Note: It's been asked if it will ever be mentioned what made Della mad in the first place, and while I've dropped hints in this and other stories about what set off the events in the flashback portion of this story, I haven't decided yet when or where to directly address what happened. Not much of an answer, but this story is on angst overload and the characters need a break.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that I write primarily book Perry and Della, and enjoy occasionally dropping the characters into TV episodes/movies begging for back stories and repair. In the books Della was obviously considerably younger than Perry, and I've settled on an eleven-year age gap, which I think makes character development more interesting.

Future chapters should be longer as we get into more parts that didn't make sense or were just downright silly - hello, Gary Hawkes pretending to be a private detective...

~ OED

CHAPTER 5

Perry and Della moved along the outer walls admiring an impressive collection of Western art that Della thought were beautiful but incongruous displayed in such a formal house, trying to stay out of the way as Max Parrish and his security detail dragged the unconscious Alonzo 'Lon' Hawkes into Max's study and locked both doors. A security guard was then assigned to watch each door, and an announcement made that the wedding would resume in twenty to thirty minutes.

Della also watched Kaitlynn Parrish move through the crowd of inquisitive, talkative guests in a short lace wedding dress with a sweetheart neckline after shedding the voluminous taffeta overskirt, still wearing full-length satin gloves that could have been fitted better, which was a shame because the fitted under dress was actually quite becoming.

The young bride hugged her distraught mother, spoke a few words to her father, and moved away out of sight. Della's fingers tightened on Perry's arm. He looked down at her with a smile, knowing how the turn of events upset her. Having dealt with criminal law for so many years, she liked happy endings. He fingered the large emerald on her left hand. "Let's find an out-of-the-way corner and neck."

Della snickered while he guided her toward the mansion's dining room that had been converted into a 'gift room', the long table draped with white linen and laden with elaborately wrapped boxes of all sizes and shapes. They hadn't taken but a few steps when a teenage girl with short dark hair and wearing shorts with over-the-knee socks bumped into Perry as she backed away from the entrance to the gift room.

"Well, well," Perry boomed, "who are you?"

The girl, brown eyes big with panic, jerked her arm from the attorney's grasp and darted out a side door.

Perry glanced at Della. "Kids these days. Somehow I get the impression she wasn't an invited guest."

"How did she get in if she wasn't invited? We went through no less than three security checks on the way in, and I've counted five security men inside the house." If a teenage girl could manage to avoid the security precautions, what good were they? Della empathized with Kaitlynn Parrish, living her private life in public. Her own private life had become public when she was approximately the young bride's age, the day she accepted Perry Mason's offer of employment. It was worse for Kaitlynn, whose interrupted nuptials would be the lead story on news broadcasts and entertainment shows around the world, whereas the intrusion into her own personal life had been limited to newspapers and tabloid magazines with a more limited audience.

Perry was thinking along the same lines as Della, but his thoughts were interrupted when the best man, Sam Wald, right hand wrapped in a thick bandage of white gauze, breezed past them into the dining room.

"Well, there goes the last private spot on this floor of the house," Della lamented.

"I think where we are is about the most private place we'll find right now." He drew her to him and nuzzled the curls at her temple. "You smell divine."

"I'm wearing the same perfume I've always worn."

"And I've always thought you smelled divine." He dipped his head and placed thrilling kisses up and down her slender neck.

"Really, Mr. Mason, is this proper behavior at a wedding?" Her words may have been mildly protesting, but her body belied that protest by melting against him and tilting her head to allow better access to her neck.

"Isn't a wedding where love is in the air the perfect place to show affection?"

She laughed, regaining some sensibility, and placed her hand caressingly along his jawline. "I can't argue with that, Counselor."

Perry removed her hand from his face and laced his fingers with hers, but before he could say anything, Sam Wald emerged from the dining room and walked quickly past them. "The coast is clear. What do you say about repairing to the dining room and discussing the 'nap' we took this afternoon?" His head dipped once more to taste her neck.

"We missed our opportunity," Della told him, lifting his head again. "Hannah Hawkes just went in. And here comes Max Parrish. I'm beginning to think we're invisible. A parade of people walked by us without a howdy-do."

Perry leaned forward and kissed her delicious lips. "I told you no one would see us here."

She placed her palm flat against his chest this time to - what did the kids say - cool his jets. "Don't get carried away, lover boy, we're on the return parade route as well." She watched while first Hannah Hawkes, then Max Parrish exited the dining room. "I must say, Mr. Mason, I'm pleased you've managed to stay out of the kerfuffle today."

"Kerfuffles don't interest me, my dear. Murder is my specialty."

