"Alesha!" he calls, sprinting after her. It's windy today, the ends of her scarf move in the wind. He grins as she crosses her arms over her chest, lips twitching. "So...coffee?"

"Well, I don't know."

He huffs out a laugh. "Oh, come on. You never bring me breakfast." He reaches out tentatively, brushes a stray curl from her cheek.

"Some of us do have work to do." She smiles when he bursts into a full laugh.

"Just once?" She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, it'll be five minutes. My treat!"

She laughs then. "Okay, fine. After court today."

They go to this tucked-away coffeeshop he knows of, sit with oversized cups of cappucino in the corner, at a small table. She sips at her coffee slowly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "So how's the case going?"

"I didn't really come to talk about the--" He coughs out a laugh when he sees her expression. "Okay, fine. It's - It's frustrating. We've hit so many dead ends and it's just gone nowhere."

She offers a small smile. "You're a good detective, Matt. You'll find something."

"I hope so."

She licks her lips. "You know, I always thought - coming from where I did, I wanted to study law, make a difference, you know? And it doesn't feel like that sometimes." She huffs out a bitter laugh. "It's so stupid."

He sets his hand on top of hers, eyes darting between the table and her eyes. "You're - it's not stupid. You know, I just - that's why I just don't think I could do this forever. It's just - for every one you win, you lose about fifty."

She blinks, looks down at the table. "Matt, I--"

He drinks his coffee and she purses her lips, can't find the right words for what she wants to express. He looks down at their hands and then chuckles. "I'm a terrible date. I should take you home."

"No," she says. "I like being here. This is nice."

He narrows his eyes. "You're not just saying that?"

"No," she says. "I'm not."

He walks her back to her flat afterwards, the wind gusting heavily, blowing leaves along the street and dust into the air. She shivers, her jacket thin. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You had a good time then? I know we didn't really do much, but..." He grins. "Now we're even."

"Even?"

"For breakfast. Because I didn't get a French pastry."

"That's because you are a French pastry."

He chuckles and she leans in ever so slightly, fingers itching to delve into his hair. Her lips part in expectation and she waits, watching as he tips his head up, closes the distance until it's nothing but contact. He tastes sweet, she thinks, as she opens her mouth, wraps her arms around his neck.

The kiss is slow, sensuous, and when they pull apart, foreheads together, she laughs a little, breath coming in short pants. "Well, Detective Sergeant, I do believe that is good night." She bites her lip, smiles.

He pulls her back for a second kiss. "That's good night."

"You're so cheesy." He's halfway down the block by then.

The next morning, he brings her tea and toast. "Not quite so fancy as your French pastries, but..."

She sets it down on her desk, walks him outside. "Thank you," she says, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

He grins. "Now you totally owe me breakfast."

She tilts her head. "Shouldn't you be out catching murderers and pirates?"

He runs down the street towards the station. "Call me if you spot Jack Sparrow nickin' anything!" She laughs.