A/N: So, apparently, rather than writing more of the story that actually needs finishing, my brain decided it wanted to write this instead – possibly the oldest fanfic cliché ever... Sorry about that. At least this one's complete.
Again, all mistakes are mine.
Not sure when this is set, probably pre-'For the Defense', maybe late Season 19?
Disclaimer: As standard - not mine, please don't sue.
She has a feeling this case will be trouble from the beginning.
The victims, Jane and Sarah Webber, are children, which always makes things a bit more difficult. She talks to their mother, who can barely speak through her tears, and their father, frozen in his grief, and her heart breaks for them. She takes their hands and assures them that they'll get justice. She means it.
Their suspect, Phil Turner, reminds her a little of Marty Winston (and look how well that case had turned out) – he's cool and smug, and she can tell Mike can't stand the guy. They know that he did it, but he's smart enough to cover his tracks well, and it's gonna be hell to prove it.
That's never stopped Mike before though, and he cuts a blazing path through the office for weeks trying to put together a good enough case to put Turner away, and she's pushing right along with him.
They spend more nights than she can keep track of working late, reading, theorizing - searching for something, anything, a silver bullet, a miracle.
Ultimately though, when they get to trial, they don't quite have enough, and they both know it, and when the "Not Guilty" comes, it's pretty much expected, but it still makes them both sink back into their seats, shoulders slumped.
She sees Mike clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap under the table, and she wants to say something comforting, but she glances over at Jane and Sarah's parents' anguished faces, and she's got nothing.
*
This just seems to have come at the worst possible time.
They've already lost a few bad cases recently, and this case in particular seems to highlight how helpless they can be sometimes, when they have the guy in their grasp, but everything seems to conspire against them – circumstance, fate, whatever – to prevent them actually getting justice.
She rarely feels like she's beating her head against a brick wall in this job, but sometimes the frustration gets the better of her, and she just feels like giving up completely, and this is one of those times.
*
They walk back into the office afterward, and Jack takes one look at them, grabs his coat, and says, "Right, come on."
He takes them to a bar, and they sit there in a booth, nursing their drinks, trying to make conversation. Jack tells a few stories of his own bad experiences, and she appreciates the effort, and she knows she'll look back in a few months and be able to see it in perspective, but right now it just feels too raw to let it go.
Jack finally gives up and leaves them to wallow, ("You'll feel better on Monday."), and it's too much to even try and talk anymore, so they sit in silence, staring at the table, gulping their drinks.
There are always odd cases that get at you, and they've both had their share, but usually it's not at the same time, so they can at least prop each other up. Now, she just feels completely beaten, empty, hollow, and she can see her own sense of total defeat mirrored in Mike's face as he gazes off into nothingness, and that just makes her feel it twice as much.
Mike finally speaks up, "You know Turner will do it again."
She does.
But she shakes her head, and replies, "We won't let him."
He looks up at her, and gives her a soft smile, appreciating the effort to console him, even as he knows as well as she does, there's nothing they can do.
She smiles back, feeling her heart race a little as she holds his eye. She gets a impulsive urge to brush the hair back off his face, or just to touch him somehow, and that's how she knows she's really drunk, but it's too late to do anything about that now, so she finishes her drink and orders another.
*
In the end, they stumble out of the bar and into a cab (together, and she's a bit too drunk to really notice that's weird), and Mike leans back in the seat, scrubbing his hands through his hair and staring into space. She places her hand over his, wanting to tell him that it's not his fault, that it just happens this way sometimes, that he did all he could like always, but he looks over at her as she does it, and the words dry up in her mouth.
And they just watch each other for a moment.
She's not sure who moves first, but suddenly his hands are in her hair, and his mouth is on hers, and he tastes like scotch as she kisses him, sliding a hand into the hair at the back of his neck, and she realizes that they've been heading unavoidably towards this point all night.
She moans a little into his mouth, and his hands move to cup her face, then slide inside her coat to grip her waist, and she shivers just a little under his touch, clutching at his shirt. It feels desperate, needy, and she pulls him closer, even as part of her knows she should be pushing him away.
It's just that, sometimes it seems that work is all she really has, and he's part of that, but right now she just wants to feel something, feel more, and he's right here, and even in her drunken haze she knows that this is a mistake, could ruin everything, but that's not enough to stop it. To stop them.
