You shout "Don't you leave me"
"Don't you leave this incomplete"

"I wanna know if this road
Belongs to my eyes and only mine"

Honey Sweet, Blossoms

"You've known all along that Brockbank was not the Shacklewell Ripper? Even – even then ?" While at first she had marvelled, even praised Strike for his clever discovery and capture of Donald Laing, Robin was – now that he had told her the whole story – beside herself with anger and frustration.

"Why would you do that to me?" She was struggling to keep her composure. "Letting me believe, all this time, that –that I'd be to blame if another young woman could be… could get..." Feeling her shaking voice betray her, she let her words trail off, turning away from Strike so he would not see the tears pooling in her eyes.

This was unbearable. Her partner - or so she had hoped, at least, that they would be going to be partners again–did not see her as equal, after all, but as a threat to their – to his – investigation. Mustering all her will power she whispered, "So, that's it then. You just don't trust me, do you?"

Strike did not know what to say to that. He had known, of course he had known, that she would be angry at his revelation – and rightfully so. He still felt nothing but shame and self-loathing for the accusations he had thrown at her– that she had supposedly ruined not only the investigation but also his business, that she had let a potential serial killer get away –while she'd been standing there in the kitchen of her Eling flat, white-faced and horror-stricken, but still proud and stubborn because she had saved a child from a monster. In fact, he'd hoped she would let him feel some of the frustration he'd caused her because somehow, deep down, he felt he deserved it; because he'd shamed her, lied to her, desperate to conceal from her, from himself, what he could never admit to.

In telling her the truth (at least part of it) he had reckoned with rage and anger; he had not, however, foreseen this reaction, for Robin to be broken and utterly defeated –because she thought he did not trust her. How could she even think that? She knew him. Surely, she must've realised by now that he'd never had a working relationship like this before. Course she doesn't, he scolded himself. You never told her, you silly fucker.

"Robin," he tried weakly "that's really not it." Desperately, he wracked his brain to find a way how to explain what could not be explained.

Looking at her standing there, distraught and unhappy, he was more than ever stung by the hurt and agony he had caused her.

"Course I trust you," said Strike. "Why on earth 'd you ever think otherwise?"

"So, why didn't you tell me the truth, then? Why did you shut me out?" she demanded, regaining some of her former stubbornness. "I mean, for six bloody days you knew but you never once told me!"

Strike contemplated her features, standing there in her wedding dress, red gold hair shining in the bright July sun, framing her head held high, chin set in that familiar line that showed she would not be backing down until she'd had all of it. Again, he tried to go for the half-truth.

"I just wanted you out of the way. You'd already been hurt before. And I knew Laing was targeting you. I just couldn't let you get hurt again. You barely were out of the hospital. And the whole fucked up situation was my fault to begin with. You were still my responsibility, and I didn't want you of all people to get caught in the crossfire. And besides–" he hesitated, "It was a far better plan to have someone else play the bait."

Robin's face fell. Shit. What was it he'd said that was wrong?

"So, what's the point then?" she asked, looking at her feet, voice small. Strike followed her gaze and noticed absentmindedly that she was not wearing the Jimmy Choos she had presented him so proudly just a few weeks ago.

"Sorry?"

"What's the point then, in my being your partner? If you set me aside at the slightest possibility that something might happen to me. If you use another woman to lure a suspect because you think I can't take it. If you don't tell me about OUR investigation? If you don't even tell me WHAT THE HELL's going on and let me decide for myself what I do and what I do not want to do - WHAT'S THE BLOODY POINT THEN?" With every sentence, her tone had gotten louder and more accusatory, fierce eyes glowering at him.

Strike did not know what to say to this. She was right, of course. After all, there was no logical explanation why he shouldn't have told her, why he shouldn't have explained to her, why he shouldn't have used Robin for his plan.

Her rage had made her brave, brave enough to press him on something she dreaded more than anything. But she needed to know.

"You said to me, once, that you needed a partner who could share the long hours, who was just as dedicated to the job as you are. You knew the job was dangerous. And I know that back then you would have expected me be to be part of it. But now you just go ahead and cast me aside at the first sight of danger. So, what's changed?"

Strike felt exposed.

"Why did you do that?" she pressed on. "Why did you cut me out? Is it–" her whole body was trembling now, voice thick; but she needed to know. "Is it because I was raped? Is that why you think I can't take it? Because you think I'm too weak, Cormoran?"

The soft sound of his name called out in her pleading, desperate voice struck him. How could he conceal his weakness, while she had let him see her worst fears?

"No, Robin." Strike hesitated. "No, I don't think you're weak. In fact–" his voice caught in his throat, but the her raw, vulnerable expression made him march on, "I'm the weak one here. I couldn't stand the idea of you getting hurt again. I couldn't– I was–" and he looked straight into her eyes, "afraid of losing you."

Her hurt expression made way, first, for a look of confusion, then, realisation dawning, for a deep blush spreading across the delicately exposed neckline. Embarrassed, Robin glanced down at her ringless hands.

"I see," she muttered finally. "Well, I suppose that might be a reason. But..." and now she was in full possession of her daring, stubborn self again, "but, does that mean, then – you being here and all – that you want me back?"

Cormoran watched her attentively.

"As a partner, I mean?"

The ambiguity of the word hovered between them, atmosphere thick with unexpressed sentiments they were not yet ready to admit. This was not the place, nor the time.

"Course I want you back," he grunted. And, with a smirk, he added, "If I'm not allowed to fish, you aren't either, remember?"

At this, Robin could not help but laugh. As relief and delight at his confession washed over her in an unknown intensity, she felt that – despite the disappointment of all that had happened barely an hour ago – this might be the happiest day of her life after all.

And, recalling the blissful hours spent together in the Land Rover, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the unmistakable feeling that this, finally, really, felt like the beginning of a true partnership.