Herensuge

Chapter One

It's past midnight, but of course Strike is still awake, trying desperately to not imagine what Robin is doing right now, when she calls him; she'd left this building with her boyfriend for a dinner date before a couple of days' leave. Wondering if perhaps he's asleep after all—this must be a dream—his heart is racing when he answers, "Yeah?"

For a scary few seconds, she says nothing, but he knows her well enough to wait. Finally, she asks, her voice barely audible, "Did you really mean what you said?"

Worried that he knows why she's whispering, he begs, "Please tell me Murphy isn't still with you?"

A warning in her voice, Robin demands, "D'you really think I'd be calling you in middle of the night if he were?"

No. She wouldn't. Robin is good and kind, never cruel. Murphy will have been dumped, as gently as possible, before she'd even consider asking Strike his intentions. "No. And, yes, I really mean it."

He hears a sigh, perhaps of relief, and Robin instructs, "Then say it properly. You kind of cheated before. I fear we've made yet another enemy in the police force, and I need to know you're worth it."

Yeah, she's definitely single. Remembering the historic accusations of impropriety and assault against Ryan Murphy, admittedly only when he used to drink, Strike's heartrate soars even higher when he asks, "He didn't try anything?"

Robin doesn't sound genuinely upset, when she accuses, "Still don't think I can look after myself?"

"No, I...it's not..." After a deep breath, he continues, "You've proven time and again that you can handle anyone and anything, but I'm always going to worry about you, because..." When he stalls, Robin says nothing. He's always appreciated that she never rushes him. Time to get brave. He takes another fortifying breath, and vows, "Because I'm in love with you."

Another sigh, and he can hear the hitch in her breath. He likes it, but not as much as when she quietly reveals, "I'm in love with you too. I think maybe I have been for a very long time."

Halle-fucking-lujah. "Yeah, same. Are we idiots for not saying it sooner?" He knows his reasons for waiting so long, and wonders if she's been mentally running the same equations about their odds of success as a romantic couple.

"No. This...whatever this is, has a very real chance of being the best thing that's ever happened to me, but_"

Nodding in agreement, though she can't see the gesture, Strike interrupts, "Also the potential to ruin the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"That's really how you feel about our friendship?"

Perhaps he's misjudged her level of commitment. "Well, yeah. You don't?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I do. That's why...it's why Ryan. You don't know how close I came to succumbing, that one time you tried to kiss me. But I knew that, if we got together then, you'd just regret it. You weren't ready, and you might've never been ready. So I needed another reason to keep some distance between us. I mean, I knew you'd never force the issue, but I just..."

When the ensuing silence stretches on, he suggests, "Got scared...terrified, about maybe losing your best friend and business partner, because best friends and trusted colleagues is still very, very good?"

"Yeah. You're literally the only person I've ever known who makes me feel...I'm braver, stronger, smarter. I'm more...me when I'm with you. Am I making sense?"

Smiling, because it's suddenly impossible not to, Strike says, "Yeah, I get it. And I'm glad to hear that. I'm aware that I get overly anxious about you, so I'm glad it isn't contagious."

"Even that isn't so bad. I like that you so obviously care about me. I just get defensive, because after I was...after the rape, my family and friends got overprotective. Once I found the strength to leave my room, everything I wanted to do became a battle, and then I'd feel like shit for arguing with people who love me, and were just trying to keep me safe."

Strike wonders if they're both now thinking of Matthew, her former husband, who'd been her boyfriend when a stranger had brutally raped her. Feeling the need for some levity, Strike suggests, "Well, you're very good at telling me when to sod off, so I don't think that will be a problem for us." Afraid that mention of her rape is the reason for the lingering silence, he attempts, "So, what are you wearing?"

He's reassured by her soft, relaxed laugh, and she asks, "Are you serious?"

His lips twitching with the effort to keep from laughing, he jokes, "Deadly."

"Same thing I was wearing when you last saw me, except my jacket is back at the restaurant, and my dress isn't really sufficient for a night like this, so you'd better invite me in."

When a sudden loud thud, and bellowed obscenity, emanates from Strike's attic apartment above their detective agency, Robin yells into the phone and up at his window, "Strike? Are you okay?"

His pained face appears at the tiny window as it opens, and he likewise speaks into his phone while looking at her. "Fucking forgot I'd already unstrapped m' false leg when I leapt off the couch just now, didn't I? Fuck, I can't make those stairs like this. You'll have to come up here. Got your key?"

Only then does she realise, and laughs, saying, "No. I didn't exactly plan this. Ryan made a bit of a scene at the restaurant, so I left in a hurry, and the office keys are in my jack..." She trails off when Strike disappears. A moment later, he reappears and shows the keychain in his hand. She wedges the phone snug between her chin and shoulder, and then reveals cupped hands. His aim is good, so she easily catches the keys, and then returns the phone to her ear, instructing, "Stay right where you are. I don't want you completely buggering your knee before I've had a chance to find out if you're any good in bed."

He beams down at her, and brags, "No complaints so far." They're still smiling at each other when he sobers, to ask, "Sure about this?"

Robin takes a moment to examine that place, deep inside her mind, where she'd stored her feelings and her fears about Strike. Amazed to find that there is no more fear, she can hear the conviction in her voice when she vows, "Deadly."

He grins, and says, "Then get your arse up here, but stay on the phone. You know how I feel about you roaming the streets alone at night."

Even when she'd reacted with anger at his efforts to keep her safe, she'd known that his concern came from a place of caring, of love. Besides, that isn't the only reason to stay on the line; she also feels the need to maintain contact, because this all seems too good to be true. There'll be arguments, tough times, they may even need time apart occasionally. But, for the first time in several years, Robin feels optimistic about her future, and she heads towards the main door of the office block, saying, "Love you too, Strike."

