Two

PM : Past Master

She grins. She doesn't normally do that, but she's so sure nobody is watching her now, she does, widely. Paul's birthday card for her has already arrived this morning, together with a little bouquet of flowers. She reads the card again, and smiles lovingly.

Living in the present is so much nicer than dwelling in the past.

But Perry is the boss, no matter which time he's dwelling in. There can not be two captains on one ship, it just doesn't work that way. And so they don't work that way. He leads, she follows. Facilitates the working brain, feeds the brilliance, relishes it, protects him if necessary, allowing herself to dwell in the slipstream of his success sometimes, making sure she does that unnoticed. Very aware of her position, her job.

After he came back from doing some necessary paper work at the courthouse this morning, his state had altered. She recognized it from the sighs coming out of his office, the noise of papers being thrown around, and then his sudden silence.

It is one of these days.

Succes just has its downsides, he knows that, and she has learned to accept that. And, it's better today, than tomorrow.

'Without knowing darkness you won't be able to recognize the light and enjoy it', and that kind of stupid clichés go through her mind. But they don't help him at times like this. She just has to allow this to happen, but just for a day.

She knows she has to avoid him, she has to leave him strictly to his own devices, allow him to dwell in his selfmade dark well of selfpity for a while. She also knows she just has to wait, because he knows how to get out of this state of mind. That's what it is. A state of mind, a snapshot photo taken with a dark filter.

Luckily, his filters are usually much, much brighter.

The only doctor he has ever talked to about these bad days, told her to just take care of him physically and ignore his mood. To make sure he drinks, eats and sleeps enough and on a regular basis, and that's it. That same doctor has reassured her of something she already knew, being that Perry Mason is smart enough to recognize the process of balancing the unbalanced. He knows he has to rest. He knows he has to take his time. He doesn't really like it, but he knows how to do it.

So she takes care of him. She has brought him sandwiches, fruits, water and coffee during the day. She has locked the outer doors to the office and has taken the plugs out of the phones, so he can't be disturbed. Their message service is informed, that this office just can't be reached, but only for today.

She'll have them connected to the outside world first thing tomorrow morning again. But now, honestly, she really enjoys the peace and quiet. His moods allow her to take her time as well. To do some of her own clearing and cleaning.

And being angry with him just make her ways quicker and more efficient.

He dwells on the couch at days like these, and only stands up a few times, to go to the bathroom, or to switch on some lights, like he did just now. He probably doesn't even remember he has left his office once, to stare at her, leaning back to the doorframe. He has asked her a question, mumbling in his typical way, his eyes weary and hollow, grey. " How are you? " Not in a real particularly interested way, he was just being polite. He wouldn't have listened at all if she had given him the truthful answer. So she has given him the unpolite answer. No reason to hide she's hurt.

" Well, how do you think I am, Perry ? " She didn't even look at him. Suffer for a while longer.

She knows why he's suffering. It's because he has won yesterday's case, but feels he shouldn't have. She shrugs without thought. So what? The client was innocent of the crime. It wasn't a very nice man, but not very nice men can be innocent too. And rich. So, this particular client will be receiving quite an invoice tomorrow, it's already in the mail, the numbers on them twice as high as they should be, and she'll deposit all the money they'll get from him to charity.

Justice served, point taken, case closed.

And she's the secretary, so she files the cases along with the memories and questions, store them, put them away safely in the archive, and she's learned to only take the contents out when she wants to contemplate, but he can't work that way. He's the lawyer. The cases and all that they bring on tumble over him sometimes, shock him unexpectedly when he is vulnerable, tired.

She knows that sometimes the evil eats Perry Mason, and sometimes he eats the evil. Some of his cases do that to him. It's one of the reasons he has been putting on so much weight. Sometimes he forgets he is not ultimately responsible for clearing all the hurt and injustice of this world. He is a catalyst, changing just some of the confusing matters into clarity, dividing truth from lies, dividing guilty from innocence.

She sighs. She's been on both sides of the table. So she knows how far he can go.

And when he tends to forget he is not superior to the human species, he's impossible to work with.

