Ghosts That Haunt (Law & Order: UK)
Title: Ghosts That Haunt
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Alesha/James, George Castle, other canon characters
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 1.07 Alesha; 3.06 Masquerade
Trigger warning: Some mentions of rape
Summary: Alesha struggles with a case that offers many painful reminders.
Disclaimer: ITV owns Law & Order: UK
Author Notes: This is another combination of missing scenes and tag fic, with some dialogue borrowed directly from Richard Stokes' script.
~~~~~~
"You okay with this?" asks James as they leave the bail hearing and head downstairs to street level.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"Sally's story is similar -" he begins.
Alesha interrupts. "James, we deal with sex crimes all the time. Why should this one be any different?"
He stifles the urge to point out that if she hadn't just interrupted he'd have explained why; he doesn't want to fight with Alesha, particularly not about this, and in such a public place. A week ago, when she'd come back from Bow Street and explained why she'd had to rush off as soon as they'd got out of court, he'd been horrified and deeply concerned. It had been immediately clear that Alesha was barely holding herself together, and he'd put aside his paperwork to go for a walk along the river with her so that they could talk.
Last week
"Let's sit down," James suggested, spotting an empty bench after they'd been walking and talking for a while.
Alesha nodded, then sat down; she was so tense that he slipped an arm around her and after a moment she leant against him.
"It must have been hard for you," he said softly, "when you heard Sally's accusation."
"Yeah."
He tightened his arm around her and she turned her face to his shoulder. "It's okay to cry if you want to," he told her quietly, wrapping his other arm around her too. "No one will care."
She clung to him and he kissed her hair, murmuring soothingly to her.
After a few minutes she straightened up and he kissed her gently on the mouth, then unwrapped an arm to fish out his handkerchief with which to dry her face.
Now
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" she asks.
"Archie's dead, we can't just ignore that." He's surprised she's asking since normally she's the one who's hot to pursue wrongdoers.
"But what if it was self defence?"
"Then we'll deal with it," he answers. "But what if she's lying and it was murder? Would you be happy telling Archie's dad we have no case right now?"
"If it's the truth, yes."
He feels a flare of annoyance with her. "Well we don't yet know either way, so do me a favour. Keep that to yourself until we're through this circus."
He can see she's annoyed too, and he reins in his anger. This is going to be a hard enough case to deal with as it is, and them fighting about it won't help anyone. He leads the way outside, hearing the noise of the reporters even before they step out of the building.
He fends off a reporter's questions, biting back more annoyance, and slips an arm around Alesha in order to pull her bodily through the scrum.
"You okay?" he asks once they reach the safety of the far pavement.
She nods, but he reads anxiety in her expression, and he keeps his arm around her as they head back towards Ludgate Hill. She doesn't object, and he realises this case is affecting her more than she's let on, but he knows that he cannot force her to talk if she doesn't want to, all he can do is be there for her when she does decide to talk, and keep an eye on her the rest of the time.
Back in the office, as James had expected, George is scathing about the attitudes of the press.
"All we needed was PT Barnum, and we could've sold tickets," James observes, and sees Alesha giving him a look full of curiosity. He gives her a half smile, then turns his attention back to George, but he notices the way Alesha defends Sally's actions in response to his and George's conversation, and he frowns at her next question.
"And if we don't find anything?"
"Same as always. If we can't build a strong enough case, we walk away."
"Fine." She goes out, shutting the connecting door between George's office and their own, but before he can go after her, George gets to his feet again.
"James. Is she letting her thing affect her?"
"Her thing?" he asks uncertainly. Normally George is eloquent and a model of clarity in his speech.
"You know. What happened to her."
"No," he says, somewhat more positively than he actually feels. "Why would she? She's the best prosecutor we have, George."
The older man nods, but James can tell he's somewhat sceptical; James doesn't blame him, as he's not wholly convinced himself, but he trusts Alesha to be honest with him, so he says nothing more, instead returning to his office to find Alesha putting on her coat again prepatory to going to talk to Sally's friends.
She nods at him, then goes out, and he forces himself to focus on the paperwork on his desk.
* * * * * *
Alesha listens to Wood justifying his so-called reporting of the changing room incident in which Archie was involved. She has a visceral dislike for tabloid reporters collectively, though Wood seems like he'd be a nice guy if it wasn't for his profession.
"When did fighting the press become full time?" asks James, his tone weary, as Wood walks away.
"It does show an escalation in Archie's behaviour, possible character pattern," she says, only briefly glancing over at him.
"Getting fresh in a girls' changing room is hardly an indictable offence at thirteen," James says.
"Something you want to tell me?" she asks him amused, and notes how nervous his laughter sounds. She thinks she might ask him about that again tonight; he's invited her over to dinner and she's agreed, feeling desperately in need of the comfort of his company.
He shakes his head, but won't meet her eyes, and now she's convinced there's something he's not telling her, whether from embarrassment or something else, she's not sure.
He continues to argue on Archie's behalf, and half of her wants to agree with him; in other circumstances she'd be the one defending Archie, but Sally's words haunt her and Alesha feels she has to believe Sally's claim of being raped.
Later, at James' flat, they talk about movies and music over dinner; by mutual agreement they're not discussing work tonight, and she's glad to think about something else.
