. His unsmoked cigarette had finally burned down to the filter meeting his flesh painfully. With a curse he leapt to his feet, phone tumbling to the floor, beer sloshing into his lap as he crushed what was left of the cigarette into the ashtray and began shaking his hand with a hiss. He glanced down at the urine-like stain spreading across his inner thigh. He let out an angry stream of curses as he moved to the kitchen to grab a wad of kitchen roll to dab at his pants. As he blotted angrily at the Doom Bar, he heard the familiar staccato pulses of an incoming text message. He moved so suddenly that he tripped slightly on the rigid toe of his prosthetic foot and had to catch himself on the edge of the kitchen table to stop himself from tumbling to the floor. He righted himself and tossed aside the waded towel, crossing the room to search for the fallen phone.

"Oh for fucks sake!" he muttered to himself, crouching awkwardly to thrust his arm under the console to grope blindly for his missing device. His fingers felt the familiar shape of it as his hand closed around it, pulling it free. Grasping the furniture for support he pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty, and then glanced at the screen. Robin.

'I forgot that I needed to shop today. Dry toast it is I suppose'

Strike hurried to respond,

'Don't suppose you're interested in splitting some chips with me? '

He knew he was being too eager, he ought to give her an evening alone, and yet he found he couldn't really help himself. A short moment later his phone buzzed again,

'Are you actually going to share them, or am I supposed to get my own?'

Strike smiled

'Your own, obviously. I was just trying to be a good boyfriend.'

Strike cringed inwardly a little at the word 'boyfriend'- he loved seeing the open acknowledgement of their relationship, but it sounded too juvenile to him. He thought of Robin as his partner, in all connotations of the word.

'I think that's a compromise too far for you. Where are we going?'

Strike thought for a moment- this could be considered a first date and he wanted it to feel right. Then it came to him,

'The Blue Otter? It's in Elephant and Castle, but I don't have the address. I'll look it up.'

'No problem. See you there in an hour?"

Strike glanced at the clock- half past six. Perfect.

'Great.' was his reply

He sent off the address and then went to change his sodden trousers, suddenly feeling buoyant.

Robin glanced up at the curved facade of the building and the gilded black letters that declared this to be 'The Blue Otter'. As she watched, the door opened to release some patrons into the cool evening air and the faint sounds of music intermingled with the comfortingly familiar buzz of talk and tinkle of glass reached her ears. She was a little early and she thought she could find a quieter table where they could easily hear one another. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights she took in the warm surroundings. It was not too upscale or pretentious, but rather it had the feel of genuine intimacy. It was warmly lit, cheerful, and full without being crowded and the smell of fried food made her stomach rumble in anticipation. As she scanned the room for a table she saw with surprise, Strike sipping a pint of Doom Bar, watching as a musician set up a drum kit on a small raised stage in the corner. Across the table from him was white wine, glass appetizingly dewy with condensation. She smiled, feeling oddly touched at the picture. She moved across the room, smile broadening as she approached. When his eyes found hers, his face illuminated with a look of sincere happiness.

'You're early.' she said, simply.

'I don't have a life.' he said, standing to place a casual kiss on her cheek as she settled into her seat.

Robin rolled her eyes doubtfully.

'Did you order?' she asked as she glanced at the card in front of her.

'Yeah, I was hungry. I got you chips- hope that's ok."

"Thanks." she smiled

The first popping notes of an electric guitar reverberated soulfully across the room, enhancing the warmth and charm of the atmosphere.

"What kind of music is this?" She said, taking the first sip of her wine.

"It's blues." explained Strike as the soulful vibrato of the guitar hummed in their chests.

"I like it." She said, smiling.

Strike smiled in response. As the song filled the room, they sat in companionable silence,absorbing the music as they sippedabsently at their drinks. As one song faded into the next, Strike had a sudden and uncharacteristic desire to dance. It struck him as funny. Even before his accident, he avoided dancing as a rule. Against his own character, he turned to eye Robin, a smile creeping slowly across his face.

She caught his expression out of the corner of his eye,

"What?" she said, eyebrows raising.

"Do you want to dance?" he said, gesturing to the small dance floor where a few couples already stood swaying to the music.

"With you?" She said, looking at him incredulously.

"No, with that bloke." He said sarcastically gesturing to a portly middle aged man at a nearby table.

"You think I can't dance because I'm missing a leg? He said, flashing her a lopsided smile.

"No," replied Robin, "I think you don't dance because you're you."

He acknowledged the hit with a tip of his pint.

"Can I prove you wrong?" He said, looking at her evenly over his glass.

"You can try." She replied, with a quirk of her lip.

Strike slid off his stool and took her hand gently, leading her towards the dance floor.

Robin felt a little of her confidence ebb away as he pulled her around to face him, resting his hands neatly on her hips. She was very aware of the weight of her arms as she draped them around his neck. The music reverberated through them as they swayed silently, blue light casting Strikes face into sharper relief.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, watching her quietly.

She glanced up at him, shrugging slightly,

"I guess I'm thinking about how much things can change in a week."

Strike hummed in agreement and was silent again,

Robin was also thinking about how much she liked the feel of his broad hands on her body. She didn't say that, however.

After another long moment Strike broke the silence,

"Can I tell you what I'm thinking about?"

Her eyes snapped up to his. He didn't wait for her response,

"I'm thinking about how I should have told you the truth that night we spent icing your nose after the American Bar."

Robin's brows knit in confusion. Strike smiled at her as he continued,

"I told you that you were my best friend, which is true. But that's not really all of it"

He kept her eyes trapped in his steady gaze,

"The truth is, even then I knew that I'd never met anyone like you. I'd never trusted anyone the way I trusted you, I'd never wanted to be with someone as much as I wanted to be with you. This whole experience has been like something I didn't think was real…..you're my best friend, but more than that. I think you might also be my soulmate."

Robin had to remember how to breathe.

"I spent most of my life trying to use relationships as a distraction- the last few years especially. I tried to forget that I had met someone who was perfect for me, but she was married, and then when she wasn't married, that she might not feel the same." He searched her face,

"You said on the train that I might think this was a mistake and you and I both know I've made a lot of mistakes. But being with you will never be a mistake. In fact, I think being with you is the undoing of a lot of mistakes ..."

Robin forgot to sway along to the music. She stared at Strike wordlessly until hot tears blurred her vision. With a huff of feeling, she buried her head into his chest- quietly soaking his sweater with grateful tears. She remembered to breathe, and she remembered to sway.

Notes:

I hope this story is still good for you guys! As i've mentioned before it was supposed to be a quick fluffy 'first kiss' type story, but it has certainly grown outside of that box into something a little bigger. It's still fluffy, but hopefully it's not boring you yet! If you're reading this, I suppose you've read to this point and I'd like to say thank you for hanging with me while I figure out how to write!