Christopher Anthony Stone was born at 5.47am that morning. He lived for only thirty minutes, long enough for his parents to see him and hold him and have him baptised by the hospital priest. Ben was devastated. When he held his son, both before and after his death, and gazed upon the scrap of humanity, he felt a profound sense of grief and loss for his child, along with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He should have done more, he should have been there, he should have made her stay at home.

When he had been woken from his sleep, groggy and disorientated, to be told that Evelyn had gone into premature labour, he had driven to Cambridge so fast he was surprised he wasn't stopped by the cops. He had reached her side a few moments before she had given birth to Christopher and despite it not being usual practice for men to witness the birth of their child, had insisted he be with her.

Evelyn reacted to the news that her son was going to die with silence. In fact, she had barely said anything since he had been there. She had held him and looked at him, but she hadn't cried and she had handed his body over to the nurses without a fight, whereas Ben wanted to scream at them to leave him be.

The doctors had wanted to keep Evelyn in overnight, just to make sure she was all right physically and Ben had wanted to stay with her, sleeping on the floor if he had to. But Evelyn had told him to go, so he checked into a cheap motel nearby and didn't sleep a wink, crying over what should have been.

The following morning, they said Evelyn could be released and he turned up at the hospital ready to take her home and take care of her. He wanted to keep her close to him, wanted to hold her, to let her release the emotion he was sure she must be keeping inside. When he reached her room, she was already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hi," he greeted her, kissing her on the cheek, "how are you feeling?"

She shrugged, "Ok I suppose. Still a little sore." She stood up and looked down at where her stomach had been, "I keep expecting to still see the bump." In the hours after the birth, her stomach had shrunk dramatically and it was hard to imagine she had ever looked pregnant.

"I know," he said softly, "so do I." He lifted her coat and helped her on with it, "I called my Mom."

"What did she say?"

"That she was so terribly sorry and that we were welcome to stay with her for a while if we wanted to." He saw her shake her head, "I know, I didn't want to either, so I told her no. We're better off just being by ourselves." They slowly walked out of the room and began making their way down the corridor to the main entrance, "When I get you home, you're not to do anything, you hear? I'm going to look after you. I'm going to take some time off work…"

"I don't want to go home," she interrupted. "Take me back to Harvard."

Ben stopped walking and stared at her, "What?"

"You heard me. I said, take me back to Harvard."

"Evelyn…"

"Ben, I have numerous assignments to complete, study groups to attend and the preliminary exams to sit next month. I don't have time to sit in New York watching daytime TV."

"You've just given birth!" he exclaimed, "Our son just died!"

"I'm aware of that!" she snapped, "I was the one who gave birth to him!" She sighed, "Please, just take me back to Harvard."

Ben knew better than to fight with her, but he didn't say anything as they drove through the streets back to the campus and neither did she. It was as if the tentative gulf that always seemed to have existed between them had widened massively.

Back at Harvard, things were going on as normal. Students milled around the campus, going back and forth to classes, there were banners up advertising social events and notices about study groups. In Hunter House there was a booth set up for voting for the resident representative. Ben could hardly believe that things were still happening when his world seemed to have ground to a halt.

In her room, Evelyn put down her bag and surveyed the piles of books and papers that lay strewn on her desk and floor, "I've got so much to do," she observed.

"I don't know how you can even think about it," he remarked, a note of pain in his voice.

"What good would it do if I didn't?" she turned to him, her expression impassive, "Sitting around crying isn't going to bring him back."

"He was our son. He had a name."

"I know." She turned back to her desk, "Whitworth told me he was expecting something extra special from me this year, even despite my infirmity," she laughed, "imagine calling it that."

Ben just shook his head, "You're cold, Evelyn. You're really cold."

She turned again, "Does that mean you don't want to marry me anymore?"

