A/N: So lovelies. Here you go. A little bit of fluff for christmas.

Woodstock99: Thanks for reviewing twice in a row. I love getting feedback for the separate chapters. The girls all have flaws. But Spencer really is my favorite, followed closely by Hannah. I think I like Emily the least. She has just this one facial expression -.- Sorry Shay.

Ho Ho Ho

Chapter 8

When you come home Ian is still nowhere to be seen. Maybe he wants to give you some time. That's something you could really use.

You plop down on the couch exhaustedly and turn of the TV to drown out your thoughts. That's all you seem to be doing. Trying very hard not to think.

Somehow you come to watch a documentation about the mating rituals of koala bears. Who would've thought that the male koalas bellow out their size during mating season. That was a really convenient arrangement and while you ponder this you fall asleep on the couch.

You wake up in your bed, alone. You look down and notice that you wear your pajamas. Ian. You don't know if the gesture is sweet or if it makes you uncomfortable. The thought of his eyes raking over your naked body while changing your clothing makes you shudder.

But at the same time he is your husband. He already saw all of you, knows you inside out. Knows what makes you hiss, what makes you moan, what makes you writhe and what makes you scream. You swallow. Yes, Ian and you had problems but your sex-life wasn't one of them.

Your life with your husband had so many aspects, so many great things and so many horrible things. It was foolish to think that a good sex life could possibly outweigh all the horrible aspects, but there were other great facets. You did tend to have the same humor, laughed about similar things. And if you are being attacked, from someone other than him that is, he is there, always by your side, always the protector.

You roll out of your bed and stumble sleepily into the kitchen. Your body screams for coffee. You make a strong one and lean against the kitchen counter while you sip at it. Your stomach growls. You open the refrigerator and look for the bowl of greek yoghourt. Nothing. It probably grew fur again and walked out of the refrigerator itself. That seemed to happen to you way too often. You sigh and get ready, deciding to just get your breakfast on the way to work.

"How may I help you?"

"One Double Espresso Macchiato and a ham sandwich, please."

"On the way."

You stand there, hips leaning against the counter, when a deep baritone voice behind you makes you whirl around.

"I should've known you were the Double Espresso kind of girl."

There he stands in blue work pants, a utility belt and a tight white T-Shirt. Oh wow.

"Mr. Cavanaugh." Be professional, Hastings. Come on. No, touching his chest muscles is not considered polite. "How nice to see you."

In that moment the barista calls out "Toby? Your bagel is ready."

"Thanks, Jenny." He smiles at her and his dimples pop out. You see her blush and you frown.

"Any time." She tries to sound sultry but you think she sounds cheap. You roll your eyes and see an amused glint in Cavanaugh's eyes. The unfortunate barista catches herself and turns to you. "Your order, Ma'm."

Ma'm? Really? Sneaky little – whatever. You give her a patronizing glance and take your order without a word. When you turn around a sun burned, muscular arm blocks your path. You can't help but jerk in surprise. You look up to it's owner with narrowed eyes and see his cocky expression fall, exchanged by one of confusion. He drops his arm and rubs his neck.

"Sorry.", he murmurs. Evidently he noticed that he scared you. You want to kick yourself. A normal person doesn't get scared because of a stupid arm in her way.

"What for?" You act like nothing happened. Before he can explain and make the situation more awkward, you walk past him. "I'll see you on your next appointment, Mr. Cavanaugh."

You walk out the door as long as your high heels let you. You hastily circle the tables outside that are filled by a few lonesome, blanket-covered figures that beard the cold autumn morning. You hear his voice again. Not fast enough.

"I don't think orange would be your color"

You stop walking but don't turn around. You have no idea of where this conversation is headed and you have yet to decide how to act. Finally you turn around.

"Excuse me?"

He looks at your hands and lifts his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth lifted upwards in a beginning smirk. Confused you follow his gaze to the white porcelain plate in your right and the heavy Macchiato glass in your left hand.

"You wanted to steal those?" He asks to clarify, his smirk now fully in place. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at yourself.

"It's not stealing if you don't have an intent." You try to stand above your stupidity. You just sound stuck up.

"Yeah, you tell the judge that."

"You could testify for me." You counter a little more playfully.

He shrugs. "If you ask nicely."

"I am always nice, Mr. Cavanaugh."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Your lips twitch in involuntary amusement and he gives you a dimpled smile.

"You could still just put them on the table over there. I won't tell a soul about your attempted theft." "How gracious of you."

"I know." You sit down and he sits down opposite of you. You lift one perfectly sculptured eyebrow. "I cover for you. The barista looked very suspicious."

