Tom Waits Wouldn't Mind
by Michelle
Unbelievable... What a bastard!
Robin was disgusted, outraged, no… furious after what had just occurred on Denmark Street. She disliked Morris from the moment he entered their agency, and after the Christmas incident, she thought the now ex-subcontractor would do anything to behave appropriately towards her. Wrong again. Saul Morris was not one of the uppish men who would take no for an answer.
“Are you all right?” she heard Strike’s worried voice and felt his eyes burning on her face without looking at him.
”I guess so,” Robin replied, sounding more like an automaton than a woman who had just almost killed someone close to a harasser.
“Wuz aboot time, but I must say, ye got some balls, Ellacott,” Sam Barclay stated with respect but amusement as well, looking at the detective.
”Thanks,” Robin said quietly and realised that she started shaking, and her breath was getting more shallow.
Oh, no, not another panic attack...
Before she had time to break down, Strike gently but firmly put his arm around her shoulders and lead her to their office.
”Could you bring her a cup of tea before you leave, please? Thank you,” he asked Barclay for a favour as they passed him.
”Ye got it, boss,” the Scotsman replied and immediately turned to the sink, putting the kettle on.
When Strike brought the still-shaking Robin to their shared office, he sat her straight to her chair, then pulled his chair close, opposite hers, sitting down. With one hand on her shoulder and the other covering her own trembling hands, he focused on her panicky face. The numbing effect of half of the Whiskey bottle he emptied with Robin not even an hour ago was gone, and his senses were fully compliant again. The rage at Morris was twisting his insides, but he was keeping it locked for the sake of the woman breaking down in front of him.
“Robin,” he said gently, but she didn’t react because her breathing was now more elaborate, giving her a hard time. “Robin, look at me!” he demanded with a slightly raised voice, though not intending to scare her.
His partner snapped from her shock for a second, and her frightened eyes looked at him. They reminded him of a deer startled by a headlight in a benighted forest.
“Deep breaths,” Strike said firmly. “In and out, in… and out…1…2…3…”
The calm focus radiating from his eyes and voice worked like a charm on her. She mimicked his breathing, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as she could until her lungs adjusted to a normal rhythm again. Her hands finally remained still, covered safely by his large, warm hand.
“Better?” Strike asked, his eyes suddenly allowing her to see a flash of the worry he was hiding until then.
“Yeah,” Robin whispered, nodding. “Thanks…”
Whether it was his smile, the warmth in his eyes or the aftermath of the shock, her face suddenly scrunched, she bowed her head and started crying. All the stress of the past couple of years was working its way out. The timing and place may not have been the ones she would have wished for, but she couldn’t stop it. Once it was unleashed, it was like a giant boulder rolling down a steep hill.
Strike’s smile faded as he leaned forward and offered her the safe shelter of his embrace.
“It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair, squeezing his eyes shut as her quiet but desperate sobs echoed in the darkened stillness of their office. Knowing she was in danger agonised him, but seeing her in pain, physical or emotional, was even worse – it was excruciating.
“It’s all right,” he repeated and felt her arms tightening around his waist as far as she could reach in their sitting position.
Robin’s defences totally failed at that moment, and her vulnerability, so well kept in check in front of others, was laid out on a silver platter to Strike. Her hands clutched his jacket, his physical nearness bringing her solace she had been missing (and craving) for a long time, without truly admitting it to herself. Their almost intimate talk earlier that evening opened a door that neither of them had the strength to shut again. And yet…
Ashamed of falling apart in front of her partner and best friend (the thought of the expression made her tingle all over), Robin slowly pulled back from him and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her blouse. Her eyes were pinned to Strike’s shirt; the comforting feeling of a few moments ago was replaced by mild embarrassment.
”I’m sorry,” she whispered, still unable to look into his eyes. “I didn’t want to…”
”I’m glad you did,” Strike replied quietly, making her finally look up and meet his eyes. “I’m not happy about the panic attack and about what triggered it, but I’m still glad about you letting go. You needed a release after all that has been going on lately,” he explained, his hands holding hers now.
Robin took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I haven’t had a panic attack for almost a year, ever since…”
Ever since I left Matthew and you became my sole safe place, the only safe place I’ve had since I left my childhood home...
Her voice died, though, adding to the gradually growing list of unspoken things between them. Her eyes were admiring the hem of Strike’s shirt collar this time.
“I know. I’ve noticed that despite the thing with Matthew and work overload, you’ve been much more… yourself this year,” he replied, a smile returning to his worried face.
His words made her smile again, and she dared to look at him again. An irresistible feeling of wanting to tell him right there why she had been herself again threatened to overwhelm her, but like so many times before, she resisted.
“I am,” she said quietly, her eyes reflecting the honest truth in those two words, confirmed by a beaming smile. Even the pain caused by her facial injuries couldn’t stop her.
