a/n So, this is my first attempt at a Silk fic so I hope its okay. It started out as me trying to make sense of the finale and sort of spiraled into this. This is a sort of almost worst case scenario of what could have happened, so...yeah. It will be quite slow burn so a good fifteen-twenty chapters hopefully, fingers crossed. I'll admit now that updates might be a bit sporadic but I'm going to try to get them up quite regularly if I can.

I'm just making clear now that I have no experience with law and there's only so much that the internet tells you so some things regarding that might well be wrong. Sorry in advance.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. (Apart from the mistakes they're all mine. If you spot any I'd be grateful to know so I can fix them.)

Just to point out before we being: in my head Series 1 and 2 took place in 2011 and Series 3 in 2014. Oh, and this is also set FIVE YEARS after the end of series 3 and will feature a lot of flashbacks to explain what happened so keep an eye on those dates!

any my feedback would be gratefully appreciated. :)

Title: The Butterfly's Silk

Main Pairing: Martha/Clive

Other Pairings (mentioned or otherwise): Clive/Harriet, Sean/Martha, Niamh/Nick, Niamh/Clive, Bethany/Jake

Warnings: Swearing. Mild violence.

Summary: 'I wasn't expecting ever to see you again and and I'd only just got my head around that when you come back again.' Life has a funny habit of doing exactly the opposite of what you expect it to. The reappearance of an old friend in Clive Reader's life turns everything he though he knew on its head.

Chapter 1

Apr 23rd 2019

03.43 PM

Clive watched carefully as the jury walked back to their seats but after a second he looked away. He stared at the sheaf of papers that littered the desk in front of him in the minutes that elapsed before the court clerk asked the foreman to stand. There was a buzz in his chest, a buzz that he only got sitting here in court in moments like this, waiting for the verdict, waiting to see whether all his hard work had paid off. It was always there, every single time - it had been there for more than twenty years and he loved it. Other people could get from skydiving or driving a car at insane speeds, things like that. Clive Reader got it from getting the verdict he wanted. He couldn't get the rush any other way.

"Have you reached a verdict upon you have all agreed?" the court clerk asked, her voice ringing out in the silence.

"Yes," the foreman replied. He held his breath, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"Do you find the defendant, David Quinn, guilty or not guilty of grievous bodily harm with intent?" Clive's eyes darted up and, for a second, he met the gaze of the foreman of the jury.

"Guilty." A smile broke out on Clive's face as relief flooded his body. So much time devoted to this particular case with only a sliver of a chance of getting the guilty verdict and here he was, the result netted.

As the jury filed quietly out, Clive started shuffling his papers, trying to get them into some semblance of order. The lawyer for the defence, Kieran Washington, let out a deep sigh as he walked past Clive's desk, a bundle of papers clutched under his arm. "Well, Clive," Washington started. "I guess congratulations are in order," he finished, shaking his head slightly.

Washington moved away but then turned back. "How did you do that?" he asked, astonishment running through his tone. "That was a dead-set not guilty from the outset. Circumstantial evidence, a first-time offender in a reputable job, nine times out of ten the jury would have come back not guilty."

"What can I say," Clive replied, lifting is gaze and meeting the other lawyer's eye. "I'm just a good prosecutor." He closed the cover of his file and stood up, sliding it under his arm, turning his back on Kieran Washington and leaving the court.

...

Apr 23rd 2019
3.56 PM

Shoe Lane was empty when Clive arrived back at chambers. Almost all the lawyers were in court and everyone else were either having a late lunch or were pouring over paperwork and working out plans of action for upcoming trials. He sat down in his office chair and lent back, revelling in the relief of the guilty verdict in such circumstances. It had to be one of the best verdicts he had ever managed to get over his career. Washington had been right, it had been a dead-set not guilty and yet here Clive was.

He had been sitting at his desk for a few minutes when the door was suddenly pushed open with such force it hit the wall behind, slamming loudly. "Sir," a breathless voice sounded out. Clive blinked and sat up, staring at the doorway. John was standing there, his hands on his knees, doubled over. "I've been..." He fought for breath, unable to get the words out. "I've...," he wheezed.

