Chapter Six

When Della boarded the PanAm machine a little after 8am, she knew this was not how it was supposed to be. If Perry wanted to confess to a mistake, he should be the one flying out to her. But his voice, the late hour of his call, it all had triggered a chain reaction of emotions. She was cross with him and hurt, but at the same time she was relieved that he had called. He needed her. She hated to admit it, but that fact alone had been the driving force in her decision to go.

In the four months without Perry at the office and in her life, Della had found herself keeping busy to not lose her mind. She had been stuck with that feeling of abandonment, cutting deep and carving into her whenever someone had asked how he has doing. She had always lied to brush them off. "Busy as always. He's doing fine." She didn't want anyone to know that she was clueless about his D.C. life.

Paul Drake had been the only one who knew, and Gertie, although she hadn't said a thing. In her sweetness, she had been lost with words about Della's situation, knowing about the secret the secretary was keeping from everyone outside the office. She had seen the signs, known for sure when, weeks ago, Della had asked her to reschedule appointments and close up early, a worn out Perry Mason lying in her arms like a battered child. A lot of things had changed since the lawyer had been shot and his absence had been gaining severity with every day he had been away. Della Street had done her best to hold it all together, struggled most with herself. But as much as she had excelled at creating a facade for clients and distant friends alike, everyone who knew Della up-close and personal had seen the deterioration in her poise. It had been written all over her face, although impeccable in appearance as always, that worry line between those delicately fixed brows had grown deeper the longer the silence between her and Perry Mason had lasted. Della's pain had been so evident since Perry had gotten shot that even her father had finally grasped the nature of his daughter's relationship with her employer although he had refrained from frowning on it at his wife's urging.

"You see, what I don't understand about the two of you," her mother had said on the phone, "he dashes off to D.C., having the crisis of his life no doubt, not trusting you with his issues but giving you full authority over everything in his absence. And you stay behind, run his office and cope with this trauma on his terms without biting his head off. Tell me, honey, what's wrong with that picture?"

"You sound like Paul," Della had merely offered, lost with an explanation herself. She wasn't normally that compliant with men, something her parents had often scolded her for since she had been a young adult and called off her first engagement at the tender age of nineteen.

"I like that man," Margarete Street's smile had been noticeable in her voice. "It's good to know that, in spite of it all, you're left with one reliable friend."

Paul had indeed proven to be a friend in rocky times. Facing a crisis of his own after the hail of bullets had missed him but injured Perry, he had found his own way of overcoming it by finally asking one of his regular dates to marry him. Della had been glad to hear the news. A little distraction from the uproar of feelings she so desperately tried to hide from everyone. He had also popped in his head at the office every day to check on her and make her smile. It had saved her more than once after she had spent so many lonely nights in Perry's bed, surrounding herself with his scent and scolding herself for being so needy.

When Della slid in her assigned seat in first class, she remembered Paul's teasing and his smile when he had shared wedding plans with her and moaned about the costs of it all. The secretary chuckled at the memory now that she sat in first class. It had been the last seat available on such a short notice and for once she didn't mind the extra expense and leaned back, flashing a smile at the air hostess who asked if she had any special requests. Della shook her head and simply asked not to be woken before arriving in D.C. Then she closed her eyes, Paul's voice ringing in her head after their quick morning good-bye at the office.

"I take it Perry has learned to use a phone?" Paul had given her a charming smile to cover the lack of understanding in his voice.

Della had nodded while she had grasped some papers and left a note on Gertie's desk for her to know how to reach her and when. "Figured it out this morning."

"I hope you know what you're doing," the detective had remarked with a sigh.

"Have you ever seen me making rash decisions?" Della had returned with a smile that told him she was not in the mood to justify her reasons to indulge Perry.

"I've seen you doing a lot for Perry," Paul had given back in caring voice. "I hope he appreciates it."

"I wouldn't go if I thought he won't," Della had lied to convince herself. Like Paul, she was not sure if Perry actually knew what he was doing to her.