"So, tell me about non-indictable offences at thirteen," she says, as they settle on the sofa together with the remains of the bottle of wine that accompanied their meal.
James laughs again, but she can see a faint pink tinge in his cheeks, and she feels a surge of curiosity.
"There's not much to tell," he says, not meeting her eyes. He lifts her feet from the coffee table, and swings her legs around to rest across his lap, his right hand on her knee, and the left resting on the arm of the sofa holding his wine glass.
"So tell me," she suggests.
"When I was thirteen, I got caught, along with two mates, spying on the girls in the changing rooms," he says, still not meeting her eyes. "We had found a spot where we could see them when they showered, and of course, being full of raging teenage hormones, we used to stand there and watch them while playing with ourselves until we were so horny that we couldn't walk."
Alesha giggles a little, trying to imagine a young James in such a situation. "Well, well, Mr Steel, I never knew you had a voyeuristic bent."
He looks over at her, obviously both embarrassed and amused at his younger self. "You're not horrified?" he asks.
She laughs outright. "No, why would I be? That's the sort of behaviour I'd expect from hormonal boys." She drinks some more wine, then smirks. "After all, you've no idea what I got up to as a teenager."
"You?" he asks, clearly surprised. "I thought you were a good girl."
She snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Really? Whatever gave you that idea, James?"
"I - " he begins, then stops, looking uncertain. "I don't know, I just always assumed you must have been."
Alesha grins at him, then leans sideways and looks up into his face. "I had a proper wild child phase when I was fourteen."
"Really?" He sounds intrigued now, and she can see a spark of interest in his blue eyes.
"Oh yeah," she says. She shifts a little closer on the sofa, rucking up her skirt and his hand slides from her knee onto her thigh.
"Care to tell me about it, Ms Phillips?" he asks.
"Does my learned friend consider it relevant?" she counters, smirking.
"Very relevant, my lady," he responds, then lifts her onto his lap.
"I went to an all girls Catholic school," she explains. "So the opportunities for meeting boys were few and far between. But I joined a drama group that the school ran in conjunction with the local boys' Catholic school, so I got to see more of the local boys." She laughs. "Actually rather more of one or two of the boys than would have been considered acceptable had anyone known."
"But you implied that the wild child phase didn't last long," he observes, still caressing her legs.
She shifts against him. "No, it didn't. One of my friends went rather further than I did, and she got herself pregnant. Her parents, especially her dad, went ballistic, and as a consequence there was a huge furore at school." She leans into him, and nuzzles his neck as his hand strays higher. "My mum knew Keisha was a friend, and she gave me a serious talking to about the whole situation, and I realised I needed to concentrate on school and stop fooling around if I was to succeed. I certainly didn't want to end up as a mother at fifteen."
She sighs as his fingers slip inside her and she switches from nuzzling James to kissing him for several minutes.
"Anyway, I managed to stay out of trouble, and at eighteen I started dating again, but I was still really focused on my studies - and most boys don't like smart girls, especially if the girls are smarter than them - so I didn't get many dates."
"Shame," he murmurs. "Although, of course, it's to my advantage."
"How do you work that - mmm - out?" Her query's almost derailed by what James is doing with his left hand.
"Well, if you hadn't concentrated on your studies, and done so well in Law School, you wouldn't be working at the CPS, and I'd be deprived of your many and various skills." He chuckles as she moans pleasurably, too distracted to respond for the moment.
After a little while longer she cries out, and then he suggests that they should just go to bed, and she agrees eagerly.
"Many and various skills, eh?" she asks, her hands on the waistband of his trousers once they've relocated to the bedroom.
"Oh yes," he sighs as one small hand slips inside his trousers to find his arousal.
"Mmm." She kneels at his feet, and he fights back a moan as she frees him and lowers her head.
* * * * * *
When Alesha gets back from Taylor Mansions, after her trip to see the payphone, she is obviously deeply disappointed, and James feels badly for her. He fetches them both a coffee, then perches on the edge of her desk to talk to her.
"Dinner tonight?" he asks. They haven't managed to get together since last week and he can't help thinking Alesha looks in need of some TLC again.
She looks up at him, her expression almost defeated, and nods. "Yeah. My place?"
"If you like."
She nods, and he leans forward to give her a quick hug, then goes back to his desk.
Some hours later as he's doing a final bit of paperwork before they leave, Alesha wanders in, a piece of paper in her hand.
"Hey," he says, looking up. "You okay?" He frowns in concern seeing her expression.
"Outgoing call records for Archie's payphone," she begins, not meeting his eyes and he instantly knows it's bad news from her point of view, "match a contract mobile phone belonging to Martin Douglas."
"Sally's dad," he says, his brow creased in concern.
"Who's paying for her mobile phone." She bites at her bottom lip. "Sally did know Archie. She had done for weeks." Alesha moves back to her desk, her expression glum.
"So she lied about knowing him," he observes as she sits down.
"Doesn't mean she lied about being raped."
"True. But do you really think that now?" He can see how much this news is hurting her, but he has to ask, he needs to know she'll be okay with it if the CPS does go ahead and prosecute Sally.
She leans forward on her desk and looks over at him. "Most rape victims know their attacker."
"Yeah. But why's she still lying about what happened?"
"Maybe because she didn't think that anyone would believe her?" There's a pleading note in her voice now and James makes himself sit still instead of going over to comfort her.
