Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and no profit is made from these stories. (But I do have fun writing them: )

Shambala Green wasn't looking forward to this meeting.

And she had always looked forward to challenging Ben Stone in court. Even though he was her opponent, Ben was also her friend. And he had always treated her as an equal – her opinions didn't matter less to him because she wasn't a high-priced white male mouthpiece. Sadly, she couldn't say the same for many of the prosecutors and judges she'd encountered over the years.

But things had changed.

The demise of their working relationship could be described as yet another casualty of the Roberts case. Deep down, Shambala had always known that Ben was no racist – her accusation had come in the heat of the moment, and she regretted it deeply. But it wasn't the kind of thing that she could merely apologize for, and she wouldn't be able to explain it away either.

However, she wanted to at least try to extend the olive branch. And it so happened that she had just been assigned a new case which Ben would be prosecuting – a hit-and-run committed by a teenage driver.

Shambala was unsure if she was on the right floor – the office looked like Ben's, but all the furniture looked unfamiliar. Most importantly, there was a woman behind the desk.

She checked the number on the door. After confirming that this was indeed Room 912, she rapped on the window glass.

"Excuse me?" she called out.

The woman looked up from her paperwork, brushing away her dark curls. She smiled a tense smile, as though annoyed by the disturbance yet intending to be polite.

"Yes?" the woman responded.

"Who are you, and why are you in Ben Stone's office?" Shambala asked, in an air of righteous indignation.

Something about this raised her hackles, and she wasn't sure why. There were many times when she felt like hanging Ben from the courthouse flagpole – but as far as she was concerned, only he belonged in this office. Having someone else here seemed just wrong.

"Tracey Kibre, Assistant District Attorney," the woman answered, her annoyance becoming quite evident. "And I'm in this office because it's now mine. Stone resigned a week ago. Now, if don't have any more rude questions for me, I'd like to get back to work – "

Shambala felt as though she'd just been knocked over the head with a two-by-four.

"He resigned?" This had to be some kind of joke – Ben was one of the rare attorneys who were expected to stay with the DA's office for life. Hell, he was one of the front-runners for the top post when the time came for Adam Schiff to retire.

"Yes," Tracey answered impatiently. She had returned to her paperwork.

"But how – "

"He'd promised one of his witnesses protection from the Brighton Beach Russians, but they gunned her down in front of her house. I don't know Stone, but apparently he took it pretty badly."

Shambala now realized that it was true – the Ben Stone she knew would never be able to live with something like that. Still, why hadn't anyone told her about this?

"But he's supposed to be prosecuting one of my cases – "

"I imagine his cases are still being reassigned. You might want to talk to his assistant – I forget her name, but she's on the 10th floor working for Jack McCoy now."

"Thanks," Shambala said quietly. "And I'm very sorry to have bothered you."

Yes, things had changed. And they would never be the same.

finis