Jily oneshots

All I Get For Christmas is You?

done by we're-all-just-stories on fanfiction.net

Celia Freestone stood up, smoothed down her powder blue suit, and extended her hand across the glass table.

"I believe we have a deal?"

Lily remained seated, meeting Celia's eyes and glancing back down at the sheaf of papers in front of her.

"We do," she said finally, rising to shake Celia's hand. With a neat little movement, she picked up her pen and scrawled her signature on the indicated line. Celia followed suit.

"A pleasure as always, Lily," said Celia, with that fake smile of hers as she reached for her briefcase. "Do have a good Christmas. I'll be thinking of you in the Hamptons."

"Make sure you trip down the stairs on your way out," Lily called after her, shaking her head.

"Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" replied Celia over her shoulder. "Nobody to beat you in court then."

"The audacity," muttered Lily, wishing she'd had the foresight to wear taller heels so she could've towered over Freestone. "I've won more cases than her."

"Do you want to keep telling yourself that, Evans?" came a voice from the door and Lily turned to see James Potter (unfairly attractive clad in his black suit) leaning in the doorway. "Gosh, jealousy's not a good colour on you." He grinned. "It doesn't match your shoes."

"Who's side are you on, Potter?" She shot back, reaching to collect her belongings. Momentarily, she paused to admire the view from the floor-length windows: an endless expanse of snow, punctured by grey mountain peaks and the flash of green from an evergreen tree. You didn't get views like that from her London flat.

"Yours, of course," said James, who had entered the room and was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the sideboard. "But, as your lawyer, isn't it important to keep track of the facts?" He smiled innocently at her.

"You dick," said Lily, half-laughing. "Should we compare our cases won? Refer to yourself as 'my lawyer' again and I'll remind you about Peterson vs Sanders, shall I?"

"Now, is that blackmail?" Asked James, clutching at his apparently wounded chest. "I could have you disbarred for that, Evans."

"And what could you prove?" She called out as she passed him, laughing.

"It's not about proving anything," said James, following her out into the hall. "Judges love me."

"Old people love you," Lily corrected, as they headed toward the lifts. "Paralegal Hestia Jones who you split coffee on last week? Not so much."

"I sent flowers to apologise," said James hotly, pressing the button for the ground floor.

"She's allergic to pollen," said Lily in a stage whisper. "Hay fever. But they looked great in my office. You've got good taste."

James looked mortified.

"Oh God, I'll have to text her. She must think I'm trying to kill her or something."

"With lukewarm coffee and yellow peonies?" said Lily, stepping into the lift. "Pretty shit murderer, if you ask me."

"And there you have a wonderful opening statement for your next murder trial."

"Stop being a smart-arse."

"Well, they do say we mimic the behaviours of the people we're around."

"Oh, shut up." said Lily fondly.

When the lift doors dinged open two minutes later and James and Lily stepped out into the front reception, snow had begun to fall thick and fast outside; everything beyond the driveway ceasing to exist in a flurry of white flakes.