I don't own Death in Paradise, but if I did then there will definitely be more Camille-Richard moments.

Oh well.

Enjoy.

Home?

"You really want to return to England, don't you?" Camille asked, unable to hide the sadness in her voice.

"Hmm?" Richard pretended not to hear the sadness in Camille's voice as she asked her question while he packed up some clothes while his eyes studied the collection of books he had nearby, it was going to be a long flight back to the UK, and he didn't want to get bored on the plane even if he was escorting a prisoner home.

Shortly after the Commissioner had come to inform him of the plan to send him back in order to help with the Malcolm Powell investigation, Richard had immediately told the others at Catherine's about what was going on before coming straight to the shack on the beach.

As he reflected on their most recent case connected with Malcolm Powell's death, the Commissioner's point about how London wanted to know more about what had happened to the money made sense, and while he had some ideas about the case, Richard had no idea what was going to happen when he returned to Britain.

He heard Camille sigh, and he braced himself for it - he and Camille had certainly come together, these past two years. Okay, sure, when they had first started out together, Richard had been reeling from the sudden and last minute bombshell Patterson had dropped on his head that he hadn't just been transferred to Saint Marie, but he would also be working with an undercover policewoman who knew precisely how to get under his skin, but during their first cases together, they had gelled in a way that reminded Richard about how many police officers had partners whom they just hit it off like they had been best friends for years.

Yes, Camille could be infuriating; she had no patience for science although she had been impressed with what he had come up with from time to time, he had found something in her that he had never had with even some of his best partners. His old partners had just been people he worked with, they just did the work, and that was it.

Not Camille. Yes, the beautiful French police officer who was funny, so dynamic, and full of life had certainly made his time in Saint Marie more enjoyable even though he knew he drove her mad, much like she did him… Although, he did feel a great deal for her, enough to confess to her something he hadn't even confessed to his own parents what Sister Benedict had been like to him and his fellow schoolmates at school when she had run spot checks on them night and day, even going so far as to examine their underpants at random, feeling embarrassed.

Okay, so Camille had blabbed it to Sister Marguerite, but still, she had listened to him.

Listening to her now, sounding sad although she was trying obviously to not sound upset, it hurt Richard.

"I said, you really want to return to England, don't you?" Camille repeated.

Richard sighed while a part of him wondered how he could answer that question. He knew he could just bluff but he decided not too. Camille was not stupid, he knew she would see that he did want to return home. It was ironic, but although he had wanted to get away from this island, Richard had begun to adapt slowly to live here even if sometimes the customs of the place drove him up the wall, and that was before you counted the fact many of the islanders were French.

But truthfully now he came to think it through for himself Richard could now see that the euphoria he had expected to feel upon hearing that he could return home, that Commissioner Patterson's manipulations had fallen through, that he could at last leave this island did not happen.

He…didn't want to permanently leave Saint Marie.

He knew that he would love returning home, seeing London again, experience weather where he didn't feel like he had been thrown headfirst into a furnace. But…would he want to stay?

Richard shook himself out of his thoughts while he focused on Camille's question. "I do," he replied honestly and he saw her look away he felt instantly bad, "but I don't think I will stay there."

He said it so quietly Camille needed a moment to rewind what he had said back in her memory. But even then she still wasn't sure what he had said, or if he had even meant what she hoped he meant. "What did you say?" she asked at last.

"I said I don't think I will stay there," Richard repeated, deciding to be straight with her. Camille did not deserve to be played with by mind games.

Camille stared at him, blinking in surprise. "You…. you wouldn't?" she whispered. "But…these last two years, you have tried hard to get back; when Fidel's baby was born, it was all you could talk about."

Richard winced at the reminder though it was more because of the memory of that day materialised in his head. He had been so focused on returning home when he'd had the chance that he'd made it into an obsession. "I know," he admitted, feeling bad for paying more attention to his mobile than to the birth of the baby of a man who he was sure would go far in his career.

"But…," Richard hesitated to go on when he had first started. He knew he had to get everything out just right, "I never wanted to come here, Camille; you know that. Let me finish," he instructed softly when he saw her open her mouth to speak back at him, "over the last couple of years, I realise now that this place is home."

Camille gave him that look that told him she was wondering whether to believe him or not. He could understand her scepticism. He hadn't given her any actual reason to believe he was being sincere when he said that Saint Marie was home.

How could she believe that when he had refused to relax when he had first found himself here, not even bothering to loosen up? How could she believe that when she had listened to him lightly mocking French culture and Voodoo, though the latter of the had been proven right when he had shown Angelique had actually set up her own death to appear as murder when it was in fact a suicide? How could she believe him when he had fidgeted whenever she had tried to make him experience some of the histories of the island?

"I mean it, Camille," he said sincerely, walking close to her enough to take in her scent (why was it he had never truly moved on from Sasha? It had never really helped him with his relationship with women, and it made him feel awkward because he didn't want to get hurt in the same manner again).

Camille looked at him closely, beadily, trying to see if he was being sincere. He knew she had great instincts of people, and he hoped that she could tell he was being sincere.

At last, a slow smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up in joy.

She knew he was telling the truth.

When he left, she gave him a peck on the cheek. "See you soon," she said. He could tell she wanted to do and say far more than what she had, but it didn't matter.