Setting up a new set of chambers was a difficult prospect, even at the best of times, but when your head of chambers was Caroline Warwick and your leading defence barrister was Martha Costello then the work came a little quicker, and a little more reliably, that it might have otherwise. Enough people had jumped ship from Shoe Lane when it switched to prosecuting that the only real struggle was attracting new prosecutors, but slowly, month by month, they built up their connections - solicitors, judges, CPS liaisons - until the cases came steadily across their desks. Early mornings and late nights became commonplace, earlier and later than Shoe Lane had ever demanded of either of them, evenings spent stumbling home in the early hours of the morning half-drunk on cheap wine to mere hours of sleep made even less by whispers and moans and babbling, ridiculous promises.
It was a day like any other. By the time the inevitable half six alarm rang harsh and unforgiving through Martha's deep sleep, she had floated into wakefulness, and she hit out blindly for the snooze button. Clumsy with sleep, she missed, groaned, and forced open her eyes, dragging herself upright to finally turn it off, then moved to the shower, washing away the sleep with barely-warm water. Finally, wandering out into the kitchen, she found Caroline at the table. "I didn't hear you get up," she said, drying off her hair and dumping the towel on the back of the nearest chair. She flicked the kettle on and grabbed a couple of mugs.
"I was quiet." Caroline was reading intently, focused on preparations for her afternoon in court.
"That has to be a first."
This time she looked up, fixing Martha with an amused glare. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, innocent.
Martha snorted, rummaged about in the cupboard. "Whatever you say. Tea or coffee?"
At the table, Caroline pulled her black silk dressing gown tighter around her against the early morning chill. "That's a ridiculous question, and you know it."
Laughter was the only response, and Martha came over to the table with two mugs of coffee, steaming in the cold air. Setting them on the table, she leaned over Caroline's shoulder to look at the folders open in front of her. "Confident about the trial?"
"It's high publicity, but the actual case is pretty much cut and dried. With the right prosecutor."
"Which you are."
Caroline chuckled, low and knowing. "You're just saying that because the sex is spectacular."
"Oh, piss off." But she smiled, one hand sliding across her shoulders and down underneath two layers of black silk to squeeze at her breast. "Care to test that statement, Miss Warwick?"
"Why, Miss Costello." Turning her head, she met Martha's lips in a deep kiss. "What a scandalous suggestion."
"Isn't it, though."
Within seconds Caroline was on her feet, tangling her hands in Martha's hair for a fierce kiss and backing her towards the bedroom. "It's a miracle," she said breathily, mouth ghosting across Martha's skin to her ear, "that we ever get any work-"
The doorbell rang.
"Fuck." Caroline dropped her hands and stepped back, adjusting her robe.
"I think the universe is telling us to get back to that work," said Martha regretfully. Smoothing half-successfully at her mussed hair, she exited into the hall and opened the door.
She stared.
"Hello, Martha."
"Clive," she said after a stunned moment. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"
He shrugged. "Your chambers said you weren't in yet, so I thought-"
"What? You thought what, exactly?" Her face was furious. "I really hope it's something that couldn't be done over the phone, Clive, because this is my house, and I don't appreciate you just showing up without warning."
His gaze raked across her blouse, one button too many open, her slightly ruffled hair, and the flush fading on her neck. "Why, were you busy?" He raised his hands in surrender before she could say anything. "Sorry. Sorry, that was out of order. "
"Since you put me out of a job, yeah, it sorta was." She shook her head, resigned. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Clive. Come in. But this had better be good."
He followed her down the hall towards the kitchen. "I still can't believe you stole CW."
"I didn't-"
"She didn't steal me, darling." Caroline had taken the time to get mostly dressed, and she sat in skirt and blouse at the table, cigarette in one hand, highlighter in the other, as she flicked through page after page of dense print. "I make my own decisions."
If it hadn't been so pathetic then Martha might have laughed at the incredulous look he shot them both in turn. He ran a hand across his face. "Wait a minute, are you two-"
"For god's sake." Martha glared at him. "Why does everything have to be sex with you?"
"Right. Sorry."
Caroline rolled her eyes, and Martha almost giggled, holding it in by sheer effort. "Right, out with it," she demanded. "What's so important you couldn't share it in an email?"