Robin is back in the box, at the farm. Her entire world is unbearable pain and perpetual darkness. Suddenly, the lid opens, and muscular arms are lifting her out. Terrified at the thought of what might come next, she struggles with every ounce of strength remaining, and then a familiar voice rumbles, "Easy, Rob, easy. Just a dream. You're safe now."

She's awake, and confused about being in bed with Cormoran Strike, but only for a moment. She's unlikely to ever forget their first time as lovers...technically their first three times as lovers, before they'd fallen into an exhausted sleep, still entwined. Forcing her body towards calm, she says, "Sorry. Nightmare." Remembering how she'd fought the person in the dream, she tenses and asks, "Did I hurt you?"

He holds her a little tighter, saying, "I'm fine. Need anything from me?"

Relaxing against him, she says, "Just this. Do you need anything from me?"

He's understood, because he merely asks, "Still doing the CBT exercises?"

She's doing one right now, to calm her breathing. Whether fortunate or not, PTSD is one of the things they have in common, and four months infiltrating a cult means that Robin has a few more triggers for panic attacks. "Couldn't really do them while I was undercover, but every day since then. And I'm back in therapy for a while, just to make sure that my recovery is on track."

She feels his surprise at this revelation, and he says, "I'm glad. And, in that case, I don't need anything. I'm here if you want to talk, but I don't need it. I trust you to look after yourself."

Somehow, his utter faith in her makes it easy to get brave, and she says, "I want to." When his only response is to kiss her forehead, and then relax his embrace to give her physical and emotional space, Robin soon explains, "I was back in that box you called a torture technique. When it opened, and a man's arms were lifting me out, I thought..." It's still nigh on impossible to articulate her fear of ever again being raped, so she hedges, "I felt like he meant me further harm. But I think maybe it was you, rescuing me." Running a hand along his hairy forearm, she reveals, "Because these were the arms."

His teeth flash in a joyful smile, and then he says, "Sounds like progress. Like maybe you're changing the narrative of your nightmares?"

"Yeah, maybe." When he makes no reply, she asks, "Did I mention that you kept me sane in there, at the farm?"

"No, you didn't. How did I manage that?"

Confident that he not only understands, but probably has firsthand experience, she nevertheless asks, "You know what all that fasting, abuse and sleep deprivation does to a person's willpower? How it messes with your head?"

Even now, best friends for years and now lovers, Strike has barely spoken of his time in the military. And, right now, all he says is, "I'm aware." Robin takes a moment to soothe his past away by again caressing his arm where it rests across her hip. He smiles his gratitude, and then softly commands, "Go on."

Smiling at the memory of how he saved her without even being there, Robin reveals, "After only a few weeks of that, I was really struggling to keep a hold on reality. But, in the end it was easy to resist them; every time I felt like I was falling for their bullshit, I just imagined your reaction to me telling you, and then I was myself again."

He chuckles, and guesses, "I presume that even in your imagination, I'm a sceptic?"

Her smile widens, and she says, "Exactly, and you were none too gentle about expressing your doubts."

"It certainly sounds like me. And, you're welcome."

She beams at him, and then they simply lie facing each other in a companiable silence, illuminated only by what little light filters in from the street below. Robin idly wonders if he's deliberately giving her time for the therapy exercises. Surprised to find that it doesn't bother her a bit that he's maybe silently nagging her, she expends a couple of minutes on relaxing all her muscles. And then she notices, "I'm thirsty."

Strike extricates himself from her and rolls towards his side of the bed, but soon returns with a bottle of water, even as he removes the cap. Robin can feel his gaze on her as she sits up to take a long drink, and then offers it to him. He drains the bottle, and caps it before placing it on the small bedside table. His phone comes alive when he picks it up, temporarily flooding the tiny room with light, and his tone is neutral when he reveals, without looking at her, "Sun'll be up soon."

Robin has a feeling she knows why he suddenly seems distant, because she feels the same reluctance for this night to end. "Yeah, I'd better go. Don't want to risk anyone we know spotting me in the same clothes I wore yesterday. I'm really glad we finally did this, and would very much like to do it again soon, but I'm not ready to be outed yet. If that's okay with you?"

With a sigh, Strike puts the phone down and rolls back to face her. But he makes no move to touch her, and his smile looks a little forced when he obliges, "Makes sense."

Robin runs her fingers through his curly hair—grateful that she can finally do so—and then rests her hand on his stubbled cheek, to guess, "But you don't want me to leave."

With a sheepish expression that makes him look years younger, Strike confesses, "Not sure that I'll believe this happened once you're gone."

Inspiration hits, and Robin leans towards the floor long enough to retrieve her brand-new knickers, and then offers them as a gift. Of course, she'd bought them expecting Ryan to be the first man to see them, but Strike doesn't need to know that. He grins and lifts himself up on one elbow to accept them, joking, "Not really my style, and definitely not my size." But then he slips them under his pillow, saying, "Thanks. That should do the trick. No other woman has been in this bed."

She knows that he's had several lovers since they met. And, having now slept with him, she understands why a few of them proved very reluctant to let go. "Seriously? None?"

Glancing around the tiny room that somehow looks even more depressing in this dim light, he quips, "Not exactly the Ritz."

Robin means every word when she smiles and says, "It is to me."

When his gaze darkens, she knows that it's with lust rather than anger, and he growls, "You'd better go."

It tears a giggle from her, and Robin quickly kisses him before promising, "I'll call you."

Strike hauls her back into his embrace for a lengthy kiss, and then vows, "Anywhere, any time."