"Breath, John. Calm down," Clive said, alarmed at the struggle for breath he was witnessing. John soon managed to catch his breath, leaning on the doorframe. It was then that Clive saw the brief, wrapped in white ribbon, tucked under the clerk's arm.

"I've been trying to find you," John said, finally able to speak without gasping for breath. "You've got a case."

Clive frowned as the clerk offered the brief towards him. He stood up and crossed the room, taking the bundle out of the other man's grip.

"It was Lachlan Humphries' case but his sister went into hospital so he had to go up to Scotland," John explained, as Clive pulled the ribbon and flicked through the papers.

"Why do you look like you've run around half of London to find me?" Clive asked, shutting the cover and frowning.

"The bail hearing starts in," John replied, glancing at his watch. "half an hour." Clive stared at the clerk, surprised.

"Half an hour?"

"Yeah," John replied, still leaning on the doorframe.

"Why me?" Clive asked, setting the bundle of papers on the desk next to him.

"I don't know," the other man answered, shaking his head again. "Harriet said it was a big case-" Clive cut in.

"What big case?"

"I don't know," John repeated. "Maybe you should ask her," John suggested.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Harriet," Clive answered, flipping the brief open again, knowing that if the bail hearing was in half an hour he'd have to read it quickly – especially if the case was an important one.

"I think she went to talk to that bloke from the CPS," John replied.

"Okay," Clive nodded. "Thanks," he added a moment later. John turned and left the office with a swift nod.

"God," Clive whispered to himself as he stared down at the sheaf of paper on the desk. Half an hour to learn the ins and outs of an almost certainly complex case. Usually he would have days to plan and prepare but now the time constraint was setting his head into a spin. The relief and happiness he had felt at the guilty verdict had all but evaporated, staring at the words floating on the page. He had a headache already.

He needed to find Harriet.

...

Apr 23rd 2019
4.24 PM

"You've got six minutes," Harriet said, watching the clock as another minute flicked past.

"I know," Clive snapped in reply. "So Louise McAdams was arrested on the twelfth?"

"You don't need to know dates for the bail hearing, Clive," Harriet replied, in a clipped tone. "Just the basic facts. Louise McAdams killed her husband when he tried to leave her. She won't get bail because it's murder. Simple."

"It looks like manslaughter to me. Pushed husband down the stairs, she couldn't have meant-" He didn't get any further.

"It would be, except from the fact the day before she told her sister she wanted to kill him. There's intent right there."

"Right," Clive said, nodding. "So the evidence against-"

"Five minutes," Harriet said, in a faintly irritating tone, interrupting him. "And you've got to get to the court."

"Why couldn't someone else have taken this case?" Clive asked as he stood, picking up the bundle of papers and crossing to the doorway, his back now to Harriet.

"This is the biggest case to have graced the chambers in years," Harriet replied, standing as well. "You are the Head of Chambers; therefore you get the big cases," She continued, speaking as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clive turned back to face her. "Harriet," She didn't let him finish.

"Four minutes." He shook his head.

"Will you be watching?"

"No, sorry. Got to continue my nice little chat with Harry."

"The bloke from the CPS?"

"Yeah," Harriet replied, flashing him a smile. "Are you going home after the bail hearing?"

"Probably," Clive answered.

"Could you get some milk on the way?" Harriet asked, leaning on a table and folding her arms across her chest.

"Right. Anything else you want from the shop?"

"No."

"Okay." Clive nodded. "Harriet..." He trailed off, unsure what to say. "I'll see you later, then." She smiled sadly at him.

He had taken a step through the door before Harriet replied. "Clive," she started. "we need to talk." He stopped in his tracks and gave a small nod. She was right. They did need to talk. Things were far too strained between them recently. In fact, Clive had been sleeping on the sofa for more than a week after their last argument – which, like the majority of the arguments they had, had been over nothing.

Their professional relationship was, rather paradoxically, still going strong. That was probably because Clive prided himself on the fact that the moment he started work, he didn't let himself bring all his personal problems in with him. It had always been the way he worked, because it had been the way he had been brought up - never to bring his emotions into play when professional matters were on the line.

"Three minutes, Clive."

