The Case of the Almosts

by thekmb

Perry & Della were certainly up to some "hanky-panky" when no one was watching … weren't they? What was going on that we didn't see? And what led up to their separation? Here's my speculation, set as a kind of "prequel" to the PM movie series. Your feedback is always appreciated. *Special thanks to SlvrVxn for proof-reading & encouraging me, and to Veespa for her inspiring artwork.

Warning: The following story contains adult language and sexual situations. Please do not proceed if this offends you.

The Case of the Almosts by thekmb

The first almost happened about a year after Della Street was hired as Perry Mason's confidential secretary, during one of their many late nights working in his office. They were both physically and emotionally spent from a day in court, followed by an evening of poring over charts, diagrams, photographs and paperwork. Della had already kicked off her heels; Perry's tie was long gone, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. It had started with his loud groan of fatigue and frustration, as he dropped his elbows on top of the briefs on his desk, and plopped his head into his hands. Della, despite her own exhaustion, was behind him in a minute, squeezing his shoulder blades with her nimble hands. Perry's tightened muscles gradually relaxed as she pressed firmly at first, then more gently, responding to his barely audible "mmm-hmms." Neither could have said when exactly the backrub turned into a caress. Perry had his eyes closed, and his head tilted slightly back, and her hands felt so soft and … "mmm." Then her fingernails were creeping up the nape of his neck and into his hair. Another soft moan escaped his lips as he reached up and gripped her wrists, pulling her close, her chest now pressed against his back and her breath on his ear. She flattened her palms against his hard chest and … Paul's signature knock at the private door startled them apart. Upon seeing their flushed faces and Perry's mussed hair, Paul had paused a beat before asking sarcastically, "Gee, I'm not interrupting you two lovebirds, am I?" as he planted himself on the corner of the desk and launched seamlessly into the report that he had been working on for their current case.

Perry respected Della more than any woman he had ever known, and would fiercely defend her honor to anyone who dared to question her virtue, even jokingly. So, despite the fact that Paul had befriended Perry and earned his trust long before Della had arrived into their lives, the private detective was not allowed much more leeway than a stranger when it came to kidding about the nature of their relationship. It took only one scathing rebuke from Perry for Paul to understand where the line was drawn with regard to Della, and he never crossed it again. Although a hopeless romantic (who nevertheless was hapless in his own love life), Paul had finally accepted that his two best friends, no matter how perfect for each other, were never going to "seal the deal" as he tactfully (or not so tactfully) put it, wagging his eyebrows for emphasis, of course.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

Another almost occurred after they had left the Pelham party (after a successful conclusion to what Paul had dubbed "The Case of the Careless Kidnapper"). Outside the house, in the moonlight, Perry had told Della - in that deep voice that made her weak in the knees - that it was time to "create some new memories." Later that night, he had held her so close while they were dancing, with his hand just a little too low on the small of her back, pressing her body to his … both of them a little inebriated and less inhibited as a result of the bottle of champagne they had shared. She had rested her head against his chest and let him move them both to the slow sway of the music until they were the only couple left on the floor. When the band had stopped playing, Perry kept her hand in his, leading her back to the table for her purse. Without a word, still hand-in-hand, they stopped at the coat-check on their way out to the valet. In the car, she boldly slid next to him even before he had pulled away from the curb. Once Perry had steered out onto the main street, he took his right hand off the wheel and rested it on Della's leg, well above her knee, just below her hemline. His thumb caressed her thigh so softly that she couldn't be sure if he was doing it unconsciously or intentionally. Regardless, his touch was causing her to imagine things that she knew she shouldn't be thinking about.

Della had been so sure that night that his intention was to finally attempt more than just a chaste kiss on the cheek … and she was willing, although nervous with anticipation as they stepped off the elevator on her floor and walked slowly down the hall to her apartment. But as Perry hesitated several moments too long after unlocking her front door, self-doubt began to creep over her. Thanking him for the lovely evening, she ducked inside before he could see her cheeks turning red. Inside her apartment, she leaned her back against the door, taking slow, deep breaths. Standing there for a full five minutes, she tried to sort out exactly which words and events had led her to fantasize that the evening might end with at least a real kiss. She had just about convinced herself that she had misinterpreted the whole affair, when she heard the soft footfalls padding away from her door, then the ding of the elevator car. Perry had been standing there, on the other side of the door from her, the whole time. Was he thinking about what had almost happened as well?

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

The closest almost was on the darkest night of their lives. After the doctor had informed them that Paul had not survived his stroke, Perry called a taxi to take them from the hospital to Della's new house. In the back of the cab, he pulled her close, and she clutched the lapel of his coat tightly. When they arrived, Perry handed the driver twice the fare through the window and guided Della out onto the sidewalk and up the path to her door. Inside, they had clung to each other desperately, acutely feeling their own and each other's mortality. Della had her arms around Perry's neck, and allowed herself, exhausted from the stress and emotion of the day, to be guided down onto the sofa into his lap. Cradled in his arms, she laid her head on his shoulder, her tears wet and hot on his neck. With one strong arm around her waist holding her steady, he rubbed her neck and back gently with his other hand until her sobs finally subsided. Perry let his hand slide slowly down her side, hesitating momentarily as he brushed her hip, then he continued to her thigh, which had become exposed by her slightly hiked skirt. He pulled her closer, wanting to feel the reassuring warmth of her body and her breath on his skin. Della reached up and rubbed the evening stubble on his chin and neck, as if trying to confirm that he was real.