"We've arrived, Miss Street." Della woke with a start as the stewardess gently squeezed her shoulder.

"What time is it?" Della asked in a tired voice while she untangled herself from her seat belt and the blanket the young woman must've covered her with to keep her warm.

"Pushing 4:30 local time, ma'am," the air hostess replied in a sweet voice. "You better put on a coat on your way out, winter has come early to D.C. this year."

Perry had not been able to sleep since he had called Della around 5:30am Eastern time. He knew it was a lot to ask from her, coming out to D.C. so suddenly without any explanation. After all those weeks of silence, when he had simply not known what to say to her.

So Perry had decided to get up and do the only thing that got him through any day: work. He worked a lot from his provisional home these days, always missing his office in L.A., the view from his window and Della's familiar face right next to him, taking shorthand or cocking an eyebrow to skip a verbal remark. Gillian, his Georgetown assistant, young, ambitious and working her way through law school, was serving his needs as best as she could. But she was no Della Street, he had known right from the start and didn't expect her to rival Della's many aptitudes. After all, he wasn't looking for a substitute. He had come to Washington to free his mind, to figure out why he had not felt at ease since he had been shot: neither with his life, nor with Della. Her care had almost suffocated him, and her distance the farther he had pushed her away. He needed her close but had not been able touch her. He longed for her when he dreamed at night, missed her presence in his bed, those little sounds she only made for him. It drove him crazy not to see her now, but living with her had driven him mad just the same. He needed his space, his time alone, but then his heart had finally told him to call her, his body, his skin. It had hurt not wanting her when she had been around enduring his moods, and ached since he had left Los Angeles. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had decided not to come out to see him.

Perry frowned. He knew he had made a mistake by taking flight. That's what it was, after all, his sudden craving for solitude and new adventures. He had never been the academic type, didn't like the system and the show-off gatherings and affairs. But he did fairly enjoy the everyday exchange with his students in and outside of the classroom and now wished to share it with Della once she would arrive. It was awkward thinking of her, feeling that need to hold her again after all this time, right after he had kissed another woman and blacked-out on the rest of their night.

When Laura Parrish stopped by around 9am, breakfast in hand and her usual uninhibited smile gracing her face, Perry hesitated to let her in. He did not feel as comfortable around her as he used to, didn't know if he was glad not to remember or worried. Laura however seemed to be perfectly at ease and swayed past him with two quick steps.

"Good morning," She greeted him cheerfully. "Sleep well?"

Perry shook his head, still unsure how to approach her about what had happened between them.

"Me either," the young woman returned with a chuckle. "Must've been the wine. Too much of it I'm afraid. I should know by now." She dropped the coffee and muffins on the coffee table and made herself comfortable on the couch. "Now don't just stand there like a stuffed dummy," she called out and beckoned to him. "I'm not in the mood to let this get awkward between us, Perry. I've come to value you too much as a friend. Please, sit down." She patted the space next to her on the couch. "I'm sure we'll laugh about it in no time."

Perry gazed at her and slowly took a seat right next to the young woman lawyer. "

"There you go," Laura exclaimed and pecked his cheek. "Now choose a muffin or I'll eat them both."

Perry didn't move but tried to read Laura's face. Her behavior appeared to be as carefree as ever, but underneath her well-rehearsed masquerade, he suspected a whole different mix of emotions.

"I have a guest coming in tonight," Perry said calmly and watched how she lived up to her promise to scarf down both muffins after he wasn't fast enough to take his pick.

"Your demure fire I assume," Laura said quietly and avoided his eyes.

Perry nodded.

"I'd like to get to know her," the young woman said self-assured and met his gaze to emphasize her genuine interest.

"Maybe another time," Perry answered firmly, unsure what else to say.

"She's a very lucky woman, you know." Laura smiled sadly at him as she saw his emotions surfacing again the way they had last night, when she had pulled him into another hungry kiss, ignoring his moans and the sound of her name falling from his frenzied lips.