Strike squeezed her hands, still safely held by his. “Good,” was all he managed to say without betraying too much of his own feelings. His face turned serious again when once more, his eyes examined the state of Robin’s face.
He rarely lost his temper, but he hated himself for putting her in the crossfire that day. Yes, Carl Oakden pushed all his wrong buttons and deserved to get punched but not with Robin by his side. In her loyalty to her partner, she tried to stop him from doing more harm to himself than to the narcissistic identity fraud, and she paid for her loyalty - her face involuntarily met Strike’s hard elbow.
Robin saw the guilt and pain in his eyes as they bore into hers again.
”For God’s sake, stop it Strike,” she exhaled, making him frown. “Stop apologising; it really is okay. I’m fine.”
The painkillers started wearing off at that point, and every facial muscle ached her, but she managed to conjure a small smile, attempting to make him let go of the self-torment.
A quiet tap on the door frame made them turn their heads.
”Sorry, never mind me, just bringin’ the tea,” Barclay remarked, walked into the office and put two steaming mugs on the double desk.
”Thanks, Sam,” Strike acknowledged him while Robin expressed her gratitude with a little nod.
”See ye,” the Scotsman said before he glided out from the office, his amused grin revealing his certainty that he’d interrupted something “interesting”.
The detectives chuckled in their shared fondness for their sub-contractor.
”Well, I should probably get going…” Robin said, but there was neither conviction nor will in her voice to do so.
“You stay put,” her partner countered immediately. “I’m not letting you travel after dark in such a state. You’ll be better off here,” he said, allowing no compromises.
Robin thought of the leather sofa, taking a significant chunk of space in the front room.
”I guess I could crash on the office sofa for one night,” she said.
”I take the sofa; you take my bed.”
The shock in her eyes, caused by that statement, must have been visible even in the semi-darkness of the office because Strike chuckled.
”I might even consider letting you sleep in my Tom Waits T-shirt,” he remarked with a playful smile.
Is this just trying to make my best friend laugh after a hard day, or am I really flirting with Robin? Get a grip, you moron...
He should have known better, though, for his partner played along, suddenly intrigued by the prospect of sharing Strike’s personal space.
”As long as none of your girlfriends had slept in it,” she remarked, raising her eyebrows.
“No worries, you’ll be the first one.”
The words were out before he could consider their possible ambiguity. After a few seconds of deafening silence between them, Strike regained his vocal abilities.
“The first person, I mean…,” he added and blinked nervously, suddenly not knowing where to look.
His obvious embarrassment made Robin smile. Not for the first time, she found herself loving his reaction. The most famous private investigator in London, so confident at his work, suddenly turned into an uncertain schoolboy over something so trivial as an innocent, friendly remark.
“Hopefully, Tom won’t mind a new girl,” she said with a grin, though wincing right after, finally acknowledging a grin was too much for her bruised face at that moment.
This is why I feel what I feel for you, Strike thought as he relaxed again and chuckled. Regardless of how awkward things may have been between them at times, Robin always managed to bring them back into their comfort zone. No remorse, no taking things out of proportion, always seeing them for what they were and not dwelling on what they could be.
Some people would call you ‘a rock’. I would call you ‘my anchor’, ‘my home’...
“You drink your tea; I’ll prepare the bed. Be right back,” he said then and got up, releasing her hands.
As he made his way out of the office to go upstairs, Robin’s eyes followed him all the way while a cautious smile settled on her face again.
She remained alone, and the room suddenly seemed empty, as if something vitally important had left it. Despite his rather lonesome lifestyle - interrupted mainly by irregular dinners with his friends Nick and Ilsa or hanging out mostly by himself in pubs - Cormoran had always been larger than life in her eyes, in the best possible way.
It wasn’t just his stature and presence that always filled whichever space he occupied; it was the way he treated people who he thought worthy of his time or care (or both), going out of his way to make sure they got the treatment they deserved. He was meticulous with every client grateful for his help, appreciative of the people who worked for and with him, and relentless in being there for people he cared for when they needed him.
A thought occurred to her, that her own life wasn’t that much different from her partner’s anymore. All the years she was with Matthew, the friends they had, were his friends. Every social event they went to was related to something Matthew wanted, and for his sake (and lack of self-confidence) Robin tagged along, pretending to enjoy it all.
Now that she was single again, most of her social life had shrunk to evenings with her laptop and her housemate’s dog at her feet, irregular coffees with Ilsa and occasional takeaways with Strike at work, usually discussing their cases.
Would she call her life lonesome? Definitely not when she spent time at work or wherever her best friend was.
We are truly some pair of... whatever we are...
“All set,” Strike called when his head peeked through the open office door.
Robin stood up, finished the last few sips of her tea and put down the mug, then walked out of their shared space to follow him - wordlessly, only with a small smile, though. Her mind suddenly brought her back to their conversation a few hours ago and the thought of a bed only a few feet away from them.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all...
