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Chapter 1

Pain comes at a cost,

but we've got this.

Ed Sheeran: Vega

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"You did what?" Robin asked incredulously, her eyes wide as she couldn't tear her eyes off Sam Barclay, standing in the middle of the outer office that morning.
Pat, the office manager, sitting at her desk followed her example with her own inimitable style – looking at the beloved subcontractor from behind her glasses, with mildly raised eyebrows. Strike, who was standing at the doorframe leading to the inner office, with his arms folded on his chest, was unable to suppress an amused smile.

Barclay couldn't wipe the smirk off his face as he was giving his account of the events that had led to the successful closing of their latest case of a cheating wife.
"I requested her tae give me her favourite knickers an' asked her tae spray them wi' her favourite perfume. I can tell ye, if her husband busted in at that moment, ye wouldnae had the pleasure tae give him the evidence yerself an' I'd be a dead man walkin' now. He's no dafty."

Both women kept staring at him for a few more seconds, then burst into hysterical laughter. Strike chuckled and shook his head.
"Sam," he said then, still grinning. "You've just become the unofficial king of seduction and deception. This one will be hard to beat."
"Cheers, boss, jus' don't tell it to my wife or I'll end up sleepin' here," the Glaswegian smiled, pleased with a job well done.
"You wouldn't be the first one," Strike remarked, glancing with an amused smile at Robin, who immediately remembered her first weeks in the office, covering up for her then-boss, who temporarily had to turn the inner office into his bedroom as well back then.

Robin wiped her tears as she finally calmed down.
"You bloody deserve that weekend off, Sam. Go and have fun with your wife," she said, still smiling widely.

"I would leave out the perfume on her knickers, though. Might be too… distracting," Strike added with a mischievous grin.

Robin almost choked on her tea, while Pat uncharacteristically laughed for the second time, suddenly having the time of her life. Barclay just chuckled and with an "Aye, boss," he happily walked out of the office.

Strike walked to Robin, seeing she was still coughing.
"You OK?" he asked with concern.
"I'm fine," she croaked, flashed a smile, and hid behind the tea mug, taking another sip, desperately trying to hide her blushing. The mental image of Strike holding the piece of women's undergarment in his hands was difficult to erase from her mind. Specifically, her undergarment…
She failed in her hiding attempt, though, for her partner smiled knowingly, and it took a good moment until he took mercy on her and looked away, walking over to the kitchenette to grab his own mug of tea.

"I had no idea it would be such an exhilarating experience when I came to this office at first," Pat remarked, still openly grinning - possibly the first time since she had been the office manager on Denmark Street.

"And we had no idea what a terrific asset you'd be to us, Pat," Strike said truthfully, surprised by his own statement. Pulling each other's leg; that was more their style of communication.

Pat seemed genuinely touched by his words, and if he was bold enough, he'd say he could see her eyes glisten behind her glasses.

When his eyes landed on Robin, he noticed she was observing him with a soft, warm expression, smiling. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable, having exposed his softer side in the professional environment. He quickly looked away, well aware of Robin's knowing look.

His mild embarrassment was interrupted by the ringing of Robin's mobile phone. She glanced at it, still mildly dazed from the wonderfully warm and light atmosphere in the office, and seeing her brother's name on the screen, she grabbed the phone and stood up, walking toward the inner office. A sudden shiver of premonition hit her.

"Sorry, that's Stephen," she said to Strike when passing him, not shutting the inner office door behind her, though.

He wasn't sure why, but Strike had a sinking feeling that something was about to disturb the pleasant atmosphere in their agency. As he stood at the desk where Robin had sat just a moment ago, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the open door that his partner just walked through. The few short sentences he heard then confirmed his suspicion.

"Stephen, hi. What…." he heard Robin say before she went silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was low and shaky.
"When?"
Strike's heartbeat suddenly accelerated from fear – he had experienced too many phone calls like this in his past.

"OK… I'll get a train right away," Robin continued quietly. "See you later…"

Strike was desperate to see her, to do anything she needed right then, whatever bad news she had just received. But when she finally emerged from the inner office and stopped at the door, staring into nothing ahead of her, he was suddenly unable to move – her face was as white as a sheet, her eyes carrying an uncomprehending and disbelieving expression, mixed with shock and pain.

"Robin?" he asked quietly, really worried now.