Then, without stopping to think about it, she trailed her fingers down past his Adam's apple. She began picking open the buttons of his shirt, far enough down for her to slip her hand inside and place it against his chest, over his rapidly beating heart. The touch of her bare skin to his was enough to elicit a small gasp from both of them. Della slowly lifted her head, and their still-glistening eyes met. Perry adjusted the placement of his hand, and the hem of her sweater slid up just enough for his fingers to feel her bare waist. She leaned forward and very softly kissed first his earlobe, then his neck. As he tilted his head back and rested it against the couch cushion, he took in slow, deep breaths. Her hand was still pressed against his heart, to reassure herself that it was still beating. Della lips tickled his throat as she murmured, "Perry, I can't lose you. I just can't."

At that, a voice in his head told him to stop, but Perry could feel his body responding independently to Della's ministrations. He was acutely aware of her thigh pressing against his groin and had no doubt that she could also feel his arousal.

Perry squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly realized what was happening, and why. "Della. Wait. Please."

The insistence in his voice made her pull back abruptly, but he kept his arm around her even as she slid gracefully off his lap and onto the cushion next to him. He tucked her back under his arm, and squeezed her shoulder as he pulled her close again. "Della, I love you more than anything, and I never want to let you go, but …"

"… but we both know that we would regret this happening tonight, like this," she finished with a sigh. She relaxed into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

They could always read each other's minds and finish each other's sentences, and so the discussion ended with no clarification needed. After they had cried some more, wiping each other's tears, Perry nuzzled her hair and said softly, "Let's go up to bed, doll." Della knew exactly what he meant, as he knew she would.

Della went into her bathroom to change into her nightgown, wash her face and brush her teeth. Perry was down to his undershirt and boxers by the time she came out, and took his turn in the bathroom, smiling for the first time that night at the new toothbrush she had left out on the sink. Della brushed out her hair, then folded down the quilt and the sheets and slipped under them on one side of the bed. When he was done in the bathroom, Perry slid in on the empty half, without a word, and rested on his side, facing her. He propped his head up on his elbow, studying her while she stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling. It had taken many years, but Della had finally gotten used to his intense gazes, and he didn't hide his looks anymore.

"I'm not sure I can sleep. I can't stop thinking about him," she whispered into the dark.

"Neither can I. C'mere," he replied in a husky voice, as he reached over without hesitation and pulled her by her waist across the void between them. Her thin nightgown left nothing to the imagination, and Perry knew exactly what he had given up that night, as he had so many nights before, for so many different reasons. He deftly rotated her light frame into a spooning position, so that he could envelope her in the protective cocoon of his love, safe from the sadness and death that lurked just outside.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

For Della, each day after Paul's funeral was just the tiniest bit less painful. She busied herself with the incoming cases, and when the memories of her cherished friend interrupted her thoughts, she tried to smile through her tears. She was still heartbroken over the loss of "the other man in my life" (as she had always thought of Paul), but was beginning to let go of some of her pain, as she knew her friend would want.

A few days later, however, Perry abruptly asked Della to clear his calendar, and announced that he was going fishing for "a week, maybe more." She was startled that he was leaving without explanation - and without her - but she let him go without protest.

When he finally returned, she was shocked by his transformation. Not only had he grown out a beard, he was withdrawn and distant, rejecting her efforts to console him. Couldn't Perry see that she also missed Paul fiercely and needed comforting? Every time the office door opened, she looked up, expecting to see Paul's smiling face, saying, "Hiya, beautiful, where's the boss?" On a friend's recommendation, Della saw a therapist for a couple of sessions, but she cancelled her upcoming appointments when she realized that she could never explain Perry or their complicated whatever-it-was to anyone.

As she had hoped, Perry was gradually distracted back into his old routine of churning through one case after another. And although he kept the facial hair and would never lose the new lines on his face (she privately thought of them as his "Paul wrinkles"), Perry's depression faded slowly until Della rarely noticed him lost in a wistful thought. When she did, she knew that a squeeze of her hand on his arm would bring him back to her.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

Over the years, they had "slept together" so many times that it had actually become a joke between them. There were, of course, several cases when they had pretended to be a married couple and were given a hotel room with just one bed. Despite Perry's insistence each time, Della surely wasn't going to let him sleep in a chair when she knew he needed the rest before another long day of sleuthing. Little did she know that Perry might have gotten more sleep on the hard floor, than he did lying next to Della. He was always keenly aware of the warmth of her body so close to his, the faint traces of her perfume, the quiet sighs that she made into the pillow as she dreamt … Then there had been countless late nights leading into early morning office sessions when they had both fallen asleep, Perry slumped over on his desk, head resting on his folded arms, and Della curled up on the couch, papers strewn on the floor where they had fallen when she had drifted off. And there were the overnight stakeouts that she insisted on being a part of. ("But you always take Paul!") Perry knew that she came along hoping for adventure, but he never minded when she fell asleep snuggled against his shoulder.

