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Chapter 7

Easy come, hard go
then life goes on.

- Ed Sheeran: Life Goes On -

Tomorrow, Robin and I are going back to London. Robin and I. Robin and I…

The thought gave Strike shivers, but he couldn't stop thinking about those three words that suddenly had such a different meaning to him. Despite the post-funeral atmosphere still in the air, he had spent the last three days walking on clouds, feeling inside like a silly teenager who had finally landed the girl of his dreams. Cormoran Strike had never thought in overly sentimental ways, but for once, he didn't care. Besides, Robin Ellacott wasn't just any girl, she was exceptional and he was extremely lucky to have her wanting him as badly as he wanted her.

Robin and I… he repeated to himself again, just in case it was just a wondrous dream he would wake up from and open his eyes to the grey, dull reality. No, he wasn't dreaming, he realised, smiling, when he looked at the woman sleeping next to him – sharing a bed with him.

Robin and I… How sweet did those words sound… How incredible! It took him almost six years to understand that nothing else existed for him and one more to find the guts to do something about it. No one else could ever fit in the equation, only Robin.

Strike forced himself to stop grinning and took a deep breath. He still hadn't forgotten why they were in Masham, Robin's hometown. It had been only four days since her father's funeral and she would still need some time to fully come to terms with his loss, and he would be there day and night to help her go through it.

"I had a lovely dream," Robin suddenly interrupted his contemplating, waking up just as the sun started shyly peeking out above the horizon.
Strike looked at her, his grin returning. "And you woke up into a nightmare."
She snorted and poked him in his rib, making him chuckle as he pulled her slender body closer to him. Her face lost the playful expression.
"I don't care if it's a nightmare as long as you are in it," she said earnestly.

His heart skipped a beat as many times in the previous days, and he sighed. Suddenly he knew his amazement of the new reality would never go away. His hand reached for her cheek, studying it tenderly with his thumb, savouring that he was finally allowed to do it. Strike knew every line of her face by heart after the seven years they had worked together, and yet he was looking at her with newfound admiration as if he had revealed another layer of her personality. Unable to resist any longer, he gently tasted her lips again.

"What was the dream about?" he whispered then, his gaze hot like a grey-blue candle flame.
Robin's cheeks turned red and she lowered her eyes, with a shy smile.
"Oh," Strike said, his eyes smiling.
"Yes, oh," she repeated, amused.

The detective moved her beneath him with one swing of his large body, but mindful of her considerably lighter frame. The look of his eyes was intense.
"Shall I make you dream again?" he asked with unmasked desire.
Robin grinned. "In a minute."
The deflated expression on Strike's face made her chuckle.
"There is something else I want to do first," she explained, her voice getting more sombre as she traced his cheekbone with her fingers.

He regarded her with a curious look. Robin smiled at him.
"Thank you," she said with a quiet, moved voice.
"For…" Strike pondered.
"For everything. For coming here, for helping me, us to cope, for being the best partner and friend for seven years, for letting me stay when you had every reason to let me go, for making my dreams come true, for making me feel worthy again…" She paused. "I've wanted to tell you so much for so long but I always lacked the courage when I should have found some. I just…" She tried to catch her breath after the flow of words that had come out of her like a mighty stream rolling down the hill.

"My life has been very nice and pretty shitty in equal measures, and you have been the only thing that has always made sense to me… Whatever we had been going through, no matter how close or distant we had been at times, you have always been the constant in my life and never let me down. I have never felt more safe, comfortable or myself with anyone else but you, so… thank you."

Strike's intense gaze was the only reply she got for a while. It seemed as if the deep blue of his eyes got even deeper as she watched the reflection of her own face in it. Only once he finally blinked and a small, playful smile appeared on his face did he speak.

"You have really prepared for this, haven't you?" he teased.

"Strike! I'm serious!" Robin exclaimed, unable not to smile when he laughed.
"So am I," he said quietly then. "I love you."

He said those three words without hesitation, fuss or timidity, saying them as he meant them, without pomp and circumstance but heartfelt and unafraid. He was so absorbed in telling Robin everything that was on his mind when he had opened his heart to her four days ago that he only now realised those three words remained unspoken. They had been long overdue, and Strike refused to keep them locked inside for a minute longer. Saying them out loud felt liberating, exhilarating and absolutely right.

