Title: Ten Minutes
Fandom: Cormoran Strike series
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen
Disclaimer: Not mine! No money made! No harm intended!
Summary: It’s cold out and Strike’s not feeling so hot.
Note: Snow drabble January 21, 2014

Ten Minutes

Cormoran Strike stomped his feet in the entryway, loosening about half the snow from his boots. Most of the rest came off as he trudged up the stairs, coughing loosely into the collar of his coat. After questioning witnesses for the past two hours in the freezing snow, he wanted off his feet now. Or, well, foot.

He headed into the office just as a vicious sneeze tore through him. “HURHHSHAHHhhhhh!” He only just managed to catch it in his sleeve. But it had been a touch wetter than he’d expected, and he didn’t know what to do about that. He kept his nose buried in his sleeve, arm bent over the lower half of his face, and opened his eyes.

Robin sat at her desk, holding a box of tissues up in the air at him.

With his free hand, he took two and made the switch as smoothly as possible. He blew wetly and snuffled even more wetly, and then he took another two tissues. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Where’d these come from?”

“Tesco ‘round the corner. Bought it from petty cash along with…” She held up a bottle of Paracetamol and a bottle of water.

Strike took them immediately, grateful beyond words at the sight of them. “How’d you know?”

“Think you’re the only one who gets to do detective work around here? You were sniffling nonstop all morning. Doesn’t take a genius to know you’ve got a cold.” She gathered up some files and handed them over. “Now, I’ve put these reports in order for you to go over at your leisure. I’ve rescheduled your two afternoon meetings so you’ve got nothing pressing, if you’d prefer to go home.”

Strike stared at the files in his hand and thought about the dozens of interviews he needed to think through. He also thought about his bed at his brand new flat, empty and barely stocked. He would have to take the tissue box and medicine home with him, which would once again blur the lines between office and home in a manner unpleasing to him. “I’ll be in my… in…” With the tissue box and medicine in one hand and file folders in the other, he couldn’t get to the actual tissues fast enough. His nostrils flared and he snapped forward at the waist as he sneezed toward the side of his hand. “HERASHhhhhhhhhhh!” Far too wet. Far too loud. Far too embarrassing. He would have dove under his desk if it had been big enough to fit him. And, before he could stop it, another came at him. He sneezed into one hairy forearm. “heh-EHFSHuhhhh! Ughh… snrfffffff!”

Suddenly, he felt hands upon his back. His eyes opened wide with shock as she pushed him toward his office. He settled in his chair as Robin tugged his wet coat off him and hung it up on the back of his open door. “I’m going to go get you a hot cup of tea. I’ll be gone for…” She checked her wristwatch, a recent gift from her accountant fiancé who, Strike suspected, wanted to use it as a subtle reminder to her to not work overtime at the office. “Ten minutes.”

“Just to get tea? Ten—“ He stopped, realizing too late what she was doing. “All right.”

She flashed him a sympathetic smile before heading out. He listened to the door open and close and her footsteps head down the stairs. Then he tore half a dozen tissues from the box and blew his nose over and over again, the terrible gurgling wet sound making him shiver. He checked the time. Seven and a half minutes of solitude left to get his nose cleared before Robin returned. He dropped the used tissues into the trash and pulled more out of the box. After swallowing a few pills, he took a deep breath and blew his nose again.