As the years had gone by and the caseloads lightened, the pair had spent more time together not working than they ever had been able to during the hustling, hectic, early years. The grey hairs and small wrinkles gradually showed up without either noticing them on the other. And with both of them unmarried and without serious romantic partners, it was presumed that they would eat together most nights, followed by television or a movie in one of their living rooms. They often fell asleep on the couch, comfortably nestled together, only awakening when one of them got a cramp or had to go to the bathroom. They each kept more than one change of clothes, pajamas and basic toiletries at the other's place for those nights when one of them was too tired to drive home.

When Perry and Della were out, it was taken for granted that they would be mistaken for a married couple, and they usually did not bother to correct the assumption. They never discussed it specifically, but they both knew, of course, that their familiarity marked them as unavailable to any potential suitors. Most of their friends had been through at least one failed marriage and endless strings of bad dates and relationships, so Perry and Della often congratulated themselves on how they had managed to cleverly avoid the usual romantic trappings. "To friends, love and loyalty" was one of their favorite toasts, and it was never said regretfully or meant ironically.

Their small circle of close friends openly speculated about their uncommon relationship. They winked and shook their heads knowingly at the denials from both the lawyer and his partner, of any clandestine love affair. It was a "well-known secret" that Perry had earnestly proposed several times when they were younger, but that Della was steadfastly insistent that she didn't believe in marriage and would never be a kept wife to anyone, not even Los Angeles' most renowned and successful attorney. Perry, ever the gentleman, still picked up the tab for the two of them when they went out, and Della, although unwavering in her resolve that no man would ever support her, had given up arguing that particular point long ago. As for the expensive jewelry, perfume and furs … well, everyone knows that a lady must be gracious when given a gift.

They were the beneficiaries of each other's investments and insurance policies, of course, as neither had any close relatives to whom to leave assets. They had never opened any joint banking accounts and kept their liquid finances mostly separated, but they had co-signed on each other's vehicles and property as a matter of practicality. And they were each other's durable power of attorney in case of emergency or incapacitation. Despite the lack of rings or a license, the truth was that even on paper, Perry Mason and Della Street looked like a typical married couple.

Neither Perry nor Della could have explained exactly why they had never gotten past the almost, as both were undeniably physically attracted to the other, and the emotional connection was stronger than any that either had felt with another person. In the early years of her employment, it was easy to blame their abstinence on propriety, old-fashioned morals and practicality. Even the suspicion of L.A.'s most famous and eligible lawyer bedding his sexy secretary would have had the scandal sheets ablaze for months and damaged the reputation of the practice.

For Della's part, although she fantasized about giving herself completely to the only man that she had ever really loved, she felt strongly that it was unfair to give in to her physical desire for Perry without any intention of making the legal commitment to him that she knew he yearned for. Perry tried to reassure her that he didn't care about the judgmental attitudes and expectations that society would press upon them as a couple - or more specifically the presumption that Della would become a subservient and pregnant homemaker as soon as vows and rings were exchanged. He had heard her objections and rationale more than once, and had always calmly insisted that he would agree to any arrangement that she requested. But Della could not be swayed, and they both knew that it would be a very long time before women and men would be freed from their gender-assigned roles and the traditions that were maintained by the still very puritan American society.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

Although Paul Drake Jr was barely a teenager when his father had died, he had learned the hard way (as his father had years before) where the line was drawn when it came to joking about Perry and Della's unusual relationship. Stopping by Della's one evening to introduce a new girlfriend, PJ made the mistake of laughingly introducing them as "friends without benefits." Rage flashed in Perry's eyes and his hands tightened to a grip on Della's shoulders. Her smile faded quickly as she narrowed her eyes, bit her lip and tilted her head sadly at the young man's crude and thoughtless remark. As politely as she could, she purred, "It was so nice to meet you, Monique. I hope that we can get to know you better another time when we are not so busy with … um, work." Reading their faces and realizing his gaffe, Paul had made a quick exit. It had taken Della the better part of an hour to calm a pacing Perry down and talk him out of his plan to "go find that boy and give him a Goddamn earful of what it means to be a gentleman."

Paul Jr had shown up on Della's doorstep the next morning with a bag of croissants, begging for her forgiveness. She admitted that she and Perry had both been hurt by his trite summation of their relationship, and then told him in no uncertain terms that any further discussion of his Godparents' private lives was off-limits.

But Della couldn't get PJ's words out of her head. The impertinent teenager had actually come up with an accurate (albeit crass) euphemism that described precisely what she and Perry had.

Della and Perry had spent so much time insisting "it's not like that" to everyone else - that they had inadvertently convinced themselves.

And so the almosts became fewer and farther between as the years passed.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

After they had essentially closed their practice, Perry was offered the opportunity to teach a master class in criminal defense at the prestigious UCLA School of Law. Della soon grew bored with her additional free time, despite a busy social calendar and volunteering schedule. She applied at a temp agency and immediately landed a short-term personal secretary position with Gordon Industries, a respected computer science firm based in Los Angeles. Her skills and dedication quickly made her indispensable. What was supposed to be a part-time, temporary stint turned into a full-time commitment before Della even realized that Arthur Gordon hadn't bothered to interview anyone else as a replacement. Perry felt a stab of jealousy (Della was his assistant) when she told stories of her busy days in the office, but he knew that she needed to keep active and that it would be petty and irrational of him to deny her the fulfillment that the job gave her.