She snapped from the first shock and looked at him with lifeless eyes. "That was Stephen…" It took a long moment for her to say the words.
"My dad died… Heart attack…"

Strike felt his heart sink as a rock to the bottom of the ocean, his eyes filled with compassion and pain shared with her. Before he managed to say something, his partner grabbed her bag and coat absently.
"I've got to go…" The sudden chaos in her mind reflected in her still uncomprehending eyes. She cast a brief glance at Strike before opening the office door. "I… Sorry… I'll call you later."

After she shut the door behind her, a deafening silence befell the office. Strike had a momentary sense of déjà vue from a few years before, then Pat was the first one to speak.

"Life never gives us a break, does it? Poor thing," she remarked, her eyes still pinned to the door, her voice even deeper than usual. Then she looked at her boss, noticing the emotions playing across his face.
"Can I say something?" she asked, looking from behind her glasses as usual.
"Go on," Strike replied, sounding like a robot, his mind miles away.
"It might seem unorthodox, but this is probably the best time to show her."

Strike immediately became alert and looked at her, narrowing his eyes, his unspoken question hanging in the air.

"To show her what she really means to you?" Pat added knowingly, her eyebrows raised. "She could do with some support from her… best friend."

Strike didn't miss her hesitation before the term her best friend, suddenly having the alarming feeling that he had been caught out. His heart was breaking for Robin (vividly remembering his own personal encounter with death, especially when his mother and later, his aunt died), but he knew Pat was right. He knew Robin would be surrounded by her family, but he wanted to be the one to comfort her, to be there for her whatever she needed. Strike wanted to be the one she would lean on in the first place.

"Could you do me a favour, please?" he asked Pat after his moment of contemplation. "I need you to find me a train connection to Masham for tomorrow morning."

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Robin opened the front door of her parents' old house and almost ran out, shutting the door behind her. The fresh air invading her lungs was what she needed the most in the stifling atmosphere of the grief filling the walls of her childhood home.

When she arrived in Masham the afternoon before, she hadn't had much time to process the news. Her task was to console her mother, be there for her brothers and their families, as always. Fair enough, the matriarch of the family was trying to hold herself up well enough not to break down and cry every few minutes. Had there ever been a question where Robin got her mental strength from, Linda Ellacott answered it for everyone at the worst times the family could remember - well, apart from the attack on the only daughter of the house.

And yet, as the night came and Robin finally shut the door of her bedroom, sleep evaded her for long hours. At least four times, she interrupted staring at the dark ceiling and glanced at her phone. No message. More precisely, no message that she was hoping for, one that could bring at least a bit of light into the misery she was living through at that moment.

She wished she could talk about it, talk about how she knew she should probably cry but somehow, she felt hollow and cold, and no emotions could touch her enough deep within to bring her the physical release. She wished to hear that it's not abnormal to hope it would all be over already, and she wouldn't have to dread the compassionate words and handshakes on the funeral in four days, combined with the pitiful looks of those who 'felt sorry' for the Ellacotts' already divorced child, despite being in her early thirties. Robin loved her home place, but there was a reason why she preferred city life. Its anonymity and privacy were certainly a privilege at times when she needed it the most.

However, the one she was hoping she could talk about it all obviously decided to give her space to mourn - Strike went silent.

With a heavy sigh, Robin walked down the few steps into the yard, stopping at an old wooden bench. For a moment, she observed the sunlit horizon over the green fields ahead of her. Memories of her father going for long walks with her in the same field when she was a child flooded her mind, mingling with the images of her sitting on a small bicycle being pushed by her parent and taught to ride it as a little girl of barely four. She closed her eyes and exhaled into the crisp, late March air.

When she opened them again, the view had changed slightly. Robin focused her look on a tall, dark figure slowly and a bit heavily approaching the Ellacotts' family house. The familiar sight made her gasp - with surprise and joy as well.

That's why he went silent...

Nothing could stop her as a wide, grateful smile appeared on her pale face, and with quick steps, she reached the small gate, falling into his arms without any restraint. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, silent and holding on to each other tightly, but neither one of them felt like letting go.

"I'm sorry for barging in without announcement," Strike said eventually quietly while Robin still held on tight to him. "I just thought…" Silence finished the words he didn't dare to believe strongly enough to say out loud - that you might need me.

"Thank you…," Robin whispered and slowly pulled back, allowing their eyes to meet.

When he noticed the tear running down her cheek, he almost wiped it away, stopping himself at the last second when Robin quickly did it herself.

