A/N: Well - here it is: my first Perry/Della fic. It was bound to happen eventually; especially when you've been swooning over an OTP for a good twenty years… I would like to thank Voyicj for her indulgence, batwings79 for her help with the research and themonkeyspajamas for giving me the last nudge to give it a try.
I hope you'll enjoy this!
warning: this fic will have: just about zero courtroom action; spoilers for The Case Of The Heartbroken Bride and it will depict a relationship of an intimate nature between Perry and Della - though you'll have noticed this fic is rated K+
He's seen her checking her watch from time to time as he questioned the witnesses and again when he received his - by now customary - hug from his relieved client. She picks up her pieces (a shorthand notepad, three sharpened pencils, an eraser, the folders and loose documents strewn all over the defendant's table) and shoves them unceremoniously in her leather briefcase and checks her watch again.
"Come on, Counselor," she says and scans the courtroom before kissing his cheek. "Time to get back to the office."
He grabs his cane and takes her elbow. Together they make their way along the corridors and narrowly avoid the reporters who are huddled together, listening to the statements of the D.A. and the recently acquitted former suspect.
"You seem to be in a hurry," he tells his lovely secretary as she runs ahead to open the car door.
"I've an appointment," she calls out over her shoulder.
He catches up quickly enough (quite quickly anyway, he knows she is well-aware of his bum knee) and slides in beside her. Her skirt has ridden up a bit, giving him a tantalising view of her spectacularly alluring legs.
"An appointment?" he asks after he's pulled the door closed and buckles his seatbelt. "Without me?"
She gives him a smile accompanied by an eye-roll. "Yes. So we'll drop you off at the office and then I'll go on through."
"Where?"
She shakes her head lightly and looks out the window. There's a determined look on her face; one he's long ago recognised and has dubbed 'the clam'; he's not getting any information from her about where she's headed.
They drive to the Brent Building* and he clambers out. He leans into the back and Della thrusts her briefcase into his hands. "Put this on my desk, will you?"
Her hand touches his. Her skin is the softest he's ever felt and her smile the warmest.
"I'll see you," she says, dismissing him.
He closes the door and watches the car drive down the street; taking Della somewhere she doesn't want him to know.
He sighs.
He's not used to them having secrets from each other.
"Hello, Denise - I am so sorry to be so late! Let me quickly hang up my jacket and then I'll slip into some scrubs and wash my hands."
"Take your time, Della, you just be sure you get every bit of that courtroom out from under your fingernails!"
"I always do!" she says and enters the small changing room where she shrugs out of her blazer and takes off her heels before slipping out of her pencil skirt. She changes into nurses' scrubs and puts on some white trainers - she would not wear them elsewhere, but they are extraordinarily comfortable.
She washes her hands thoroughly, soaping her wrists almost all the way up to her elbow and she carefully scratches away the little bits of eraser gum. She rinses out her mouth and looks in the mirror before drying her hands thoroughly.
She'll do.
She rubs her hands together to warm them up.
When she comes steps onto the busy floor, she is suddenly overwhelmed by the beeping noises and the rushing around of nurses and doctors. There's a family huddled together in the corner; she can hear the mother cry and the high-pitched questions of a Kindergartner.
"Who's first?" she asks Denise in sotto voce - which still carries; her deep voice vibrates through the nurses' station.
"There," Denise points and Della takes a deep breath. Steadies herself. And gets going.
It doesn't take long before the next case presents itself, but it's very inconvenient that it happens when Della isn't there. She is always a good influence on the clients and her memory is a marvel. He knows she uses a computer these days for a lot of her tasks and chores, but she still pulls files out of assorted cabinets without as much as a second thought and without her, Perry finds that his thought process isn't as…
Streamlined.
She's been popping out of the office a lot these days. Not that he minds much: he gets bored too when they haven't a case. The work they do to keep the light on and the water running are routine and neither of them is very enamored with routine.
This new client hasn't a routine case for them at all though. Oh, it was routine thirty-five years ago, but these days he doesn't get a lot of blackmail threats to sink his teeth into. Not as much as he did then, anyway. What's more: this client is someone he has never seen before in his life. He is no friend and Perry doubts that either Della or Ken know him either.
A fresh mystery. There's nothing that makes his blood course through his veins like a juicy problem like this. Well, there is one thing, he thinks to himself and scratches his beard. But since she's not around…
He presses the intercom but there's nothing happening on the other side of the line. So he calls out for Ken, who comes out of the law library, looking disheveled and tired.
"What is it?' he asks and there's a decided cranky note to his words.
"We have a case," Perry answers, his arms folded in front of him, looking up at Ken with a glimmer of disdain.