"You are such a gentleman, Mr. Cavanaugh."

"We are a dying breed."

You shake your head and hide your smile in your macchiato glass. How come that every time you talk with this man you forget about all the reasons why you shouldn't. Why you especially shouldn't sit with him outside of a café at the same table on a very bright and sunny morning in your home town. Now that you think of it, this must be one of the stupidest things you did in a long time. Panic stricken you search your brain for a polite escape.

"Are you alright?"

You look up. His blue eyes are as soft as his voice, he looks worried. An expression that is thrown your way more often than you care for.

"Yes, sorry. I was in thought."

"Didn't seem to be very pleasant ones." You shrug and look away towards the street, that seemed to be awakening just now.

He follows your eyes. "I love the mornings here. Everything is so … peaceful."

You nod, although the feeling of peace is a long forgotten shadow in your memory.

"Peace is a highly underrated feeling."

You don't know what made you say that. How that sentence snuck through your perfect facade. When you turn back you notice that he proceeded from watching the street to watching you. You hold his stare and look at him questioningly. He blushes and you can't help but feel proud, that for once it is him not you.

He clears his throat. "So – uhm – you think we have a chance?"

You nearly choke on your coffee. "Excuse me?"

He blushes again. "That didn't come out right. I mean with the case?"

Two blushes in 2 minutes. Your ambitious streak tells you to make a tally sheet.

Normally you don't give legal advice in your free time but you make an exception.

"We certainly have a chance, but it all depends on the other party's willingness to cross the line to illegality."

He scoffs. "She doesn't stop at any line." You know that he probably talked more to himself than to you, but you still can't help your curiosity.

"She?"

He looks up and his confused glance tells you that he didn't even know, he spoke out loud.

"My contractee." He explains after a moment. Something tells you that there's more to the story, but it really isn't your place to ask, so you just nod.

"You've always been in contraction business, Mr. Cavanaugh?"

"Kinda. I needed a job when I went to school. I had my first apartment in senior year. Then I just stuck with it. It's good work. I can't imagine being stuck inside behind a desk all day."

"You mean like me?"

"No! I mean yeah, but not like it's a bad job or anything. It just wouldn't be for me." He falls all over himself. Somehow you have a lot of fun making this man stutter. He sees you hiding your smile and relaxes a bit.

"You like your job?" He then asks you. You nod. "What do you like about it?"

The question catches you off guard. He looks at you with honest curiosity, so you answer thoughtfully.

"The power it gives you. The burning ambition that makes your heart race when you find something useful. The fierce intellect you need to have. The strategic and highly analytical way to think. It's like war with words."

A smile creeps up your features at your own romantic description.

"And you are the gladiator?"

"In a suit. Yes."

"And it doesn't bother you, that sometimes you make people get away with stuff that they shouldn't get away with?"

You shrug. "Not really. No."

He chuckles lightly. "So it is true?"

"What?"

"That lawyers don't have a soul."

You snort. "Yes absolutely." He nods in mock earnestness.

"Shall I let you in on a secret?" You copy his expression and look at him with gravely seriousness.

"Please do."

You lift your hand towards your mouth and whisper "Every new moon the cult of attorneys comes together in a holy ritual where they sacrifice a virgin on the fire made out of bibles and legislative texts."

He nods again. "That's what I thought."

Then the laughter you held back breaks out of you and he joins in, the dissonance of your shared laughter echoing with surprising harmony over the busy street.

"Shesh. For a minute there I thought you were serious."

You make your face change into an expression of seriousness in a heartbeat. "Oh I was. I was just practicing my evil laughter. How was it?" With him there always seems to be a come back on the tip of your tongue.

"I don't know. You might wanna work on the crazy, malicious edge a bit."

"I will. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

You smile contently and turn back towards the street, still basking in the giddy feeling of your lighthearted banter.

Then you see a blue Volvo drive by and your heart stops. No. It can't be him. No. No. No. You jump up, your breakfast barely touched.

"I have to go."

He looks at you with wide eyes and stands, not understanding the sudden flight. You grab your purse with trembling fingers and stumble through the aisle of tables. Your purse gets caught on the arm of a chair and you stumble. A pair of strong hands catches you around the waist. You jump back violently, fear in your eyes. Cavanaugh lifts his hands. "Sorry." he murmurs again.

You nod. "I really need to go now."

You whirl around and hastily walk towards your car.

A/N: Oh no. A blue Volvo... should I've made it silver just so the reference to other malfunctioning, controlling relationships is more prominent? You got it anyway? Boy, are you clever! I'm so proud :')

Have a great christmas, Cupcakes. I hope you are with people you love.

Loveballs, P.Z.