"Sorry," she chuckled, awkwardly avoiding his look for a moment. Then she gently freed herself from his arms still embracing her. "Come in."

"I don't think your mother would appreciate- "
"I appreciate it. She will as well, don't worry," Robin interrupted him, resolved.

"I don't want to intrude; I was going to find somewhere to stay in town after I..."

"Don't be silly," she chided him with a smile, despite the fatigue and grief colouring her voice, and took his overnight bag. "We all need a bit of distraction, and what's better than London's best private investigator?" she teased him and walked into the house.

Strike took a deep breath, exhaled loudly and followed her into the unknown.

※

Crossing the threshold of Robin's home was something Strike had never imagined before and he did it with mixed feelings. Of course, his main wish was to be there for her in one of the hardest times of her life. He also felt a strange thrill of having the opportunity to get to know his partner even closer.

On the other hand, he was slightly scared of the homeowner's reaction on seeing him - he was convinced that the name Cormoran Strike was not exactly a popular one in the family, especially after the fiasco at the dinner with Robin and her brother Jonathan over a year ago. Robin never talked about it after they cleared the air, but he had his ideas - not all of them were unfounded ones.

When they entered the kitchen, Strike spotted the figure of an older woman staring out of the window. Her shoulder-long, brown-dyed hair mingled with a few silvery strands.

"Mom?" Robin said softly, and Linda Ellacott turned around. When she spotted the man by her daughter's side, she didn't say anything for a moment, but then a small smile appeared on her exhausted face.
"Mr Strike," she said calmly, surprising the detective. "It's nice to see you again after all this time." Her smile reached her eyes.

Of course, the damned wedding, Strike thought, how could she forget my glorious accident with the flowers?
"It's Cormoran, Madam," he suggested gently.
"Very well," she replied. "Linda," she added and outstretched her hand. Strike accepted it with a small smile.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said then, his eyes clearly revealing that his words were genuine. "I'm not going to disturb you; I only came to see if…" He glanced at Robin, looking for the right words. Her smile gave him courage. "… if there is anything I could do to help. I'll be in town for a few days should you need me at any point."

Linda slowly released his hand and sighed.
"That's very kind of you, Cormoran, but Robin and her brothers have everything under their stride, it seems," she said with a sad smile. "In fact, I feel rather useless."
"You need to rest, Mom," her daughter interrupted her. "There are a few tough days ahead of you. Everything has been taken care of."
"There is a tough rest of my life ahead of me, my dear," Linda remarked knowingly. "But I appreciate what you do, I really do." She patted Robin's arm.

Then she walked over to the kitchen sink and started washing the teacup she used earlier. Robin glanced at Strike, who was resolved to leave, but Linda's voice stopped him.
"Please, take Cormoran to Stephen's old room and make sure he gets clean towels."

"I thought I could take Stephen's bedroom and Cormoran could stay in mine," Robin interjected. "It's closer to…" She glanced at her partner with a small smile, then looked back at her mother. "It's more convenient for him."

Linda did neither object nor ponder about her daughter's unfinished sentence. She only smiled, added, "Very well then," and turned back to the sink.

Strike just managed to say "Thank you," before Robin ushered him towards the stairs, in her mind regretting that her parents turned the downstairs spare bedroom into a storage room a few years ago. It would have saved her partner climbing up and down the narrow staircase, putting more pressure on his half-leg.

But Strike's mind was miles away from the steps he was ascending behind Robin. The idea to come here and support her seemed like a good one at first, but now he wasn't sure he had the right to be here. He didn't belong to the family, he was only a friend of one of them, albeit the best friend. Moreover, he was about to take Robin's room, her own private space of so many years… As a man very protective of privacy, suddenly he felt like a stalker.

The frown on his face must have alerted Robin as they stopped at her bedroom door.
"It's the stairs, isn't it?" she asked, worried about his leg. "I'm sorry, we don't…"
"The leg's fine," Strike interrupted her quietly. "I just…"
"What?" she whispered.
"Are you sure your family will be all right with this?" he replied unusually anxiously.
Robin smiled, relieved that this was the only reason for his concern.
"If they start biting, I'll protect you," she quipped with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Strike couldn't help but chuckle.
"Remind me to thank your self-defence teacher," he said then, still smiling, the warmth in his eyes caressing Robin somewhere deep inside, so much that she needed a great deal of self-control to break their eye contact and open the door.