" Today, please, Della ! "

" I'm working on it. "

" I don't see you working on it. "

" Just be patient. "

" No, there is a client waiting damn it, and I can not be patient. Get a move on! "

and

" Where are the copies, Della ? "

" I haven't got them. "

" You get down to the damn courtroom to get these copies and hope they are still there. "

and

" Damn it! I need the information now. The trial starts tomorrow at 9.30 … "

" Will 6.00 a.m. be okay? "

" No! "

and

" I still think you shouldn't do that, Perry. "

" Then what the Hell would you want me to do, Della? You do it yourself if you think you can do better. "

" I didn't say that I can do it better. "

" Then what are you saying? "

" I just want to help you."

" Well, you're not helping. We're doing it my way. "

" Your way … "

" I'm the boss … "

" Yes, you're the boss … "

She sighs again.

He is an intelligent, complex man. Intelligent, complex men have complex secrets, and she knows she is one of them. Has been now for forty-three birthdays, thirty-five if she takes into account their eight year interlude. But who is counting?

At days like these, she glares into his office regularly, notices he's on the couch, his forehead in a frown, both large rugged hands rubbing the creases in his forehead to avoid a headache. Or massaging the headache away, a task her strong capable fingers can perform so much better, but she doesn't want to be near him. Not now.

In the past hour she has noticed there is some more movement in the office next to hers. Sounds of papers shifting, more than there was before. He has been tearing paper, maybe he has been cleaning his mess? Every now and then she hears a muffled curse, which brings up the corners of her mouth, but just briefly. Her nostrils betray her amusement. He acts like a little boy, not knowing how to handle himself. She doesn't want to be with him now. She needs him to be large, in more ways than one. She needs the man. She wants the man in the present. She wants him to be a present.

Then it's silent again. She takes up a file and carries it to her filing cabinet, all the while listening if there is any more movement in his office. She finds out her filing cabinet is locked and she suddenly realizes where she has left the key earlier today. It's still on his desk.

As she stands in the doorway of his office, she stares down at her slender feet on the deep-pile dark blue carpet. 'Walking on water' is what she likes to call it. Sometimes it's thin ice they are walking on, sometimes he bends the law, and walks on the edges of what is legally and ethically possible and granted, and they do perform miracles in this office.

He's brilliant, he should be aware of that, he should know that by now. The years of his age have allowed him to practise extensively, to find out more and better ways to serve innocence and justice.

But he's so focussed on his flaws now, his weight being one of them, his inablity to control himself. Once, she has playfully said he has eaten her twice during their eight years apart, to have her with him in that way.

She just wishes she hadn't said that, because he always considers that as the truth, but he's just not the only one to decide what the truth is. Neither is she. And sometimes it just isn't that important, is it? Sometimes, things just should not be taken so very serious.

She walks into his office now, to search his desk for the key of her filing cabinet, and finds it. To be able to open the cabinet and file some more dossiers, some more memories.

Then she turns to the couch to watch him. He's asleep. One hand tucked lazily underneath his head on a pillow, the other one resting on his chest, close to his heart. Next to him, on the floor, are the relics of his anger and frustration, the pieces of the news paper he has been swearing at.

Silently, she moves closer to the couch and sits down next to him. Her thigh touches his. Out of habit, she lays her hand on his chest, next to his hand, on his heart, to feel it's beating its normal, reassuring rhythm. He breaths deeply and evenly. She breaths with him, looks at him. God, she loves him. She swallows, flutters her lashes, shakes her head. She doesn't want to cry, wills the tears away.

He should be able to leave the past where it is. He should be able to accept that lessons learned can only be taken into the present and into the future.

His tie is loosened, and lays around his neck in a simple nod, in the way he does that when he doesn't need to be uptight. She slips two fingers inside the sleeve of his shirt, to stroke the soft hairs she finds there. She needs the man, the owner of these male features.

" Perry … " It's a whisper. She thinks she says she loves him, but she says his name. And at times like these, that's the same. She's still angry with him, that's why she whispers. He's not supposed to hear her. At any other time, she'd cuddle up to him on the couch to sleep in his warm and strong arms. But not now, not yet. It's too confusing.

She kneels down to pick up the pieces of the news paper he has left on the carpet before, she'll dispose of them.

It's close to midnight now.

She leaves his office silently, not noticing his grin.

- TBC -

(It's almost midnight, almost the eightteenth of April here in Holland now. Happy birthday, BH … )