AN: And now, the epic conclusion of my Christmas story lol. June, this is for you! :)

Friday

"Mike, it's 6:30. The restaurant is 50 blocks north, and I still need to get ready. I'm going to be late." Connie sighed and rubbed her temples in frustration. She couldn't help but feel that he was stalling on purpose. Just to torment him, she'd agreed to be Leo's date to the Christmas party. She thought she had gotten away with her wicked scheme—Mike's initial reaction to the news was bothered, but futile. However, as the minutes ticked by, she began to feel more and more like she was being subjected to revenge; an elaborate retaliation involving evidence organization, research, and composing (and rewriting) subpoenas.

"You look fine. Where's the copy of Slater's will?" He refused to meet her gaze, leaning casually against the cluttered window ledge. Hmm… Was that his version of a compliment?

"Here," she leaned over the desk with the file, "and I didn't spend $80 on a dress so that I can not wear it."

"You spent $80 on a dress?" He continued to intently scan the document in his hands, puzzlement twisting his eyebrows.

"You spend more on hair products," she retorted. She ignored his slightly stupefied glower and scribbled her signature and date across the bottom of one final subpoena. She rose from her seat and collected her drafts and notes from the auxiliary desk. "I think we're done here—well, at least I am."

Connie crossed the walkway to her workstation and stowed her stack of papers in one of the drawers. She tugged on her coat, turned off the lamp, and heaved her messenger bag over her shoulder. She headed for the elevator and was surprised to find that Mike had caught up to her. "Oh, so you are coming?"

He stared at the relief of the silver doors in front of him, giving a noncommittal nod. A muted Ding! beckoned them inside the wood-paneled compartment, and they stood in silence bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow. As the digital display indicated each passing floor, Mike anxiously jingled the keys in his pocket, and Connie thought about the most expedient and efficient order of doing things once she got home. Suddenly, the lights flickered and the car lurched to an abrupt halt. Unprepared for the rather jarring motion, Connie toppled into Mike, who dropped his red leather briefcase to steady her. Her shoulder bag slugged him in the leg quite roughly, but he paid no attention, as he was too inebriated by the feel of her waist beneath his fingertips. They lingered in the embrace for a split second too long before she abruptly pulled away. The frosted glass-covered lighting across the ceiling buzzed wildly before fading to black.

"You have got to be kidding me," Connie groaned, slumping against the wall. The absence of the characteristic mechanical drone and the hum of the heating system suggested that they were experiencing a power outage. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that this was part of your plan."

She heard Mike fumbling with the button panel, cursing when his attempts to call for help were unsuccessful. "Dammit. Do you remember the fire drill we had a couple months ago? 'The emergency button and phone will still operate in the event of a power outage.'"

"Pffff. You believed that? This building is over 70 years old." Connie pressed a random button on her phone, prompting the backlight to illuminate the elevator with an eerie blue cast. "Great. No reception."

Having the sinking feeling that they were going to be there a while, she tossed her bag onto the floor and sat down. A similar rustle of fabric and the faint movement of a silhouette indicated that Mike had joined her. After a few moments of indulgence, his voice pervaded the darkness. "Just for argument's sake, how would this be my doing?"

"What?" she turned to face him; well, as best as she could in their pitch-black surroundings.

"You said that this was part of 'my plan.'"

"I don't know; it was a cursory statement..." Connie felt her stomach twisting, but she was not sure if it was the gnaw of hunger or humiliation.

"If you say so." His words made her skin crawl. She completely loathed when people used that passively insulting cliché.

She closed her eyes and cringed. When she had wished for more impromptu moments with Mike, she wasn't hoping for a trip to the elevator confessional. But, she was trapped in a corner, literally, and the neurotic part of her couldn't give him the satisfaction of making her squirm. She was going to weather the storm like an adult. "I think that… you feel threatened by this Sterner guy and that… you created extra work for us tonight to keep me from spending time with him."

