"M-Mr. Armando…Your hand!"

"It's nothing."

"But, but-"

That's when they brought the stretcher in. Mia flinched visibly and turned her head away. She brushed past her co-worker and fled the courtroom. He watched her leave, every muscle in her body tense, her hair flying behind her, and then the smallest glint of light reflected off of something falling from her jacket. Diego took a last look around the courtroom with a pitying glance at the prosecutor, who looked about ready to collapse. Then he exited the defense bench, paused for a moment to pick up a new attorney's badge and put it in his pocket.

Mia had crumpled onto the couch in the defendants lobby and was sobbing into her hands. The security guards were plainly distressed by her actions, but didn't want to leave their posts. They seemed to sigh with relief when Diego crossed the room and sat heavily by Mia's side. She turned away from him, determined to hide the tears.

"The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over."

When it's all over indeed. But she wasn't just a lawyer, and neither was he. And as humans, anyone would expect them to be crying right now. There was nothing wrong with being human. He observed Mia quietly for a moment, surprising himself with the surge of anger that suddenly built up in him. That Hawthorne woman was going to get it someday; no question. Yet, somehow, it wasn't for himself that he wanted this vengeance. It was for the young lady huddled next to him on the couch.

Perplexed at himself, he withdrew from her, standing slowly and crossing the lobby to request a bandage from the clerk. The man opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a roll of gauze so fast, Diego was sure he'd located it beforehand. He thanked the clerk with his usual nonchalant smirk, a bad habit to repress his feelings.

"A lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets."

Lawyer, lawyer, lawyer. He was starting to think himself stupid for giving advice as if his job was the only thing that mattered. As much as you needed a strong personality to be a defense attorney, there was still a separation between private life and profession. His attention thus divided, Diego worked the gauze around his hand, dropping the larger pieces of his mug into the trash and trying not to drive the smaller pieces deeper into his hand. Once the blood stopped dripping, he headed back over to Mia. She was slumped over the arm of the couch, completely limp. A soft rise and fall of her back told him that she was sleeping.

"Crying yourself to sleep is the worst, Kitten," he murmured softly, unable to hide a genuine but pained smile. He watched her for a moment longer, unsure if waking her would be the best thing to do. Eventually, he gently rolled her over, brushing silky strands of hair out of her face. Reaching into his left pocket, he pulled out her badge. Moving carefully to avoid jarring her, he pinned the badge back to the lapel of her suit jacket. On a sudden impulse, he picked her up and left the courthouse.

The only way he could hail a taxi was set Mia down on a bench by the road, and apologetically explain to the cab driver that she had gone through a rough trial and he didn't have the heart to wake her. The driver looked skeptical, but didn't protest. He also didn't protest the generous tip Diego gave, but the lawyer didn't wait around to see.

It was a struggle to open a door, much less unlock one, and to carry Mia at the same time. He wound up having to use a fireman's carry to free up his hand, and felt somewhat guilty about handling her so roughly. Mercifully, no one was around the apartment complex to see him. So he managed the trip, and was able to lay his young charge down on his couch. She made a soft noise and curled up, clutching her hands against her chest. Instinctively, he placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing it back after realized what he was doing.

For some reason, his heart was beating just a little bit faster, but that was probably because he'd had to carry her up a few flights of stairs. Pretty as she was, Mia was no wraith. In fact, she was rather heavy. Not that he had minded carrying her…

Whoa there. Let's not get carried away here, tiger, he chastised himself swiftly. Shaking his head to clear it, he headed into the kitchen.

She couldn't process anything for a long time. She was so shocked, so hurt, that nothing really registered with her. It seemed she had fallen asleep in the courthouse. Only, why would the lobby smell of freshly brewed coffee?

It does smell good though, she thought dimly to herself. Blearily she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar sight. The room was sparse, furnished with a coffee table, an armchair, the couch she was laying on, an end table to said couch, and a bookshelf. She sat up with a small click as her heels hit the floor, to get a better look around. The next room she could see was a kitchen, from the looks of it. Someone with a red, long sleeved shirt briefly reached up to a cabinet to grab a white mug.

