The usual disclaimer applies: All characters are property of Dick Wolf and NBC Universal. Not mine, not making money.
Ben wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Sorry about the heat. The air-conditioning went down this morning."
"Uh-huh," replied Shambala Green. "Or you're just sweating because you have no case."
He peered at her over his reading glasses, giving her his best you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me look. "No case? I have the murder weapon, covered in your client's fingerprints!"
"Which no jury will ever hear about. Motion to suppress."
Ben studied the document, muttering under his breath. "And they said it would be fixed by noon. I'd give anything to be in a cold bathtub right now."
The shock nearly made him jump out of his chair. Two ice cubes from the pitcher on his desk, deposited down the back of his shirt. The legalese so engrossed him, he didn't notice her sneaking up behind him.
"You – " he started.
"What? I couldn't stand to see you so miserable. See you in Judge Stanton's chambers."
She walked out of his office, laughing. The melting cubes slid down his back, cooling him. He had to admit that it felt pretty damned good.
Not that he'd ever tell her that.
finis