Chapter Text
"Bugger!" the familiar expression of frustration left Robin's lips as she realised that no amount of tugging or jiggling was going to shift the door handle.
She was in Ilsa and Nick's kitchen, Ossie pawing at her leg whilst the plaintive meowing of Ricky could be heard behind the door.
He'd followed her through into the utility room and was now stuck inside it as the door handle (which Nick had advised her was a bit 'iffy') had completely stuck, refusing to budge. She'd tried to shoulder the door to no avail, and she knew for a fact that Nick's tool kit was also stored on the other side of the door with poor little Ricky.
It was Saturday night; usually she'd be having curry with the Herberts and Strike - most often at their house but occasionally cramped into Strike's bedsit or Robin's shared flat to ring the changes.
It was pretty much a year to the day since the infamous curry night in that very kitchen where Robin had 'sort of' told Strike that she considered him as possibly more than just a friend and that at some point she might want their relationship to change.
Since then the pair had remained close - an electricity between them whenever they were alone which they seemed to thrive on, and a kind of relaxed closeness that was more than 'brother and sister', but not quite lovers.
Robin hadn't dated since then; and Nick had told Ilsa, who'd told Robin, that Cormoran hadn't either - in fact he'd told Nick that he hadn't seen anyone since Robin broke up from Matthew; and when Nick had asked why not he'd apparently, eventually said "I'm waiting."
Ilsa had dropped this bombshell when Robin was having her briefing about the cats earlier that day at the house prior to the pair jetting off for some much needed R&R in Lake Como.
"A year ago, in this very kitchen, I asked you whether you were interested in snogging him...and you said you didn't know; that you liked things the way they were.......I'm not pressuring you in any way, but....is that still the case?" Ilsa wheedled, closing the cupboard after showing Robin the stash of pouched wet food and dry biscuits.
Robin wrinkled her nose slightly, "Well, not really....but, it's still so nice, I'm a bit scared of rocking the boat....does that make sense?" she huffed.
Ilsa rolled her eyes, "So what you're saying is that you want to snog his face off, but you'd rather not risk the complete joy and happiness that would ensue because you quite like sitting next to him to eat your lunch, or to have a drink in the pub? Bloody hell Robin, you're as useless as each other!"
Robin had shrugged her shoulders, "I don't want to get hurt again, and I think if Cormoran didn't want what I want, I think it would hurt so much I'd have to leave....and I can't do that."
"I think Corm wants exactly what you want.....and I think he feels exactly the same way about the possibility of it all going wrong.....but if you both like each other - and let's face it you do.....it'll be OK."
Robin looked at Ilsa and sighed deeply.
"Anyway, the alternative is that you turn into an old, single cat woman......oh, hmmmmm, you have the cats this week courtesy of us......and you're not getting younger luv!" Ilsa shrieked as Robin flailed a weak slap in her direction.
"I am NOT going to be an old, single cat lady!" Robin laughed.
"Then tell Corm....or better still, show him; then he can't over analyse it and convince himself that he's reading you the wrong way.....you know what he's like!" Ilsa added as Robin nodded at her friend's deep understanding of their macho but ridiculously romantic, poetic friend.
So Robin was now considering her options. She couldn't leave Ricky stuck in the utility room, and the only person she knew who could help would be Strike; but he'd said that he was busy - doing something with Shanker he'd said.
Maybe he'd come over later when he was finished.....he'd know how to fix the door - shit, he could probably give it a decent shove and it would open!
She pulled out her phone and called him. He answered on the second ring:
C : Robin? Everything OK?
R : Hi, errr, no not really. Are you busy?
C : Not really no.
Cormoran wasn't going to mention that the Shanker thing had been quicker than even he'd thought and that he was now bored and sipping his first of several Doom Bars that were lined up before retiring to bed with the sole intention of having a really decent, and completely inappropriate, think about his work colleague, which would involve his right hand!
He heard Robin exhale in relief down the phone.
R : Oh fabulous. I need you....or rather Ricky does....and bring some tools.
C: OK......do I get any clues? Are we talking screwdriver or listening device type tools?
R : Tools to open a seriously stuck door....and Ricky's on the other side meowing away.
Robin heard Strike laugh,
C: That bloody utility room door...I told Nick to take off the mechanism completely but oh no, just squirt a bit of WD40, and now look....catastrophe.
R: Was that supposed to be funny!?
She could tell from the grunts and exertion that he was either reattaching his leg or putting on his boots or trousers.....so he hadn't been that busy with Shanker after all!
C : I'll be there in about 20 minutes, can Ricky last till then?
