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Chapter 2

They say all scars will heal but I know
maybe I won't
but the waves won't break my boat.

Ed Sheeran: Boat

※

The day shifted into the late afternoon and found Strike standing in the Ellacotts' front yard, pulling on his e-cigarette that he had switched to lately. It wasn't just his recent serious lung injury that forced him to make some changes in his lifestyle, including going on a diet and working more on his physique. As he was watching the purple and pink shades on the sky, reflecting the sun setting down over the fields ahead of him, he contemplated even more how much his view of life had changed over the recent months.

The long weeks he had spent on his hospital bed, mostly staring into nothing, his brain being the only muscle he was allowed to move without restrictions, he had a lot of time to think about his life leading up to that moment. All its dramas, victories and losses, pain, grief, unresolved issues, hopes and dreams, love…

Strike shivered at the last word, knowing very well that it was love that his mind was preoccupied with most of the time. He couldn't forget the feeling of elation as Robin unexpectedly appeared at his hospital bed one night, and he found out that her date with Murphy didn't end up as the DCI would have hoped. That night, he knew that he never wanted to let his chance, however small, slip through his fingers again.

His friendship with Robin was getting deeper and more solid with each passing day since then, and he wasn't holding much back anymore. The before so painstakingly kept physical distancing from her was long forgotten, Moreover, he noticed that she enjoyed, sometimes even initiated little, seemingly random moments when their hands brushed or one of them laid their hand on the other's arm or shoulder here and there. And now, only a few months later, he was in Yorkshire, in Robin's family home, providing emotional support for the woman who gave him the happiest moments of his life without even knowing it.

Just as he pulled his coat tighter to ward off the sudden wind chill creeping into his bones, the soft sound of footsteps approaching him made him smile.
"I thought I might find you here," Robin said, smiling, when she stopped next to him.

Strike looked at her fondly. She still looked a bit pale, slight shadows under her eyes reflecting her fatigue, but in his eyes, she was still beautiful. Her warm smile did wonders to his heart. He desperately wanted to focus on supporting her in this difficult time, but he was helpless to fight off the onslaught of emotions he felt toward her.

"The wake is arranged," Robin stated then in a sombre tone, looking at the sunset. "Stephen managed to book Dad's favourite pub."
Her voice was matter-of-factly, almost detached. It was as if she was using a highly professional approach to a very personal matter.

"I guess he had a lot of friends," Strike replied, trying to apply a neutral tone.

"He had a lot of acquaintances, but only a few really close mates. But once he let someone in, he was the most loyal friend… Mum's the one in the family who's got friends all over the town." Robin sighed. "He wasn't much into constant socialising. His family was everything to him. He was… happy that way."

A small smile flashed on her face and Strike wondered whether she had inherited this trait from her father. In the years he had known her, Robin didn't seem to have too many friends in London and spent much of her time at work even past their usual hours, mostly sharing space with him in their office. Their occasional curry nights at Nick and Elsa's or their weekly catch-up on their cases over a couple of pints in The Tottenham were some of her very few outings that he could call socialising. And they included him. It seemed she liked spending time with him, on whatever the occasion. They felt comfortable with each other, however tiring of bad their day may have been before. For Strike, socialising stood somewhere toward the end of the scale of his likes and needs, the only exception being his friends Nick and Ilsa. The socialising he truly enjoyed, though, was with Robin by his side, whatever the time and place.

"Anyway, dinner is ready," Robin changed the topic, knowing he must have been hungry.
Strike's smile faded a bit, and she sensed what he was thinking.
"We might not have the appetite, but we still have to eat something," she added.
"True," was all he was able to reply. Sometimes words are superfluous…
"Come on," Robin said, smiling, shocking him when her hand took his as she led him back inside.
She just needs support, to hold on to something, someone, that's all…

He gladly let her.

※※

The dinner was a subdued but not uncomfortable affair, with Robin, her mother, her brother Jonathan (who stayed as an additional support for Linda) and Strike sharing the table. Robin's brothers Stephen and Martin left for their respective homes earlier that day, promising to return the following day after arranging some other things needed for the funeral.

Surprisingly to Strike, no one in Robin's family acted awkwardly or hostile towards him. It almost seemed as if after years of Robin's devotion to the agency, they fully accepted that wherever she was, Strike was her natural extension, so his presence wasn't really a surprise to them. At the dinner, he was even politely asked about his family, and to Robin's mild shock, he didn't dismiss the questions and replied to as many as he felt comfortable with.