"Is that a roundabout way of saying you don't want to marry me anymore?" he shot back at her. He waited for the denial which never came. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Come on, Ben," Evelyn sat down on the bed, "We were only really getting married because I was pregnant, weren't we? Now that I'm not…"

He had always known she had a strange outlook on things, but to be faced with this…he was almost speechless with a mixture of hurt, outrage and anger, "You might have only wanted to get married because of that, but I was marrying you because I loved you. Because I wanted to be with you, child or no child! And for you to sit there, and pretend that he never existed…" his voice broke slightly, "that he wasn't real…well that certainly takes something, something I don't have. I suppose you're not even interested in the funeral, are you?"

"Of course I am. I want to say goodbye to him too."

"Well forgive me if I don't believe you."

"I'm not like you, Ben," she responded.

"No you sure as hell aren't."

"I just…don't know what to do."

"Yes you do," he lifted his jacket, "do your assignments, do your exams. That's what matters to you now." He opened the door.

"Ben." He paused and turned back around. She was holding out her engagement ring, "Do you want this back?"

"No," he said, "You keep it. Maybe it'll serve as a good reminder." Then he left, slamming the door hard behind him. Pounding down the stairs he ran out of the building and back to the car, not wanting anyone to see the tears coursing down his cheeks and his chest heaving with sobs. It had started to snow and he sat in the car, breaking his heart, while the fat white flakes obscured his vision of the world and provided him with a temporary shelter.

SSSS

"So, you ready?" Bowyer loomed over Ben's desk a fortnight later, his eyebrows raised as if daring the younger man to say no.

Ben looked up, "Ready as I'll ever be I guess."

"It's a big step. Trying your first case," Bowyer warned him, "It's natural to be nervous."

If he was being honest, Ben didn't give a damn about the case. In the run up to Christmas and the days before Christopher's death, he had been excited, exhilarated at the prospect of finding his feet in the courtroom. He had watched Bowyer, and other ADA's many times and had taken copious notes on what he felt were their skills and weaknesses, collating them together to form what he hoped would be a good prosecution. The case was fairly straightforward. A young woman had been raped and stabbed to death by her ex-husband. While he was pleading not guilty, the evidence against him was overwhelming and even his attorney had said to both Ben and Bowyer that he wished his client had taken the murder two plea when it had been offered. Since the death of his son, and his split from Evelyn however, Ben hadn't been that inspired. He had organised Christopher's funeral and had tried to contact Evelyn with the details, but he could never reach her. In the end, it had taken place without her.

"Stone," Bowyer said sternly, "I know you're upset about what happened to your kid, anyone would be. But we need to try this case and try it effectively, and if you don't think you're up to the job…"

"I am," Ben replied quickly. He wasn't about to let Evelyn's cool indifference ruin his career, "I'm ready."

"Good," Bowyer smiled, "Wentworth wants a word before you go, and I'll see you in the Rotunda tomorrow at eight am sharp, ok? I want to go over your opening argument."

"Ok," Ben nodded, watching as the other man left. It was late, and he was tired, but if Wentworth wanted to see him then that's where he would go. Stretching, he stood up, switched off the light on his desk, lifted his papers and made his way towards the DA's office.

"Come in," Wentworth replied to the knock on his door, "Ben, I'm glad you dropped back. Come in, sit down." Ben did as he was instructed, "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"

"Fine sir," Ben replied, "a little nervous."

"To be expected. I know you're going to do a fine job. Remember that Patrick will be there as your backup should things go pear-shaped." He took off his glasses, "Aside from the case, how are you?"

"How do you mean, sir?" He really didn't like discussing Christopher, or Evelyn, with anyone.

"I'm referring to the loss of your son." Wentworth was nothing if not direct.

"I'm…" Ben looked down at the carpet, red and patterned, "I'm…ok."

"It's not easy, losing a child. I lost my daughter when she was seven."

"I'm sorry."

"So was the son of bitch who knocked her down, but he still got fifteen years," Wentworth smiled sadly, "you never get over these things, Ben, but you do learn to live with them."

