Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and no profit is made from these stories. (But I do have fun writing them. : )

Ben walked into the darkened apartment, silently closing the door behind him. Sighing heavily, he hung up his overcoat and set his briefcase down on the floor.

He felt betrayed. Isaac Roberts murdered an innocent man in cold blood, and Adam was allowing him to walk free. Ben could understand his motives – to allow the city to heal from the damage caused by Reverend Ott – but he would never agree with it. Not when murder was involved.

Ben's job was to ensure that those who broke the law were punished – but he was just prevented from doing that, and it seemed to him that there was nothing left anymore. He reached into the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a stiff drink.

"I didn't think you were ever coming home," Shambala said. Wearing ratty flannel pajamas, she stood behind him with arms crossed.

He looked up, not knowing what to say. Things hadn't been so good between them lately, the case causing a chasm in the relationship that had been built on courtroom scrapping. Beyond that, they had strong feelings for one another; usually, both walked away from their duels with no hard feelings. It might not be so this time.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he replied, swallowing his whiskey.

"Not just yet. It was a mistrial."

"No, you won. Adam's not going to re-try the case. I hope Mr. Roberts is thankful for his strong defense." Ben sat down on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

"Isaac Roberts may have done a terrible thing, but he's been held down by the system his entire life, and –"

"We're at home now, Shambala. Not in court. Spare me the rhetoric."

She laughed. "You're angry at me now?"

"You're the one who called me a racist," Ben shot back.

"And you tossed that one right back at me, remember?"

"When I look at Isaac Roberts, I see a man who committed a crime. That's it. I don't care if he's black, white, or polka-dotted. And when I look at you, I don't see a black woman, but a woman I care for very deeply. So, yes – that accusation really hurt coming from you."

Shambala sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was frustrated."

Ben looked into her eyes. "Did you really mean it?"

"No, I didn't. I honestly and truly believe that Joshua Berger is a racist, but not you. We just have different ideas on the application of the law."

Ben set the empty glass on the coffee table. "Maybe Adam has a point about healing."


That night, as they spooned in bed together, Ben's hand reached around Shambala's body, caressing her stomach. She shuddered slightly.

Perhaps they were on the mend, but she had a much bigger problem. She was a week late, and her suspicions were confirmed that morning when two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

Ben was still smarting, and now he was talking about resigning. She realized that if there ever was a good time to break the news, it likely wouldn't be coming soon.

finis