Endings and Beginnings (Law & Order: UK)
Title: Endings and Beginnings
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Alesha/James
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.06: Skeletons (I'm really not kidding about spoilers!)
Summary: There are changes in James' and Alesha's lives.
Disclaimer: ITV owns Law & Order: UK, I just find them irresistible!
Author Notes: I couldn't not write this tag fic after watching 'Skeletons'! This fic is starting from the premise of Alesha and James sharing a close friendship but nothing more so far.
~~~~~~
A couple of hours after she and James had said farewell, Alesha's at a corner table in the pub which she and James (and a good deal of London's legal professionals) regularly frequented. She's watching Cain holding court a few tables over; she wonders why he's so full of himself since he just lost a major case. She'd seen him come in with a group of cronies and he'd sailed straight past her without a second glance: for once she'd been glad to be invisible, not wanting to have anything more to do with him than was strictly necessary.
She feels a gust of colder air as the door opens for the umpteenth time, and feels a compulsion to look around: James is standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her, and she immediately abandons the dregs of the drink she's been nursing for the last half hour, then grabs her coat and bag to go and join him.
He gives her a slightly uncertain smile, but it becomes fully fledged when she takes hold of his arm and steers him outside. He opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand to stop him, then pulls out her mobile phone; his smile becomes a smirk when she offers him the phone and he takes it from her, turns it off then returns it.
"Hello James," she says, slipping the phone into her coat pocket.
"Alesha."
His tone is not quite as caressing as when he'd said her name earlier, before George had interrupted with his ill-timed phone call, and he seems uncertain of what to say next.
"Let's find somewhere quiet to talk," she suggests.
He nods and they set off, walking through their city as they've walked so often before, but nothing's quite the same now. She notices that James' hands are shoved into his pockets, which is nothing new, but she can't help recalling the way he'd cupped her hands in his as he'd given her that list of CPS receptionists, and she thinks about how her view of him has changed since then.
"Here," she says, indicating a coffee shop that looks almost deserted.
He holds the door open for her to go first, and they head to the counter. "I'll get these," he says. "Your usual?"
She shakes her head. "I fancy hot chocolate. With sprinkles," she adds when he raises an eyebrow.
He smirks and unaccountably she feels her body flush with heat. "Why don't you go and sit down?" he suggests.
She walks over to a corner table and lifts the strap of her shoulder bag over her head, setting it down on the chair beside her, then drapes her coat over the back. She sits and takes a deep breath, trying to focus her mind on what she wants to say to James.
He comes back, sets down their tall mugs, then sits in the chair on her other side. "I can't thank you enough - " he begins, sounding as if he's about to make a speech.
"You're right," she interrupts, which she can see surprises him. "You can't thank me enough. Before I decide whether I want you to try, or what form that thanks should take, there are some things I want to talk to you about."
He picks up his cup and takes a sip of coffee, and she realises that he's nervous; she guesses that he knows what she wants to talk about and that he'd hoped to get his speech out of the way first, possibly in an attempt to deflect the conversation.
"I've seen you be ruthless with people before. Matt, for example, and I called you brutal when you told me to investigate Faruk. And there have been others whom you've pressed so hard that sometimes they've broken down. But Claudia was different."
"Because she was my lover?"
"Because she was your colleague. You said yourself that she was planning a future with you, and that she'd have done anything for you."
"I didn't ask for any of that," he says defensively.
"No, but that's part of your trouble James. You don't ask for things - not personal things. You ask people to risk their jobs or careers for yours," she sees him wince, "but you never ask for anything for yourself. Remember the Slade case? George told you about the disciplinary hearing and you knew that you'd be able to take a friend with you, to speak in your defence, but you wouldn't ask me to be your friend."
"You didn't offer," he says, sounding even more defensive.
"Of course not," she retorts. "You didn't give me the chance. You said you'd defend yourself, and I felt that you didn't trust me to do a good enough job for you."
He looks startled at this. "I'm sorry, Alesha," he says softly. "I didn't think that you'd see it like that. At the time I knew that you'd be even busier than before with me out of the office, and I didn't want to give you even more work."
She sighs and shakes her head. "For such a genius prosecutor, you really are an idiot sometimes James."
He glances up from the coffee cup he's been twisting to and fro between his long fingers, and gives her a rueful smile. "Guilty as charged, M'lud."
She grins affectionately at him, then sobers quickly. "I'd never delete or destroy evidence files for you, though."