He sighed and left the room.

...

Apr 23rd 2019
4.29 PM

His gown flapping in the wind behind him, Clive entered the courtroom. Everyone turned to look at him because he had only just made in on time to the bail hearing. He hurried over to the prosecution's desk and set the bundle of papers he was holding down. "Mr Reader, I'm so glad you thought to join us," the judge noted, his voice scathing and Clive cursed internally. Getting on the wrong side of the judge this early in the trial was not a good thing – especially with Harriet's words ringing in his ears. This is the biggest case to grace the chambers in years. God, he was messing it up before it had even started.

"I'm sorry, your honour. I only received the brief half an hour ago because I was in court..." Clive trailed off, seeing the displeased face of the judge looking back at him. He felt flustered as he sat down in his seat and waited for the judge to start, as he collected his thoughts.

The judge started talking but Clive only half listened, still attempting to get his thoughts into order before the defence started. He still had only half-formulated the speech he would give to try and get bail denied and the words he wanted to add wouldn't materialise in his mind, just floating away. He was still all over the place when the lawyer for the defence started talking, but the moment she did, all of Clive's thoughts, half-formulated speech and all, stopped dead.

"Louise McAdams is a woman who does not deny what she did." More words rang out into the courtroom, but Clive – though he knew he should be listening with his undivided attention – didn't hear a single one. The Bolton accent was unmistakable to Clive because he had known the woman whose voice it was for twenty years, thereabouts. Even after five years of absence from his life, Clive instantly recognised it.

Martha Costello was the lawyer for the defence.

...

Apr 23rd 2019
5.11 PM

Clive felt drained. The bail hearing had not gone well, but then again, after he had realised that Martha was the other lawyer he had had a feeling that it wouldn't. He'd managed to stop the bail application from being successful, but contrary to what usually happened with defendants charged with murder, the suitability of that ruling would be reassessed at different points before and during the trial.

It was not a good result, if Clive was being honest. Not the one he had wanted.

He gathered his papers together and when he'd finished that he stood up and pulled them towards his chest. He was about to leave the now almost empty courtroom when the only other occupant spoke. "Clive," she said, quietly, from her end of the desk. After a few seconds passed and she didn't add anything, he spoke up.

"Martha," he said, curtly. Five years with nothing, not even a single phone call and here she was, defending the case the Harriet had called the biggest to have graced the chambers in years. With Martha Costello defending, Clive would have to pull out all the stops because that would be what she did. That was her style: don't stop, don't sleep, don't give up until you get that not guilty verdict.

It was strange - after all this time to be angry once again at Martha Costello. It was something he never thought he have to feel again, this all consuming, bitter anger because Martha left London, left him, and never even called to tell him she was okay. She could have died for all he knew! This anger, he hadn't felt in since those dark days that followed Martha's disappearance. Time, which might not be able to heal all wounds, had buried his anger quite successfully. Until now. It was all rushing out now, a torrent of pent-up emotion.

He was angry with Harriet too, for she must have known that Martha was defending but she hadn't told him. She must have known – she had already known the ins and the outs of the case when Clive had turned up so it was foolhardy to believe that she didn't know the name of the lawyer for the defence.

"So, do you only do prosecuting work now?" she asked, sitting back in her chair as he set the papers back down.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone still curt.

"How are you?" She asked, her tone completely changing from that of professional curiosity to an actual want to know how he was. He closed his eyes for a second, his chest feeling strange and tight. It was all because of Martha and her surprise reappearance in his life. Five years. Five years with nothing and now this? He sighed and opened his eyes, perturbed to find himself on the verge of tears. The anger was still there, but it was slowly fading away. He could never be angry at Martha for that long.

"I didn't even know you were back in London," he said, his voice slightly strangled as he turned to face her properly for the first time. The second half of the sentence went unsaid because both of them already knew the implication of his words. Let alone defending the client I'm prosecuting.

"I only came back a few weeks ago," she replied. "For this case, actually," she continued. "A friend of mine has been inviting me to join her chambers for years. This was the case it took for me to say yes to coming back here."

