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Chapter Text

Ben Stone is standing in a hotel foyer, fiddling with his bow tie. A Christmas charity dinner is due to be held here tonight and a mixture of legal and police department bigwigs have been invited, with some NYPD precincts allowing a few police officers to attend, assuming they can get away from their duties. Ben is there when Detective Max Greevey arrives with his wife Marie, with Max looking especially dapper in an old tuxedo Marie got dry cleaned at the last minute.

They are followed by Max’s partner Mike Logan who only nods to Stone before quickly walking past him to go further into the hotel.

“He’s in a hurry," Ben notes to Max as they watch Mike looking around as if searching for someone.

“Probably that new blonde he met a few weeks back," says Max. His eyes narrow, regarding Ben who is looking a little twitchy. “And what about you? Waiting on someone?”

“No," replies Ben.

“You’re a terrible liar, Stone." Max laughs as he and Marie go off to leave their coats at the hotel cloakroom.

The warmth of the hotel contrasts sharply with the cold night air that blasts in every time one of its two entrances are used. Guests in heavy winter coats twirl into the foyer through a large revolving door while others try to get out of the biting wind as quickly as possible by using another standard door nearby. A large Christmas tree decorated with red, silver and gold baubles sits just inside the foyer and Ben stands beside it, hoping to be sheltered from some of the chill.

The entrance to the large dining room is manned by a poker-faced young waiter who has seating arrangements printed out on a list. Ben, Paul Robinette and their boss Adam Schiff are at a table near the top of the room. Ben hopes he will not be called upon to make any kind of speech, though he knows Adam has been pressed to say a few words. Ben just wants to have a nice dinner, good conversation and maybe a dance or two with you.

But with no sign yet of your arrival, it is a slightly dejected Ben Stone who ambles slowly back to his seat, hands in his pockets. Paul is already in his chair, chatting lightly to a colleague. He looks up at Ben.

“She’ll be here," he reassures him but Ben shrugs and says nothing. He sits down across from Paul and watches the dining room entrance, feeling a little foolish that he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your arrival. Like some teenage crush, he thinks.

Next to the dining room is an equally large ballroom and some guests, not yet ready to take their seats, stand here, chatting and admiring the huge crystal chandeliers hanging from its ceiling. A sound system has been set up on one side, playing some light festive music and just as an instrumental version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” starts to play, Ben Stone sees you enter the dining room.

After seeing the other guests in the hotel, you are feeling that you haven't made enough of an effort. The two defence lawyers, Shambala Green and Danielle Melnick are in gold and ruby red evening dresses respectively and ceiling lights make them shimmer and sparkle like jewels as they move from table to table, greeting other colleagues.

You, on the other hand, decided to go for the classic little black dress. A favourite that has never let you down and you have accessorised with a little colour to detract from the black. But these big dinners are not really your thing at all and you very much wish you were home now, curled up in front of the fire with a good book and a very large bowl of fries. The only thing that stopped you from backing out of coming tonight was the thought of seeing Ben Stone in a tuxedo.

You reach your seat the same time as Stone reaches you, his hands back in his pockets. All thoughts of fries disappear.

“Hello Mr Stone," your stomach butterflies on seeing him in his tux, perfectly suited to his tall, lean frame. His face almost looks a little tanned and this, along with the contrast of his white shirt, just seem to make his blue eyes all the bluer.

“Hello," he replies and gives you such a warm dimpled smile, you are momentarily lost for words.

Despite wearing heels, you still have to take a step back to look up at him. He is now looking at you keenly and you wonder if he has found a flaw in your outfit. Maybe you are missing an earring …

You put a hand up to your ear to check, trying to look casual. “Scrub up well, do I?” 

“Yes, you do,” he smiles appreciatively, his eyes quickly scanning the black dress that hugs the figure so well.

Feeling your face start to flush, you turn to look at the table and the place setting that has your name on it and are dismayed to see the name on the place setting next to your own .. Arthur Gold.

“Oh, for heaven’s …” your exasperation not letting you finish the sentence. A little piece of mistletoe is resting on your place setting, yet you notice there is no mistletoe at anyone else’s. Stone wonders if Gold has arranged this deliberately and can see you aren't happy about it.

“I suppose if I had him killed and buried under a patio somewhere, you’d have to prosecute me?” you ask, only partly joking.

“Oh definitely," Stone deadpans back. “You could argue self-defence or justifiable homicide."

You both laugh but then you look seriously at Ben again. “Look, I just can’t. The man is impossible. I’ll have to move seats. Or leave altogether."

Stone still doesn’t know what issue you have with Gold but knows he doesn’t want you to leave. He grabs Gold’s place name and pockets the mistletoe. Then after taking out and putting on his glasses, he goes up to the young man with the seating list. He towers over him, glasses perching perilously at the end of his nose. You watch, thinking he looks so handsome in his tux, smart black trousers only emphasising the length of his legs. Not for the first time, you wonder if Stone is deliberately using his height to gain an advantage and after some debating and finger pointing at the list, the young man takes out a pen and makes a correction.

Ben thanks him and goes over to Shambala Green’s table and you hold your breath. Shambala looks at Ben as he picks up a name card there and puts Gold’s card down in its place. He ignores her indignant reaction when she realizes who will now be sitting next to her.

Ben walks back to you again with the name card he has taken and places it on the setting next to yours.

“No, you can’t," you protest, starting to laugh again. “Gold will be furious!”

