Mason raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What puzzle?"
"We're the puzzle. You have to figure out how you're going to handle our relationship, whatever that is."
Mason dropped his head and ran his hands roughly through his hair. "You're wrong Della. There is no puzzle."
"No? Then why is it you pull me in - telling me how important I am to you and then, just when I think maybe we can make this work, you shut me out, push me away?"
He shook his head. "That was never my intention. I didn't even realize that I'd done that until the end of the trial." They were silent for a breath, then he looked up at her. "I've always been alone, Della. It's what I wanted. Until you came into my life. The feelings I have for you - I want to make things permanent between us. Marriage seemed like the perfect solution. It never occurred to me that it might not be right for you. When you turned me down, I didn't know where to go from there, so I backed off. I needed some time to sort things out."
"So you closed me out? What was I supposed to do? Just sit in a corner somewhere waiting on you to decide where we stand?" Her eyes flashed. "That's not fair, Perry."
"I know," he said.
"You know why I can't marry you. You said you understood, and that you didn't want things to change between us. And yet here we are, playing these games." Getting to her feet, Della put her palms flat on the table top and leaned in close to him. "I'm not going to play anymore." She left the room.
"Damn it all to hell," he whispered. For several minutes he sat still and silent, then followed her into the living room. Della was standing next to the mantle, staring into the darkened fireplace. No doubt she sensed his presence, but she didn't move as he came up behind her. Pent up emotion was evident in the tight lines of her back and shoulders, as well as the firm set of her jaw-line. He reached out and touched her arm.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Shaking her head she turned to face him. "This is my fault as much as yours. It's not a good idea for us to be...involved, or whatever we are." Her voice caught in her throat. "I knew better than to fall for you. It won't ever work, Perry. I should go back to being just your secretary - nothing more.
"I'm good at that," she continued. "It's what I do best. I need to go back to it and forget about the rest of it." The cold hearth claimed her gaze once more. "If...If you need to find someone to love, then do it. With my blessing. We'd still be able to work together – no strings. Like we've always done."
Perry, slack-jawed with disbelief, stared at her profile.
"Find someone? Find someone!" His voice rose. "Have you lost your --" He stopped abruptly. When he spoke again his voice was more calm. "Being a secretary is not your best talent, you know."
She glanced at him, a sharp reply dying on her lips as she registered the expression on his face.
"First of all," he said with a droll grin, "kissing is your best talent. Absolutely. Undeniably. I hate to say it, but your secretarial skills can't hold a candle to your expertise with a lip lock." Della smiled in spite of herself. "Secondly, I'm not in the market for female companionship. In the past I've dated a lot of beautiful women - women I've enjoyed and hopefully the feeling was mutual. But I never wanted to be tied down with a home and family. Then you came along and I found myself thinking seriously about the rest of my life. For the first time, my future was about more than just me. I wanted to do things right and getting married seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Mostly, I didn't want you to think this was some trivial affair. There is nothing trivial or insignificant about my feelings for you.
"Don't you get it, Della? It's not about following the conventions. I don't give a damn about society or propriety or any of that. I just want to find a way to be with you all the time. Don't you understand? You don't have to marry me. I'd like you to, but all I'm really asking is for you to be with me. Forever."
Della took a step back, needing distance from the piercing blue eyes that were boring into hers, demanding everything and nothing all at once. "I want that too, Perry, but just wanting it is not enough to make it work. If things went wrong between us... Isn't a working relationship better than no relationship at all?" She looked at him imploringly. "I don't want to lose you --not completely. Can't we just go back to the way things were before?"
Moving closer, he placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He smiled wearily. "That's just not possible, Della. Don't ask me to find some way to 'un-love' you. That's like asking me to stop breathing. Instead of worrying about what might go wrong, can't you trust me - trust yourself - to find a way for us to be together?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "Give me a chance, Del. Don't run away from this." His fingertip caressed the fullness of her lower lip. "We have a future, Della. That doesn't mean we won't ever have problems or arguments, but it means that I will love you no matter what." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me love you."
She closed her eyes. "I'm scared of what could happen – what it will cost us if it doesn't work."
Placing his hands on both sides of her face, Perry waited for her to look at him again. Eventually she did and his gaze locked onto hers. "Living – making decisions based on fear," he hesitated, "is no way to truly live."
Looking into his eyes, she could almost feel the force of his will pulling at her walls, pushing at her defenses. The only choice offered her was surrender – sweet surrender. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll try."
