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Sat, staring up at the night sky, Robin buried herself further into the soft, warm jumper she wore and released a long, deep breath.
Stretching out to a point beyond infinity the dark blanket of stars seemed to have been woven to purpose, each one perfectly and uniquely placed.
She felt at ease, at peace, finally able to satisfy a simple craving from which she had at first been physically kept and then, after, been unable to physically face.
Time on that case had done its damage, reopening wounds she had for so long believed healed, despite knowing deep down she had never properly tended them. Memories haunted, turning soft, watercolour dreams into rough-hued nightmares as all she had been through now lay in an unsifted pile that she currently feared disturbing.
But she was here. And the endless sky brought calm to her restless mind and acted as a balm to her battered soul.
A light breeze tickled her nose and teased at her loose hair, bringing with it salt from the waves which lapped gently at the sand and stone shore just a short distance away. It was the only sound she could hear and as strong arms wrapped securely around her she felt safe knowing he was there too.
Her partner had been both sin and salvation as over a period of weeks her moods had become increasingly combative and unpredictable.
Anxiety had crept unbidden from the buried depths of her conscious, winding fine tendrils of tension around every aspect of her life until it controlled far too much.
Strike had been forced to watch and endure her anger and fear growing before him, and which, when combined with a severe lack of sleep, had drawn her back to a place in time she had sworn never to return.
Unwilling to simply spectate, to allow her to slip away from all he knew her to be, he had shown up and fought for her.
Against a boyfriend who knew too little and a mother who knew too much, he had known just enough.
Enough of who she truly was.
He had breathed life into her own sense of self, had encouraged her to focus on the casework she could do and the decisions she could make, and quickly she was reminded of how capable she was; how effective she was; how strong she was.
With utter determination she worked herself free from the dark shroud that had slowly begun to suffocate.
Without show or shame, Strike had allowed her to feel safe; had allowed her to feel like her.
And where sleep had stubbornly eluded her for far too long, she had consumed hours in his company, even more when she’d discovered his arms.
Allowing herself to sink into them again now, Strike’s broad chest at her back, Robin rested her head against his shoulder and allowed her gaze to meander the vast sky above them.
Leaning his head gently against hers, Robin reached a hand to his scruffy cheek and held him to her. With the smallest of movements he pressed a lingering kiss to the heel of her hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured softly and felt her nod.
“Me too,” she whispered in return as tears trailed silently across her face.
She didn’t move to wipe them, nor mutter any sort of apology for their presence; he was aware they were there, could feel the tiny stutters they brought to her breathing, and in truth he was relieved that she was still allowing their release.
For too long they'd been conspicuous in their absence, had been held at bay by fierce, self-destructive denial until his own had been close to falling too.
“I don’t want to lose you!” he’d shouted, slamming his hands down upon their shared desk in desperation. His pain laid out naked before her had loosened the hold she’d placed on herself and the dam had broken before him.
Turning into him now, her nose buried at his jaw, a sob broke free from her chest. Folding his body around her, he closed his eyes and held her tight against the waves he’d promised to stand firm and endure with her. He’d seen waves of a different kind over the years, crashing and pounding against this very beach, against the steps he and Robin now sat on and even, once or twice, on the road above them.
“This too shall pass,” Joan would have said, and he had found himself clinging to those words like a beacon. Robin was one of the strongest, most stubborn people he knew but deep inside his head faint echoes of Charlotte seemed, at times, to have him standing in no-man's-land holding his breath.
The precarious nature of his ex-fiancé's existence had often seen him tempering his life to keep her happy and even, at times, to keep her alive. Tantrums had been issued as tests and depressive interludes had descended abruptly with neither preamble nor warning; each and every episode an insistence, a blatant demand for proof of his love and his loyalty.
He had fought for Charlotte over and over again but at no point could he ever recall her truly fighting for herself.
This was not like that.
Despite all of the pain and the darkness, despite everything she had been through, Robin was nothing like that.
Where Charlotte had pulled at him endlessly, it hadn’t taken long for Robin to push. Against his concerns and his innate need to protect, against the invisible boundaries they had held up around themselves for far too long, she had pushed and then she had pushed again. His help, his support, his friendship had been vital in lifting her from the rocky bottom she had landed but her recovery was her own and all she actually required of him was to be there.
“Trust me,” she'd said, “please, just trust me.”
And he had. More than any living soul before her.
Arms, head, heart, bed - they had shared each of them and all she had asked of him was, “trust me” and it had been healing for them both.
He’d held her while she talked and again while she’d listened. He’d poured out stories of his own, experiences that he’d shared so scarcely; experiences which had shaped him so profoundly, though not through the gentle moulding of a tender hand, rather the stark, dramatic blows of a hammer and chisel, and through this she’d held him back.
As her breathing steadied and slowed, Robin reached to wipe her eyes with her fingers and felt the turn of her partner’s head as he pressed a kiss to her hair.
“‘Kay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she returned, then leaned back a little so she could see his face. He smiled softly and watched as she narrowed her eyes. “Were you serious about us going to the actual Fraggle Rock Lighthouse?”
Strike released a laugh and gently shook his head, in awe of all she was.
“Yes,” he said, tugging her against him once again. “We can go to the actual Fraggle Rock Lighthouse. It's just round the corner of the bay.”
With a deep breath, Robin smiled and dropped her head back against his shoulder as her gaze began to search the boundless starry sky once more.
Another wave had passed.
“Will there be actual Fraggles?”
She felt her partner sigh, “fuck’s sake…” and she laughed.
Fin