AN - Another little one-shot, hope you enjoy.

106

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.
Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without.
I just need you now.
(Need You Now - Lady Antebellum)

She didn't know how long she had laid there; crying, dozing and just thinking in her room as the light slowly faded and the shadows lengthened. When she rolled over, wincing as her clothes tightened around her stomach, the clock read 23:19, but she couldn't remember what time she had got home. The day was a blur. A packet of painkillers sat on the bedside table, some unpronounceable medical words printed on the box next to her name; she hadn't taken any, the box was still pristine and the glass of water next to it was untouched. The silence was suddenly overwhelming and the darkness too close; Martha slowly shifted off the bed and stood, slightly unsteady for a second before moving to turn the light on. Light made her feel a little safer, although from what she couldn't say, and she padded through her flat, flicking lights on she as went until every room was lit. Her handbag and coat lay in a pile on the table and automatically she started to tidy them away; coat by the front door, keys in the dish on the hall table, wallet and phone on the coffee table and handbag beneath the hall table. A bell-like sound made her jump, heart thumping until she realised that it came from her mobile and snatched up the item. The screen showed four text messages and four missed calls, no voicemails. She systematically scrolled through; two calls from work and one each from Billy's mobile and home number. There were texts from Billy, Clive and Nick, and one from a number she didn't have saved, but turned out to be Kate when she read it. Billy's was typically him, caring but fairly to the point, Nick's was slightly childish but sweet, and Kate's was remarkably soft, considering how sharp the barrister could be. Martha left Clive's until last, she almost didn't want to read it, and for a minute she avoided doing do, pouring a glass of water and drinking, then refilling it before actually opening the message. It was short, only a few words ending with an x, but somehow, because it was him, those words meant more than anything from the others. She sat, falling heavily onto the sofa and splashing water over her leg from the glass she still held. The kitchen clock ticked, loud in the quiet flat but strangely comforting, and her thumb hovered over the screen, unsure how to reply. Eventually she gave up and put the phone down with a sigh, only to pick it up again a few seconds later. Martha read the short sentence over and over, the words the only things occupying her mind until she opened her mouth to take a breath and it came out as a sob. Her head dropped forward until she was curled up, forehead on her knees, arms tucked under her thighs and her teeth made dents in her lower lip as she tried to stifle yet more tears.

The ring was shrill against her ear and she moved the phone away from her head until the ringing was replaced by a voice, "Marth?"
Words wouldn't form at the first attempt, and she coughed a little, tried again, "Hi". Her voice was cracked and raspy from crying and even one tiny word was an effort.
"Martha," the repetition of her name was even more gentle and it was all she could do to hold back another sob at his voice. When she didn't answer, Clive spoke again, "Are you..." he tailed off, stupid thing to say, "Do you want me to come over?"
She swallowed, mouth and throat dry, and managed to answer, "Yes. Please. If that's..."
"Of course," as soon as her name had flashed up on his phone screen he had intended on doing so, even if he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, "I won't be long".
She managed a thank you and goodbye before hanging up, although she was unsure if the words had actually been audible.

Martha opened the door and stood aside to let him pass into the hallway, shutting and locking the door before turning and leading him to the living room. He kicked his shoes off and removed his phone, keys and wallet from his pocket, leaving them on the hall table. She stood in the middle of the lounge, arms folded, looking at the floor, and something inside him broke, even more than it had done earlier in the day. Clive wrapped his arms around her immobile form and after a moment she slid hers around his waist, fingers clutching at his t-shirt, face pressed against his chest. He could feel her tears before he heard her cry; muffled sobs that only served to make her gasp for breath and him squeeze his eyes shut against tears that came anyway.