After dinner, they all shared a cup of tea in each other's, mostly quiet but not tense company before Linda excused herself and retreated to her bedroom for the night. Jonathan left soon after, leaving Robin and Strike alone in the living room, sitting by the fireplace.

For a while, they were just gazing into the fire, sitting side by side on one of the comfy sofas, each deep in their own thoughts.
"How are you doing?" Strike asked then, finally breaking the silence.
Robin sighed. "A bit shit," she replied.

As she looked at him, they both chuckled, each recalling the same conversation between them from the past. Back then, it was on the occasion of Robin having found out that her ex-husband cheated on her.

"I know," Strike acknowledged quietly, his eyes fixed on the fire again.

He didn't want to betray how much her pain affected him. A similar experience from some time ago was deeply embedded in his memory – the time when he lost his aunt Joan to cancer. Back then, it was Robin who gently and with her unparalleled compassion kept him going on his worst days.

Robin observed him for a moment, then a fond smile appeared on her face.
"I'm really glad you're here," she said, her voice weaker than usual.
When he looked into her sad eyes and saw the tears that were threatening to fall, his arm went around her shoulder and pulled her gently to his side.
"Me too," he said softly, resting his cheek on top of her head after she carefully nestled into him, enjoying the softness of his jumper and the warmth radiating from his body.

It took only a few minutes until Strike noticed that Robin had fallen asleep, her head still resting against his chest. He didn't have the heart to wake her but glanced toward the staircase leading upstairs. Fully aware of the strain it would pose on his half-leg's hamstring, he slowly managed to stand up without disturbing Robin and gently lifted her in his arms. She felt as light as a feather to him, fast asleep. He carefully walked up the stairs, paying attention to correctly balancing every step, and felt his heart beating in his throat when she suddenly snuggled more into him, moving her head in her sleep so that he could feel her soft breath in the crook of his neck.

Thankfully, he reached her bedroom without problems and slowly lowered her onto the bed, carefully taking her trainers off and covering her with the duvet. Robin sighed in her sleep and turned a little in his direction so that Strike got a full view of her face, rounded by the halo of her golden hair. The persisting paleness was still there, along with the veil of sorrow and tiredness, creating a few fine lines around her eyes. He knew she was exhausted, being on her feet all day, taking the pressure off her mother and helping her brothers to sort out the necessities.

He wished there was much more that he could do for her apart from what he was doing. Over the years, he gained a huge respect for Robin's ability to deal with any difficulty life or work had thrown at her. Her strength and courage were as impressive as her compassion and devotion to work. The problem was, in her desire to help others, she often forgot about herself.

After a few more moments, Strike finally - and reluctantly - decided to let her rest and retreat to his own room. However, not before slowly and with a feather-light touch of his large hand stroking her head, unable to resist the urge to offer her some comfort even in her sleep.

He turned away and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Still holding the door handle, emotions unexpectedly overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. He opened them again and turned to go to his room, but froze on the spot when he noticed Linda standing at the door of her bedroom, holding an empty glass in her hand.

Strike was tongue-tied, unable to come up with anything cohesive. Sure, he hadn't done anything wrong or indecent; hell, he wasn't even sure if Robin's mother had seen him carry her daughter in his arms. And yet, for some reason, he felt embarrassed.
However, when he saw Linda's genuine smile appear on her face, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards and he nodded before walking away and disappearing in his room.

※※※※※

It was barely eight o'clock in the morning the next day when Strike turned another rasher of bacon on the pan in the Ellacotts' kitchen. He got up quite early after a not-very-restful sleep, his brain overloaded with thoughts that simply wouldn't go away and let him drift into a state of oblivion. As soon as the early spring sun lazily showed its first morning rays, he got up and decided to make breakfast for his hosts. It was the least he could do, not only for welcoming him to their home so gracefully.

"That smells wonderful."
Linda's voice startled him, but he mustered a small smile.
"I thought I'd give you a hand. I hope you don't mind-"
"Of course, not!" Linda interrupted him, gratitude reflecting in her eyes.
"It's almost ready," Strike stated and popped a couple of bread slices into the toaster. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please. Milk and one sugar," she answered with a smile. He passed her a mug and returned to work.

