Title: The Arrangement 2/?
Author: rebelxxwaltz
Rating: Will be M overall. Still T at the moment
Fandom: State of Play (2003). Yes, you heard it right!
Pairing: Della Smith/DCI Bell
Fic Summary: Della and Bell continue their information sharing arrangement after the Collins scandal wraps up. As they work together, their emerging friendship is threatened by mutual attraction and misunderstandings.
Word Count: This chapter around 1600 (a bit shorter than the first).
Disclaimer: I do not own State of Play or any of the characters. I do own my fun little theories, my wild assumptions, and lots of delicious chunks of head canon.
Spoilers: Yes, for the whole series.
Notes: I figured since there's a coffee shop scene in this chapter, maybe I should publish it... from a coffee shop. The author and the characters are all WIRED. Yay, espresso! More notes at the bottom, as usual.

The Arrangement
Chapter 2

The meetings between Della Smith and DCI William Bell continued over the next several weeks, and if he noticed an increased coolness in her demeanor he never saw fit to mention it. Sometimes they would meet during the day and he would buy her lunch. Other times they'd catch up after work and she would pick up the bill for drinks. Both his investigation and her article were progressing, largely in thanks to their shared pool of information. They really did make a good team, Della had to admit. Poor Mrs. Bell must be a saint, because the man never seemed to stop working. Even at the weekend when Della at least tried to limit herself to half a Saturday at the office and a bit of work from home, Bell never showed any indication that he took a day off or spent much if any time away from the station.

On Sundays Della usually ventured out to one of London's many markets, or sometimes the cinema if the weather wasn't up to par. Craig had favored Portobello on Saturdays or the constant bustle of Covent Garden before he had dumped her for a long-legged Brazilian art student. That had only been three months ago, and she was still in the avoidance phase. It was all for the better as far as Della was concerned- she preferred something a bit more eclectic anyway. Sometimes she'd travel up to Camden Lock if she were in the mood to eat some dodgy food out of a paper carton and watch the proverbial rainbow of mohawks parading across the bridge at Regent's Canal. Today she had chosen Brick Lane, with its colorful atmosphere and quirky selection of vendors. Takeaway curry on her way home was an absolute given.

The weather was unseasonably warm, so Della had thrown on a lightweight vintage dress with a cardigan and flats, pinning her hair back loosely with tortoise shell combs. It was nice to be girly and casual once in awhile, since her line of work called for a more restrained approach to fashion. She was wandering through a used book shop when her mobile rang, earning her a death glare from the crotchety owner. Stepping out into the street, she raised an eyebrow at the call screen. Bell. Gorgeous, infuriatingly married Bell, who she had been trying to avoid thinking about all day. "Hello?"

"Della. Where are you?"

She released a small laugh, shaking her head at his clipped tone. "I'm doing just fine today, William. Thanks for asking."

The other end of the line crackled, and she heard him sigh. "Please, it's important."

She relented, intrigued by his seriousness. "Brick Lane Market. Why, what's going on?"

"What the hell are you doing over there? If you needed a stolen bicycle I could have signed one out of lost property for you right here at the station."

"Ha bloody ha. Some of us actually take the day off on Sunday, you know."

He made what could be construed as an apologetic noise. "Sorry. Can you meet me? I've got the car. I'll come to you."

It was past three o'clock and the market was beginning to wind down. So much for my lovely curry. "Oh alright. I know a place that should suit."

xxxxx

The café in Shoreditch High Street was a bit bohemian for Bell's tastes, but they did at least appear to take their espresso seriously. It was one of those places that served a range of coffees and small plates by day, transforming into a smoky and gin soaked hideaway for the alternative in-crowd after dark. The chief inspector stuck out like a sore thumb in his shirtsleeves and tie, glad to have left his overcoat at the station as he perched at the stainless steel bar and tried to decipher the hastily chalked menu etchings. He'd draped his suit jacket over the back of his barstool, but the heat radiating off of the expensive coffee machines still had him pulling restlessly at his shirt collar. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled the sleeves up, and waited.