When the governor called to inform Perry that his name was being submitted for the appellate court justice position, there was never any question that he would accept the nomination and win the appointment. When Della got home from work (late, as usual) that Friday night, Perry met her at the door with two glasses of their favorite "special occasion" champagne. As they talked, over the dinner that Perry had prepared, Della's happiness and pride for her best friend and companion was only dampened by the certainty of a physical separation in their near future. It had not occurred to Perry that Della wouldn't be moving with him to San Francisco, and in his excitement, he didn't notice, as he normally would have, that her cheerfulness was just the slightest bit forced.

Hoping that he would come to the realization on his own, Della waited until dinner the next evening to break the news to Perry that she wouldn't be joining him immediately. Arthur counted on her for, well, everything, and she couldn't just leave him without anyone he could trust to handle his business and affairs. Perry barreled through the stages of grief, starting with an angry outburst followed by a round of ardent begging, and then a good sulk. But by Sunday night, he had agreed that he would start his judgeship without her and that their reunion would wait until she had achieved closure in Los Angeles.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

Della and Perry had spent their last evening together with a simple Italian dinner at their favorite trattoria. They laughed quietly over their spaghetti and merlot, reminiscing about their old cases and hijinks and friends long gone. No one who happened to notice the couple at the corner table would have suspected that they were about to part for the longest period of time in over two decades.

Perry took surface streets back to Della's house, which lengthened the drive by quite a bit. Della assumed that he was just in a contemplative, nostalgic mood, and wanted to take what they jokingly referred to as "the scenic route" (aka the long way). Perry's intention, whether subconscious or deliberate, was to postpone the end of the evening. They had already agreed not to say "goodbye" that night, since they fully intended to visit each other frequently in the months ahead. Della needed enough time to find and train her replacement for Arthur and to tie up all her other loose ends in Los Angeles, including selling her property, finding people as competent and dedicated as herself to take over the charitable organizations she led … and the list went on. Assuming that everything went as planned, she would eventually join Perry in San Francisco. Looking back on it later, they both realized that they had always known that Della could not have extricated herself so easily, and that the physical distance between the two of them might result in a nearly-permanent separation that neither of them could bear to imagine.

Della reached over the armrest to gently lay her hand on his thigh. "Does it make me sound ancient to say that I miss those old bench seats without safety belts?" Perry let out a low chuckle and took his right hand off the wheel to cover hers and hold it in place. "No, Della, it does not. Would you believe that I was just thinking the same thing?" Della's laugh had grown huskier over the years, but it still made Perry's heart skip every time he heard it.

She leaned back against the headrest and smiled in the dark. "I always wondered if you knew that I was deliberately sliding closer to you when you went around a bend in the road …"

He made a full stop at the intersection before her block, and turned to look at her. "My dear girl, didn't you ever figure out why I took those curves so fast?" He gave her hand a squeeze and then rubbed his thumb over her skin, still as soft after so many years.

He reluctantly broke the connection to put both hands on the wheel as he maneuvered the Cadillac into the driveway in front of her garage. She and Paul Jr would pick up Perry's car from the hotel tomorrow and keep it at her house until he decided whether he would sell it, or have it brought up to him in San Francisco. PJ had built some sturdy shelving, and was able to rearrange all their old file boxes along the walls of the garage, making room for the second vehicle.

As they approached the front door, Della fished her keys out of her purse, and Perry held out his hand, as he always had done. She waited while he unlocked the door and reached around to flip on the entry light and then stepped in to disarm the security system. After a cursory glance around, he stepped back down onto the porch where Della waited. He gave her his arm to step up and through the doorway. She thought about how many times that this exact scene had played out, and she felt a wave of sadness as she realized that this might be the last time that they performed this ritual.

Della was three steps into the entryway when she realized that Perry hadn't followed her in as he always had before. She turned with a quizzical look to find Perry standing on the porch watching her with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Perry, come in," she said, with a bit of exasperation. She had never had to invite him in before. She put her hands on her hips, her signal to Perry that she wasn't making a suggestion. "I baked a lemon cake this afternoon." It was his favorite and she was genuinely shocked when he replied, "I don't think so, Della. The car is coming at six tomorrow and I should get back to the hotel …" He looked down at his shoes and let the sentence trail off as if he realized that his words sounded more like an excuse rather than a real reason for him to leave.

Della let her arms fall to her side. She hadn't expected him to be gone so soon, and wasn't prepared. Perry took a deep breath and straightened his posture, meeting her eyes. Holding his gaze, she walked slowly back to him. In her heels, standing on the threshold a small step above Perry, she had gained the seven inches she needed to match his height. She slipped her arms under his coat and encircled his chest, laying her head on his shoulder like she had so many times before.

"Perry, please stay."

"Della, I just can't."

She pulled her arms out from under his coat but he caught them at the wrists and held her hands between them. She turned her face so that he couldn't see it crumble in despair.

Bringing her hands up, he kissed her knuckles tenderly, then loosened his grip and dropped his arms to his sides. Blinking back her tears, Della turned back to him, put her palms on his chest, and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Oh!" she reacted when she pulled away and saw the dark red lip print. She automatically pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the stain but Perry stopped her hand before it got to his face and gently removed the cotton square from her fingers. Lifting it to her face instead, he softly patted the tears that she hadn't even realized had spilled out onto her cheeks. Perry pulled her close and they held each other tightly until finally Della loosened her grip and took a small step back. For old time's sake, she reached up and straightened his tie. Sighing, she lifted her eyebrows and tried to smile. "Well, I suppose we've given the neighbors something to talk about for the next few days."