He looks shocked. "Well of course you wouldn't," he says, as if he'd never entertained the idea.
"Why 'of course'?"
"Because you're not infatuated with me," he says promptly. "The only reason I asked you to get the information about the receptionists was because there was no other way for me to get hold of it. I could hardly ask George."
"So you decided to use my feelings for you."
"I - " He stops, looking thunderstruck. "Your feelings for me? You have feelings for me, beyond us being colleagues and friends?" He shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes. "I asked you because I know that you believe in Justice and Truth."
Alesha can practically hear the capital letters and she wonders how he can still be so idealistic. He's looking at her, though, as if he's seeing her for the first time.
"You really have feelings for me?" he asks quietly.
"Yes."
That one word hangs in the air between them for some time, then she sees him swallow hard. "I had no idea," he says softly. "I thought you weren't interested in anything more than friendship."
She huffs a little laugh of disbelief. "And there you go, proving you're an idiot again," she says. "How would you know without asking?"
"After Claudia I swore never to get involved with a colleague again." His tone's turned defensive once more. "It was an ugly break up, and I didn't want to risk losing you as a friend and a colleague if things didn't work out between us."
"I'm sorry." She puts her hand on top of his. "I didn't think of that."
"The other thing I had to consider was Merrick," he says. He reaches over and puts his left hand on top of hers before she can pull it away from his other hand. "You would always know I'd seen that recording you'd made of him abusing you, and I wasn't sure if it would make you feel uncomfortable." He leans sideways and rests his temple against hers. "Alesha, I care about you so much, and I don't ever want to see you get hurt again, physically or emotionally. That's why I never said anything - I couldn't risk losing the relationship we did have."
"I understand," she says quietly. She pulls her head back and when he lifts his own to look at her, his blue eyes full of emotion, she leans in and kisses him gently on the mouth.
"Alesha."
The caress is back in his voice, and with it a longing ache, which she recognises since she shares it. "Come on," she says, "let's go home."
"Home?" he asks.
"My place," she clarifies.
They get to their feet, pulling on their coats, then hurry outside. James flags down a black cab, and they scramble inside, Alesha giving her address to the driver in a rather breathless voice.
The taxi ride seems interminable to Alesha, conscious as she is of James' hand clasping her own, and his thigh pressing against hers as the taxi takes the corners. Finally, though, the driver pulls up outside the building where she lives, and they get out, James paying the driver.
He steps up behind her as she's getting out her key and places a hand in the middle of her back; she can feel a slight tremor in his arm and sympathises since she suspects they're both feeling the same mixture of nervousness and excitement. She gets the door open, then half turns to take his hand and leads him inside, down the long hallway to the door at the back of the building.
"I'm in here," she says. "Got a garden view, and everything."
"Sounds pleasant," he says vaguely, and she knows they're only making conversation to cover their nerves.
Once through her front door, he helps her out of her coat, then slips off his own, and they both kick off their shoes.
"Drink?" she asks, and he gives a quick nod, so she takes his hand again and leads the way to the kitchen, which is cool and clean in pale blue and cream.
"I haven't got any Scotch," she says regretfully. It's not something she drinks regularly so she doesn't keep it in the house, though she knows he prefers it.
"Wine's fine," he assures her, smiling at her as he takes a seat on one of the stools ranged around the table.
She pours them both half a glass, then carries them over to the table and sets them down. As soon as she's placed them safely on the well polished oak, he reaches out to her and she steps closer; his arms wrap around her torso, pulling her so she's standing between his knees, and she ducks her head to kiss him a second time.
"You keep kissing me like that and I might get ideas," he tells her when she finally pulls away for air.
She laughs, not the forced jollity of earlier, but with genuine amusement. "I rather thought that was the point," she says. "Why else did I invite you back here?"
"Mmm." It's his turn to kiss her this time, and as he slips his tongue into her mouth, he drops his right hand from her back to her thigh to begin rubbing a hand down from her hip and back up again. She moves her right leg so that his right knee is now between her legs, and he takes the hint; he slides his hand across her knee, then rubs her inner thigh with the back of his hand.
"Higher," she murmurs before kissing him again.
Obediently he lifts his hand higher until the tips of his fingers graze the edge of her silk underwear.
"James," she groans, and he pulls back to look into her dark eyes. "Might have known you'd be a tease," she observes.
His eyebrows rise. "Did you want me to rip your clothes off then, and take you bent over the kitchen table?"