"I love you," Robin added her own bit, with eyes as bright as diamonds and a smile that told the story of something long-buried and deep.
Her life may have suffered a heavy blow a week ago but it's true - every cloud has a silver lining, and Robin had learned the truth of this saying in the most beautiful way possible.

The kiss that followed was sensual, sweet and honest, something they both hoped their new relationship would be.
"Now you can make me dream again," Robin whispered into his half-opened mouth, her lips lazily grazing his.
Strike didn't need to be told twice. After all, he was a soldier, and soldiers obeyed their orders.

※※※

That early April morning in the Yorkshire plains was crisp and chilly. It was as if the winter wanted to usurp at least one more day from the greedy spring, relentlessly on its heels. Nevertheless, the sun was dazzling and hopeful, and Strike had a spring in his step, even if mildly affected by his half-metal leg. He pulled his collar up to ward off the cold biting his cheeks.

As he walked down the streets of Masham, his mind drifted back to Robin, still sleeping in her family home, unaware of his early morning stroll. A gentle smile tugged at his lips when he remembered the soft features of her resting face, so much more peaceful than when he had arrived in the town over a week ago. He left her a note on his side of the bed, explaining that he had some errand to run and would be back soon. She didn't even stir, finally having succumbed to some proper, deep sleep, so much needed after days of mental exhaustion.

Strike had always enjoyed walking; it cleared his mind, especially when it was in turmoil, and helped him to focus on the right track again. That morning, though, his mind was as clear as a forest spring, unaffected by negativity and in a state that had eluded him for most of his adult life – the state of absolute peace. As he unhurriedly observed the morning life in the sleepy town, he found himself smiling all the way, something so uncharacteristic for him, that he had to chuckle.

And then he saw it – the high tower of St. Mary the Virgin church, the place where Robin so infamously got married what seemed now like an eternity ago. The painful memory of his hasty and slightly chaotic arrival followed by watching his partner getting married to a man Strike couldn't stand (and vice versa) resurfaced, but this time, it didn't make him frown. The old ghost of defeat and loss had finally been exorcised, letting the positive moments step to the front.

Strike wasn't a religious man or a man of any spiritual belief per se, yet he could feel the weight of the centuries lying on the place of worship breathe on him, touching him with some invisible hand all the way back from the Anglo-Saxon times. He stopped at the front door and looked up at the clock under the tall tower roof. It showed almost eight o'clock and indeed, in just a few seconds, he heard the bell resound over the town's marketplace. Five days ago this time, he was preparing to support Robin on one of the worst days of her life. Five days ago, her father was laid to rest at the cemetery behind the same church where years before, he had walked his daughter down the isle. Such was the circle of life.

Strike started walking again, his steps leading to the churchyard. He didn't have time to get a proper view of the town's only cemetery on the day of the funeral, but he didn't have anything else to focus on now. His eyes skimmed the gravestones he was passing, some dating back to the seventeenth century. There was something strange about old cemeteries, sometimes eerie but sometimes strangely soothing, and the detective realised that on that day, he found the rows of old and newer tombstones calming.

It was still quite early for a visit so Strike wasn't surprised he hadn't passed anyone on the way to his destination. Only a few birds ignored the hour and cheerfully sang their songs in the trees. It didn't take him long to reach the place her was looking for. Michael Ellacott's grave was still largely covered by flowers, and just for a moment, Strike had a flashback from his deep past; he stood like this many years ago, as still a boy, looking at the last resting place of his mother.

He remembered well the grief and confusion he had felt back then, something that he had never properly healed from but that had become less oppressive since Robin entered his life. Now, standing at the grave of a man he had barely known but who had meant so much to Robin, Strike also remembered his aunt Joan, who he had lost untimely as well, and who had meant much more to him than he had ever admitted to himself in his earlier life. Losing parents can have a different effect on different people, but it leaves its mark on each of them.

The detective's eyes were firmly set on the freshly covered grave ahead of him, his eyebrows knitted in a slight frown as he was deep in thought. Earlier that morning, when he decided to visit the last resting place of Robin's father once more before leaving, he didn't think twice about the reason for his intention. Now, standing there, he had no difficulty saying the words out loud, speaking to an imaginary listener – something he had never done even at the grave of his own mother.

"Don't worry about Robin. I will take care of her for as long as I live. I promise," he said solemnly, with a clear understanding of his statement.