Perry grinned at the woman on whom he could always count to make the worst situation bearable. Images of her flashed through his head: Della clinging to him on a fire escape; running in heels through mud with a sandwich in her hand; spoon-feeding him cough medicine and hot tea when he was woozy with the flu … She had witnessed both his triumphant best and his surly worst, and for some reason, she had stayed with him through it all. How could he walk away from the one person who would never leave him?

He made one last plea, his voice begging, "Della, come with me tomorrow."

Now it was her turn to refuse, "Perry, I just can't."

They looked into each other's eyes for several seconds, and then both spoke at the same time:

"I should go."
"You should go."

Perry hesitated before turning around, but as promised, did not say "goodbye." The last thing he heard Della say as he walked toward his car was, "Don't forget to call me when you land tomorrow."

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

As Perry drove, the memories rushed in again, so vividly that he could barely concentrate on the dark narrow roads. He remembered the first time he saw Della, when he thought that an angel had appeared in his doorway. He remembered their "first kiss" at Clay's, and turning his cheek to get a second from her. He thought about how, on the dance floor, her petite frame somehow fit perfectly into his larger, more cushioned body. He remembered dropping her off at her apartment door when they were younger, and then in the later years, at her house, with so many missed opportunities. He thought of all of the restless and lonely nights in his bed, with only dreams of Della to hold on to.

"Dammit, Mason! What are you doing?" He slapped the steering wheel so hard that the horn sounded, slicing through the dark silence of the suburban street. He flipped a U-turn at the next intersection and was back in Della's driveway in fewer than ten minutes.

Already in her robe and turning off the house lights, Della hesitated when she heard the big car pulling back in the driveway. Peering through the sheers, she saw Perry slamming the heavy door and striding purposefully to the porch.

Not bothering to turn the hall light back on, Della quickly brushed the stray tears from her cheeks and pulled open the door just as Perry raised his fist to knock. The first thing she noticed in the glare of the porchlight was that her lipstick was still on his cheek. Startled and confused by his sudden return, Della said the first words that popped into her mind. "Change your mind about dessert?" She stood in her slippers, with one hand on the door, waiting for Perry to explain himself.

His blue eyes had darkened to steely grey, and were locked on hers. In a gruff voice, thick with emotion, Perry said, "I didn't come back for the cake."

In one fluid motion, Perry stepped up and inside, grabbed Della by the waist with one hand, and shut the door with his other. She drew in a small gasp as he spun her around and pressed her body against the door with his. Her mind was racing and her body was on fire everywhere she was connected to Perry, but she held her breath and waited.

In the dim light, he stared down into her widened hazel eyes for what seemed like minutes, trying to slow down his breathing and heartrate. Finally, he leaned down and bent his knees slightly to correct for his height advantage, then rested his forehead against hers.

"Perry, what's happening here?" Della asked softly.

He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and whispered, "Would you believe that I didn't have a plan past this?"

Before he could open his eyes, Della had a hand around his neck, and her lips on his. Perry responded without hesitation, pressing back hard, and for a moment, it was messy and clumsy like every first kiss. After bumping noses once, they found the right angle and pressed their mouths together again. This time it was soft and slow and tender, making up for years of almosts. Gradually, their kissing became more insistent and passionate, both of them winded but not willing to stop to catch their breaths. Della parted her lips just enough for Perry to take advantage of the opening, and he slipped his tongue in to taste her for the first time. She jolted back slightly in surprise, but immediately pulled his open mouth back to hers. This time, she darted her tongue into his mouth tentatively and he felt a buzzing in his ears as she pressed herself up onto her tiptoes for more access. As she brushed herself up against him, the knot of her robe pressed against the front of his pants and he groaned into her mouth. His beard was scratching her face, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

Della's fingertips roamed through the hair on the back of his head and Perry was going weak in the knees trying to keep her lips connected to his. With one palm now flat against the door and the other hand further down her back than he had ever ventured before, Perry pulled her hips forward so she could feel his growing need for her. He tipped his head back and mumbled softly, either praying or cursing, Della wasn't sure. With his lips out of reach, she went for the exposed skin of his throat. While alternating between tiny kisses and using the tip of her tongue to tickle his neck, she worked at loosening Perry's tie and then unbuttoning his dress shirt.

They hadn't exchanged words since before they had started kissing, and the truth was, even after all this time to think about it, they had no idea what to say to each other. Twenty years of flirting and touching had been an eternity of foreplay, and their pent-up passion was now more clearly expressed physically than verbally.

Della felt Perry grope even further down her backside, and then with both hands, he cupped her bottom firmly, lifting her off the ground so they were face-to-face. Pinned against the front door, Della wrapped her still-lithe legs around Perry's waist, gripping harder than he had imagined she could. In that position, even with layers of fabric between them, Della could feel both her own arousal and Perry's very clearly.

They continued kissing breathlessly. Perry caught Della's lower lip between his, savoring the taste of her. And when Della used her tongue to trace Perry's lips, he wondered what other wonderful talents that she had hidden from him for all of these years.