"Do you?"
"I really want to," she says, and he knows Alesha well enough to know that this means that she doesn't actually believe Sally any longer. "If Sally's crying rape, has she any idea what she's doing? How much damage this does?
"No," he says, shaking his head. He's quite certain on that point. "She really hasn't."
"Then let's call Thompson. Confront him with this, see what he says."
He nods. "I'll set it up." He gets to his feet. "Come on, let's go home."
She nods wearily and begins tidying her desk.
James shuts down his computer, then pulls on his coat, wraps his scarf around his neck, and grabs his bag, then crosses to Alesha's desk.
"I'm sorry," she says as she gets up.
He tilts his head. "Why?"
"For fighting you so hard on this one."
"Oh love." He puts down his bag and puts his arms around her. "It's okay, I do understand." He kisses the top of her head, then lets go and grabs his bag again. "Come on."
She puts on her own coat and scarf, picks up her big red leather bag, then slips her arm through his as they walk down the corridor.
* * * * * *
The next morning Thompson comes in early to see them, as James had arranged, and Alesha watches Sally through the window of the conference room. After a little while, as Thompson's blustering, she decides to go and confront Sally: she knows she shouldn't and that Thompson will, quite rightly object, since it could be construed as interfering with the defendant, but she goes anyway.
She brushes a hand against James as she passes, taking comfort from that brief touch, and the memory of his strong and loving presence the night before.
As she talks to Sally, she realises that the young woman must be lying - her calm, almost blithe, acceptance of what lies ahead during the trial makes it perfectly obvious; Alesha remembers her own anguish at having to recount what Merrick had done to her, how terrifying it was to take the witness stand, instead of being on the lawyers' bench. She suddenly realises that she's hardly seen Sally weep or show any real emotion, even when she was first recounting the supposed rape, and she knows that she's been an idiot over this case, and that James has been endlessly patient with her.
Thompson comes out and tells her off for talking to Sally, then hurries her away. Alesha takes a deep breath. "Is there anything I need to know?" she asks James in a low voice, very conscious of how intently he's looking at her, but not yet meeting his eyes.
"No, nothing, he wouldn't bite. Is there anything I need to know?"
"Yep, she wasn't raped." She looks at him now, her expression hard. "And if Thompson won't take the deal, then she has to go down for murder."
She heads back to their office, and after a few moments, James follows her.
"What convinced you?" he asks, coming to stand by her desk.
Alesha looks up at him, aware that her expression is bleak. "Her complete lack of emotion when I explained how awful it was going to be testifying in court. Sally brushed it off as if it was nothing."
He grimaces, and she guesses he's remembering her own state before she'd testified. He crouches down beside her and takes her hands in his. "You okay?" he asks gently.
She nods. "I'll survive," she says, trying to smile. "I'll be glad when this is all over, though."
He nods. "Me too." He squeezes her fingers, then gets up enough to lean forward and kiss her forehead.
"James," she says, but it's a weak protest, and he obviously knows it.
"It's okay," he says. "Stay strong."
She nods again, and he straightens up all the way, then moves over to his desk for the paperwork he'll need, and she puts together her own files since she'll be doing some of the questioning on this case.
* * * * * *
James is surprised when Chris Thompson asks for a meeting and reveals that he's willing to drop the case; he can't help wondering if Thompson doesn't believe he can't make it home with the self-defence plea.
He senses Alesha's anger rising when Douglas refers to Archie as a "bloody Paki", and admires the restraint she shows in answering such a bigoted man, but his own mind is racing when Douglas lashes out at Chris, knocking his arm away so violently.
"Well, that is some temper," George comments as James sits down at his desk after Thompson and the Douglases have left.
"Anyone else feel the need for a shower?" asks Alesha in some disgust as she leans her weight on her desk.
"Didn't Sally break her arm a couple of years ago?" James asks, knowing Alesha will remember.
"Yeah, just before she left school. Why?"
"Find a friend at the PCT. I wanna see that medical report."
The report comes through the following day, and Alesha brings it in to where James is working in the conference room, that was converted from her old office. From the expression on her face, she's already read it and has worked out what he'd guessed, and he thinks the report must confirm his guess.
"Wow," he says, once he's read it as Alesha paces up and down.
"Isn't it?" she agrees.
"Spiral fracture. You know what this means?" He rests his elbow on the desk and props his head on his hand.
"It doesn't actually change anything," she comments. "But at least now we have the full picture."
"Yup, ugly as it is." He straightens up again, stretching his back, and puts his hands behind his head. He knows from previous cases that a spiral fracture can only occur in a very specific set of circumstances - it's not something you get from falling off a bike, or falling down the stairs.
He looks up at Alesha. "Who told you off when you were a kid?"
"My mum. Had my dad wrapped around my little finger, 'til he left." She smiles reminiscently. "Why?"
He nods at the report. "Most women I know would say the same as you."
"Dads and their daughters," she says, grasping the back of the chair she'd vacated earlier, and looking at the piles of paperwork.
"But not Sally Douglas." He sees realisation dawning in Alesha's eyes.
"You're thinking of changing strategy?"
He takes a deeper breath. "Yep, maybe."
"James, her cross is tomorrow." She sits on the edge of the table, looking anxious, and he ruffles his hair in thought.
