Work Text:
There is nothing in the air that could possibly hint towards the earth-shattering change that is about to take place for Cormoran Strike. It is a Tuesday like any other.
He rises groggily, slaps his alarm clock, and curses the missing half of his right leg as he navigates his large body towards the bathroom. Shit. Shave. Shower.
He dresses, black slacks, blue shirt, and pockets his phone and keys.
Downstairs to the office he stomps. Unlocks the door. Switches on the light. Flicks on the kettle. No Robin yet, but soon. He makes tea for them both. Scowls slightly at the paler shade she prefers.
Soft footfalls on the stairs. Door opens. A smile, just for him. She’s brought pastries for them both, but this is nothing unusual, now. They sit in companionable silence as Strike checks the day’s rota and Robin triages the inbox. Same as every morning.
They meet with a new client. Boring case, but pays the bills. They accept the job and Robin prepares the contract while Strike works with Pat to add some new surveillance shifts to the monthly rota.
Strike’s growling stomach tells Robin it's time for lunch.
“Sandwiches?”, says Strike. “On me if you go get ‘em”.
They both stand, Strike to grab his wallet and Robin in preparation to leave. He hands her a twenty and before she turns to go she places her right hand on his bicep, rocks onto the balls of her feet and kisses him, right on the mouth.
“Back soon!”, she calls over her shoulder as she leaves.
Strike stands there, rooted to the spot.
The fuck just happened?,
he thinks to himself.
He touches his lips. They tingle.
Robin is halfway down the spiral staircase before she realises what she’s done.
Oh shit.
She touches her lips. They tingle.
Well, nothing for it. She buys the sandwiches and adds a Twix each.
Maybe he didn’t even notice.
She walks back up the stairs to the office. Best to play it cool. Pretend like it didn’t happen. Pat’s out. Gone to lunch. Strike’s still standing in the same spot, staring at her.
Shit.
She looks at him and that’s all it takes. One, two, three steps and he is in front of her, then in her arms, sandwiches dropped to the floor. They don’t break their gaze until the very last moment, eyes closing as lips meet. It is soft, and simple and good. Robin sighs and Strike tangles his hand in her golden hair.
The most remarkable, exquisite Tuesday.