R: Well, there may be a puddle to clear up, but I'm sure he'll be fine. Cormoran?
C : Yeah?
R : Thanks.
There was that single word again; said in her pouted Yorkshire lilt that affected him everytime he heard her utter it.
C : No problem.
Twenty three minutes later Robin heard the doorbell and realised that she was checking her reflection in the hall mirror before opening the door to him.
God! Stop acting like a ridiculous teenager and get a grip!
He was leaning his forearm on the wall, fingertip adjacent to the doorbell and she inhaled sharply as he cast her a hooded eyed smile.
He was wearing one of her favourite shirts; a grey one in a thicker fabric with white buttons; and she noticed one more than usual was left unfastened, revealing more of his chest hair than was strictly legal - especially when he smelled of tobacco and his cologne.
"Where's your tools?" she asked, glancing at his empty hands.
He shook his head and closed the door behind him, "Don't need any; if it's that door it just needs a decent bit of weight behind it," and he removed his large overcoat, "For which I am amply tooled up already!"
She giggled, but couldn't help but admire his broad shoulders and significantly reduced waistline as he ambled ahead of her into the kitchen where Ossie skittered across the tiles and out of the way of his enormous feet.
"Thought you were busy with Shanker?" Robin queried, perching on the bar stool and crossing her bared feet.
Strike noticed the deep red specks of colour adorning her small toenails and couldn't prevent his gaze travelling up the smoothness of her foot, ankle and shapely calf. Robin in work trousers was within his realm of acceptance; but Robin in tight leggings was a new mental image to both store away and contend with.
"S'all done; he just wanted a 'presence' to lurk whilst he had a discussion with one of his erm....colleagues!" he tactfully stated, smirking as Robin sniggered.
"I must admit, it's always confused me how Shanker can come across as so fearsome when he's about 9 stone wet through! Do you want a drink while you're here?" she indicated the kettle and the fridge with her fingers.
He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at the second option, grinning widely when a bottle of lager was removed for him along with the bottle of white wine she'd been left by Ilsa.
"Right, let's free the furry pest and then I can enjoy my drink," Strike braced himself against the utility room door, twisted the door knob and briskly shouldered his weight into the wood twice before it gave way and opened.
Ricky had by this stage settled himself on the counter top beneath the water heater and stretched lazily, as if being disrupted from his slumbers by the noisy intrusion.
Strike went through to the room and opened the drawer which he knew from experience contained basic tools for household repairs and extracted a Philip's head screwdriver.
Robin poured wine while he swiftly unscrewed the lock mechanism and removed the whole unit from the door, leaving a small hole where the spindle was housed.
"Right, we'll leave it like that then nobody can get locked in again," and he scooped up Ossie who had bravely approached 'the giant' as he crouched and fiddled with 'the door to the food.'
Robin gasped as she glanced over at him, the bundle of fur nestled against his chest had grown into that weird cat stage of development were ears seem to have the growth spurt before other body parts.
His uneven upper lip was pouting as he tickled behind Ossie's neck; the cat arching up in that affectionate and desperate way cats have.
She pictured herself having a similar reaction to Cormoran's finger tip assault on her neck and physically shook away the image.
"Does that mean your evening has freed up?" she asked as he sauntered through to return the screwdriver to the drawer, returning with Ricky tucked under his other arm, patting at his brother with a flailing, splay toed paw.
"Seems that way.......you got any hot dates coming over that I should make myself scarce for?" he asked, although he could tell by her dress that this wasn't the case - tight leggings, baggy jumper, bare feet, hair tousled around her face didn't add up to 'hot date dress' - not even in Strike's shambolic clothing standards!
By way of response she picked up a sheaf of takeout menus from the counter and fanned them out,
"What do you fancy?" she asked, grinning.
'You; in my arms, my fingers in your hair and your lips on mine' - is what he wanted to say......but of course he didn't.
"Well, not a prawn roshuni tonight......I'd quite like to leave my options open," he huskily drawled, his eyes focussing on the bundles of feline contentment in his hands so as not to allow the blush that was threatening to creep across his cheeks to develop further.
Robin felt the electricity between them jolt, as did the sensation of warmth in her stomach and thighs.
"What options might they be?" she whispered, almost frightened of shattering the tension between them.
Strike allowed Ossie to clamber onto the bin , freeing a hand to continue tickling Ricky's chin. His gaze remained down on the cat - the pesky things were pretty good as a diversion - but he licked his lower lip before responding.
"The option to possibly.........finally............... maybe.......... kiss you....at some point......maybe," he flashed his eyes from cat to Robin and lingered.