At this point, there was no question how this was going to end, and no reason to slow down or stop, even if they could. However, both Della's legs and Perry's arms were weakening their grip, and Perry carefully eased her back down to the floor. Unable to stop touching her, Perry cupped her face in his hands and ever-so-softly kissed her forehead, then her nose, and her lips again. She thought her skin might melt from the heat of his breath as he continued with her chin and down her bare throat. She arched her back as he got to the V in her robe, and brought her hand back up behind his head to press his lips and scratchy beard into her exposed cleavage. He nuzzled her robe aside just an inch, and sucked on her still nearly porcelain skin.

Out of breath, Della managed to whisper urgently, "Perry, upstairs." As if he had just been waiting for her to ask, he swept her off her feet and into his arms with a low groan of both strain and lust.

With one arm cradling her back, the other under her knees, Perry made his way slowly up the stairway. Laughing at his old-fashioned gallantry, Della kicked off her slippers as they ascended the steps. Stopping only once on the landing to catch his breath and adjust his hold on her, he absentmindedly pressed kisses on the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of her now-faint shampoo and her favorite perfume (the one that made him crazy every time she wore it). Della marveled at the strength that he still possessed, and her hunger for him grew even stronger.

The light from the small bedside reading lamp gave the room a warm glow. Depositing her carefully on the bed, Perry stepped back to drink in the sight of her. She was perched on the edge of the mattress, with her hands on either side of her, looking up at him as if he were the only other person in the universe. Her hair, so perfectly coifed at the start of the evening, was now a mess of stray tendrils and loose curls. Her mascara had smeared from her earlier tears, and her lips, dark and swollen from their fervent kissing, were now completely bare of lipstick. Perry thought she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

The knot of her robe had loosened, and it had slipped aside to reveal one bare leg, nearly all of the way up her thigh. The collar of the gown hadn't weathered the trek up the stairs much better, and it was gaping open way past the point of propriety. Perry didn't try to disguise his gaze, as he efficiently removed some of the outerwear that was putting him at an unfair disadvantage. He kicked off his socks and shoes; and his coat, tie, dress shirt and slacks were in a pile on the floor within seconds. Della watched, and rewarded him with the same lusty stare that he had for her. He was still the big sexy man that she had met in 1956 and had fallen in love with at first sight.

He came and joined her on the edge of the bed. Taking one of her hands, he completely covered it between the two of his. "Last chance, young lady. I'm not sure I can stop myself if that robe comes off."

She looked at him through lowered eyelids and replied in a seductive voice, using one of her old pet names for him, "I don't want you to stop, Chief."

He grinned at her and his greying beard faded away, leaving just his smile, those dimples and the deep blue eyes that she had been drawn to on the first day she walked into his office.

Long out of practice and unsure of how to proceed, Perry awkwardly slid back on the mattress so he could pull Della sideways onto his lap, keeping a strong arm around her waist to steady her. Della wrapped her arm around his shoulder and leaned in to tickle his ear with her tongue and nip at his earlobe. "Oh, Della, please," he groaned.

Perry struggled to think clearly while his fingers fumbled with the sash at Della's waist. She giggled at the unflappable lawyer's sudden ineptitude and moved her free hand down to help him with the knot. As the robe went slack, Perry's hand moved tentatively over her bare skin, starting at her shoulders. She tilted her head back and moaned quietly.

He traced an invisible line down between her breasts, past her ribcage, stomach and hips, and then just above her now-exposed knees, where he gripped her, holding her still on his lap. Responding to her movements and sounds, he started kissing his way down her neck, leaving a wet trail down to her exposed chest.

When Perry finally lifted his head, Della's mouth quickly found his. She attacked his lips, and he responded eagerly, making up for the years of self-restraint. As Della wriggled, he pulled her further into his lap, a little too tightly. The resulting jolt was a reminder to Perry that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer, and he pulled his mouth off of Della's. His piercing blue eyes told her what he wanted and she swallowed hard and nodded her agreement.

She slid off his lap and stood facing him, now nude except for her panties. Suddenly self-conscious, she looked down at the robe pooled at her feet. Perry reached out to her and pulled her between his knees. With his palms, he rolled down her last piece of clothing, leaving her completely naked standing before him. He held his breath as his heart beat so hard that he felt like it might jump out of his chest. His once roomy boxers had become unbearably tight. He yanked his t-shirt off and stood up, just an inch away from her bare skin. Della's hands went hesitantly to Perry's waistband and she gingerly hooked her thumbs in the elastic. Perry didn't wait for her and pulled the shorts down to the floor.

Just as eager as Perry to consummate their relationship, Della stepped around him and tugged back the quilt. She lay back onto the sheets in full surrender to receive him. He didn't waste any time, crawling directly over her. On all fours, he bent down to kiss her and again marveled at how beautiful she still was. With his mouth never leaving hers, he balanced on one hand and roamed his other one slowly down her body, touching and caressing her most sensitive places.

When he was sure that she was absolutely ready for him, Perry moved into place as slowly as he could, with Della murmuring encouragement against his lips. Although he had always envisioned a slow and tender coupling as their first encounter, Perry's restraint had now reached its limit. He knew that a few more seconds were all that he could handle, so he rolled over, pulling Della on top of him to let her set the pace. A sudden, urgent press of her hips gave him the permission he had been waiting for. He felt her muscles tightening around him as he released into her. Their simultaneous ecstasy was an explosion of love and repressed desire, one that had been long delayed by what would later seem like utterly ridiculous rationalizations and circumstances.