She shivers, but he's not quite sure if it's revulsion, because of the implied violence, or desire, and he decides not to ask that question just yet.
He pulls his hand from under her skirt and gets her to sit on his lap, his arms around her waist as she sits sideways with her back against the edge of the table. "I don't want to rush this," he says. "I've waited a long time for this, but I can wait a little longer, and you've been through more than enough - "
"We've been through enough," she interrupts. "We were in it together. You've always been there for me."
"Well, that's only fair," he says. "You've always been there for me." She puts her right arm around his neck and leans against him. "I meant what I was starting to say earlier, about not being able to thank you enough for the risks you took in getting me that information about the receptionists."
"Mmm. I can think of a way to start thanking me," she tells him, shifting in his lap.
He laughs. "Very well Ms Phillips, I - " He feels her stiffen. "What's wrong?"
"Don't call me Ms Phillips, please. Cain kept calling me that."
"Alesha." Even he can hear the caressing tone in his voice now; he stands up carefully and walks towards the kitchen door, one arm around her upper body, the other under her knees. "Bedroom?"
"Second door on the right," she says.
He carries her along the hall and she pushes open the door when they reach it; James doesn't wait for her to say where the light switch is, he uses the light spilling from the hall to make his way to the bed and sets her down on it.
Alesha reaches out to switch on the bedside light, and he moves back across the room to close the door.
"James." He turns and she pats the bed next to her, smiling shyly now.
He goes to sit beside her, then puts his arm around her and flops backwards onto the bed. "Tell me what you like," he says. She raises a quizzical eyebrow and he leans in to kiss her briefly. "How and where do you like to be touched? How do you want to be kissed? Do you like lots of foreplay, or just a bit? Do you prefer to be on top or underneath, or don't you mind?"
Her surprise turns to amusement as he asks more questions. "James." She puts a silencing finger over his lips. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" she suggests. "It's more fun that way."
His eyebrows, which he'd raised when she put her finger to his lips, now waggle in what he hopes is a suggestive manner, and then he sucks her finger into his mouth.
"Oh!" she says softly, and he knows this isn't something she expected. Experimenting, he decides, is going to be much more fun than Alesha simply telling him the answers to his questions.
Author: Persiflage_1
Characters/Pairings: Alesha/James
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.06: Skeletons (I'm really not kidding about spoilers!)
Summary: There are changes in James' and Alesha's lives.
Disclaimer: ITV owns Law & Order: UK, I just find them irresistible!
Author Notes: I couldn't not write this tag fic after watching 'Skeletons'! This fic is starting from the premise of Alesha and James sharing a close friendship but nothing more so far.
~~~~~~
A couple of hours after she and James had said farewell, Alesha's at a corner table in the pub which she and James (and a good deal of London's legal professionals) regularly frequented. She's watching Cain holding court a few tables over; she wonders why he's so full of himself since he just lost a major case. She'd seen him come in with a group of cronies and he'd sailed straight past her without a second glance: for once she'd been glad to be invisible, not wanting to have anything more to do with him than was strictly necessary.
She feels a gust of colder air as the door opens for the umpteenth time, and feels a compulsion to look around: James is standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her, and she immediately abandons the dregs of the drink she's been nursing for the last half hour, then grabs her coat and bag to go and join him.
He gives her a slightly uncertain smile, but it becomes fully fledged when she takes hold of his arm and steers him outside. He opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand to stop him, then pulls out her mobile phone; his smile becomes a smirk when she offers him the phone and he takes it from her, turns it off then returns it.
"Hello James," she says, slipping the phone into her coat pocket.
"Alesha."
His tone is not quite as caressing as when he'd said her name earlier, before George had interrupted with his ill-timed phone call, and he seems uncertain of what to say next.
"Let's find somewhere quiet to talk," she suggests.
He nods and they set off, walking through their city as they've walked so often before, but nothing's quite the same now. She notices that James' hands are shoved into his pockets, which is nothing new, but she can't help recalling the way he'd cupped her hands in his as he'd given her that list of CPS receptionists, and she thinks about how her view of him has changed since then.
"Here," she says, indicating a coffee shop that looks almost deserted.
He holds the door open for her to go first, and they head to the counter. "I'll get these," he says. "Your usual?"
She shakes her head. "I fancy hot chocolate. With sprinkles," she adds when he raises an eyebrow.