Ben nodded, although he wasn't sure he ever would get over losing that child. "I appreciate that sir."

"Now," Wentworth stood up, "You go home and get a good night's sleep. You'll need to be on the ball tomorrow."

"Yes sir," Ben stood up, "thank you sir." He left the office and made his way out into the busy streets. It was dark and cold and people hurried past, their coats pulled tightly around them, their eyes firmly fixed ahead. Ben joined them, walking to the bus stop and queuing with everybody else, sitting pressed against a misty window until it reached his street and then walking into the cold, dark apartment.

He missed Evelyn, missed her like crazy. He had lifted the phone to call her so many times, after the funeral but had always replaced the receiver without dialling. Once, he had been about to drive up to Harvard and say he was sorry, but something had held him back. He was tired of always having to apologise, always having to be the one to cave first. He didn't want to say sorry for being upset at Christopher's death, why should he? Instead, he put a frozen meal in the oven and turned on the evening news.

SSSS

"I couldn't have done it better myself," Bowyer clapped him on the back as Karl Ludlow was led away to begin a life sentence, "and that's something coming from me."

Ben let out the breath he had been holding slowly and felt the blood drain back to his head. It had been a tough few days, the most stressful of his life, and for a moment, he had forgotten all his other problems in his quest to convict a killer. It hadn't been easy, especially when the defence produced a surprise witness who testified that Ludlow had been with him the night of the murder. Thankfully, Carter and Haywood had been able to disprove that theory quite easily and the witness had only given himself a conviction for perjury.

"I think we deserve a drink, don't you?" Bowyer declared, "Come on, I'm buying."

Ben knew better than to turn down this elusive offer, so he followed his boss to a nearby bar, thronged with people on a Friday night. They drank beer and went over the case, Bowyer highlighting the good parts, but also offering criticism on the weaknesses.

"Your questioning of the doctor could have been better," he said, "the amount of perfectly reasonable objections Franklin made, he'd have been better off standing up the whole time."

"I know," Ben said, "I realised that."

"Never mind, you'll do better next time."

Ben wanted to point out that he had got a conviction, but he didn't have the energy to fight with Bowyer.

"Don't get too cocky though," Bowyer continued, "they won't all be as straightforward."

"I know."

"Sometimes you get a real humdinger that you just know you can't win. Those are the cases that separate the men from the boys, Stone."

With Bowyer's words ringing in his ears, Ben arrived home, once again, to a dark, empty apartment. He called his mother to tell her he had won and had to hold the phone away from his ear while she screeched with joy. Then he called Craig, who had left a message on his machine earlier that day. He was working on Wall Street and they arranged to meet up for dinner the following week. Ben never mentioned Evelyn and Craig never asked. It was almost as if she had never existed.

As he was preparing to go to bed, there was a knock at the apartment door, and for a fleeting moment, his heart leapt thinking it might be Evelyn. But when he opened it, he was faced with two men in suits.

"Are you Ben Stone?" One of them asked.

"Who wants to know?" he replied.

The man flashed a badge, "I'm Detective Harper, this is Detective Giardella, Massachusetts Police. Can we come in?"

Ben stepped back automatically, his heat racing, and they stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

"Do you know an Evelyn Sanderson?" Harper asked.

Ben swallowed hard, "Yes." His hands were suddenly clammy and he felt nauseous. "Why?"

"She's been admitted to St Jude's Hospital in Cambridge."

"Oh my God," Ben said, "what happened?"

"An overdose of sleeping pills. It looks like she tried to take her own life."

Rendered speechless, Ben sat down stiffly on the arm of the sofa. Evelyn…his Evelyn…why would she do it? He looked up quickly, "If it was a suicide attempt, why are the police involved?"

Harper set his mouth in a grim line, "Because before she tried to top herself, Miss Sanderson attempted to abduct a baby boy from another student."