"Oh."
"What are you doing?"
"I am trying to find the files for a case of yours from the 1950s or 60s and I can't find it." Ken drops some manila folders on the desk; he has tried to retie the green ribbons, but has obviously failed.
"You should have asked Della, she'd have gotten you the file you needed in ten seconds flat."
Ken smirks. "She would. But she's not here."
"I know. And I don't like it. I need her."
Ken looks away, his hand rubbing his neck like he always does when he's shy or embarrassed.
"When did you see her last?" Perry asks and slowly gets up from his leather chair.
"The same time you did, when she said she was going out to run some errands."
Perry nods. That was two and a half hours ago. Della would never slack on the job, he knows that. But there is something very odd about those lengthy absences that she doesn't want to talk about.
He is very worried. He won't tell her; he knows that if she wants to share with him whatever it is she is doing, she will. He just has to be patient. Which he can be.
But not now. They've a case and they need to get started.
"Ken, you follow these leads and I'll go and try to find Della." He hands Ken a handwritten note.
"Perry, I cannot read half of what's on here!" Ken protests, but Perry is already out of the room.
In the end it's not difficult to find her. She made a note in their planner and when he has the car brought around his driver tells him he has been taking Della to these appointments for the past few years.
So perhaps Della's little escapes were more of a private nature than a secret she guarded closely. However, his heart is pounding. He isn't a great fan of hospitals - no matter the care he's gotten in several of them over the years. Knowing that Della (his girl - why didn't she say anything?) has been to hospital for very regular appointments is scaring him.
According to his driver, she's been going for at least two years.
He marvels at her ability to keep this information from him; he is also the tiniest bit upset that she didn't trust him enough - that she felt she couldn't tell him.
When they arrive, he rushes to the main desk and uses his booming voice and personal charm to figure out where Della might be. The receptionist gives him directions and tells him to try and be a little more quiet when he gets to the right floor. He sighs, feeling chastised, as he knows he should feel. His worry is his private affair and not the hospital's fault.
Perry is more than a little surprised by what he finds when he steps out of the elevator. The sliding doors close behind him and his attention is pulled towards a young woman who is slowly making her way up the hall, supported by a pale-looking young man. She cries out loudly, her hand pushed hard against her belly - round with child. From the other side he sees a stretcher racing towards an operating theatre. He swallows hard and rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger, pinching the bone in between.
"Can I help you?"
A nurse looks concerned.
"Erm…" He laughs internally. Perry Mason, attorney at law, known for his oratory prowess, at a loss for words.
"You need to get to the Maternity Ward? Did you become a granddad today?"
He shakes his head. "No… not a granddad…"
The nurse blushes. "I'm sorry. I do get told off for my assumptions. But you do need the Maternity Ward?"
He shrugs. "I doubt it," he says and shakes himself out. "No. I don't think I do. I am looking for my…"
His what? Not his wife and he isn't here because he is looking for his secretary either. He will not say he is looking for his lover; the reason he lives.
"Della," he manages at last. "I'm looking for Della Street."
The nurse smiles brightly and nods.
"Why don't you walk with me, I have to go to Neo anyway; my clothes are in the changing room locker there."
"Neo?"
"Neonatology. Della is one of our most faithful volunteers. We all love her. She is so kind and she is so gentle with the babies."
His mind boggles. The young nurse rambles on about Della and all he can do is agree with her on all counts. That Della is wise and that she is so loving and that she is so easy to talk to. When they reach Neonatology, the nurse tells him to wait by the desk.
"You can't go in unless you've been cleared," she says and shrugs. "I'm sorry. But I'll tell Della you're here. What's your name?"
"Perry. You can tell her that Perry is here to pick her up…"
"I'll do that, I don't know how long she's got left though… but I'll ask."
Perry leans against the wall, watching the young nurse, and he tries to get his breathing under control.
What in the world is Della doing here? he wonders.
"If you stand there, you can see her," a man's voice comes from the other side of the desk.
Della is holding one of the 'boarder babies' in her arms. A little girl who is working hard to drink a few drops of milk from a specially designed bottle. She isn't the sweet warm weight of the little one Della's held before her, instead she is tiny and fussy. If asked, Della would have said this unnamed child was angry. She isn't easily soothed either. Trying a bottle - because it's scheduled - is a last resort. She's done her customary chat and she's gently wiped her finger across the tiny brow and nose. She's told a story and hummed a little, but nothing seemed to help.
The bottle quiets her, but Della can feel the tension in the little body. She holds her a little closer and hums another lullaby. The baby falls asleep while feeding and carefully Della slips the nipple from her mouth and puts it down on the small folding table next to her. She holds the baby up against her shoulder, gently rocking her.