He smirks and unaccountably she feels her body flush with heat. "Why don't you go and sit down?" he suggests.
She walks over to a corner table and lifts the strap of her shoulder bag over her head, setting it down on the chair beside her, then drapes her coat over the back. She sits and takes a deep breath, trying to focus her mind on what she wants to say to James.
He comes back, sets down their tall mugs, then sits in the chair on her other side. "I can't thank you enough - " he begins, sounding as if he's about to make a speech.
"You're right," she interrupts, which she can see surprises him. "You can't thank me enough. Before I decide whether I want you to try, or what form that thanks should take, there are some things I want to talk to you about."
He picks up his cup and takes a sip of coffee, and she realises that he's nervous; she guesses that he knows what she wants to talk about and that he'd hoped to get his speech out of the way first, possibly in an attempt to deflect the conversation.
"I've seen you be ruthless with people before. Matt, for example, and I called you brutal when you told me to investigate Faruk. And there have been others whom you've pressed so hard that sometimes they've broken down. But Claudia was different."
"Because she was my lover?"
"Because she was your colleague. You said yourself that she was planning a future with you, and that she'd have done anything for you."
"I didn't ask for any of that," he says defensively.
"No, but that's part of your trouble James. You don't ask for things - not personal things. You ask people to risk their jobs or careers for yours," she sees him wince, "but you never ask for anything for yourself. Remember the Slade case? George told you about the disciplinary hearing and you knew that you'd be able to take a friend with you, to speak in your defence, but you wouldn't ask me to be your friend."
"You didn't offer," he says, sounding even more defensive.
"Of course not," she retorts. "You didn't give me the chance. You said you'd defend yourself, and I felt that you didn't trust me to do a good enough job for you."
He looks startled at this. "I'm sorry, Alesha," he says softly. "I didn't think that you'd see it like that. At the time I knew that you'd be even busier than before with me out of the office, and I didn't want to give you even more work."
She sighs and shakes her head. "For such a genius prosecutor, you really are an idiot sometimes James."
He glances up from the coffee cup he's been twisting to and fro between his long fingers, and gives her a rueful smile. "Guilty as charged, M'lud."
She grins affectionately at him, then sobers quickly. "I'd never delete or destroy evidence files for you, though."
He looks shocked. "Well of course you wouldn't," he says, as if he'd never entertained the idea.
"Why 'of course'?"
"Because you're not infatuated with me," he says promptly. "The only reason I asked you to get the information about the receptionists was because there was no other way for me to get hold of it. I could hardly ask George."
"So you decided to use my feelings for you."
"I - " He stops, looking thunderstruck. "Your feelings for me? You have feelings for me, beyond us being colleagues and friends?" He shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes. "I asked you because I know that you believe in Justice and Truth."
Alesha can practically hear the capital letters and she wonders how he can still be so idealistic. He's looking at her, though, as if he's seeing her for the first time.
"You really have feelings for me?" he asks quietly.
"Yes."
That one word hangs in the air between them for some time, then she sees him swallow hard. "I had no idea," he says softly. "I thought you weren't interested in anything more than friendship."
She huffs a little laugh of disbelief. "And there you go, proving you're an idiot again," she says. "How would you know without asking?"
"After Claudia I swore never to get involved with a colleague again." His tone's turned defensive once more. "It was an ugly break up, and I didn't want to risk losing you as a friend and a colleague if things didn't work out between us."
"I'm sorry." She puts her hand on top of his. "I didn't think of that."
"The other thing I had to consider was Merrick," he says. He reaches over and puts his left hand on top of hers before she can pull it away from his other hand. "You would always know I'd seen that recording you'd made of him abusing you, and I wasn't sure if it would make you feel uncomfortable." He leans sideways and rests his temple against hers. "Alesha, I care about you so much, and I don't ever want to see you get hurt again, physically or emotionally. That's why I never said anything - I couldn't risk losing the relationship we did have."
"I understand," she says quietly. She pulls her head back and when he lifts his own to look at her, his blue eyes full of emotion, she leans in and kisses him gently on the mouth.
"Alesha."
The caress is back in his voice, and with it a longing ache, which she recognises since she shares it. "Come on," she says, "let's go home."
"Home?" he asks.
"My place," she clarifies.
They get to their feet, pulling on their coats, then hurry outside. James flags down a black cab, and they scramble inside, Alesha giving her address to the driver in a rather breathless voice.