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, evoking an unspecified concern, it disappeared again when they climbed up the stairs to the attic flat, and Robin glanced at the bed behind the door.
The fresh, dark-brown duvet and pillow covers were neatly smoothed. The usual messy duvet was given an almost hotel-like treatment. An equally neatly folded Tom Waits T-shirt and a clean pair of pyjama bottoms on the duvet amused her.
”I guess Tom didn’t mind indeed,” she said, grinning, eliciting a smile from her partner.
Then she noticed a small votive candle lit on the shelf on the wall next to the bed. She recognised a subtle scent of cinnamon in the air. Robin turned to Strike and raised her eyebrows, suppressing a grin.
“Oh, a client gave me a whole pack once as a bonus to the pay,” he explained hastily, his eyes nervously wandering between the candle and his friend. “Her husband nicked them at a Yankee Candle store. It turned out he had a perverse addiction to the smell of scented candles, imagining his wife in all sorts of interesting positions while sniffing at them.”
”Charming!” Robin remarked, raising her eyebrow.
Seeing Robin’s amused expression, Strike sighed and shook his head.
”Christ… It’s really not what it may look like…” Although I wouldn’t mind if it was… Shit, I’m so digging a hole for myself here...
“I just thought… it might help you to settle after the panic attack,” Strike breathed and dared to look at her again.
The smile he got in return was all he needed - and all he didn’t need, because it was even harder for him to resist the urge to do something irrational.
”I’m not sure it was the wisest idea, considering the wooden part of the wall,” Robin said, “but… it’s very thoughtful of you,” she finished with a genuine smile. “Thank you. I like it…”
If Strike wasn’t already well over 6 feet tall, he would have grown even more at that moment, as pride would have it. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, though.
A simple nod of his head had to suffice as a reply, for he suddenly found himself tongue-tied. The inevitable awkwardness of the situation hit them both like a truck, though surprisingly, neither of them felt scared.
“Well, I’d better leave you to rest,” Strike said eventually, visibly reluctant to leave her, maintaining deep eye contact with Robin, for she seemed as much reluctant to part with him as he did. At last, the detective turned back to the door, stepping out as her voice stopped him.
”Cormoran…”
He turned around, his heart thumping wild all at once.
”Thank you,” Robin said quietly after swallowing hard. In her eyes, he saw the whole meaning behind those two words.
”Anytime,” he replied with a smile, and his eyes twinkled in the golden glow of the lamp. Then he left her alone for real and closed the door behind him.
Robin stared at the door for a few moments more, and her smiling face turned slowly into one of regret. Yet another missed opportunity between them…
She sighed, but then glanced back at the candle on the wall, and a renewed smile brightened her eyes. Maybe the little yet so meaningful acts of kindness she was given tonight from the person closest to her heart were enough.
For now…
＊＊＊
When Strike entered his office again and sat down on his chair, his dark blue eyes wandered into the distance behind the window. The darkness veiling the street was pierced by the unintrusive light of the street lamps. A deep sigh tore from his throat as he leaned his head against the chair. His eyes fell on his mug of tea on the desk. It was untouched, standing comfortably in the company of Robin’s empty mug, not touching it, though.
Is this what we are like? Being so close to each other and yet, still keeping distance between us, however small it may be?
The honesty of his character made him admit that it was mainly he who was keeping the distance intact. Strike was a good people reader; he could feel there was something more coming across from his partner than pure friendly affection and a colleague’s respect. And he knew that his own feelings toward Robin by far exceeded the realm of friendship as well. And yet, they were at a standstill, with no way back but no thinkable way forward at the same time. Why was he doing it to them both?
“Fuck,” Strike swore and sighed again, covering his face with his hand for a moment. Then he stood up, wanting to wash the mugs. He needed some mundane activity to distract his troubled mind.
Grabbing both mugs, he dragged himself across the office to the kitchen sink. Inadvertently frowning, he tipped his cold tea, flushing it down with all the remorse he felt over the dramatic day. When his hand reached for Robin’s mug, it stopped mid-air. Strike’s creased forehead smoothed as his eyes softened.
His hand slowly enveloped the mug, his fingers gently testing its smooth porcelain surface. Only then he realised that it was still surprisingly warm as if the warmth of the tea which filled it mingled with the warmth of the female hand that held it before.
The detective swallowed hard and decisively turned the water tap on, dipping the mug under the clear, running stream. His stubborn resolution to keep the relationship with his partner on a strictly friendly, albeit warm basis had returned. It was uncomplicated, safe and reassuring. It would have to suffice.
For now…
When Strike woke up after 9 am the next morning, he found a note next to his mobile phone. The writing was unmistakable and the words made him smile.
Thank you.
Robin x
________________________________________
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