For a few quiet moments, she just watched him at work. He was precise, every one of his moves purposeful and skilled, keeping the work surface clean as he progressed - all of it showcasing his military background where tidiness became as natural to him as breathing.
Linda realised she never properly asked Robin about her partner, what he was like as a person. All her perception of him until recently was the result of a few dramatic events that happened to Robin and involved him. She knew she couldn't go by anything that Matthew had said about Strike, because it was obvious that her daughter's ex-husband hated the detective right from the start.

But the more she had the opportunity to watch Strike in everyday life, the more she liked him. As far-stretching as it may have sounded, he had even some traits that reminded her of her late husband, especially the quiet yet impressive way he carried himself. She finally understood why her daughter held her partner in such high regard. It wasn't only his brilliant investigating skills and his willingness to give Robin the chance to do what she had always dreamed about. Despite his rather rough exterior, Cormoran Strike seemed like a genuinely good man to her, attentive, respectful, kind and every bit of a gentleman. One image especially burnt in her mind from the night before, cementing Linda's favour of him – the image of the sleeping Robin being carried in his arms to rest. And there was one other thing…

"Here you go," Strike interrupted her train of thought when he put a full plate and cutlery in front of her. "You should eat something; you'll need the energy," he added, the genuine care in his eyes making her smile. It was the first truly heartfelt smile since the day her world shattered to pieces.
"Thank you," Linda replied and took a bite of a perfectly crunchy, buttered toast. "I could get used to this."
Strike chuckled. "I have my moments," he remarked, glad for the chance to lift the mood a bit.
"Oh, I think you have quite a few," Linda reacted with a knowing smile, and she could swear he blushed before lowering his eyes. She chuckled. "Michael had the tendency to burn toasts…"

Her voice trailed off, the smile vanishing from her face. Her eyes welled up as she kept staring at the toast in her hand. Her bottom lip started quivering and her hand quickly reached to cover her mouth. Regardless of how strong the stabbing pain in her heart was, she refused to let it crush her. She knew it would eventually, but today was not the day.

Strike let her emotions run free, silently standing at the table as if to say You're not alone, but tactfully not looking at her. When she composed herself, she flashed a quick smile at him while wiping away the tears that managed to escape her eyes. She appreciated the understanding she saw in his eyes.

The detective returned to the counter, loading another plate with some toasts and bacon. After preparing another mug of coffee, he put it alongside the plate on a tray he found in one of the cupboards and walked with it toward the kitchen door.
"I'll be right back," he informed Linda, passing her by.
She had no doubts about where his steps would lead him.

※※

He knocked gently on the door and didn't have to wait long for a response.
"Come in," he heard Robin's voice and opened the door, walking in while balancing the tray easily in one hand.
Robin was sitting on the bed with the duvet still pulled over her legs. It looked like she had just woken up a few minutes ago, her hair slightly tousled and her eyes veiled with the last remains of the sleepy haze. Her smile at the sight of him, however, was as bright as if someone pulled the drapes away from a window to let the sunshine in.

"I thought I was still dreaming when I smelt the bacon," she said, her widened eyes admiring the contents of the tray Strike just carefully put next to her on the bed. Suddenly, she felt ravenous and immediately took a bite of one of the toasts. With a sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment.
"Sorry… I'm really starving," she said shyly.
"I don't blame you; you have barely touched anything apart from tea yesterday," Strike remarked, with a soft smile. His heart bathed in the knowledge that he could make the start of her day a bit brighter.

Robin took a sip of the coffee, but when she swallowed the chewed bit of bacon, she suddenly stopped eating and her eyes met Strike's gaze. Her blissful expression faded as she observed the familiar features of his face, and the smile lingering on his lips. All at once, she found herself fighting back tears – she couldn't remember when was the last time someone showed so much care for her to bring her breakfast to bed. And they weren't even romantically involved. Although…

Strike noticed the shift in her mood and was mildly alarmed.
"Robin?" he spoke softly, worry clouding the blue of his eyes.

She smiled, savouring the way he said her name. Acting purely on instinct, she leaned towards him and pressed a brief, soft kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you," she whispered, swallowed hard, then lowered her eyes and hid behind the mug, taking another sip of her coffee.

Strike was speechless at first, releasing the breath he didn't realise he was holding when she leaned toward him.
"'s all right," he replied quietly, still a bit dazed.
Robin recovered meanwhile, enjoying her food.
"I could get used to this," she said then, licking the dripping butter from her index finger.
"That's what your mother said." Strike chuckled, but internally thinking he could very easily get used to bringing Robin breakfast to bed every day.