"I'm not sure she shares that sentiment right now," Perry answered matter-of-factly. "I've not really given her a lot of reasons to feel lucky lately."

Laura knew how he felt. "I'm pregnant, Perry," she suddenly exclaimed and stood in front of him with tears in her eyes.

Perry was irritated for a moment. "Does Max know?" He asked carefully.

Laura nodded. "I told him this morning."

"Are you still convinced you want to divorce him?" Perry didn't know why he asked, but those months of camaraderie with Laura had left their mark.

"I was hoping you could give me some advice," Laura almost begged him.

"After everything you've told me about him I think he honestly loves you," Perry said truthfully.

"Is that enough?" Laura asked, searching his eyes for an answer he didn't know.

"How did he react?" Perry Mason queried.

"Appalled after I told him about our nightly endeavor," Laura admitted. "But he was thrilled about the baby."

Perry was confused but decided to accept it for the time being. "What exactly did he say?"

"That he wants me to forget about the divorce. That he wants to have a family with me," Laura answered quietly.

"And you love him," Perry needed her to confirm his assumption.

"You know how hard it was for me to file for divorce in the first place." Laura nodded.

"So you want to divorce him over a conflict of opinion," Perry ascertained.

"If that's what you call a career," Laura was cross with him," then yes."

"I don't believe in rash decisions, in business or in marriage," Perry stated matter-of-factly.

"Is that why you ran away from your wife?" Laura asked calmly but with a clear hint of challenge in her voice.

"I'm not married," Perry said clearly but sadly.

Laura glared at him. "Do you want to know why I left that night?" She asked and put her hand on Perry's chest, smiling ruefully. "You called me Della," she said softly. "Said you were sorry, said you loved me so much." Laura looked deep into his eyes. "It sounded as if you were paying your dues to her. That's how I felt when I told Max about my pregnancy. So don't tell me she's anything less."

Perry stared at Laura for being so presumptuous about his relationship with Della, a woman she had never met. The woman he had betrayed on all levels in recent months.

"So you did not cheat on your husband?" Perry was relieved.

"And you didn't cheat on the woman I envy so much," Laura nodded. "I hope you didn't admit to a sin you haven't even committed?"

"I will set that straight as soon as she arrives," Perry assured her.

"So you are trying to win her back and what do you have in mind for me?" Laura asked although she already knew his answer.

"You'll return to your husband and keep in touch with me," Perry said and placed a friendly kiss onto her head. "I have no idea how you've managed it but you've become a friend I would hate to lose."

"You make it sound like good-bye," Laura looked at him with sad eyes.

"For now," Perry confirmed her impression. "I've cancelled my January commitments and will head back to L.A. in three weeks," he added hopefully. "If she takes me back."

"That would leave us with three weeks of facing D.C. together," Laura returned tenderly.

"I want to ask Della to stay," Perry answered honestly.

Laura closed her eyes to the goosebumps the sound of that name sent over her body. The way he pronounced was filled with so much emotions, it jolted her heart, also because he now trusted her enough to mention the woman he loved so much.

"You do know that I've fallen for you, Perry Mason, don't you?" Laura said with a sad smile.

Perry nodded and placed a tender kiss on her forehead to confirm he had figured as much.

"I really want to meet her one day," Laura Parrish unwillingly detached herself from Perry and tried to chase away the ambiguity of feelings that nestled in her since her friendship with Perry had begun to flourish.

"One day you will," Perry agreed and walked her to the door.

When Laura slid through the half open door, he watched her leave with a mixture of relief and strain sitting on his chest. He had come to care for Laura Parrish very much and was sad to see her go, but his nervousness about Della's arrival outweighed those feelings by far.

When Della Street arrived at Perry Mason's university office, suitcase in hand, beauty case and purse, his local assistant looked at her from head to toe. Mr. Mason's head of office was tall, slim on the curvy side and sharply-dressed, the young assistant deemed, although her coat was a little too light for the season and her hemline was bordering an outgoing conservative style. Her hair was puffed up, makeup impeccable, her eyes as dark as her eyebrows, sparkling in the office light.