"Speaking of murder...did you hear Kaitlynn say she could kill Gary's uncle as they dragged him away?" She wasn't going to bring it up, but well, murder was his specialty.

Perry frowned. "I did. Kaitlynn can be overly dramatic." Just like her mother. Jaded as he was by his profession and knowing Laura Parrish, he didn't want to think Kaitlynn's words were anything but emotional. Hell, her wedding had just been interrupted!

"Uh oh, here comes another parade."

Perry turned and followed her gaze to where Max Parrish and two security men were bearing down on the dining room. Inexplicably sensing something bad was about to happen he nudged Della closer to the wall. "Stay here, Della."

When Perry Mason entered the study on the heels of the security men, Kaitlynn Parrish was standing over the lifeless form of Lon Hawkes, face pale and frightened. "I wanted to talk to him," she said in a quavering voice, reaching toward her father and putting bloodied satin gloves holding an equally bloody knife on full display.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Alone at last," he quipped, loudly snapping his briefcase shut.

She shoved the last notebook into her briefcase and latched it with less noise. "That was a whirlwind. When did you begin to suspect the tax accountant?"

He flashed a dimpled grin. "When I called him to the stand."

She shook her head in proud, but confounded, admiration. "You are either the most brilliant attorney in the world or incredibly lucky."

Within moments of crossing the threshold to his private office five weeks ago he was Perry Mason again – demanding, brilliant, blustery, clever, humorous, annoying; everything her boss had always been. She knew going back to work would be good for her – for them – and it was, especially when not one, but two, murder cases dropped in their laps within a few days of each other.

But he still smelled different, enveloped in an unidentifiable perfume she'd smelled in his apartment, and when he attempted tentative caresses she involuntarily recoiled. Knowing his masculine mind found it difficult to process the power of an imaginary scent she was incredibly grateful he wasn't making a big deal out of it. Patience was not one of his virtues, except when it came to her, and she hated – yes, hated – testing it.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, taking a chance that she might allow a bit of affection from him since the courtroom was empty. "I'm incredibly lucky."

"Well played, Chief," she said quietly, knees weak, willing every cell in her body not to stiffen or flinch at his touch.

"Well played enough to take you out for a steak dinner, dancing, and a nightcap at my apartment?" His eyes darkened as he leaned toward her, still holding her hand, encouraged by the fact that although her hand was trembling, she hadn't jerked it from his grasp.

She felt her cheeks grow warm with the effort not to inhale while he was so close. They had spent nearly every waking hour together during this case, just not as together as either of them would like to be, and it had still been wonderful. During the day they paced each other side-by-side, their common goal a good defense for clients. At night they dined at their favorite restaurants, attended legal social functions together, took in the occasional movie or concert, and then went home to separate apartments. She hoped he didn't feel he was being punished, because that was not her intent. She was still mad at him – at her lover – and he knew it because he asked every morning. Maybe still being mad at him fueled her aversion to his touch. Maybe she needed to finally exhale and not worry so much about inhaling.

Standing in front of him now, pleased with his triumph, his fingers gently caressing hers, she let out what little breath was left in her lungs. And inhaled tentatively. The scent of infidelity, pride, and embarrassment that had wafted between them for so many weeks was definitely less detectable. "Yes."

Their briefcases hit the floor simultaneously as he gathered her into his arms. "Are you sure?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent – blessedly mostly his. "I'm sure. I miss you."

"Are you really sure?"

She chuckled softly. "I'm really sure."

His hands framed her face, her beautiful, beautiful face. "I love you."

"Prove it," she whispered shakily.

"Oh, my love, I'm going to," he assured her, "from now until the end of my life."

"I, um, don't know...that is, tonight won't be..." she stopped talking as another warm blush crept across her face. "No grand gestures, Perry, please. This is difficult for me. Work isn't enough anymore and I'd like to try being Perry and Della when we're not being Mr. Mason and Miss Street. I need to figure out if what we were was real and if it's possible to be that way again."

Work hadn't been enough for him since the moment he'd met her, his feelings immediately the most real and genuine he'd ever experienced; the heaven on earth he'd always considered mythic. His hell was one he'd created; of being so close to her, of loving her, needing her, desperate to forgive and be forgiven; aware of how careless he had been with the emotions she had entrusted him. He'd watched her wrestle all these weeks to reconcile her convictions about what he'd done with her feelings for him and had never been more humbled to know she was willing to give them another chance.

His thumbs moved slowly across magnificently sculpted cheekbones. "We were real, baby." He bent and brushed gentle lips over first one heated cheek, then the other. "Everything was real, and anything is possible."