They lay there together as their breathing and heartrates slowly faded back to normal. Della finally slipped off of Perry, but kept her arm across his chest, her leg draped over his thigh, and her head resting on his shoulder. A moment of sadness passed over her as she suddenly remembered that they would be hundreds of miles apart at this time tomorrow night.

Still on his back, Perry reached his long arm over to flip off the bedside light that still illuminated the room. For the first time that night, they were in complete darkness.

"I love you, Della. I always have."

"I love you too, Perry. Sometimes you drive me absolutely crazy, but I have always loved you."

Perry brought his hand up to grasp hers and they held hands like they used to, before the paradigm shift that had taken place that night.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

After what seemed like hours but might have been only seconds, Perry lifted his head slightly to peer across the dark room at the alarm clock on the dresser. As he watched it flip yet another minute of their lives into the past, he stated flatly, "I have to meet the car in five hours."

"Any ideas for what we can do for five hours?" Della asked coyly, as she ran her fingernails through his chest hair.

Perry grinned into the darkness, "I don't suppose you know where I can get some good lemon cake?"

She pulled her hand out of his and smacked his arm playfully. "You are incorrigible. Don't you dare get out of this bed," she commanded in her no-nonsense tone. She snuck a quick kiss before rolling off the mattress and onto her feet.

Finding her robe on the floor, she slipped it on, and picked up her slippers on the way down the staircase. When she returned five minutes later, she had run a comb through her hair and washed the traces of smeared makeup off her face. While she was gone, Perry had turned back on the bedside lamp, retrieved his boxers, and propped himself up against the headboard with the sheets pulled up to his waist. Della crawled in and scooted over so they were thigh-to-thigh. She balanced a monstrous piece of cake and two forks on a dinner plate. She had forgotten napkins, so she and Perry took turns licking stray frosting and crumbs off of each other's lips and chins and noses.

Once they had scraped the last remnants off of the plate, Perry deposited it on the nightstand, flipped off the light again, and pulled Della close. She rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered her name into her hair.

Finding his hand, she intertwined her fingers with his and asked, "What are you thinking about right now, Perry?"

"The truth?"

"Always."

"Okay, the truth is …" Perry took a deep breath, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer to his question. "I was wondering why you kept saying 'no' every time I proposed? The world finally changed, but my feelings for you never did."

Without hesitation, Della answered softly, "But you stopped asking."

As her words sank in, Perry's chest and stomach tightened and his ears started ringing as if a bomb had exploded next to him. He silently cursed himself as he realized that he had foolishly given up the one fight that meant everything to him.

He had been so persistent at first, but Della had been equally resistant. Each rejection had chipped away at his resolve and bruised both his ego and his heart just a little bit more. No matter how he had presented his case, he couldn't win her over; it never occurred to him that someday, sometime, the moment would just be right for her. The late sixties and seventies had brought so many changes in gender roles, both in the workplace and at home. Why hadn't he tried just one more time? And was it too late?

Perry made a split-second decision and swiftly pulled his arm out from behind Della. He leaned over to flip the lamp back on, then threw off the sheet covering them. He turned back to her, grunting as he rolled over and awkwardly straddled her legs, his knees on either side of her. Della was startled and confused by his sudden acrobatics until he grabbed her hands. "Oh, Perry …" She immediately realized what was about to happen. Before he could lose his nerve Perry blurted, "Della Street, will you - "

"Perry, no, wait." She saw Perry's expression go from hope to despair and she hurriedly clarified her refusal. "You're right, no one cares about my stupid, old-fashioned notions about marriage anymore." She squeezed his hands tightly as she continued with only a quick breath. "So I am going to accept your next proposal, which had better happen about two minutes after I officially move in with you in San Francisco."

Perry's blue eyes widened and brightened as he processed her words. "You mean, we don't have to keep separate houses … and beds … anymore?" He looked like an eight-year-old who'd just been told that he was going to Disneyland for his birthday.

"Perry, you do realize that this isn't going to happen tomorrow or even next month or maybe even next year? Can you handle that?"

"Well, Della, I waited twenty years for tonight. I suppose I can wait a little longer for you to be my wife." He liked the way it sounded and said it again with a huge grin, dimples showing. "My wife."

Della could practically see the gears turning in Perry's head and she knew what was coming next. She chuckled at his predictability as he launched into his plan-of-action: "So here's what we do. You just need to get rid of Arthur, and then we'll have Junior and the movers help you pack. They can drive everything up to our new mansion overlooking the bay."

"Oh, our mansion, huh?" Della raised her eyebrows in amusement, but then she took on a more serious tone. "You make it sound so easy, Perry, but you're forgetting about your new obligations and all of the ones I have here. You're going to have to get settled into your new role. You've got to train your staff, God help them, to your systems and your quirks … and hope they don't quit on you in the process."

"All right, Miss Know-It-All, I think I know how to manage an office and a staff." Della held back her snicker, but couldn't help but roll her eyes and throw up a silent prayer for sanity for both Perry and his new assistants. Perry, ignoring her skepticism, continued, "Della, the point is, we can do this. Look at how far we've gotten in just a couple hours. I mean, we're almost married now." He leaned forward for a long, slow kiss.