His eyes flicked over to Caroline.
"I'll only tell her right after you leave," Martha said bluntly, "so you might as well say it in front of her."
He looked down at the floor, back up, and held her eyes. "Harriet's pregnant."
For a moment she just stared at him, aware in the periphery of Caroline's silent amusement. "Right," she said. "Right." She visibly shook herself. "Well. Congratulations."
"I just thought - you know, considering... I didn't want you finding out from anyone else, that's all."
"That's the nicest thing you've done for me in months." She smiled, surprised at how quickly it came to her lips once the initial shock faded away, and darted in to give him a brief hug. "You're still a massive prick, Clive Reader, but congratulations."
"I hope you'll be very happy," Caroline said dryly, dropping her cigarette end into the centimetre of coffee at the bottom of her mug.
Martha laughed.
"Anyway, that was, um, all I had to say." Clive indicated the door. "I'll just..."
"Yeah. I'd offer you a cuppa, but-" she grinned over at Caroline, following him out towards the hall- "my boss'll kill me if I'm late for work."
He was halfway to the front door when Caroline's soft, wicked voice stopped Martha at the kitchen entrance: "Your boss will also kill you if you make her late for work. Again."
"Like you'd actually kill the best defence barrister you've got," she shot back, equally softly.
She raised one eyebrow and smirked - actually smirked - over the top of her glasses: "I'm sure I'll enjoy trying.".
Martha flushed, shaking her head. "Yeah, I hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure that's what makes us late." For one charged moment she held her gaze, then turned and hurried out in pursuit of her visitor.
He was leaning against the door, waiting, an incredulous look on his face. "Oh my god," he said as she approached. "You two were actually flirting."
"Rules against flirting with colleagues now, are there?" she challenged.
He had the grace to look abashed, although the curiosity never left his expression, and after a moment's silence he leaned in, whispered in her ear: "Am I forgiven, Marth?"
For a minute, she studied him, assessing how serious he really was. There had been a time when a smile, an apology, and the memory of their more-than-a-decade long friendship had been enough to smooth over any and all indiscretions; no more. "I can't just flick a switch," she said reluctantly.
"I really do feel like I've changed," he said seriously. "In the last few months. And I'd like to rebuild our friendship - if that would be, um, okay with you?"
Finally, she looked up at him, and nodded. "No promises, though. And next time you feel like popping over - for god's sake, ring first."
"Absolutely." He smiled, charming and sincere, and opened the door. "See you sometime." And then he was gone.
Martha closed the door behind him and wandered back into the kitchen in time to see Caroline sigh and stretch her arms above her head, shirt tight around her body.
"Stop staring," she said, half-amused. "It's terribly distracting."
"I'm not the one doing...that."
Caroline laughed, lowering her arms back down to the table. "Considering what?" she said abruptly.
Martha looked blankly at her, frowned.
"Clive," she elaborated. "He said, considering, he thought he should tell you himself." She fixed Martha with a piercing gaze. "Were you by any chance shagging the idiot?"
"No! God, no." She dropped into the chair next to Caroline, absently rearranging the papers beside her. "I did, though. One night stand," she began, ticking the points off on her fingers, "pregnant, miscarriage." She shrugged. "It was a couple of years ago."
Caroline stared at her, expression a mixture of shock and compassion.
"It's okay," she hurried to say. "I mean, sometimes I wonder...you know. But what would I have done with a baby?" She reached for Caroline's hand, and doing so missed the pain that flashed briefly across her face. "It's okay. I'm okay."
The grip on Martha's hand tightened reflexively and Caroline lifted infinitely gentle fingers to smooth at damp blonde hair, pressed a light kiss on her cheek. "You don't have to pretend with me."
"I'm not-" A perceptive glare stopped her midsentence. "Okay, I am."
"I'm not asking you to talk to me, Martha, I'm just saying...if you need me. If you ever need me-"
Martha cut her off in the simplest possible way, hot and passionate for a few brief seconds, and then pulled away. "You know that I-" She broke off, shook her head. "Doesn't matter."
Caroline smiled, knowing. "Me too. Now, off to work. Come on. Criminals won't prosecute themselves."
"Yes, boss."
They both laughed, a little sad, and stood together.
Just another day.