She lifted her eyes, her mouth half-opened.
"You made breakfast for Mum?" she asked, amazed.
He shrugged and replied as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Yeah. Not that I had much to do otherwise."

She knew he was downplaying the thoughtfulness of his action in a typical Strike fashion. But she also knew what kind of man he was – the most caring and empathic man she had ever met. She shook her head and a slow smile crept across her face. Strike tried to decipher the expression on her face for it held many emotions – gratitude, awe, tenderness, love…

His brain froze for a moment, and he had to rewind the last emotion he thought he saw. But Robin suddenly laughed and reached for the last bit of toast on her plate, which she so quickly and expertly cleaned.
"One thing's for sure," she said then, suppressing a grin.
"What's that?" Strike asked, quickly brought back to his senses.
"You've gained a friend for life in her."

He snorted, but inwardly, his heart swelled with the feeling of victory.

Robin glanced at the time on her mobile phone. Sadly, no matter how wonderful the start of the new day has been, reality reminded her of what she still had to face. She sighed.
"I need to be at the florist at ten. She's expecting me. I should start getting ready," she said, her tone more sombre now.
"I'll go with you," Strike informed her without a blink of an eye.

The look she gave him was more rewarding than her excitement over the breakfast.
"Cormoran, you don't have to-"
"I know… I'll go with you," he repeated, allowing no debate about the subject.
Robin swallowed the freshly threatening tears and smiled.
"OK…"

He stood up, taking the tray with the now empty plate and mug with him.
"Take your time," he stated on his way out before closing the door.

Robin's eyes remained staring at the door for a while, then she ran her hands over her face and exhaled loudly. A new day had begun and she was needed again. It was time to pull herself together.

※※

"Man, you really know your way around the kitchen," Jonathan said to Strike, with a respectful nod, after having cleared his breakfast plate.
"The Army," the detective remarked. "It teaches you to be independent." He turned to face the younger man. It was obvious from his knitted brows and the earnest look in his eyes that he had something more to say, something more important.

"I'm sorry for being a tit at the dinner back then," Strike apologised, cradling his mug of tea.
Jonathan looked up from his own mug and saw the genuine regret in the detective's eyes.

"I'm not exactly sorry for what I said but the way I said it; it was wrong and rude," Strike continued, decided not to be a hypocrite.
There was a brief moment of silence as they observed each other.
"Good to know you still think me an idiot," Jonathan said then, amusement playing on his face.

The detective snorted, sensing the tension had been broken between them.
"No, I…" He sighed. "I wasn't exactly myself that day, and you were just an easy target for my venting. I may not share your opinion of everything, but I behaved like a real prick, and I'm sorry."
Jonathan smiled and outstretched his hand to him.
"All good," he said. "I wasn't exactly diplomatic myself. I'm sorry, too."

Strike returned his smile and accepted his hand for a shake. Suddenly it seemed to him that Robin's youngest brother matured somewhat over the almost two years since they had met last. Or maybe the sudden loss of his father had made him aware of the more important things in life, definitely closing the door behind his youth and stepping into the proper and often painful adulthood.

As they both turned to their drinks, a voice at the door made them turn their heads.

"I don't want to interrupt your heartfelt reunion but we have to go now," Robin said, smiling.
"Coming," Strike replied immediately and put down his mug after one last sip. "Thanks, mate," he said to Jonathan, with a pat on his shoulder, and walked to the hallway to retrieve his coat.
Robin's smile lingered at her brother for a moment, who returned it before paying attention to his tea again.

They were already driving to the town, with Robin behind the wheel of her Landy, when she finally found the words.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes on the road.
"For what?" Strike asked, looking at her.
"For what you said to Jonathan. He can be a little arsehole sometimes but he's not a bad guy. It was really nice of you," she replied and dared a glance at him.

Strike smiled, averting his eyes to the winding road ahead of them breaking the green and grey landscape in two halves.
"I thought it was only fair. I meant what I said."
Robin's mouth stretched into a grin. "So you do still think he's an idiot?"

They both looked at each other and snorted.

"No," Strike denied then. "He seems more…"
"Grown up?" Robin added.
He chuckled. "Yeah, something like that."
"Well, someone has to do the growing up," she concluded, and Strike thought he loved a cheeky Robin Ellacott.

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