"Where have you been?" Clive asked, wanting to leave the room and leave Martha behind, forget about her and all the unhappy memories that were resurfacing at her unexpected return, but unable to make his feet actually move and take him out of the room. Martha had always had this strange effect on him. From the first day they met, she was able to captivate him with a simple word or gesture and now was no different, even after half a decade of absence.

"Home," she said, quietly, before saying louder. "Bolton."

"Is it nice up there this time of year?" He asked, internally cursing himself for how dispassionate he sounded, how disconnected his words made him seem.

"Lovely," she replied. Martha didn't say anything for a long moment afterwards and Clive did nothing himself to fill the uncomfortable silence that hung over them. "Who's the lucky lady then?"

"What?" Clive asked, frowning.

"You're wearing a wedding ring," Martha pointed out, softly.

"Oh."

"Yeah," she replied, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand.

He couldn't reply for a long moment, the name sticking to his tongue like it was attached by Velcro. "Harriet," he managed to get out, breaking the silence. He didn't know what to expect from her reply, but what Martha did say took him by surprise. It was the calmness of her reply that unsettled him the most.

"Oh. Harriet," she said, quietly. "That Harriet?" she asked, her face screwed up in a frown.

"Yeah," Clive replied.

"Right," she replied. "Congratulations, then, Clive," she added, a moment or two later, rising out of her chair and moving towards him. Martha stood in front of him for a second, her eyes meeting his, before she pulled him into a hug. Clive stood stock still, his mind moving so fast he felt motion sick.

Martha was back in London. And she was acting like the last five years hadn't happened. Acting like the things that had been said, things that had happened, were just a figment of his imagination. She was pretending that they were exactly where they were before Sean's trial, before she'd gone off to Bolton and way before he'd married Harriet. What the hell was going on? This was more disconcerting that if she just pretended he was nothing, or just yelled at him, been angry at him, hated him. This..this almost normality was worse than anything she could have done.

He knew why that was. It was because she knew just as much as he did that they both wished that they had never drifted apart. Friends for nearly two decades only to be split apart by chambers politics. It was more than that, Clive knew, but he never wanted to admit that maybe the strong, resilient woman he knew was far more fragile than he gave her credit for, underneath the cracks. He'd once said to her that if she continued to give her all to every case, she'd burn out. For years he'd wondered whether that was what had happened to Martha, but at least he knew now that she hadn't turned her back on the law, like he'd always wondered she might have.

Martha frowned again and took a step backwards, her arms falling to her sides. They stared at each other for a good few seconds before Clive spoke.

"Marth," he started, but before he could continue, the door to the court opened and a clerk popped her head from the door. She looked confusedly from Clive to Martha and then back again.

"The next trial's starting in a few minutes. Could you..." the clerk said, gesturing at the two of them.

"Of course," Martha said, moving away and gathering her papers together. Clive, who was still clutching his papers to his chest, waited for Martha to collect her stuff and then they walked out of the court together, neither of them saying a word.

As they walked down the corridors together, Clive could have sworn that the clock had turned back and the two of them were young again, walking the hallowed halls of the courts for the very first time. He knew now why Martha had acted like the last five years hadn't gone by. It was so much easier.

They started to slow down as they came to the doors and when they got there, Martha stopped and turned to face him. "I've got to go that way." She gestured to the left. "If you're still at Shoe Lane then you've got to that way." Even after five years, she still knew the way back to Shoe Lane like the back of her hand, not that the journey was that complicated and, for some reason, that made Clive happy. "So," she started. "I'll see you around." And with that, Martha disappeared into the crowd. Clive watched her go, until he lost sight of her and, sighing, turned away.

As he walked back to Shoe Lane, he had to keep reminding himself that the last half an hour had actually happened, that Martha actually had stood up in court and defended Louise McAdams, the woman he was prosecuting. It had been strange, going against Martha in a trial once again – it had been something he didn't know he had missed but it turned out he had.

He'd missed Martha, if he was being honest, but quite often, now and in the past, Clive and the truth had a very strained relationship.

..

Apr 23rd 2019
6.03 PM

He could see that the living room light was on as he pulled up on the drive. He opened the car door and clambered out of the car, before remembering the milk that sat, all alone, on the front seat. He lent in and picked it up before slowly making his way to the door.