"Oh, really… And what gives you that idea?" Only a trained ear could pick up on the edginess of his tone.

"Mike, you may be a mystery to some, but to me, you're an open book."

"Am I? And what, pray tell, is my plot?"

Connie toyed with the fabric of her coat, deciding that she and her colleague were heading full steam toward awkward and uncomfortable. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"

"We're not going anywhere for a while, as you can tell. We can either play Tetris on our phones or have this conversation. It's up to you."

She knew exactly what he meant by this conversation. Grateful for the camouflaging darkness, she delved into the inferno. "Chapter one: a charming maverick of a prosecutor is assigned to work with tough-as-nails female ADA with a heart of gold."

"I think I've read this before, but continue..."

"They are the dynamic duo, but he develops an internal conflict when he realizes that he's-…"

"-…attracted to her."

Connie's breath caught in her throat. Was he admitting to it? Her apprehension was alien to her; she had her suspicions—call them desires if you will—yet it seemed so strange to hear him say it aloud. It was time to face the truth. "Mike… when we… when you went after Woll…"

"If you're asking if I made it personal," he interjected, "the answer is yes."

Connie had no reply other than, "Oh."

"He was like that obnoxious kid who runs around the neighborhood, gloating that his bicycle is shinier and his sneakers are newer. Even though I managed to not punch him in the face for being such a scumbag, I still behaved less than professionally. I'm sorry."

"Oh no—I think I take unprofessionalism to a whole 'nother level."

Mike was surprised by her candid reference to her relationship with Woll, something that had previously seemed off-limits. "I… um… I plead the Fifth."

"Go ahead," she nudged his shoulder, "you can give me grief. I deserve it. You know, they should teach a course in Law school: The Art of Saving Face: How to Avoid Lusting After Co-workers and the Subsequent Chaos of Sexual Indiscretion… 101."

"Two years ago, I'd have passed with flying colors. I'm not so sure about now," Mike chuckled, the implication of his words wiping the smile from Connie's lips. He sensed the shift in her disposition and nervously cleared his throat. "Hypothetically, let's say that I were bothered by your date. What difference would that make?"

"I suppose I would tell you…" Connie thought carefully about her response. Her heart and head were on very different planes. She wanted nothing more to test the waters, but the singe of past experience brought her to her senses. "I would tell you that whatever you may feel is… reciprocated. But, in the interest of maintaining the status quo and preserving our rapport-…"

"We keep pretending," Mike concluded. Connie was right. It didn't matter that she was a diversion, a welcomed distraction from routine and toil. There was a boundary that they could never, ever, ever cross. Nothing good could come of it.

A tense hush fell over the claustrophobic space. Connie had turned down many men in her life, but never had she felt such regret and sadness. She thought of reaching out to him, silently convincing herself that what happened in the elevator could technically stay in the elevator.

Just then, the whine of machinery and reemergence of light brought them to their feet. They were once again approaching the lobby. In strained quietude, they gathered their belongings and avoided looking at one another. They quickly stepped out onto the marbled floor, terrified that the electricity would vanish again right along with their will power. On the street outside, they stopped to exchange self-conscious glances.

"See you at the party?" Connie asked timidly.

"Actually, I think I'm going to head home. Goodnight, Connie." Mike turned to walk toward Centre Street, pausing with an afterthought. "Have a good time tonight."

Connie let out a sad sigh. "Mike, wait!"

He stopped, but kept his back to her.

"Hypothetically: It's getting late, and I'm tired… Honestly, I don't really feel like getting glammed up for an office party. There's a great bar by my apartment. I'm thinking of heading over there instead. Maybe… maybe you could join me."

Mike faced her, considering the proposition. "What about your $80 dress?"

"It's still got the tag on it," she smiled.

"Fair enough, " he shrugged and offered up his arm. Connie eagerly rushed to his side, hooking her gloved fingers around his surprisingly strong bicep. Chatting idly, they disappeared into the evening bustle of the City.

...

The End