"I'm going to have to go through everything again first," he tells her, "but this could be the key to open her up." After all, they have been wondering just why Sally has consistently lied about her reasons for killing Archie.
"We will get home with this, won't we?" He can see Alesha's concerned.
"Have I let you down before?"
She looks down at her hands before answering. "We have to win, James. I depended on the legal system and my attacker was still acquitted. In the eyes of the Law, I also cried rape."
He nods, wincing inwardly. He hadn't expected her to see it that way, but she's right.
"We have to do better this time."
"We will," he promises. "Will you stay and help me, please?"
"Of course," she answers readily. "I'll get some more coffee."
* * * * * *
After the verdict's been given, James and Alesha change into their street clothes in silence. He wants to speak, to try to comfort her, but he can't think of anything to say that won't sound trite. They head back to the office, and James dumps his bag on his chair, then goes to speak to George; when he returns to his office Alesha's disappeared, and he wonders if he should go looking for her, then decides to leave her in peace, hoping that she will come and find him before too long. She's coming to his place for the weekend, so he knows she'll turn up again eventually.
He's actually in the pub, with friends and colleagues, when Alesha finally appears, and he gets up quickly, grabbing the drink he got for her from the table.
"Vodka tonic, two blobs of ice, one very generous squeeze of lime," he tells her, handing her the glass. They'd been proper ice cubes when he bought the drink about twenty minutes ago.
"How did you know I'd show up?" she asks, accepting the glass.
He inhales, then smiles. "You always do. Why would this case be any different?"
She takes a deep breath, then whispers "Thank you."
He smiles more widely, then puts a hand on her arm to guide her through the crowd to the table where he's been sitting, introducing her to those colleagues whom she doesn't already know.
She sits down and he clinks his beer bottle against the rim of her glass and she smiles genuinely at him.
* * * * * *
A couple of hours later Alesha's thinking rather longingly of the peace and quiet of James' flat when he surprises her.
"I tell you," he says, his voice rather louder than usual. "I would really hate to have my Alesha prosecuting me. She's a proper terrier when she goes after someone, and you know what terriers are like - they'll grab your ankles and hang on." He lifts his feet up from the floor to demonstrate and bangs his shins on the edge of the table, then giggles as he clutches at them.
Beside him Alesha rolls her eyes: James isn't drunk, but he's definitely merry. He loses his balance, falling against her and she tries to push him upright again.
"Your Alesha?" she asks in a low voice.
"My Alesha," he agrees, grinning madly at her before pushing himself up a bit further so he can kiss her.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, none of their fellow lawyers are any more sober than James (most are actually drunk, in fact) and they miss the entire exchange. Alesha manages to angle her body to push James into an upright position.
"Come on, Mr Steel, time to go home, or you'll regret it in the morning."
He gets to his feet, and she's relieved to see that he seems fairly steady once he's upright; they bid their friends and colleagues goodnight, then make their way through the press of people between themselves and the door, James' arm holding her close so that they won't get separated.
Once outside the pub they pause, and James stares up at the stars, then looks down at Alesha, who's watching him with affectionate amusement.
"Your Alesha?" she repeats, allowing him to slip his arm around her as they walk away from the noisy pub.
"My Alesha," he agrees again, then pouts. "Aren't I your James then?"
She laughs. "Yeah, okay." She slides an arm around his waist. She knows that most people are aware of her relationship with James, although they both do their best to be discreet around the office in keeping with George's requirements, but it still unnerves her slightly when James lays claim to her, or makes a public reference to their relationship.
"My very own Alesha," he says, grinning down at her.
She rolls her eyes again. "Do shut up," she says, laughing softly.
"I don't wan-wanna shut up," he says loudly.
"James!" She sees a cab approaching and flags it down, earning another pout from him.
"Can't we walk home?" he asks.
"No," she answers. "Because I want to get home at a reasonable hour. I'm ravenous, even if you're not. Although you could do with a pot of strong coffee."
He sighs loudly, but gets into the cab without further argument, and tells the driver where they're going. Then he wraps his arm around her and leans his head against hers. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she notices that he sounds quite sober now.
"Yeah," she says.
He reaches up to cup her cheek, turning her face to his. "Really okay?" he asks quietly.
"Really," she assures him, and closes her eyes before leaning in for a kiss.
"Good."
* * * * * *
The cab ride doesn't take long and James lets them into his flat without missing the keyhole, and she wonders if he was just pretending to be tipsy earlier.
"Coffee?" she asks.
"Yeah. Pizza?"
She nods an agreement, and he heads into the sitting room to ring the pizza place while she goes through to the kitchen to make a pot of black coffee. When she comes in with the coffee she finds him sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He's got the news headlines on, and the TV remote is held loosely in his right hand, which is resting on top of his knee.
She puts the tray down on the nearby coffee table, then sits beside him, and he switches the remote to his other hand, then puts his arm around her and gently tugs her closer, smiling. She snuggles up against him, grateful for his solidity and the chance of a cuddle after such an emotionally fraught day. She considers that she's lucky to have James in her life, and she's very grateful that he's always so patient with her, particularly since he's not always so patient with others.
"Pizza'll be here soon," he tells her. "Then we'll have an early night if you like?"
