The following fanfiction was written by LulaIsAKitten. Here’s the link to the original source.
It’s been a long week. Strike wrenched his knee over the weekend. He’s been pretty evasive as to exactly what happened, but Robin knows he was meeting Shanker for a pint on Saturday, and since when is it ever just one pint?
So this week he’s manned the desk and she’s taken all the active jobs. It’s been miserable weather, steady drizzle punctuated by occasional downpours, cold, grey. He’s radiated guilt every time she’s arrived, dripping, in the office. He’s always got a steaming mug of tea and a towel ready if he knows she’s due back.
She fills him in on her progress, sat on the farting sofa because he’s at her desk, the towel over her shoulders and the tea steaming in her hands. She doesn’t spot the way his eyes widen as hers drift closed as she breathes in the steam, tired, warming her hands on the mug. She misses his fond gaze lingering on her damp, stringy hair as if it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
At lunchtimes they munch on sandwiches she brings from the shop opposite, and then she pulls on her wet coat and sets off again. She knows his scowl is for himself, not her. Not much she can do about it, nor him, so they don’t mention it.
On Friday when she pops back in at five to finish up some notes and collect her things, her chair is empty. Strike is in his own office, door closed. She can hear the rumble of his voice on the phone. End-of-the-week updates for various clients, usually a shared job.
She moves round to sit in her chair. There’s a little box of her favourite chocolates on her desk – when did she ever mention those to him? – and a postcard with a picture of a robin in a birdbath, wet, on it. She giggles as she picks it up and turns it over.
“Thank you, and sorry. What would I do without you? C.”
She smiles softly and holds it to her heart for a moment. Looks like she’s got a new bookmark.
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