Part 2 of 3

He looks up as she approaches, his eyes cool and controlled, his face a blank. She's never seen him look so 'Poole of the Met', not even in their first days together. She comes to a stop in front of him, her chin up and her eyes admitting nothing. He gestures to the bench. She spins and sits stiffly. He sighs and sinks down beside her. They lace their hands in their respective laps and stare down at the floor between their feet in perfect unison.

The best defense is a good offense so she speaks first, "Look, I don't know why you're upset about what I said, I was quoting you, remember? That day I tried to show you the island and you were all jumpy and nervy and quite rude, really. You shocked Maman… and that's almost impossible. You didn't sound like yourself and that's why the comment stuck in my head."

He nods and squeezes his hands together but says nothing, forcing her to keep talking. "I KNOW you were angry that day. You put in another transfer request, the Commissioner was stalling, you were frustrated and home-sick and tired of us all but you…"

He stutters to life, "That's not why I said it."

"… just wanted to go home and… and... what did you say?"

He winces, wrings his hands harder, and shifts on the bench, "That's not why I made that comment. I mean, what you say is true but that's not why I was so inexcusably rude to you and you mother that day. There was something else biting at me and you don't know about it."

Now she's insulted, "Why not?! Don't you trust me? If something is bothering you then I'm here to help! That's my job!" She ducks, tries to catch his eye, "You DO know that, right?"

He sighs again, looks away, "Well, I'd like to believe it… but you know how it is…"

"I do? Oh, of course I do... but why don't you tell me again just so we're on the same page?"

He makes a small sound that she's never heard before, "I don't talk much about my past… and I'm very grateful for that privacy… but I've not had a very good time of it. I know I shouldn't complain but sometimes it just washes over me and I can't help thinking… wondering… what sort of man I'd be if I hadn't been abandoned and on my own for most of my life."

Camille's hand is instantly on his forearm without conscious thought, her heart twisting. At his startled reaction, she drops her hand and mutters, "Sorry." Then her lip press together and she snorts, "I guess that's part of my problem, isn't it? I try so hard to be 'one of the boys' but I'm not and I never will be. I'm a woman and my feelings are different. Sometimes I don't think I'm a very good cop. Sometimes I think YOU think the same and I'm sorry if I've let you down."

His eyes jump to hers and he searches her face for a long time before he looks away, "Oh, you've never let me down, Camille, never once. You're what holds me up most days." He waves a hand to the west window where two heads quickly duck out of sight… but not quickly enough. Poole sees this and frowns. He stands, "Um, I think we'd better take this conversation elsewhere. Little pitchers have big ears as my granfa used to say."

He steps out and she follows. Together they descend the stairs. Above them, Dwayne and Fidel fill the doorway, Dwayne feeling his ears and shaking his head. They watch as the couple below begin pacing the lawn.

Richard walks slowly, almost like he's feeling his way, hands behind his back, solemn and sad-seeming. Camille mirrors him unconsciously and he notices it, notices it and is heartened. He's been struggling with this unspoken problem for months now and maybe… just maybe... today is the day and his hour has come round at last.

"First of all," he starts, "I have to tell you that you are an excellent cop. You understand people and can get to the heart of matters like magic. You root out all the emotional content I need to round out my cold and factual clues. Without you I'm nothing, like I was back in Croydon. WITH you, I'm something else, something new. I'm still coming to terms with that but I know I'm better… and it's because of you." Now he halts and turns to her, something huge in his eyes that he can't seem to express. Either that or he's choking.

His words calm her a bit but she still doesn't understand what's bothering him, "Then why did my comment upset you so much? It just means you hate sand and I already know that. Hell, the whole town knows that. I think maybe even the island itself knows. It's no secret."

He watches her for a moment then nods and starts walking again, "No, it's no secret, but something else is. I said what I said that day to be deliberately rude, to push you away, to make you angry, maybe even make you hate me a little. I was in an internal uproar. You knew about my renewed transfer request but you don't know why."

"Yes, I do," she snorts, "you hate it here and you…"

He interjects, "I DON'T hate it here." She stops walking and just stares at him. He turns to her and nods emphatically, "'Well, I don't hate EVERY thing here. Sure, it's too hot, my shoes are always full of sand, I miss my snug, and…" He hears her scoff and halts, "Yeah, I miss England something fierce; it's my place, it's in my blood but…" he falters "… but something else has pushed its way in and I don't know what to do about it. I'm stuck. I need help."

END – part 2