"Yeah, thank you." She kisses him, thinking that an early night will be just the thing to make her feel less haunted.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Alesha/James, George Castle, other canon characters
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 1.07 Alesha; 3.06 Masquerade
Trigger warning: Some mentions of rape
Summary: Alesha struggles with a case that offers many painful reminders.
Disclaimer: ITV owns Law & Order: UK
Author Notes: This is another combination of missing scenes and tag fic, with some dialogue borrowed directly from Richard Stokes' script.
~~~~~~
"You okay with this?" asks James as they leave the bail hearing and head downstairs to street level.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"Sally's story is similar -" he begins.
Alesha interrupts. "James, we deal with sex crimes all the time. Why should this one be any different?"
He stifles the urge to point out that if she hadn't just interrupted he'd have explained why; he doesn't want to fight with Alesha, particularly not about this, and in such a public place. A week ago, when she'd come back from Bow Street and explained why she'd had to rush off as soon as they'd got out of court, he'd been horrified and deeply concerned. It had been immediately clear that Alesha was barely holding herself together, and he'd put aside his paperwork to go for a walk along the river with her so that they could talk.
Last week
"Let's sit down," James suggested, spotting an empty bench after they'd been walking and talking for a while.
Alesha nodded, then sat down; she was so tense that he slipped an arm around her and after a moment she leant against him.
"It must have been hard for you," he said softly, "when you heard Sally's accusation."
"Yeah."
He tightened his arm around her and she turned her face to his shoulder. "It's okay to cry if you want to," he told her quietly, wrapping his other arm around her too. "No one will care."
She clung to him and he kissed her hair, murmuring soothingly to her.
After a few minutes she straightened up and he kissed her gently on the mouth, then unwrapped an arm to fish out his handkerchief with which to dry her face.
Now
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" she asks.
"Archie's dead, we can't just ignore that." He's surprised she's asking since normally she's the one who's hot to pursue wrongdoers.
"But what if it was self defence?"
"Then we'll deal with it," he answers. "But what if she's lying and it was murder? Would you be happy telling Archie's dad we have no case right now?"
"If it's the truth, yes."
He feels a flare of annoyance with her. "Well we don't yet know either way, so do me a favour. Keep that to yourself until we're through this circus."
He can see she's annoyed too, and he reins in his anger. This is going to be a hard enough case to deal with as it is, and them fighting about it won't help anyone. He leads the way outside, hearing the noise of the reporters even before they step out of the building.
He fends off a reporter's questions, biting back more annoyance, and slips an arm around Alesha in order to pull her bodily through the scrum.
"You okay?" he asks once they reach the safety of the far pavement.
She nods, but he reads anxiety in her expression, and he keeps his arm around her as they head back towards Ludgate Hill. She doesn't object, and he realises this case is affecting her more than she's let on, but he knows that he cannot force her to talk if she doesn't want to, all he can do is be there for her when she does decide to talk, and keep an eye on her the rest of the time.
Back in the office, as James had expected, George is scathing about the attitudes of the press.
"All we needed was PT Barnum, and we could've sold tickets," James observes, and sees Alesha giving him a look full of curiosity. He gives her a half smile, then turns his attention back to George, but he notices the way Alesha defends Sally's actions in response to his and George's conversation, and he frowns at her next question.
"And if we don't find anything?"
"Same as always. If we can't build a strong enough case, we walk away."
"Fine." She goes out, shutting the connecting door between George's office and their own, but before he can go after her, George gets to his feet again.
"James. Is she letting her thing affect her?"
"Her thing?" he asks uncertainly. Normally George is eloquent and a model of clarity in his speech.
"You know. What happened to her."
"No," he says, somewhat more positively than he actually feels. "Why would she? She's the best prosecutor we have, George."
The older man nods, but James can tell he's somewhat sceptical; James doesn't blame him, as he's not wholly convinced himself, but he trusts Alesha to be honest with him, so he says nothing more, instead returning to his office to find Alesha putting on her coat again prepatory to going to talk to Sally's friends.
She nods at him, then goes out, and he forces himself to focus on the paperwork on his desk.
* * * * * *
Alesha listens to Wood justifying his so-called reporting of the changing room incident in which Archie was involved. She has a visceral dislike for tabloid reporters collectively, though Wood seems like he'd be a nice guy if it wasn't for his profession.
"When did fighting the press become full time?" asks James, his tone weary, as Wood walks away.
"It does show an escalation in Archie's behaviour, possible character pattern," she says, only briefly glancing over at him.
"Getting fresh in a girls' changing room is hardly an indictable offence at thirteen," James says.
"Something you want to tell me?" she asks him amused, and notes how nervous his laughter sounds. She thinks she might ask him about that again tonight; he's invited her over to dinner and she's agreed, feeling desperately in need of the comfort of his company.
He shakes his head, but won't meet her eyes, and now she's convinced there's something he's not telling her, whether from embarrassment or something else, she's not sure.
He continues to argue on Archie's behalf, and half of her wants to agree with him; in other circumstances she'd be the one defending Archie, but Sally's words haunt her and Alesha feels she has to believe Sally's claim of being raped.
Later, at James' flat, they talk about movies and music over dinner; by mutual agreement they're not discussing work tonight, and she's glad to think about something else.
"So, tell me about non-indictable offences at thirteen," she says, as they settle on the sofa together with the remains of the bottle of wine that accompanied their meal.