Eventually tears stopped falling and she loosened her grasp on him, pulling back enough to look up at him. His cheeks were wet and she raised both hands to wipe the teardrops away, fingers briefly caressing his face. She did the same to her own tears; her hands brushed roughly over her eyes and nose, reddening them even more. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she stepped fully away, her voice gravelly when she asked, "Drink?"
Clive felt the loss of contact more than he anticipated, arms dropping loosely to his sides, and he nodded, "Yeah, ok".
"Tea, coffee? Water?" she hovered by the kitchen counter, "Something stronger?"
"Uh, water," he decided, "Or maybe something else".
The ghost of a smile crossed her face, he was always indecisive, and she ran cold water from the tap, pushing a glass across the counter to him before opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two short tumblers. Martha poured more than a measure into each glass and carried them to the sofa. He sat next to her, a few inches of cushion between them and took the glass she held out with a nod. Silence descended once again, and they were wrapped in their own thoughts. Being together helped, the enormous feeling of loss and helplessness kept slightly at bay by company, and the knowledge that they weren't alone. Clive gently rested one hand against her knee and she twisted her fingers through his, shifting closer to lean her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," her voice was tired and surprising in the quiet flat.
He shook his head, "Don't, Marth. You have nothing to be sorry for. What happened, none of that was your fault. He's a vile man, who did a horrible, cruel thing, and there's no way it was your fault. You don't need to say that". Clive put his drink down and wrapped both hands around hers, "Don't think there was anything you could have done, because there wasn't. Me, god, I should have done something, followed you, stopped him even talking to you. I could have done something," he couldn't look at her, grief and anger flowing out of him, "I should have done something. Fuck. I'm sorry. I should have been there with you, paid more attention".
Martha was surprised by his outburst, had never entertained the idea that he would feel like that. It had happened to her, and in her mind that made her responsible, regardless of how realistic that actually was.
She didn't raise her head to speak, but her voice was a little more animated that it had been, "No, there's no way you could have done anything. Nothing could have changed what happened," she felt the movement of his jaw against her hair and carried on, not letting him speak, "It's not your fault. I know I'll always blame myself, at least partly, for it, but that's me, it happened to me and I couldn't do anything to save...anything. It doesn't matter whether you were twenty feet away or two hundred, you couldn't have changed what happened. No one could, that's how it will always be. I will never blame you Clive".
A few hot tears escaped his eyes, and for the possibly the first time in his life, he was unashamed. He let them fall and she didn't pass judgment as she felt them on her hair. Her words seeped into him, and like her, he knew he would always blame himself, even if she wouldn't.

The bottle of whiskey hadn't been full when she took it from the cupboard, but it now sat empty on the coffee table, their glasses held the final measures. Conversation had been stilted at first, not because they weren't used to each other, but because of the situation and feelings that were still so raw, but as time went on they could talk more easily, although they mostly avoided the subject that had put them in their current position. Occasionally it crept to the surface and they cannoned between sadness and anger until one of them poured more whiskey and they washed away the moment with a drink and a fierce scrub of eyes.
Clive stretched, legs narrowly missing the coffee table, and tried to stifle a yawn. It was nearing two o'clock, although neither of them had noticed time passing.
"You can stay, if you want," Martha offered, drinking the last of her whiskey, "Although the spare bed's not made, so umm..." she tailed off, having not thought before she spoke.
"I think we can manage," he said carefully, "If you're ok with it?"
She nodded slowly and stood to clear away their glasses, rinsing them and leaving them out to dry and putting the empty bottle by the bin. Martha could tell he was being cautious with her; while a gentle, soft Clive was unusual, she was grateful for it, didn't think she could take anything more than that, and she knew that neither of them could ever be as open as they had been with anyone else.
Holding out a hand, she tilted her head towards her bedroom, "Bed's that way, unless you want to stay there?"
He smiled a little and shook his head, standing and taking her outstretched hand and letting her lead him through the flat; it crossed his mind that he had followed her to her room in Nottingham in a similar way, and he shook his head to get rid of the thought.