"Hello, dear," Della said sweetly, detecting puzzlement in the young law student's eyes.

"May I help you?" Gillian Hanson met the lady visitor's respectful greeting.

"I'm sure you can," Della answered and moved her eyes over the young woman's desk without even giving it away. "I'm Della Street. I'm here to see Mr. Mason."

Gillian nodded discomposed and flipped through her calendar. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Mr. Mason asked to see me," Della offered warmly, trying to calm the young woman's nerves.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Gillian answered, still processing the appearance of her boss' Los Angeles secretary. "Mr. Mason has a habit of keeping me out of his scheduling."

Della smiled and understood. "Is he in?" She asked politely, feeling her feet burning in her heels now that they slowly warmed up from the cold outside.

"He's in class right now," Gillian answered and pointed to the open door that led to Perry's office. "But I'm sure he won't mind if you wait for him inside."

"Thank you, dear," Della gave back and entered the room behind her. She placed her luggage on the small couch in his overstuffed office and looked around. The air was dry and stifling. His desk looked unorganized, almost messy. Books were lying all around, coffee stains marked some of his papers, his pencils were timeworn and reduced to stubs. The window was small, his lamp hardly shining enough light to read properly. His phone was buried somewhere between files and books, his paper basket was flowing over, showing traces of fast food lunches and sugared coffee.

Della felt uncomfortable. The furniture, used and old, perfectly serving an academic cliche was not Perry's style at all. The view, although breathtaking, was sadly lost behind an armada of law books and stacking trays. When she reached for the window to breathe some fresh air, she found it stuck from the inside. So she turned and scanned the two shelves leaning against the opposite wall stuffed with a mountain of books, threatening the wood to burst. When she walked around the desk, Della scanned the piles of notes that were stacked on the table. Papers. Lecture. Civil rights. Los Angeles. Carefully divided categories surrounded by chaos. Della smiled until her eyes glimpsed a woman's handwriting sticking out from the civil rights stack: Call me. You know where. Laura.

Della gasped but couldn't analyze the note any further, his voice interrupted her, coy somehow and growling deep from exhaustion. "Della!"

She felt how he approached her fast, then stopped, unsure what to do. Della looked up at him, somehow protected by his desk, then walked around it and looked at him. His face was unmoved, his eyes were not. His pair of blue were dancing with emotion, almost bubbling over, his mouth moved but there was no word, only the sound of a relieved sigh when she finally closed the gap between them and searched his embrace. His arms were slow when they moved around her. The environment didn't please his mood.

"Let's get out of here," Perry whispered in a husky voice and almost smiled when she agreed with him all too fast.

On their way to the car, they didn't speak. Perry had taken her suitcase and put his winter coat around Della's shoulders to keep her warm. She was shivering, but not from the cold. She was shaking through and through, unsure where they were going, what he had to say. A little afraid that in spite of her faith in them, Perry would turn this into a bitter farewell.

When they reached his home and Perry unlocked the door, Della was relieved to find his apartment comfortable and neat. A file was lying on the coffee table, his notebook. His usual suspects. But the apartment in no way resembled his current office which had made her so ill at ease.

"Are you hungry?" Perry asked as he took her beauty case and carried it to his bedroom along with her suitcase.

"Not really," Della shook her head and hesitated for a second, wanted to protest, but Perry interrupted her without being aware that she was looking for words to address their awkward situation.

"I'll sleep on the couch while you're here," Perry shouted softly from the bedroom and returned with a pillow and a blanket tucked under his arm. "I figured you may feel more comfortable getting your own room."

Della nodded reluctantly. "I have a reservation at the..."

"You really don't have to stay in a hotel," Perry offered with a tender smile. "I don't want you to," he added to emphasize how happy he was to see her.