The atmosphere in the room changes.
How odd it is that after almost forty years, she can still feel his presence. She can feel his eyes on her; knows that if she looks to her right, she'll see him standing there.
When the little girl finally burps, Della calls for the nurse assigned to this little one so she can be changed and put back in her unit. Just before she hands the Jane Doe over, Perry catches her eye and Della's heart skips a beat.
Forty years and counting and she's still not used to that loving look he gives her sometimes.
So it's nothing worrying at least, though there's still a frisson of upset lingering, but it's chased away quickly when he watches Della interact with an infant that could arguably fit in his hand.
"She's a natural," the doctor who attended him to Della, says.
"She would be."
"We don't know much about her, really. She does know everything about everyone else though." The Doctor laughs and Perry smiles. He nods.
"That would be Della."
He can't keep his eyes off her. She is looking so content and at ease, that little baby held against her breast and her legs crossed; she is wearing tennis shoes. He's never once seen her in tennis shoes before. Nor in those floral nurse's scrubs for that matter.
She is speaking to the baby, even though it's fallen asleep. These babies are so fragile; he remembers seeing other babies (old receptionists' offspring; some of their former clients' little ones; Paul junior of course) and the way Della would cuddle them, always falling in love with them within the blink of an eye.
She's at her most beautiful when she is unobserved, he thinks and that's when she calls a nurse and hands the baby to her, turning just so she catches his eye.
They hold hands in the back of the car and Della runs the pad of her thumb over his knuckles. He lifts her hand to his mouth, kisses the back of her hand softly. They don't talk. Their driver focuses on the road ahead.
"Where to?" he asks.
They look at each other and Della shrugs.
"Just drop us off at Miss Street's house, Tom," Perry orders.
Tom smirks a bit (she's noticed that all the young men in their immediate circle of friends have a habit of doing this: first Paul, then Ken and now Tom; she knows it's because of their public secret. Because in the end it never mattered how craftily they sneaked around: everybody knows that Perry Mason loves Della Street) and takes a left at the next crossing.
Perry gentlemanly opens the car door for her. He steadies her as she pushes herself up off the backseat. He unlocks the front door and they wave at Tom who pulls away from the curb. It's twilight; the skies are dark blue, gray and orange. Her rocks in her garden glitter in the light of a streetlamp.
"Let's go inside," she says to Perry and he lets her pass.
She kicks off her shoes and hangs up her coat - watches as Perry hangs his. He prefers to sit down to take his shoes off. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, yanks open the fridge and peers inside.
"I hope you're not hungry," she calls out to Perry who is indeed untying his shoelaces on the couch.
"How so?"
"Well, you've a wonderful choice of leftover Chinese or leftover Italian."
"I'd rather be left over with you," he says and she lets out a chuckle.
"Why don't you come here for a moment?" he asks.
When she sits down next to him, she knows that he'll start his questioning. He is looking serious; almost sad.
"Why?"
She lets out a shuddering breath before answering, truthfully: "Kaitlynn."
It's enough of an answer for him. She expects him to understand and he doesn't disappoint her. He opens his arms and she cuddles up close. She buries her face in his neck.
"How did you get involved in the program?" he asks quietly.
"One of the charities the office supports. You, Counselor, are a patron to many children's charities."
She can feel him smile and she plants a tiny kiss on the side of his neck.
"You looked lovely in there," he compliments.
"In those scrubs?" she asks incredulously, pulling back, looking at him.
"Hmm… Did you bring those scrubs with you?"
She frowns and answers his question with a question - which she most definitely learned from him.
"Why do you want to know, Mr Mason?"
He leans in and puts his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He kisses her cheek and she sighs as she embraces him. She kisses his lips - softly, gently, almost a sigh.
"Well…" he starts and she looks up at him. "I was thinking… if you had them, we could play 'doctors and nurses'."
Her laughter echoes against the kitchen walls and she takes his hand and pulls him behind her, glancing coyly at him over her shoulder:
"Why Mr Mason… didn't you know that you don't need to dress up to play at that?"
notes: In Holland we don't actually have these cuddle programs - I have researched them a bit and watched some YT videos. The first article I found on 'baby cuddler program' is from 1990 (in PubMed). And the Keck School Of Medicine USC has a cuddler program that lets the cuddler feed the babies, so keep in mind that this hospital was inspiration. In case I've messed (other) things up, please don't hesitate to PM me!
Final note: this fic takes place after The Case Of The Heartbroken Bride!
* I used the Brent Building. For old times' sake.