James laughs again, but she can see a faint pink tinge in his cheeks, and she feels a surge of curiosity.
"There's not much to tell," he says, not meeting her eyes. He lifts her feet from the coffee table, and swings her legs around to rest across his lap, his right hand on her knee, and the left resting on the arm of the sofa holding his wine glass.
"So tell me," she suggests.
"When I was thirteen, I got caught, along with two mates, spying on the girls in the changing rooms," he says, still not meeting her eyes. "We had found a spot where we could see them when they showered, and of course, being full of raging teenage hormones, we used to stand there and watch them while playing with ourselves until we were so horny that we couldn't walk."
Alesha giggles a little, trying to imagine a young James in such a situation. "Well, well, Mr Steel, I never knew you had a voyeuristic bent."
He looks over at her, obviously both embarrassed and amused at his younger self. "You're not horrified?" he asks.
She laughs outright. "No, why would I be? That's the sort of behaviour I'd expect from hormonal boys." She drinks some more wine, then smirks. "After all, you've no idea what I got up to as a teenager."
"You?" he asks, clearly surprised. "I thought you were a good girl."
She snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Really? Whatever gave you that idea, James?"
"I - " he begins, then stops, looking uncertain. "I don't know, I just always assumed you must have been."
Alesha grins at him, then leans sideways and looks up into his face. "I had a proper wild child phase when I was fourteen."
"Really?" He sounds intrigued now, and she can see a spark of interest in his blue eyes.
"Oh yeah," she says. She shifts a little closer on the sofa, rucking up her skirt and his hand slides from her knee onto her thigh.
"Care to tell me about it, Ms Phillips?" he asks.
"Does my learned friend consider it relevant?" she counters, smirking.
"Very relevant, my lady," he responds, then lifts her onto his lap.
"I went to an all girls Catholic school," she explains. "So the opportunities for meeting boys were few and far between. But I joined a drama group that the school ran in conjunction with the local boys' Catholic school, so I got to see more of the local boys." She laughs. "Actually rather more of one or two of the boys than would have been considered acceptable had anyone known."
"But you implied that the wild child phase didn't last long," he observes, still caressing her legs.
She shifts against him. "No, it didn't. One of my friends went rather further than I did, and she got herself pregnant. Her parents, especially her dad, went ballistic, and as a consequence there was a huge furore at school." She leans into him, and nuzzles his neck as his hand strays higher. "My mum knew Keisha was a friend, and she gave me a serious talking to about the whole situation, and I realised I needed to concentrate on school and stop fooling around if I was to succeed. I certainly didn't want to end up as a mother at fifteen."
She sighs as his fingers slip inside her and she switches from nuzzling James to kissing him for several minutes.
"Anyway, I managed to stay out of trouble, and at eighteen I started dating again, but I was still really focused on my studies - and most boys don't like smart girls, especially if the girls are smarter than them - so I didn't get many dates."
"Shame," he murmurs. "Although, of course, it's to my advantage."
"How do you work that - mmm - out?" Her query's almost derailed by what James is doing with his left hand.
"Well, if you hadn't concentrated on your studies, and done so well in Law School, you wouldn't be working at the CPS, and I'd be deprived of your many and various skills." He chuckles as she moans pleasurably, too distracted to respond for the moment.
After a little while longer she cries out, and then he suggests that they should just go to bed, and she agrees eagerly.
"Many and various skills, eh?" she asks, her hands on the waistband of his trousers once they've relocated to the bedroom.
"Oh yes," he sighs as one small hand slips inside his trousers to find his arousal.
"Mmm." She kneels at his feet, and he fights back a moan as she frees him and lowers her head.
* * * * * *
When Alesha gets back from Taylor Mansions, after her trip to see the payphone, she is obviously deeply disappointed, and James feels badly for her. He fetches them both a coffee, then perches on the edge of her desk to talk to her.
"Dinner tonight?" he asks. They haven't managed to get together since last week and he can't help thinking Alesha looks in need of some TLC again.
She looks up at him, her expression almost defeated, and nods. "Yeah. My place?"
"If you like."
She nods, and he leans forward to give her a quick hug, then goes back to his desk.
Some hours later as he's doing a final bit of paperwork before they leave, Alesha wanders in, a piece of paper in her hand.
"Hey," he says, looking up. "You okay?" He frowns in concern seeing her expression.
"Outgoing call records for Archie's payphone," she begins, not meeting his eyes and he instantly knows it's bad news from her point of view, "match a contract mobile phone belonging to Martin Douglas."
"Sally's dad," he says, his brow creased in concern.
"Who's paying for her mobile phone." She bites at her bottom lip. "Sally did know Archie. She had done for weeks." Alesha moves back to her desk, her expression glum.
"So she lied about knowing him," he observes as she sits down.
"Doesn't mean she lied about being raped."
"True. But do you really think that now?" He can see how much this news is hurting her, but he has to ask, he needs to know she'll be okay with it if the CPS does go ahead and prosecute Sally.
She leans forward on her desk and looks over at him. "Most rape victims know their attacker."
"Yeah. But why's she still lying about what happened?"
"Maybe because she didn't think that anyone would believe her?" There's a pleading note in her voice now and James makes himself sit still instead of going over to comfort her.