Mason smiled down at her and reached for her hands. Bringing them to his lips, he pressed a kiss to each of her fingers in turn. He was thrilled to see her smile in return. When he released her hands, he circled her waist with his arms, pulling her gently towards him. She hesitated briefly, then relaxed against him, head coming to rest on his shoulder. Although he ached with need for her, Perry simply held her close, whispering endearments as he stroked her hair and cradled her body against his own.
Safe in the embrace, Della relaxed even further, all but falling asleep on her feet after a while. Mason chuckled low in his chest. "Let's get you in bed, darling. Before you pass out on me. You're sleeping in my bed tonight."
Della mumbled something unintelligible into his chest, then pulled away a bit. Sensing her protest, he said "No arguments, Miss Street. The ambulance driver said I have to wake you up every couple of hours or so to make sure you're ok. Therefore, I'm going to sleep on the couch, so I don't fall into a deep sleep. You, on the other hand, need to rest as much as possible. So, you're sleeping in the bed and I'll sleep in here."
A heavy yawn stifled any further protest. It wasn't late, but exhaustion, both mental and physical, had set in. Della followed Mason into his bedroom where he turned down the bed. "The cleaning lady came today, so the sheets have been changed," he explained. Della nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, still yawning, while Mason fluffed pillows and continued to hover over her.
"I like firm pillows, so I hope these will be alright for you. If you're not comfortable, let me know and I'll get something else. Maybe one of the cushions from the couch?"
Della smiled and shook her head. "This will be fine, Perry, really." She gestured towards the head of the bed where he was still trying to arrange things to perfection. "Are you going to keep that up all night or are you going to actually let me use the pillows?"
Mason chuckled and stepped back from the bed. "Sorry. I'll let you sleep. Just promise me you'll let me know if you need anything."
"I promise." She stood up, by the side of the bed, a hand on the knotted belt of her robe. Sensing she was waiting on him to leave, Mason leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across the corner of her mouth, then left the room. He'd not even made it back to the living room before he turned on his heel and was knocking on the bedroom door.
"Yes?" Della said, not opening the door.
"I forgot, I have to wake you. Every hour or so. Because of the concussion. Is that going to be alright? If not, I guess I can set an alarm clock for you or something?" he asked, his voice tentative.
She didn't answer, but in a few moments the door opened halfway. He forced his eyes stay locked on her face, although his peripheral vision registered the fact that the soft cotton pajamas did little to hide the curves of her figure.
"Stop worrying, Perry." She gave him a rueful smile. "I won't lock the door." Then she slowly closed him out of the room. He stared somewhat wistfully at the closed door for a few moments after the latch clicked into place, then headed for the couch.
Something – maybe a dream, maybe a noise - startled Della into wide-eyed wakefulness sometime in the early morning hours. She felt sore all over. Perry's bed was soft and luxuriant, but it wasn't the same as being at home, safe in her own bed. 'Safe at home?' She groaned softly at the thought and turned over on her side, gathering her body into a ball around one of the extra pillows. Would she ever feel safe at home again?
That thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she wiped them away before they could fall. No one - not Livesey, not anyone - was going to take away her independence. She hugged the pillow tighter.
Independence, self-reliance - those were qualities she'd always considered important. Life had taught her that she couldn't depend on others for her well-being or happiness. It was up to her. And she'd been doing a pretty good job of taking care of herself. Until yesterday.
Della took a deep, shuddering breath. How could she have been so stupid not to check to make sure the door had locked behind her? How could she have failed to notice that there was someone else in the apartment? Livesey's attack took her so totally by surprise that she never even had a chance to resist. What if Perry hadn't come back when he did? What if...? She buried her face in the pillow and fought to block out the memories of the assault. Lying alone in the darkness, she relived Frank Livesey's hands roaming her body, touching her wherever and how ever he pleased. She could still feel his weight on her chest and his mouth on her skin.
Unable to shut her mind off and desperate to escape the theater of her thoughts, Della climbed out of bed and reached for Perry's robe. The clock on the bedside table showed 4:30 a.m. Perry had last woken her at 2:00 a.m. Cold, irrational fear suddenly gripped her. He had been waking her every two hours to check on her. What happened?
She reached for the bedroom door and flung it open. She could see down the short hallway and into the living room. Her heart stopped pounding almost as quickly as it had begun. Perry slept on the sofa, just where he'd said he would be. Della crept down the hallway and into the other room.
