So - I went and spoiled myself. A silly thing to do as I am now even more impatiently counting down til each episode. But then hey ho - this came out of my fevered imagination all of a sudden, and since there are far too few DIP fics, I thought I would share it. I have nearly written the second (and probably last) chapter.

If you don't want to go anywhere near spoilers then please don't read until - well I don't know when? Alternatively - seeing as there is nothing that sticks out as obvious, and it's only my take on snippets read and seen, you could read on and think of it as a hopeful wish on my part. Your choice. :-)

Like Dallas all those years ago...it could all be a dream!

They are not mine, but any mistakes in the writing are...


"So…erm, well, when I didn't see you at the airport, I thought I'd drop by and see..., well you know, bring you up to speed on what the Commissioner had to say." Richard stumbled over his words, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably as he stood in the doorway.

"Your mother let me in," he continued when no answer was forthcoming. " Something about she'd forgotten to tell you she had to meet friends before going to the bar, and not to expect her until late?"

"Ok." Camille, unusually, didn't know how to reply. He was here, in the doorway to her room and it was so unbelievably unexpected that all the customary graceful confidence she exuded had disappeared. Replacing it with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach and nothing to say.

"So?" he prompted.

"So?"

"Are you interested in the Commissioners new ideas? I personally think the course he went on has gone to his head just a bit but….." he trailed off self-consciously.

"Yes, yes of course. Please come in." She smiled tightly and took a step backwards, beckoning him into the room.

Richard frowned. He had never ventured across her threshold before; the few times he had visited her mothers house, he had hovered politely outside, refusing all entreaties to come in and have a drink whilst he waited. But here he was, and it ought to feel like a momentous occasion. There ought to have been only one reason to be invited; a path along which his mind had taken to wandering of it's own accord recently. Anything else; friends sharing a drink or colleagues sharing information could be conducted elsewhere. This didn't feel quite right, he just couldn't put his finger on why.

Catching sight of the uncertainty in his face, whilst simultaneously doing her level best not to look at him at all, Camille's heart sank. She knew by now what a stickler for propriety he was, how old fashioned, and no doubt he was musing on the inappropriate nature of entering a 'colleagues' room. Ugh, he was so English, so uptight. She used the word metaphorically since she no longer felt like a colleague. Hadn't for a long time. But then, even if he were merely a work acquaintance she would have still had no compunction about inviting him into her bedroom. It simply wasn't a big deal in this day, age or country!

Smoothing down her skirt with damp hands she observed him looking around for somewhere to perch that wasn't the bed. He hadn't even noticed, what on earth was she trying to do to herself, it was so unlike her.

She had privately acknowledged her strange fascination with this Englishman, even become comfortable with such a silly little crush on her superior officer a while ago. Had reasoned that it was a case of opposites attract, or a need for some excitement in her life following the collapse of her undercover job, someone so different from anyone else she had ever met or spent time with that intrigued her. Conceding this to herself though, and having some sort of expectation of him returning her feelings were leagues apart and right now disappointment was winning the war against hope in her chest.

With a start Camille pulled herself out of her internal musings. He had only landed two hours ago, had not only contended with an eight hour flight from London but had been greeted by a Commissioner eager to share the latest happenings on the Island and new ideas he had for developing the team. He must be shattered, had he even been home?

"I'm sorry, can I offer you a drink? I think my mother has some tea somewhere."

"Oh! Yes…, of course. Thank you Camille, that would be very nice."

He watched as she sidestepped past him and out of the door, wondering whether he should follow and also how it had come to pass that tea hadn't even been remotely in his thoughts.

More comfortable to look around the room now that Camille wasn't invading seemingly every corner, he was surprised by the simplicity and almost plainness of the room, a direct contrast to her spirit and vivaciousness. There was a low sideboard, with a TV and greetings cards dotted in front of it, a lamp and a plant, painting on the wall, and a bed. And that was about it. It wasn't as personal; as 'Camille' as he had expected or imagined.

Clearing his throat gruffly, he went in search of his Sergeant, following the noise of cupboards being opened and closed in turn, in search of his tea. Absorbed in the task, she hadn't noticed him so he allowed his gaze to roam over her, an impulse he very rarely gave into these days. It tended to upset the balance, to make him lose his train of thought at work; the focus he had always prided himself upon.

She had cut her hair, a smart short bob with each curly strand held carefully in position, he knew not how. It looked beautiful, although he couldn't help a slight pang of disappointment. He would miss the gorgeous tangle that she had been allowing to grow longer; that would cascade across her shoulders, swept away by her hands every now and then to cool her neck on hot days.

Richards's brow furrowed, taking in the rest of her. That was what he couldn't put his finger on; she was wearing a soft blue linen suit, with a white blouse beneath it. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before. She looked like she was on her way to a job interview, or if he weren't on a Caribbean Island, to work in any European Capital. It certainly complimented her figure and she looked stunning, but it wasn't his Camille. His? When had he begun referring to her as his?

With a horrible twist of his guts, Richard moved back towards her room, needing space to process the gnawing feeling that was gathering without her seeing him.

Surely she wasn't; this was her home. She wouldn't leave the Island would she? He had only just got back.