Martha tugged on pajama shorts and t-shirt and slid beneath the covers while Clive was in the bathroom, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw her; duvet pulled up to her chin, curls spread out on the pillow. She watched as he turned the main light off, leaving the room lit only by the lamp on her side of the bed, and then shed his t-shirt and sweatpants before pulling back the duvet and climbing in. The mattress shifted as he settled on his side and Martha reached over the turn the light off, returning to lie on her back, one arm on the pillow above her head. They were quiet as they lay in the dark, and she thought he had fallen asleep until she felt his hand on her hip, gentle pressure pulling her towards him. She rolled over, back against his chest, and let him tuck an arm over her and link their fingers together again, drifting to rest on her stomach.
"We'll be ok, won't we?" he asked quietly.
Hair ruffled on the pillow as she nodded, "Of course," just as quiet.
A few minutes passed and he spoke again, words slightly muffled in her hair, "If it was different, if it hadn't happened, do you think we would have made something work, you and I?"
She knew what he was asking, the same thoughts had flown through her mind at various points throughout the day and evening. "No. Yes. I don't know". At the beginning she had told him she didn't expect anything from him, but he had managed to show her that he did care, that he wanted to be a part of everything and she had begun to change her mind. "Is that what you wanted? Is it now?"
The hand holding hers tightened as he answered, "Maybe. Yes, I think so. I know this isn't the time to say it, but yes, it was, still is. I can't help it Marth". He was unsure how she would react, if she would even say anything, half expected her to pull away and retreat to her side of the bed.
She did pull away from him, but only to turn over so they were face to face in the darkness; a few inches separated them and she could just make out the contours of his face and shoulder and his fair hair.
"I'm glad you said something," Martha murmured, "I've wondered too. I was so adamant at first that I was ok on my own, and I know that wasn't fair, and then you were always there, proving you actually wanted to be and I started to change my mind, see that maybe it could work, if we both wanted it".
Clive could hear the wobble in her voice and ran his fingers down her cheek, catching a few tears as they fell. "I do want it," he whispered, "And tonight might be too soon, but if you do as well, I'll be waiting".
More tears fell and he brushed them away; she turned under his touch so his fingers caught the edge of her mouth and he felt the lightest of kisses on his fingertips. He stilled, waiting for her, understanding what she was saying without words but unable to bring himself to do anything until he was certain. The hand that crept around his waist was warm, but the cheek and lips that pressed against his were cool and still slightly damp; it was nothing more physical than a simple kiss, her lips lingering against his.
"Thank you," she pulled back a little, "I want to, but it needs to be slow. Even if we're both there already, I don't think I can jump straight in, not after this".
"Of course," he promised, "It'll be ok, one thing at a time".
Martha shifted towards him again, another barely-there kiss before she turned over again and pulled his arm back around her, "Night Clive".
He kissed her hair and let his eyes close, "Night Marth".

"Don't get up, you don't need to, not after yesterday," Clive sat on the edge of the bed, trying to talk her into not going to work. Martha was still half asleep, protesting that she was fine and perfectly able to go to court. He could still see tear tracks on her cheeks, dark circles under eyes that were drifting closed again.
"I know you can, but one day, come on Marth, you need it off," he was firm but gentle, straightening the covers and taking her hand, "Go back to sleep, and I'll see you later. Please, just take it easy today".
She shot him a frown but turned on her side and gave in and let her eyes drift shut with a sigh.
Clive was relieved, although uncertain that she would actually take the whole day off. His watch showed nearly eight, and he realised that he still needed to go home to shower and change before racing to court for ten to carry on the Mark Draper case; Kate wasn't a bad barrister at all, but he couldn't help but wonder if she would be able to do the boy justice for Martha's sake. He left a kiss on her cheek and hurried out of her flat, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him.

The curtains were closed, but light crept around them and fell on the bed, making her squint and rub her eyes as she woke up. Memories from the previous day flooded back to her and for a second she held her breath, remembering everything. When she could breathe again, it was with a sigh rather than a sob, and although it was all still raw and there was an undeniable ache in her stomach, she felt a little better and more able to face the world. Sitting up, she reached for the glass of water on the table and drank; the clock caught her eye, 11:48. For an instant Martha panicked, knowing court had started at 10am, but the thought was immediately followed by the memory of Clive telling her to stay home. She wondered if he thought she would, knew that he wouldn't be surprised if she turned up.

There was nothing stopping her going to court, other than people expecting her not to, and she had never been the type to back down from a fight, whether it was her own or someone else's. It was her biggest case, but more than that it was the fact that she was fighting for a child, a sixteen year old boy, and she wasn't about to give up on him, someone she actually had a chance of saving.

A shower, her most expensive suit and a slash of lipstick later, Martha was setting her wig on her head and sliding through the courtroom door; pale but determined and feeling ready to start moving forward. She watched as Nick spoke, proud of him, and then rejoined the bench, taking her seat next to Clive and relegating Kate to the row behind. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, utterly unsurprised to see her. She caught his eye, mildly apologetic look on her face for a second, and he squeezed her hand, a wave of comfort and understanding passing between them.