He remained in his spot for a moment longer before turning back toward the pathway, ready to leave, when his eyes landed on a familiar figure standing nearby, watching him.

"I had a feeling you might be here," Robin said quietly, with a gentle smile, her hands deep in her jacket pockets.
Strike smiled back at her, wondering if she had stood there long enough to hear his repeated promise at the grave. She gave him no sign to find out, but it didn't matter.

"Do you need some alone time?" he asked when he joined her and held her hand.
"No," Robin replied. "There is nothing I have to say to him that you can't hear, but I'd rather say it now. It might be a while until we're back again."
"Okay," he acknowledged quietly.

And so he stayed, right by her side, listening to Robin telling her deceased father all the things she didn't while he lived, and that she finally felt free to speak about now. He listened to words full of regrets but also gratitude, sorrow but also hope, and above all, the words of love – the love she felt for the man standing next to her, and the love of a daughter for her father. As his eyes beheld Robin's pale face, glistening eyes, slightly trembling chin now and then, and the barely visible morning mist adding more softness to her features, Strike couldn't hold back the burning in his own eyes.

He averted his gaze, turning away from Robin, in an attempt to control his sudden emotional turmoil. It was a challenge, but he managed to do so by taking a few deep breaths and swallowing some unshed tears.
"Are you all right?" he heard Robin's soft voice and felt the gentle touch of her hand on his arm.
He turned to her, flashing a smile, as he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.
"That's what I should be asking you," he replied after a deep sigh. "But yeah, I'm fine."

Robin searched in his eyes, seeing the real truth behind his words.
"I'm okay." She nodded, holding their precious eye contact. "Too early for a pint?"

Strike chuckled. "Definitely, even for my considerably low standards," he answered.
"Okay, coffee then," she stated and took his hand again.

After one last, long look at the grave, they left Michael Ellacott to rest in peace and set out for the closest café.

※※※

Robin zipped her small travel suitcase shut and put it on the floor. Her eyes skimmed once more her childhood bedroom, which she had shared with Strike in the previous five days. Old memories mingled with new ones, creating a colourful mosaic of events and emotions. Despite the still-lingering melancholy in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but smile.
Next time I'm back, I won't come alone…

"Ready?" a timber voice reminded her there was someone else in the room with her.
"Yes." She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and walked over to the door where Strike was waiting for her, smiling, his holdall in his hand.
"You will be back soon," he reassured her softly.
"We will be back soon," she corrected him, with a smile. After a peck on his lips, she left the bedroom.

Strike's look lingered on an indefinite spot for a moment, trying to imprint even deeper everything that had happened in this place in the past few days, both the good and the bad. He knew it would remain embedded in his memory forever, reminding him once more that life was unpredictable indeed and could surprise us in any way.

He smiled and temporarily closed the door to some of the most memorable moments of his life, until he would be back to add some more to his collection.

※※

"Are you sure you have everything, darling?" Linda asked her daughter when they stood at the front door of the Ellacotts' family home.
"If not, it will not run away," Robin replied playfully, but seeing her mother's stern look, she decided to behave. "Yes, Mum, don't worry."

"Sorry, I just…" Linda's look softened.
"I know. It's fine."

Robin pulled her in a tight hug, kissing her cheek.
"Are you sure you'll be all right? I could stay longer," she asked.
Linda smiled bravely and stroked her cheek. "Of course, I will. Stephen and the boys will be nearby. You need some time to come to terms with it yourself… Besides, your agency needs you." She glanced at Strike, standing at the bottom of the stairs, allowing the women a private moment. "And someone else," Linda added warmly.

Robin blushed inadvertently, still unused to the fact that the new status of her relationship with her partner was known to her family.
"Okay, see you soon. Love you," she said and hugged her mother once more before walking toward her Land Rover.

Strike smiled at her as she passed him by, then turned back to Linda only to find out she had already descended the few steps to join him.
"Thank you, for everything," the detective said genuinely heartfelt.
Linda put her hand on his arm and gently squeezed it.
"If anyone should express gratitude here, it's me, and not just for your support over these past few days," she said, her eyes revealing much more. "Despite her grief right now…" She glanced at Robin, who was putting her suitcase in the back of the Landy. "I know that for the first time in her life, she is truly happy. And that's all Michael and I ever wished for her."