Perry was stretched out down the length of the sofa. He'd removed his jacket and tie when they first arrived at the apartment, but now he'd taken off his shirt as well. It was tossed over the back of the sofa and his shoes were kicked under the coffee table. His arms, now bare, were crossed tightly over his chest as if he were cold. The thin material of the undershirt he wore accentuated, rather than concealed the cut of his upper body. He gave a soft snore and seemed to pull his arms closer across his torso.
Della glanced around the room for a blanket or throw of some kind but found nothing. She returned to the bedroom and removed the blanket and bedspread from the bed. Once back in the living room she spread the blanket out over the sleeping lawyer, careful not to wake him. Sleep had now fled from her, so she wrapped the bedspread around herself and claimed a seat in the chair closest to the couch, curling her legs underneath her.
The sound of a clock ticking in the darkness kept time with Della's heartbeat. Settling deeper in the cushions of the chair, she studied her companion. His face lost some of its granite-hard definition when he slept. He seemed younger, less imposing. The burly teenager that he had been became visible in the softened lines of his face and his tousled hair. As she watched, he nestled down into the cushions, turned on his side and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.
Just being here with him calmed her fears. Even in sleep he was powerful. She trusted him. Della knew that she could have this closeness, this protection, always, if she agreed to his marriage proposal. But that would mean giving up a part of herself and changing her life completely. Once they married, he'd treat her differently. She had no doubt of that. Gone would be the long days of working by his side and sharing in his quest. He'd want her safe and sound at home, tucked in an ivory tower somewhere. The closer they became, the more she could see signs of that protectiveness in him. If they were married, those tendencies would solidify and she'd be locked away some where, something pretty on a shelf, to be taken down and enjoyed when he needed to unwind or recover.
No doubt he was sincere when he said he loved her. Perry Mason was not the type to make that claim lightly. But Della didn't want to live in a cage, no matter how beautifully gilded. She had to maintain her self - her separation from him. There was no other way for her to survive this relationship.
No other way.
Her head hurt. She didn't want to think, or to feel. Instead, she concentrated on Perry's breathing, matching her own to the rhythm of his. Eventually her eyes drifted shut and she slept.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The warmth of the light registered on his eyes before he opened them. A forearm draped over his eyes to shut out the brightness and he considered going back to sleep. Then he remembered.
Eyes open, he sat up and threw off the blanket, halfway off the couch when saw Della sleeping in the chair next to him. His breath caught in his throat as he focused on her. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, snuggled into the depths of the chair. He knew he should wake her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he stood and stretched, flexing the muscles in his arms and legs. Careful not to disturb her, he headed for the bathroom, took a quick shower and dressed. Then he went into the kitchen, shutting the door softly behind him.
As he gathered the ingredients for breakfast - the pancakes he still owed Della - he hummed quietly to himself. Eventually he switched on the small radio on the counter, keeping the volume low as he dropped bacon in a skillet and mixed batter. The bacon sizzled unattended for a few movements while the news announcer gave the sketchy details of Franklin Livesey's capture from the night before. A sigh of annoyance escaped his lips when the announcer noted that Livesey had been recaptured by none other than famed defense attorney Perry Mason, who'd surprised the fugitive during an attack on his secretary, Della Street, at Miss Street's apartment.
Perry hadn't heard the kitchen door open. He returned his attention to his cooking.
"That's just wonderful." Della's voice had a caustic edge to it. "So now I have my own scarlet letter. V for victim." She turned on her heel and slammed the kitchen door behind her. Mason sat aside the batter bowl and fumbled with the controls on the stove.
"Della?" he called after her. He found her, still wrapped in the blanket, staring out the window at the city beyond. He took hold of her shoulders. "Del?" he said softly.
She whirled on him and he saw anger flash in her eyes where he'd expected tears. "Maybe we ought to call the papers and let them take photos of these bruises, too? Or would they like some sort of a statement about how it feels to have some sick freak's hands all over your body? I'd hate to miss an opportunity to be the lead on the evening news."
Taking an involuntary step back, he hesitated, speechless, for half a beat. She stared at him for that moment, bitterness and anger apparent in her expression. Then she shook her head and brushed past him, out of the room.
He caught her arm. "Please wait." His expression was wary, his eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm so sorry. You--."
"Let me go!" she raged at him. He immediately dropped his hand. She stormed off, but paused in the hallway door and drew in a deep breath. "I don't mean to be angry with you. What happened wasn't your fault. I...I need you but I can't handle your guilt over this." Then she was gone, and the bedroom door slammed shut behind her.