Once he was inside, Clive made a beeline for the kitchen, not dwelling the fact he should have at least made sure Harriet knew he was home. He opened the fridge and slid the milk in before he slipped into one of the seats at the table. He reached for the newspaper that was neatly stacked in the middle and opened it. He was in the middle of an article about the reportedly dreadful state of the nation's health service when Harriet appeared in the door way. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in," she said, walking over to the sink and dropping her cup into the stone-cold, soapy water.

"You didn't tell me," Clive said, putting the newspaper down on the table.

"Tell you what?" Harriet asked, frowning.

"Martha Costello."

She didn't reply, instead turning to the sink and beginning to wash up her cup, ignoring his question.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harriet?" he asked, standing up and taking a step towards her.

"Why d'you think, Clive?" she replied, her hands going still in the sink. "I remember what you said, Clive. I can't forget, even if it might have been five years ago." Her tone was icy and he could see the tension in her arms.

"That conversation never happened. That's what we agreed," Clive replied, matching her cold anger beat for beat. "Unless you want to remember what happened afterwards."

"Oh, don't worry, Clive. I can remember fine." She dropped the cup in the sink, the bubbles leaping up at her, as she turned and stormed from the room. Clive watched her go, knowing that after two years of tempestuous marriage, he might well be seeing it crumble beyond repair.

And if he was being honest – but, remember, Clive and the truth didn't get on well – he didn't really care.

...

Apr 24th 2019
4.56 AM

He woke suddenly. Clive wasn't sure what had woken him, but he could make a guess. The lumpy sofa cushions were giving him backache. He said up, groggy, and lent back, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. He could still hear Harriet's cold reply echoing around his head. He thought he loved his wife but then again what did he know about love?

That he couldn't hack it?

Couldn't do it?

That it hurt?

That he didn't really understand the rules and therefore couldn't play the game?

Clive sighed and put his head in his hands. Martha reappearing in his life seemed to be the final straw in his already fragile marriage and for a second, he hated her for it. Hated that fact he had ever known her, ever become friends with her, ever shared half his life with her, ever let her mean so much to him. But he had.

And then, one evening, she'd disappeared. Gone to Bolton, he now knew but for all those years he hadn't, he'd wondered where she'd ended up. He sighed again and slowly lay back down on the sofa. He knew that he couldn't stay angry at her for long – twenty years of friendship meant far more than anything else.

Harriet was upstairs, asleep in their bed, and Clive wondered if she was quite as lonely as he was. They were being stupid, he knew, because they were basically living separate lives as far as being a couple was concerned. But neither of them could find the words to say, despite how many times they would say they needed to talk or despite how many times they would argue bitterly over nothing. Love shouldn't be like that. No. Love wasn't like that.

A frown on his face, Clive fell asleep.

...

Jun 14th 2017
1.32 PM

It was a pleasant day, Clive noted, staring out of the church window. A little too hot, but apart from that, it was perfect. He felt slightly uncomfortable in his suit but he had a feeling that everyone else was feeling a little overdressed for the weather too. He glanced at his watch. Twenty eight minutes until kickoff. God, he sounded like Billy.

At the thought of Billy, Clive felt hollow inside. Sure, he and the clerk had had their clashes over the years and there had been times that Clive hadn't been able to stomach the sight of the other man, but now, three years on from Billy's death, he had come to realise that no matter how much like sentimental crap it sounded like, Shoe Lane was his family. All of them – but in particular, Billy, Alan Cowdrey...and Martha.

Martha. He hadn't thought about her in quite some time, instead focusing on the here and now and not the past. He had become quite adept at pushing the past right to the depths of his brain never to be thought about. Harriet was the now, Martha was the past. Clive knew which woman was he was marrying today.

And it wasn't Martha.

Alan Cowdrey was sitting in the front pew and Clive wondered how it had come to this - Alan Cowdrey being his best man. More like the only man. Clive hadn't realised it until he'd had to pick someone to be his best man that he had no friends anymore. He'd never given it much thought really, because he always thought it better to have a good career, good money coming in, than to have friends. And anyway, he was never short of the company of women. But then again, he couldn't really have one of his exes as his best man, because for one, they were women and two, he couldn't see Harriet being very happy about that.