Strike was searching his brain for a reply but in vain. His own happiness, a sense of pride and contentment filled his heart so much that he couldn't put his feelings into words. Instead, he just nodded, and a wide smile reached his eyes. Purely on impulse, he kissed Linda on her cheek.
"Take care," he said quietly and left her to join Robin in the car.

As he sat next to his partner (in every sense of the word now), their eyes met. In the still morning sun penetrating the windscreen, Robin's hair shone like liquid gold and her face, without make-up and still bearing traces of the past week's emotions, was glowing. At that moment, Strike thought to himself again how beautiful she was, and his hand involuntarily went up to his chest, covering the place where his heart was.

Robin's hand reached out to his stubbly cheek, her thumb caressing it as her eyes expressed so much more than she was capable of vocally at that moment. Strike slightly leaned into her palm, briefly closing his eyes, still so new to such gestures from her and extremely enjoying every second of them.
"I think this is the time to drive off bloody happily into the sunset," Robin said, with a smirk.
Strike's smile widened. "Let's go home."

She turned the ignition key, and they looked out through the side window, seeing Linda, Stephen, Martin and Jonathan standing at the front door and waving. They waved back, and then the old Land Rover set out on its journey back to London.

※※※

Almost six hours and two coffee and sandwich breaks later, the detectives stood in front of the familiar, shabby front door of their office building. Strike casually looked up towards their inner office sash window, noticing it was still open. He glanced at his watch, seeing it had just gone half past five.

"Pat?" he guessed.
"Probably," Robin agreed, with a smirk. "She's the head of the agency without us and feels great responsibility. She would never leave on time."
Strike chuckled, remembering the days of his frequent mostly amusing clashes with their secretary.
"You've missed her, haven't you?" Robin teased.
Strike wiped the grin off his face and shook his head. "Not in a fucking million years."

His fake attempt didn't fool Robin, her grin confirming it.
"All right, maybe a little," Strike admitted with an amused smile. "I bet that'll change the moment she starts reading me her bloody notes on what needs to be done ASAP and reminding me it's not her job to do it."

Robin laughed, then pressed a lingering kiss on his warm lips. That erased his temporary dismay immediately.
"Do it again," he begged quietly, his large hand steadying her against his bulky frame. "Please…"

The smile on Robin's face widened as she teasingly grazed his lips, then looked into his eyes.
"Work first, fun later," she whispered and after one last fleeting kiss, she put the key into the door lock, opening it.

Strike reluctantly let go of her hand and moaned. Robin disappeared inside with a grin, and he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He looked up into the sky, painted with patches of grey clouds gathering above Denmark Street. The first raindrops fell on his face and he briefly closed his eyes, letting them cool his cheeks.

He thought of a boy many years ago, walking aimlessly on the seashore of Cornwall after receiving the most disturbing news of his life.
He thought of Leda Strike and her long-lasting grip on his soul and mind, throwing him off-balance throughout most of his existence.
He thought of his days as a soldier which taught him order and self-discipline and instilled a deep sense of morality and justice in his heart.
He thought of the very first days of his agency, when struggle and near-bankruptcy were real words and hung above him like the sword of Damocles.
He thought of Joan, Ted and Lucy and their never-wavering trust and love for him which he had for so long unconsciously pushed aside.

And he thought of the almost torrential rain, soaking and freezing him to the bone, and the shivering and helpless woman in his arms, who not only saved his agency but in some otherworldly way, saved him.

"Are you coming in or not, Mr Strike?" a familiar deep, gravelly voice spoke from the door.
The detective turned his head and smiled, seeing a woman struggling with her umbrella, obviously on her way out of the building.
"Nice to see you again, Pat," he said, and after letting the secretary out, he walked through the front door. "Everything all right?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Pat gave him a shock as for the first time he could remember, she literally grinned at him before she spoke. "I thought I would have to lock you both in the inner office and throw away the key so you do something about that will-they-won't-they silliness finally."

Strike frowned but then snorted. "You know what? That's actually not a bad idea," he pondered. "You have my permission to do it anytime you like. By the way… I think we've been through enough together, so don't you think you could start calling me by my first name?"
Pat chuckled, then her look softened, reflecting motherly affection."Welcome home, Cormoran."

She smiled once more, turned around and walked away into the light April rain.

Strike's smile lingered on his face. Home… He thought of Robin waiting for him upstairs.
Yes, home…

※※※※※