Perry Mason stared after her, mouth slightly open as if he were about to speak. "Damn it, Mason," he mumbled to himself and rubbed a hand roughly across his face. He crossed the room and stopped outside the bedroom.
"Della?" he asked, tapping a knuckle against the door. The situation reminded him of standing outside her apartment the night before, wandering why she didn't answer the door even as she fought an attacker on the other side. "Please don't shut me out." His kept his voice quiet and even, although he fought the need to break the door down.
To his immense relief, this time was different. This time she opened the door after the first knock and glared out at him. Anger was a good sign - better than tears, he hoped. He stepped away from the door, giving her space. Her expression softened somewhat. Taking that as encouragement, Mason grinned at her. "Well, Hester, I'll help you sew the letters on your clothes, but how about some breakfast first? I'm making the world's best pancakes."
She ducked her head, and Mason thought he saw laughter in her eyes. After a moment's silence, she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Second best," she said.
Mason's smile widened and he shook his head. "Never second best." He reached out and brushed an errant curl back behind her ear. Suddenly he found himself unable to meet her eyes and when he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. "Only the best for you."
Della looked up at him and smiled. He held his arms out to her and she stepped into his caress, allowing him to draw her in close. Slowly, purposefully, he kissed her. The kiss deepened and he could feel tears on his cheek. Not entirely sure if they were hers or his, Perry pulled away slightly.
"Don't let me go," she pleaded. He tightened his arms and crushed her to his chest. Della clung to him, and what had started as a small trail of tears became soft sobbing. He could feel her trembling as she held him tightly. Perry leaned back against the door frame, allowing her to rest against him, taking her pain and weight onto himself as much as he could. Della cried quietly, given vent to the emotions she'd tried to keep under control for the last few hours. Perry made no move, no sound, but reveled in her nearness - the reality of her - and contemplated what had happened, what could have happened.
He had no idea how long they stood there, how long he held her, but eventually the tears ran their course. Something subtle shifted between them and the touch that had been merely comforting moments earlier slowly evolved into something more heated. Perry felt her move in his arms and suddenly she was pressed more fully against him. His body began to react.
Della lifted her face to him. His worried eyes searched hers. Despite the redness the tears left behind, her eyes were clear, purposeful, intent. With a delicious slowness he bent his head to hers. He could feel the warmth of the connection even before their lips touched.
The kiss was soft - a sweetness that hinted at something more. Perry pulled away, intending to check her reaction - to make sure he'd not misread her intentions. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was truly prepared for the intimacy they both craved. His mouth over-rode his mind and he simply said "I love you."
Her answer was to strain against him, reaching up and capturing his lips once more. This time the kiss burned. White hot desire incinerated any hesitation as their bodies connected. Mason groaned low in his throat as she moved against him. Every touch, every kiss, kindled new fires. He held her as tightly as he dared, but it wasn't nearly close enough. His body demanded more. He needed more. He wanted to give her more.
As his lips followed the line of her jaw down to the soft skin of her throat, she spoke his name, her voice breaking.
He froze, worried that he'd taken things too far. Doing his best to make some space between them, he said, "Are you alright, Della?"
Her eyes were closed as she nodded. He waited. After a moment, she opened her eyes. When she spoke her voice was a satiny whisper. "I need you. I don't want to feel him - his hands, his body." She reached up and took his face in her hands. "I want you."
Mason captured her hands and kissed each palm in turn, never moving his eyes from hers. "Then come with me, baby. Let's make some memories."
Bodies already intertwined, they stumbled together towards the bed. Each struggled to free themselves from their clothing without breaking contact with the other. They fell on the tangled sheets, both surrendering to the fierceness of their craving and at last free to explore the hunger they felt for each other.
Finally, breathing heavily, Mason paused his exploration of Della's body. He lifted himself on his elbows and looked down into her face. For the first time he really saw the extent of her injuries - bite marks and bruises on her throat, her chest, her arms. He touched his hand to the side of her face. The compassion in his touch triggered moisture to pool in her eyes, and it threaten to spill over her lashes.
She turned her head to look away.
"New memories, baby. All new," he said softly. She turned back towards him. "You're beautiful," he murmured as he looked down at her. He bent his head to hers once more and trailed a string of fiery kisses down her neck to the hollow of her throat, then lower, between her breasts.
Words were no longer sufficient. Della moaned and arched into his touch.
Tears, shame and terror were all erased.
For the moment.
AN: Epilogue to follow.