As they entered, Strike looked around and was struck by one thing – how welcoming the space looked. He wasn't sure what he was expecting before they walked in, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face now that he was in and immediately felt like… home.

"I tried to make this look like an adult room before I moved to London," Robin started with an embarrassed smile, "but there are still a few reminders of my… well, younger years."
"I always knew there was a hidden hippie behind that Holmes mask," Strike reacted with amusement as his eyes admired a handful of remaining posters of The Cure, Kate Bush, U2 and R.E.M. on the wall next to the wardrobe. "Way before Becca entered the office," he smirked, referring to one of Robin's disguises during one of their investigations.

"I'm not that much younger than you," she replied with a challenging smirk of her own. "Besides, I grew up with the 80s. Dad almost broke the old turntable with the Born In The USA vinyl…"

Strike suppressed a chuckle, imagining Michael Ellacott, the professor of sheep medicine and the editor of a magazine called 'Sheep Management' rocking to Bruce Springsteen. His amusement vanished immediately though when his eyes found Robin again.

As her voice faded, the cheerfulness of reminiscing suddenly died like the parent she had just lost. She was staring absent-mindedly at one of the posters, and he could almost feel the pain that shot through her when she so cruelly brought them back to reality. Without thinking, he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Robin took a shaky breath and smiled, meeting his grey-blue eyes again, her hand mirroring his gesture. Without knowing it, both of them suddenly thought how perfectly their hands fit together…

"The bathroom is right next door," Robin said then quietly, hypnotised by his warm gaze again. She smiled, shaking off the enchantment. "That's why I wanted you to have this room. You don't have it far to… You know."
Her mild embarrassment was endearing, and Strike felt once again humbled by her thoughtfulness and care. Of course, she knew that hobbling on one foot in the long corridor in the middle of the night was anything but convenient for him.

"Thank you," he said, and his eyes spoke about much more than gratitude.

Reluctantly, Robin slowly released her hand from his.
"Well, I… I'll get you some fresh bedding. There are clean towels in the first drawer," she pointed at a heavy wooden chest of drawers by the wardrobe.
A few more seconds of silent gazes and smiles, and then she was gone, leaving him alone, immediately feeling like he'd just lost a limb all over again.

Strike took a deep breath before exhaling loudly, settling his nerves. Whatever the next few days would bring, he was sure Robin appreciated him coming, and that was all he needed to know. His eyes lovingly inspected the room, wandering from object to object, taking in everything that gave him more glimpses into what the woman he loved was like.

Startled by his thought, he frowned. His recently clarified feelings toward his partner and best friend still hadn't lost their monumental meaning and deep impact on him.
He sighed, momentarily closing his eyes to steady his heartbeat. Lately, he was having a harder time with bottling up his emotions. Especially after his life had hung by a thread, when lying in the hospital bed with an almost fatal stab wound to his back, he finally faced the hard facts of his life and his thoughts of which direction he wanted it to go in the future. More importantly, with whom…

Strike's eyes landed on Robin's bed, with its neatly smoothed cream-coloured duvet and pillows. Inadvertently, he inhaled deeply, hoping he could catch traces of her scent on the bedding before she replaced it with a new one. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or if he could really smell the perfume she had chosen as her belated birthday present that he had bought for her…
With his senses reeling, Strike shook his head, desperately trying to chase away any physical signs of how much his best friend affected his heart and mind.
This is definitely not the appropriate time!

As if drawn by his own will, Robin suddenly reappeared in the bedroom, smiling and carrying a pile of fresh bed linen, including another duvet and pillow, putting it all on the chest of drawers. She folded her duvet and with the pillows, and put it on the small, fabric armchair nearby. After stripping the fitted sheet, she reached for a clean one and started putting it on the mattress, when she noticed that Strike took the other end of the sheet, helping her to stretch it out.

Their eyes met, and neither of them could hold back a wide smile before returning to their work. Without realising it, they both had the same thought of how easy and pleasant this feeling of simple domesticity between them felt.

"If we ever went bust with the agency, we could start a new business," Strike remarked with a smirk. "Ellacott & Strike Services – We bring new life to your bed."
Robin snorted but didn't miss the fact that he put her name first in the name of their imaginary business. The feeling of extreme affection for her partner ignited her whole being all over again.
"Sounds like an advert for a porn films production company," she remarked dryly, earning a chuckle from him.

They finished their work in companionable silence, and for the first time since receiving the devastating news, Robin felt that she just might survive the next few days somehow – as long as Strike remained by her side.

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