So she runs her hand through his hair (it's softer than she thought it would be), and feels her breath catch as his mouth moves to her neck, nipping at her gently as her head falls back to allow him access. She feels flushed, out of control, and she's so rarely out of control, she's not one of those people who gets off on that, but right now, she doesn't mind it so much, and she knows she would never let this happen if she were thinking logically.
The thing is, if she's honest, she's thought about this more than a few times before now, and it feels every bit as good as she imagined it would.
She wants to taste him again, so she pulls his mouth back to hers, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the solid feeling of his body pressing her against the seat. He smells better than he really has any right to, and she can feel his heart pounding just as quickly as hers through his shirt, as his hands skim over her ribcage and around to her back, stroking her spine gently.
*
And before she fully comprehends what's happening, they're stumbling down the hall to her apartment, still kissing, not willing to let go, and she fumbles to get her door open as he nuzzles at her neck, her ear, her cheek, then trails kisses down her jaw.
He murmurs her name, but she cuts him off with her mouth, afraid that if they talk too much, it'll remind her of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.
Finally, they make it inside, and he pushes her against the door with his body, and she feels grateful to have something to lean against, as he sucks on her bottom lip, his hands rubbing small circles at her waist. She gasps a little as he pushes his hips against hers, and her pulse pounds in her ears as she kisses him, intently, almost frantically.
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders, letting it puddle on the floor, and her hands find their way under his shirt, feeling the muscles moving beneath her fingers, enjoying the warmth of his skin. She drags her nails gently across his back, causing him to groan softly, and his hands move up to slide through her hair, gripping her head firmly as he kisses her swollen lips.
He pulls back slightly, just to catch his breath, and she meets his gaze, seeing her own desire reflected in his eyes, and there isn't really any doubt any more about exactly where this is heading.
And all she can think is that right now, this is what she wants, consequences be damned, so she leads him towards her room, and the rest is pretty much inevitable.
*
The next thing she knows, it's morning, and she wakes up with a pounding headache and Mike still sound asleep next to her. She gets dressed, quietly, goes to the kitchen to get a drink of water and some aspirin, and sits down to think.
They should really just file this away as a foolish, drunken indiscretion, and part of her wishes that she could put this all down to mutual comfort, going straight to the closest person within reach, but she knows better.
There's always been the prospect of something between them, a spark of possibility that she's never allowed herself to fully acknowledge. That's at least part of the reason she hasn't ever let herself get that drunk with him before, because in the back of her mind, she knew something like this might happen, and that she'd let it.
And there's a tiny, stupid part of her that maybe wouldn't mind it happening again, despite all the rules she's made for herself, despite how complicated it would make everything, even though she certainly should have learned her lesson by now about getting involved with her boss.
What a mess.
*
She's still sitting there when he walks in, dressed in last night's rumpled clothes, hair a complete disaster. They look at each other briefly, awkwardly, unsure what to say.
She gestures at the counter, "Um, there's aspirin there if you need some."
"Thanks." He swallows two with a gulp of water, before staring at the floor, hands on his hips. "Look, about last night- I need to apologize. I'm your boss. I should know better than to put you in this situation." He frowns. "You were drunk. I took advantage."
She shakes her head. That's not really fair. It might be simpler to allow him take all the blame, but she won't let herself take the easy way out. "You were drunk too. And you certainly didn't take advantage of me, no more than I took advantage of you."
She pauses, takes a deep breath. "I knew exactly what I was doing. What I wanted."
He looks up at her then, mild surprise and something else showing in his eyes, and she feels her face beginning to flush, as blurry images from last night flash through her mind. She gives herself a mental shake - don't even think about it - before continuing, "We can't let it happen again though."
He holds her eyes for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding. "No, you're right. We should just... forget it ever happened."
"Right."
She nods, staring at the glass in her hand, telling herself that it's better this way, so much easier, and the last thing she needs is to start some sort of affair with her boss. She certainly doesn't need those kinds of complications.
So that's that.
*
And when she sees him at work on Monday, nothing's changed, at least on the surface, and they still work just fine together. Apparently, if you try hard enough to pretend everything's normal, you can get most of the way there. She's a little alarmed by how good an actress she can be when it's necessary.
Except, she still finds herself staring at his hands occasionally, remembering the feel of them ghosting over her skin, or feels her breath catch just a little when he leans in close to speak to her in court, his face inches from hers.
But she can live with that, because there's really no other choice, and if there's one thing she prides herself on, it's her ability to remain professional, at all costs, and she can do that this time. She will do it.
It'll get easier. She hopes.