So Alan Cowdrey it was. Maybe, only maybe, if Billy was still around, Clive would have asked him, but then again, Billy and Harriet were never what you could have called friends. She might have put up a stand if he'd asked Billy.

But, after all, it was just conjecture. Billy was dead and had been so for three long years. Three long years in which his carefully constructed family that had been Shoe Lane Chambers had been slowly dismantled. First Alan going upstairs to become a judge, – which, admittedly, Clive hadn't much minded at the time, because it had left the door wide open for him to become Head of Chambers – then, Billy dying and after that blow, the final nail in the coffin, Martha disappearing into the night one cold March evening.

He was the only one left from the beginning – back in the early days of his career when he and Martha had been pupils, Alan their pupilmaster and Billy had been a junior clerk. Sometimes he looked back on those times with a nostalgia he didn't feel for the majority of his other memories, but then he remembered how hectic his life had been then, how little he'd felt compared with all the lawyers he seemed to come into contact with – compared, quite soon after meeting her, with Martha Costello. That was the way it was, because they were opposing pupils but Clive hadn't forgotten the relief he'd felt when he and Martha had both been accepted for tenancy. He hadn't really thought about it then and hadn't given it any thought in the years afterwards either. Martha had always been a good friend, a close friend - a confidante, maybe. Things had changed on that front over the years too but he still didn't like to dwell on it. There had been a time, however brief, when he'd accepted it, considered it in detail, but that time was over now.

His wedding day was not a day to be ruminating on the past.

...

Apr 24rd 2019
6.43 AM

The clanking of glasses and plates was what woke Clive for the second time that morning. Bleary, he opened his eyes, knowing that it would Harriet in the kitchen. This was how their mornings had been going recently. She'd set her alarm for six, have a shower and then come downstairs and start making breakfast. Clive would be woken up by this, go for his own shower, come back downstairs, eat his own breakfast and then they'd go into work together for half past seven.

He stood and groggily made his way upstairs.

...

Apr 24rd 2019
7.11 AM

The toast was seemingly taking an age to pop up. Harriet was sitting at the table, flicking through a newspaper. They'd hardly said a word to each other this morning and that was how it usually was. They didn't really ever talk until they got into work – except, of course, if they were arguing. Clive knew it was no way to live and that it was unfair on both of them, but neither of them could ever find the courage to say out loud what they both knew.

"Lachlan's not coming back." The softly spoken words took Clive by surprise and it took him a few seconds to compute the knowledge his wife was imparting to him.

"I thought he was only going up for a few days?" Clive inquired, at the same moment his toast finally popped up. He placed it onto a plate, burning his fingers, before Harriet replied.

"His sister needs support and needs her family. Her condition isn't as good as Lachlan thought." Clive nodded, as he started buttering his toast.

"What happened to her?"

"Car crash." Harriet nosily shut her newspaper and for a moment, Clive thought that maybe they were actually going to talk about the state they'd let their marriage get into, but in classic Harriet style it was work she talked about instead. "Lachlan's departure means that we need a replacement - new board member, to fill Lachlan's shoes," she noted. "We need an experienced junior, who we can be sure that in time will make Silk," Harriet continued. "And I think we can both agree that there are no candidates currently at Shoe Lane, so we'll have to bring someone in." Harriet nodded to herself as Clive started eating his buttered toast. "I'll set up the interviews and you and Jenny can decide together." The first piece finished, Clive started on the second, thinking over what Harriet was telling him. The board had been himself, Harriet, Lachlan Humphries and Jenny Anderson for almost the entire five years Clive had been Head of Chambers, and before that, for years, it had been himself, Alan Cowdrey, Kate and Martha, which was the setup Clive had modelled the current board on.

How thing had changed, though, since those days, Clive thought to himself, as Harriet gathered her things together. Clive finished his second slice of toast just as his wife announced it was time to go. He noted rather idly that they'd said more to each other this morning than they had for the last week's worth of mornings combined.

Clive shrugged and followed Harriet out of the door.

...