"Do you?"
"I really want to," she says, and he knows Alesha well enough to know that this means that she doesn't actually believe Sally any longer. "If Sally's crying rape, has she any idea what she's doing? How much damage this does?
"No," he says, shaking his head. He's quite certain on that point. "She really hasn't."
"Then let's call Thompson. Confront him with this, see what he says."
He nods. "I'll set it up." He gets to his feet. "Come on, let's go home."
She nods wearily and begins tidying her desk.
James shuts down his computer, then pulls on his coat, wraps his scarf around his neck, and grabs his bag, then crosses to Alesha's desk.
"I'm sorry," she says as she gets up.
He tilts his head. "Why?"
"For fighting you so hard on this one."
"Oh love." He puts down his bag and puts his arms around her. "It's okay, I do understand." He kisses the top of her head, then lets go and grabs his bag again. "Come on."
She puts on her own coat and scarf, picks up her big red leather bag, then slips her arm through his as they walk down the corridor.
* * * * * *
The next morning Thompson comes in early to see them, as James had arranged, and Alesha watches Sally through the window of the conference room. After a little while, as Thompson's blustering, she decides to go and confront Sally: she knows she shouldn't and that Thompson will, quite rightly object, since it could be construed as interfering with the defendant, but she goes anyway.
She brushes a hand against James as she passes, taking comfort from that brief touch, and the memory of his strong and loving presence the night before.
As she talks to Sally, she realises that the young woman must be lying - her calm, almost blithe, acceptance of what lies ahead during the trial makes it perfectly obvious; Alesha remembers her own anguish at having to recount what Merrick had done to her, how terrifying it was to take the witness stand, instead of being on the lawyers' bench. She suddenly realises that she's hardly seen Sally weep or show any real emotion, even when she was first recounting the supposed rape, and she knows that she's been an idiot over this case, and that James has been endlessly patient with her.
Thompson comes out and tells her off for talking to Sally, then hurries her away. Alesha takes a deep breath. "Is there anything I need to know?" she asks James in a low voice, very conscious of how intently he's looking at her, but not yet meeting his eyes.
"No, nothing, he wouldn't bite. Is there anything I need to know?"
"Yep, she wasn't raped." She looks at him now, her expression hard. "And if Thompson won't take the deal, then she has to go down for murder."
She heads back to their office, and after a few moments, James follows her.
"What convinced you?" he asks, coming to stand by her desk.
Alesha looks up at him, aware that her expression is bleak. "Her complete lack of emotion when I explained how awful it was going to be testifying in court. Sally brushed it off as if it was nothing."
He grimaces, and she guesses he's remembering her own state before she'd testified. He crouches down beside her and takes her hands in his. "You okay?" he asks gently.
She nods. "I'll survive," she says, trying to smile. "I'll be glad when this is all over, though."
He nods. "Me too." He squeezes her fingers, then gets up enough to lean forward and kiss her forehead.
"James," she says, but it's a weak protest, and he obviously knows it.
"It's okay," he says. "Stay strong."
She nods again, and he straightens up all the way, then moves over to his desk for the paperwork he'll need, and she puts together her own files since she'll be doing some of the questioning on this case.
* * * * * *
James is surprised when Chris Thompson asks for a meeting and reveals that he's willing to drop the case; he can't help wondering if Thompson doesn't believe he can't make it home with the self-defence plea.
He senses Alesha's anger rising when Douglas refers to Archie as a "bloody Paki", and admires the restraint she shows in answering such a bigoted man, but his own mind is racing when Douglas lashes out at Chris, knocking his arm away so violently.
"Well, that is some temper," George comments as James sits down at his desk after Thompson and the Douglases have left.
"Anyone else feel the need for a shower?" asks Alesha in some disgust as she leans her weight on her desk.
"Didn't Sally break her arm a couple of years ago?" James asks, knowing Alesha will remember.
"Yeah, just before she left school. Why?"
"Find a friend at the PCT. I wanna see that medical report."
The report comes through the following day, and Alesha brings it in to where James is working in the conference room, that was converted from her old office. From the expression on her face, she's already read it and has worked out what he'd guessed, and he thinks the report must confirm his guess.
"Wow," he says, once he's read it as Alesha paces up and down.
"Isn't it?" she agrees.
"Spiral fracture. You know what this means?" He rests his elbow on the desk and props his head on his hand.
"It doesn't actually change anything," she comments. "But at least now we have the full picture."
"Yup, ugly as it is." He straightens up again, stretching his back, and puts his hands behind his head. He knows from previous cases that a spiral fracture can only occur in a very specific set of circumstances - it's not something you get from falling off a bike, or falling down the stairs.
He looks up at Alesha. "Who told you off when you were a kid?"
"My mum. Had my dad wrapped around my little finger, 'til he left." She smiles reminiscently. "Why?"
He nods at the report. "Most women I know would say the same as you."
"Dads and their daughters," she says, grasping the back of the chair she'd vacated earlier, and looking at the piles of paperwork.
"But not Sally Douglas." He sees realisation dawning in Alesha's eyes.
"You're thinking of changing strategy?"
He takes a deeper breath. "Yep, maybe."
"James, her cross is tomorrow." She sits on the edge of the table, looking anxious, and he ruffles his hair in thought.