Each time someone entered the café, the door would creak annoyingly and slam itself shut. Bell looked over at one such occurrence, and nearly didn't recognize the woman who had just arrived. He couldn't remember ever seeing Della Smith look so effortlessly feminine, and his eyes raked over her with barely concealed interest as she approached. Her hair was pinned back and framed her face softly, the vintage sheath dress accentuating subtle but enticing curves that were usually hidden beneath bulky overcoats and the overly practical office clothes she wore.

As she arrived at his side and slid onto the adjacent stool, he noted that her cheeks were a bit flushed. Her walk from the nearby market had probably been unusually brisk, considering the time she'd achieved. She really was beautiful- Bell had known that long before Cameron Foster pointed it out to him along with certain other facts about Della, which he had in fact been oddly interested in knowing. There had been a long-term boyfriend, Foster said, but he was out of the picture. Bell stared at her a moment too long, feeling unaccountably jealous. Could there be someone new, perhaps? He couldn't remember the last time a woman had gotten under his skin this way. Possibly not even before his wife had died, and certainly not since. Swallowing heavily, he composed himself.

"Hi," she breathed, setting her small leather handbag on the bar.

"Hi. You, errr, look very nice." He mentally cringed, cursing his misplaced command of the English language. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything."

Della looked confused, which probably meant he'd got the wrong end of the stick. She tilted her head, and he could see the wrinkles in her forehead smooth as she worked out his meaning. Her lips quirked into a wry smile. "Yes, as a matter of fact. You've sabotaged my date with Brick Lane's finest curry and a bottle of Pinot noir, which is an unforgivable transgression."

The relief that he felt at knowing she hadn't been out with someone gnawed at his resolve like a small but insistent animal as she responded in her lilting accent. Bell ignored the sensation and peered at her sidelong. "I'll buy you all the curries you can eat if you help me trace this document. Clarke isn't giving anything up and my hands are tied."

Crossing her legs at the ankle, Della swiveled toward him in her seat and carefully accepted the sheet of paper as he slid it across the gleaming metal surface. He watched as she ascertained the contents, eyes darting around the page eagerly. She was silent for a long moment, eventually meeting his eyes with inquisitive awe. "Where did you get this?"

"Remember the murder that happened a few weeks ago? The night you came to see me at the station?"

She gave him a pointed look, placing the sheet of paper back on the bar between them. "You mean the uninteresting murder that wasn't worth talking about?"

"That one, yes. The victim had this locked in a safe deposit box. We only found out about it when his next of kin got a notice from the bank that the fees had come due. This was the only thing inside."

Della nodded slowly. "I think I may be able to help, but there's nothing I can do today. Can I take it with me?"

He regarded her anxiously. He knew how independent she was, that she could take care of herself. Still, he couldn't help but remember how frightened she had been when her flat was broken into shortly after they first met. She was almost certainly stubborn enough to react badly if he lectured her, but he felt a natural protectiveness where Della was concerned. His expression was almost pleading as he nodded reluctantly. "So long as you're careful. It may be a dangerous object to have, and you already know where that can lead."

For a moment she looked irritated. He cringed slightly, bracing himself for the prickly remark that was bound to come, but it never did. Her expression softened into one of almost pleased understanding. "Okay, I'll be careful."

Something shifted between them in that moment. The way she was looking at him was alarmingly tender, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning toward her. He moved just a little too close, drawn in by the warmth in her eyes and and all around them in the highly caffeinated air. She mirrored his actions, and their fingers brushed as she reached over to take the document. The contact surprised them both, digits fumbling awkwardly as they attempted to move away. He heard her sharp intake of breath and bravely prolonged the touch, looking down at their tangled hands and brushing the pad of his thumb along the side of her index finger.

The paper fluttered to the floor, momentarily unnoticed as they searched each other's eyes. Bell's heart rate increased as he took in her slightly parted lips and dilated pupils, her face reflecting the same hesitant desire that was tightly wound in the pit of his own stomach. The tension stretched, and he could swear she moved imperceptibly closer. They remained paralyzed in this deliciously sensual deadlock until an unfamiliar voice broke into their bubble, shattering the mood.

"Excuse me, I think you may have dropped this…"

xxxxx

Aaaagh! Who is that!? Don't worry, it's not Della's ex-boyfriend or Bell's unacknowledged teen daughter from a previous marriage. It's probably just some random old man. Or I could just be saying that to throw you off! BWA! The only way to find out for sure is to come back next time! Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. ^_^