Chapter Text
Sitting in the passenger side of Max's car the day after their fashion model case, Miranda felt as free as a bird. However, In this case it was a particularly tethered bird, perhaps a pet budgie or a parrot; something that someone pretended to pay attention to, pretended to enjoy the freedom of and then deliberately restricted for their own entertainment whilst poking it occasionally to see if it could sing.
In this metaphor, Miranda is both the cager and the cagee. This is because, as usual, her thoughts are whirling megaspeed and she is completely unable to stop herself from overthinking.
Overthinking about her sleep pattern, overthinking about her hair, overthinking about the last time she'd even messaged anyone from her home country but most of all, overthinking about her dismal performance as a 'detective' in their last case.
Miranda wasn't sure why she'd told Max that story. It wasn't even a particularly good story but she'd had the emotion of her scare behind her and he seemed to believe it. She almost feels like she made herself out to be a bit pathetic. Sadly, it wasn't as pathetic as the truth.
Miranda sighed and gently scuffed her feet against the car floor mat beneath her, enjoying the rough resistance that vibrated slightly up her legs.
The truth was absolutely nothing had happened to her. There was no childhood game, there was no cupboard and there was certainly no screaming and begging to be let out.
And she wasn't technically that claustrophobic - She was just afraid of the dark. Something that oddly she'd decided not to tell Max and make into a pretty little story instead.
The saddest part was her fear was for no reason at all. There was no dramatic childhood incident, no traumatic backstory. Something about her brain simply didn't like it when it was in the dark and never had.
Nothing or nobody had ever even given her a mild scare in the darkness, nothing even slightly bad that she could remember enough to give her a reaction. Miranda had just always found the absence of light to be an ever present fear. Even her torch in the tunnel was not enough and then the sheer abruptness of the train darkness had been a proper sudden fight. It was a nagging, embarrassing fear in her day-to-day life that had come to the front in a cringe-worthy, dramatic way.
It was almost worse how nice Max had been about it. This was largely because it meant the stubborn bastard wouldn't let it go but also because she'd made up an almost-as-embarrassing fear as a result and was now twisting herself into a silly knot about it.
Realistically, if this was the UK per procedure she should report herself to get some counselling, Max should report her for leaving him significantly in the lurch on a murder case and she might even get relegated to the desk or another role for a while.
This would all be whilst Occupation Health decided whether being a bit afraid would be enough of a risk for her 'mental wellbeing' to have her permanently off-duty. She'd still retain a salary but she'd be essentially forced out of her role. And she'd be considered the laughing stock of her station, no matter how mental-health friendly everyone purported to be these days.
There was also the other reason it's a very good thing Max hadn't decided it was dramatic enough to report to Palma's equivalent Occy health. If a counsellor tried to probe into Miranda's deep, dark (ha) thoughts she'd be stuffed. There was nothing there for them to 'fix' - she just wouldn't be able to explain herself.
It didn't matter how big or small the room that she was in was, she simply could not stand the darkness. Even the glow of Mallorca at night with its stars and the beautiful town lights of Palma was a bit of a stretch in Miranda being able to go out completely content.
This was a fear she'd always had, from rolling dark Welsh hills to the innumerable city lights of London, from open land to tiny rooms, darkness of any kind just did not gel with Miranda Blake.
She suspected if she wanted to ever look at it a bit more she probably could put it down to a "control" issue. She simply didn't like not knowing what was there, or even having the sudden possibility of there being something there. Really though, there just wasn't much reason.
This was why, when faced with Max's open concern, she'd blatantly lied. The stress of his questions, the ridiculousness of her response and the knowledge of the consequences that she could (and should) face had been enough to compel her to freeze him out.
He probably thought they'd had a deep moment, her own embarrassment forcing her to quiver as if her "history," was real. Instead she was worried he'd see her for what she was; not a small girl still trapped in that cupboard who just needed someone to hold her hand and guide her through, but a full grown woman of over thirty who couldn't sleep without a bedside lamp. A woman who lied to people to make herself feel better about her shame.
Miranda sighed as her happy-go-lucky partner hummed along to the upbeat German song his playlist had currently switched to. She couldn't mention it now to get it off her chest, he'd make an even bigger deal out of her lying to him the first time, that was for sure.
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(Maybe someday she would tell him the truth. Maybe someday he wouldn't mind.)