The taxi ride seems interminable to Alesha, conscious as she is of James' hand clasping her own, and his thigh pressing against hers as the taxi takes the corners. Finally, though, the driver pulls up outside the building where she lives, and they get out, James paying the driver.
He steps up behind her as she's getting out her key and places a hand in the middle of her back; she can feel a slight tremor in his arm and sympathises since she suspects they're both feeling the same mixture of nervousness and excitement. She gets the door open, then half turns to take his hand and leads him inside, down the long hallway to the door at the back of the building.
"I'm in here," she says. "Got a garden view, and everything."
"Sounds pleasant," he says vaguely, and she knows they're only making conversation to cover their nerves.
Once through her front door, he helps her out of her coat, then slips off his own, and they both kick off their shoes.
"Drink?" she asks, and he gives a quick nod, so she takes his hand again and leads the way to the kitchen, which is cool and clean in pale blue and cream.
"I haven't got any Scotch," she says regretfully. It's not something she drinks regularly so she doesn't keep it in the house, though she knows he prefers it.
"Wine's fine," he assures her, smiling at her as he takes a seat on one of the stools ranged around the table.
She pours them both half a glass, then carries them over to the table and sets them down. As soon as she's placed them safely on the well polished oak, he reaches out to her and she steps closer; his arms wrap around her torso, pulling her so she's standing between his knees, and she ducks her head to kiss him a second time.
"You keep kissing me like that and I might get ideas," he tells her when she finally pulls away for air.
She laughs, not the forced jollity of earlier, but with genuine amusement. "I rather thought that was the point," she says. "Why else did I invite you back here?"
"Mmm." It's his turn to kiss her this time, and as he slips his tongue into her mouth, he drops his right hand from her back to her thigh to begin rubbing a hand down from her hip and back up again. She moves her right leg so that his right knee is now between her legs, and he takes the hint; he slides his hand across her knee, then rubs her inner thigh with the back of his hand.
"Higher," she murmurs before kissing him again.
Obediently he lifts his hand higher until the tips of his fingers graze the edge of her silk underwear.
"James," she groans, and he pulls back to look into her dark eyes. "Might have known you'd be a tease," she observes.
His eyebrows rise. "Did you want me to rip your clothes off then, and take you bent over the kitchen table?"
She shivers, but he's not quite sure if it's revulsion, because of the implied violence, or desire, and he decides not to ask that question just yet.
He pulls his hand from under her skirt and gets her to sit on his lap, his arms around her waist as she sits sideways with her back against the edge of the table. "I don't want to rush this," he says. "I've waited a long time for this, but I can wait a little longer, and you've been through more than enough - "
"We've been through enough," she interrupts. "We were in it together. You've always been there for me."
"Well, that's only fair," he says. "You've always been there for me." She puts her right arm around his neck and leans against him. "I meant what I was starting to say earlier, about not being able to thank you enough for the risks you took in getting me that information about the receptionists."
"Mmm. I can think of a way to start thanking me," she tells him, shifting in his lap.
He laughs. "Very well Ms Phillips, I - " He feels her stiffen. "What's wrong?"
"Don't call me Ms Phillips, please. Cain kept calling me that."
"Alesha." Even he can hear the caressing tone in his voice now; he stands up carefully and walks towards the kitchen door, one arm around her upper body, the other under her knees. "Bedroom?"
"Second door on the right," she says.
He carries her along the hall and she pushes open the door when they reach it; James doesn't wait for her to say where the light switch is, he uses the light spilling from the hall to make his way to the bed and sets her down on it.
Alesha reaches out to switch on the bedside light, and he moves back across the room to close the door.
"James." He turns and she pats the bed next to her, smiling shyly now.
He goes to sit beside her, then puts his arm around her and flops backwards onto the bed. "Tell me what you like," he says. She raises a quizzical eyebrow and he leans in to kiss her briefly. "How and where do you like to be touched? How do you want to be kissed? Do you like lots of foreplay, or just a bit? Do you prefer to be on top or underneath, or don't you mind?"
Her surprise turns to amusement as he asks more questions. "James." She puts a silencing finger over his lips. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" she suggests. "It's more fun that way."
His eyebrows, which he'd raised when she put her finger to his lips, now waggle in what he hopes is a suggestive manner, and then he sucks her finger into his mouth.
"Oh!" she says softly, and he knows this isn't something she expected. Experimenting, he decides, is going to be much more fun than Alesha simply telling him the answers to his questions.