"I'm going to have to go through everything again first," he tells her, "but this could be the key to open her up." After all, they have been wondering just why Sally has consistently lied about her reasons for killing Archie.
"We will get home with this, won't we?" He can see Alesha's concerned.
"Have I let you down before?"
She looks down at her hands before answering. "We have to win, James. I depended on the legal system and my attacker was still acquitted. In the eyes of the Law, I also cried rape."
He nods, wincing inwardly. He hadn't expected her to see it that way, but she's right.
"We have to do better this time."
"We will," he promises. "Will you stay and help me, please?"
"Of course," she answers readily. "I'll get some more coffee."
* * * * * *
After the verdict's been given, James and Alesha change into their street clothes in silence. He wants to speak, to try to comfort her, but he can't think of anything to say that won't sound trite. They head back to the office, and James dumps his bag on his chair, then goes to speak to George; when he returns to his office Alesha's disappeared, and he wonders if he should go looking for her, then decides to leave her in peace, hoping that she will come and find him before too long. She's coming to his place for the weekend, so he knows she'll turn up again eventually.
He's actually in the pub, with friends and colleagues, when Alesha finally appears, and he gets up quickly, grabbing the drink he got for her from the table.
"Vodka tonic, two blobs of ice, one very generous squeeze of lime," he tells her, handing her the glass. They'd been proper ice cubes when he bought the drink about twenty minutes ago.
"How did you know I'd show up?" she asks, accepting the glass.
He inhales, then smiles. "You always do. Why would this case be any different?"
She takes a deep breath, then whispers "Thank you."
He smiles more widely, then puts a hand on her arm to guide her through the crowd to the table where he's been sitting, introducing her to those colleagues whom she doesn't already know.
She sits down and he clinks his beer bottle against the rim of her glass and she smiles genuinely at him.
* * * * * *
A couple of hours later Alesha's thinking rather longingly of the peace and quiet of James' flat when he surprises her.
"I tell you," he says, his voice rather louder than usual. "I would really hate to have my Alesha prosecuting me. She's a proper terrier when she goes after someone, and you know what terriers are like - they'll grab your ankles and hang on." He lifts his feet up from the floor to demonstrate and bangs his shins on the edge of the table, then giggles as he clutches at them.
Beside him Alesha rolls her eyes: James isn't drunk, but he's definitely merry. He loses his balance, falling against her and she tries to push him upright again.
"Your Alesha?" she asks in a low voice.
"My Alesha," he agrees, grinning madly at her before pushing himself up a bit further so he can kiss her.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, none of their fellow lawyers are any more sober than James (most are actually drunk, in fact) and they miss the entire exchange. Alesha manages to angle her body to push James into an upright position.
"Come on, Mr Steel, time to go home, or you'll regret it in the morning."
He gets to his feet, and she's relieved to see that he seems fairly steady once he's upright; they bid their friends and colleagues goodnight, then make their way through the press of people between themselves and the door, James' arm holding her close so that they won't get separated.
Once outside the pub they pause, and James stares up at the stars, then looks down at Alesha, who's watching him with affectionate amusement.
"Your Alesha?" she repeats, allowing him to slip his arm around her as they walk away from the noisy pub.
"My Alesha," he agrees again, then pouts. "Aren't I your James then?"
She laughs. "Yeah, okay." She slides an arm around his waist. She knows that most people are aware of her relationship with James, although they both do their best to be discreet around the office in keeping with George's requirements, but it still unnerves her slightly when James lays claim to her, or makes a public reference to their relationship.
"My very own Alesha," he says, grinning down at her.
She rolls her eyes again. "Do shut up," she says, laughing softly.
"I don't wan-wanna shut up," he says loudly.
"James!" She sees a cab approaching and flags it down, earning another pout from him.
"Can't we walk home?" he asks.
"No," she answers. "Because I want to get home at a reasonable hour. I'm ravenous, even if you're not. Although you could do with a pot of strong coffee."
He sighs loudly, but gets into the cab without further argument, and tells the driver where they're going. Then he wraps his arm around her and leans his head against hers. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she notices that he sounds quite sober now.
"Yeah," she says.
He reaches up to cup her cheek, turning her face to his. "Really okay?" he asks quietly.
"Really," she assures him, and closes her eyes before leaning in for a kiss.
"Good."
* * * * * *
The cab ride doesn't take long and James lets them into his flat without missing the keyhole, and she wonders if he was just pretending to be tipsy earlier.
"Coffee?" she asks.
"Yeah. Pizza?"
She nods an agreement, and he heads into the sitting room to ring the pizza place while she goes through to the kitchen to make a pot of black coffee. When she comes in with the coffee she finds him sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He's got the news headlines on, and the TV remote is held loosely in his right hand, which is resting on top of his knee.
She puts the tray down on the nearby coffee table, then sits beside him, and he switches the remote to his other hand, then puts his arm around her and gently tugs her closer, smiling. She snuggles up against him, grateful for his solidity and the chance of a cuddle after such an emotionally fraught day. She considers that she's lucky to have James in her life, and she's very grateful that he's always so patient with her, particularly since he's not always so patient with others.
"Pizza'll be here soon," he tells her. "Then we'll have an early night if you like?"
"Yeah, thank you." She kisses him, thinking that an early night will be just the thing to make her feel less haunted.