Della looked at him, watched how he dropped his sheets on the couch, and stood somewhat impatient. "What am I doing here, Perry?" She suddenly asked, startling herself.

"I have missed you," Perry offered sheepishly.

"And you couldn't have come back to L.A. to tell me that?" Della asked quietly, not really sure how to handle the situation.

"You deserve the truth," Perry said calmly and invited her to sit with him on the couch.

Della didn't like the implications of that. "The truth about what?" Her voice sounded distant when she asked him, her hands were sweaty, cold. She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear what he had to say.

"I kissed another woman," Perry announced as gently as he could.

Della didn't know what hurt more, the words that had slowly escaped his mouth or the sharp intake of breath that came along with it. Deep down she had known that this was what he wanted to share with her. That he would present her with a truth he could voice after still being at odds with his rash decision of leaving Los Angeles, and along with it, her.

"When?" Della managed to whisper as tears threatened to build up in her eyes.

"Last night," Perry answered calmly, fighting with himself. He so desperately wanted to hold her now but knew she wouldn't let him.

"It's been almost four months, Perry," Della stated calmly, anger slowly blending with tears. "Four months and not a word from you. Only a message through your local secretary. Nothing personal. You moved on and left me behind in charge of your office. Escaped me like you tried to escape that bullet that has done away with your dignity."

The words erupted deeply from within Della's soul. She had bottled up her frustration for so long, she couldn't fight releasing it now.

"Is that how you cope? By looking for admiration from an adoring pair of young lips to stroke your battered ego? Can you really not forgive me for making you vulnerable enough to lose your way?"

Perry held her gaze. He had rarely heard her angry like that, her voice, though calm, was doubling over with emotions, her face blushed and wet from stubborn tears. The fact that she didn't bite down her feelings humbled him tough. A lot of what he felt seemed ambiguous these days.

"I've never blamed you for my accident," Perry said quietly while Della was looking for words to ask all the questions that had twisted her mind since he had left.

"Will you stop calling it an accident, for crying out loud!" Della said angrily, seeing from the corner of her eyes how his hands twitched in her direction, longing to comfort her. She didn't say it, but her body language was clear enough. He better not touch her. Not now. "You got shot because Patrick Kelley wanted to shoot you. He is a mad man, he was convicted. And yes, he played you, pushed all those little buttons until he found the one that lured you into his trap." She paused. "That doesn't give you the right to kiss another woman."

"We had too much wine," Perry tried to explain. "I missed you."

"So what's your mistake in it? If it was the wine and I wasn't able to read your mind." Della looked at him. The tenderness in her eyes surprised them both. "I don't know you anymore, Perry," she said honestly. "I've given up on understanding you since you tried to chase me away from your hospital bed. Since you refused to make love to me although I needed you so much. Since you chose to struggle with that bullet all by yourself, never even considering that your trauma is not yours alone, but that it also affects me," she suddenly leaned in to him and sought his arms. "Do you know how scared I was for you? How much it hurt to see you suffering without you letting me in? How afraid I was to lose you?"

"I want to come home, Della," Perry said, his emotions fully surfaced now. He didn't know what else to say and simply held her close, allowing his fingers to run over her body in a soothing caress.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for you to say that?" She closed her eyes and nestled her head against his chest. "I may be adapting to your self-destructive behavior, but please, Perry, don't make me sleep alone tonight. I've not come here to fight."

Perry nodded, surprised at her loving kindness, her warmth. "How can you forgive me so easily?" He felt her crying silently against him, releasing her hurt as well as her relief to be close to him again.

"Oh, I haven't forgiven you," Della answered matter-of-factly. "I've just been mad for four months and I'm exhausted."

Perry buried his face in her curls. "I'm sorry for being such a pain," he suddenly whispered onto her head.

Della placed a soft kiss on his chest and sighed deeply. "And to the dismay of my father I love you anyway."

Author's note: Transitional chapters are an ordeal, I know. Sorry for that. Happy Della & Perry to come back SOON! Promised. :)