A red shirt and a white mug, huh. She'd seen that combination recently…

At Terry Fawles' trial. Shock overwhelmed her again, forcing her head into cradling hands. A few tears leaked out, but no more. She wasn't going to spend all her time weeping like a damsel in distress. But she did sit on that couch for a long while, and eventually began to wonder why the maddeningly familiar smell of coffee was everywhere. Because there was only one person she knew who would brew so much coffee his entire apartment would smell of it. Mia's head jerked up and her eyes widened in a mixture of surpise and a little mortification.

"M-Mr. Armando?" she asked quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Oh, kitten, you're awake?" his voice, powerful and, in this case, infuriatingly calm, resonated from the kitchen. Now that her suspicions were confirmed, Mia started to get mad.

"Yeah, I'm awake," she snapped. "And wondering what the hell I'm doing in your apartment."

"I thought that was obvious," he said in the same calm tone. "You were in no state to drive yourself home, and I don't know where you live. So I called a cab and brought to my place."

Well. Mia was still steamed.

"And you just let me sleep on your couch?" she demanded.

"Was I supposed to put you in the bed?"

Ouch. Her cheeks flamed red, and she sat petulantly on the couch, crossing her arms tightly around herself. She remained silent for a while, trying to get her emotions under control. Being devastated is very difficult to deal with, but even worse when your heart is pounding wildly in your chest and you happen to be sitting on the couch of your obnoxious, but incredibly attractive, co-worker.

Over the sound of the coffee maker, which she had finally realized was running, Mia heard something else. It sort of sounded like glass shards clinking together, as they were being thrown away, piece by piece. But who would throw away glass one piece at a time? Unless you could only get to one piece at a time. And that would be because…

Because you had crushed a coffee mug in your hand, and neglected to take the shards out until after you had given an overwhelmed novice attorney a place to lay her head while she was recovering from the death of her first client.

Mia sat up and walked to the kitchen.

"Shouldn't you go to a hospital or something?" she asked timidly, peeking her head around the doorway. Diego looked up, a look of vague amusement on his face when he saw her, with such a look of anxiety and shame that it was clear all was forgiven.

"Couldn't the same be said of you?" he retorted. Mia blushed and looked away. "Go on kitten, lay back down and relax a bit. I've got enough coffee for two."

She walked back to the living room and returned to her seat, wrapping her arms around a pillow to bury her scarlet face in. God, she hadn't felt like this - like an infatuated schoolgirl -in years.

Her face had barely cooled when Diego came in, true to his word, with two cups of coffee. He reached across her and placed one on the end table.

"There's milk and sugar in yours," he commented, almost to himself. Mia nodded weakly and released the pillow in favor of the steaming mug. She held it in her lap for a while, staring into the swirling concoction of milk, water, sugar, and ground beans. Her eyes unfocused as her thoughts turned inwards, considering all that had happened recently in a detached manner that gave her no pain. It was almost as if she wasn't really thinking about something that had happened to her, almost as if it was a movie, or a bad dream. Of course, as soon as she thought of that, it all became reality once more.

"Oh god, I'm gonna cry again," she whispered, bringing one hand up to swipe at her eye.

"You know kitten," Diego's voice rumbled from her right, "I'm beginning to think my advice wasn't entirely sound."

Mia stiffened. She hadn't noticed him sitting beside her at all.

"Wh-what do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

Diego took her chin lightly in one of his hands. Mia could feel her entire face turn red again, but put up minimal resistance when he forced her to look up at him. As her eyes met his, she realized he was suddenly completely serious. There were no jokes, no witty jibes, and absolutely no hint of his usual arrogance.

"If you have to cry, at least cry onto the shoulder of someone who understands, okay?"

It was too much. Mia collapsed into tears again, and tried to turn away. But this time, this time, a pair of strong arms enfolded her shaking body. She pressed her head onto Diego's shoulder and clung to him for dear life. And through the sound of her own sobbing…

"Mia, oh god, Mia. I'm sorry. I swear…I swear I'll protect you next time."

And she only held him tighter.