She finally pulled away. "Perry, almost means that we still have work to do. For now, until you are on that plane, I am responsible for making sure that you follow your schedule. In fewer than four hours, your car is coming to pick you up at the hotel. Assuming you can get there in forty-five minutes, that means just three hours until you need to leave here." With typical Della Street efficiency, she laid out the options: "We can sit around and discuss things that are mostly out of our control, or we can spend our last few hours kissing and cuddling and making up for what we've missed all these years. It's your call; you're the boss."

"Kissing and cuddling it is," Perry announced decisively.

~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~PD~

Perry lightly ran his fingertips up and down Della's bare back as she slept curled up against him. Sometime during those early morning hours, they had both ended up naked again. He couldn't stop touching her body in all the hidden places to which he had only dreamed of being granted access before tonight.

He checked the clock for the umpteenth time that night. 4:17 a.m. They had been together more than twenty years, and now their time with each other had been reduced to counting minutes.

Perry's mind had been racing for the last hour. While Della dozed, he'd lain wide awake next to her going over every possible scenario for tomorrow and the weeks and months to come. What if he called Governor Brown and resigned before he even started? He dismissed that option as completely out of the question. Maybe he and Della could take turns visiting each other every weekend? In his heart, he knew that was also an impossibility. Della didn't like to fly, and her weekends were filled with fundraisers for her children's charities and other organizations. He could fly down every Friday night, to share her bed for two nights before he had to go home bleary-eyed on Sunday afternoon. It seemed like a worthwhile sacrifice right this minute, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to maintain a schedule like that for long.

Della sighed and Perry gently pulled her in even closer, tucking her body tightly against his. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she wanted to marry him. As a young man, he had visualized so many goals for himself … and then Della had walked into his life. His blueprints for the future began to include her, but he soon realized that he had fallen in love with a woman who didn't want anyone else making decisions or plans for her.

And yet, somehow, they had made their relationship work. It had not always been easy, but neither of them had ever doubted the other's love. And now that Della had agreed to be his wife, Perry could not imagine what would change once they exchanged vows. Except the sex. Oh, sweet Lord, the sex.

4:26. "Della, sweetheart. C'mon." He picked up her hand, kissed her fingertips, and then laid her arm back on his chest. As she slowly regained consciousness, Perry turned toward her and touched his lips to her forehead, and then her nose, and finally to her mouth. Reaching around to cup her bottom, he pulled her against him. Della's lips opened to his kiss, and she instinctively pressed her hips against his. She had been deep asleep, dreaming of making love to Perry, and when she opened her eyes, she was momentarily surprised to find him next to her in the flesh. The bare flesh. Then the events of the night rushed back to her.

"Wa time ist?" she asked, without breaking contact with his mouth. He pulled his lips off hers long enough to gasp, "4:30" and then returned to the kiss as if drawn back to her by a strong magnetic pull. Their legs were twisted together and Della now had her palm on Perry's backside, trying to meld her body with his.

She tore herself away long enough to take a quick breath and whisper, "Do we have time?"

"You're the boss," was Perry's quick response.

The act was a hurried and primitive tangle of lips and legs and hands and other body parts that left them both on their backs and breathing hard again.

After giving herself a few minutes to recover, Della sat up and announced, in her office manager voice, "Perry, you need to get in the shower. I'll get you a towel and lay out your clothes."

Perry chuckled at the realization that he had been right. Not much had changed between the two of them, and that suited him just fine.

He folded his hands behind his head, and gave her his most seductive gaze. "Suppose we shower together and then you ride back to the hotel next to me?" He abruptly sat up with a frown. "Wait, dammit! Those blasted armrests will be the death of me!" Now it was Della's turn to chuckle. "All right, then," Perry decided, "We'll call a taxi so we can neck in the backseat like a couple of teenagers."

"Oh, Perry, we'll scandalize the poor cabbie!" Della blushed as she imagined Perry's roaming hands and the driver's frown in the rearview mirror.

"Trust me, Della, he'll have his eyes glued to the tip I toss on his dashboard."

- - - Epilogue - - -

The years ahead would be longer and more difficult than they had envisioned. Unexpected complications would cool down the relationship that had just heated up. Their nightly hours-long phone conversations became shorter weekly calls, then tapered off to occasional check-ins. Visits were infrequent and a bit awkward, as they hadn't had a chance to become accustomed to their new physical relationship prior to Perry's move. Della faithfully sent letters and holiday cards, sometimes with photos of Paul Jr with his most recent band; and Perry never missed Della's birthday, continuing his long-standing tradition of extravagant gifts. But their once-fierce determination to speed up their final reunion was dampened by distance and time, and they gradually grew comfortable in their new routines without each other.

Neither of them could bring themselves to admit how often they lay awake alone - in separate beds in cities four hundred miles apart - thinking about what almost had been.

Until …

… one day, when Perry's new secretary (his seventh in as many years) interrupted him in the middle of reviewing an argument: "I'm sorry to bother you, Your Honor, but I have a Miss Street on the line and she says it's urgent."

No more almosts.

Author's note: This is "The End" of this story, but not the end of Perry and Della's ...

This is only intended as a bridge between
the TV series and their reunion in the "Perry Mason Returns" movie.
After that, our favorite characters are on their own.

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts in the reviews.