“Yes, I can," replies Ben, pocketing his glasses, secretly delighted at getting one over on Gold for a change. “And don’t worry about him."

He nods to the name card now taking Gold’s place. “You’ll be okay, it’s a friend of mine. He won’t bore you or anything like that."

The dining room is filling up quickly now and more hotel staff seem to have appeared out of nowhere, ready to take any drinks orders and begin serving the starters.

“I’d better go," says Ben and starts heading back to his own table. He then stops and walks back to you, hands in his pockets again. He looks over to the ballroom and then says in that velvet voice that sometimes drive you mad,

“Um, later on …when the slow music starts …” He looks at you with those shiny blue eyes.

“Dance with me?”

************************

The multi course meal is delicious but seems to go on forever. Still, after all the calorie counting you have done leading up to tonight, you feel you deserve it. 

Mike Logan is sitting opposite you and beside him is his date, a glamorous blonde. He has rented his tuxedo for tonight and his hazel eyes have been wolfish and mischievous since the dinner started, his thick dark hair increasingly falling over his forehead the more the evening has gone on. Max and Marie are at another table and Max can see that despite his date being very striking, Mike can’t stop himself from flirting with a petite dark-haired waitress, ordering another glass of wine and winking at her before she goes off to get his order. Max sighs to Marie, “Sometimes, he just can’t stop himself."

Because of the seating arrangements, you have your back to Ben Stone’s table and would have to turn completely around in your chair to see him. So, you continue to eat and make friendly conversation with Ben’s friend who has been parachuted into Gold’s place.

Ben can see you and watches you laugh and talk with his friend, silently kicking himself that he didn’t put his name card beside your own. But it would have meant Gold sitting with Adam Schiff and though that would have been very entertaining to watch, he doubted Adam would have found it so enjoyable.

He’s relieved he hasn’t had to make any kind of speech, but Adam makes one with his customary world weariness and dry humour. When the last of the courses is being cleared away, some guests remain in their seats, chatting over tea and coffee. Others make their way to the hotel bar, to the ballroom or decide to leave the hotel altogether, either to go home or somewhere livelier. Ben remains seated, watching you, hesitating.

Mike and his date make their excuses and leave you sitting alone, as Ben’s friend has already joined his other colleagues in the hotel bar. You are now the only one sitting on your side of the dining room. Feeling a bit of a sitting duck, you go over and stand in the entrance of the ballroom.

Adam Schiff looks over to where you are. “Asked her to dance yet?”

"Yes," replies Ben, still watching and hesitating.

So, what’s stopping you?” Ben looks at Adam and grins. What indeed?

A minute or two later, you feel a movement beside you and turn to look up at Ben Stone, returning his smile. Neither of you say anything but just continue to stand in the doorway, watching other guests dance. A lively version of “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” is playing, and you marvel at some of the guests, so comfortable they are able to just lose themselves in the music. You have always regretted being so ill at ease on the dance floor and watch, admiringly, Max Greevey twirling a laughing Marie around like a teenager.

“I wish I was that ...”, you try to think of the right word, hyper-aware Ben is looking down at you. “..relaxed."

“Are you saying you can’t dance?” Some guests want to enter the ballroom, and Ben must now move closer to you to allow room for them to come in. Both of you become acutely aware your bodies are pressing up against each other and you feel your face become heated.

“Oh, I can," you reply. “Just not in real life." You look up at him again. “In my head, I’m Ginger Rogers. In reality …” you shake your head.

“Well, I’m no Fred Astaire," smiles Ben. “But I don’t think we’ll disgrace ourselves once we get on the dance floor."

The man hosting and playing the music in the ballroom announces, “Well, everyone, let’s slow things down a bit. Now, I know we’re in New York, but you can’t beat this classy song by Tony Bennett, who has left his heart in San Francisco ..”

Max and Marie decide to sit this one out, walking over to a seating area at the edge of the ballroom. Mike and his blonde date have already started to smooch cheek to cheek.

Ben Stone’s hand brushes up against yours, his fingers lightly curling around your own. Wordlessly, he guides you onto the dance floor and once there, you turn to face him, just as the piano intro of the ballad starts.

His blue eyes dilate a little, enjoying the curve of your body as he pulls you towards him, sliding his right hand slowly around your waist. Your breath almost hitches at its warmth, radiating through the thinness of your dress’ material and as you rest a left hand on his shoulder, his own left hand clasps and closes around your right, pulling it towards his chest.

“I think ..” he lowers his head and whispers close, almost brushing his lips against your ear. “It’s time you called me Ben ..”. You turn to look at him, the movement meaning you almost bump noses.

Always the most self-conscious of dancers, at first you can only shift stiffly to the music. “Ben, I can’t dance," you whisper back. “I’m as flexible as a plank of wood." He beams at hearing you call him by his first name.

“Just relax." His right hand lightly squeezes your waist and though the gesture is meant as encouragement, it only succeeds at increasing your heart rate. But as the music continues, eventually you find yourself leaning into him, your body slackening and melding to his. Ben pulls you closer, resting his cheek against the side of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair, feeling your heart rate slow a little. By the time the song is soaring to its rich climax, both of you are moving as one, continuing to sway for several seconds after the song ends.

“You won’t let go, will you?"

“No," Ben says softly. “I won’t let go."

“That’s good ‘cause Arthur Gold is heading in this direction …”

You dance another couple of slow songs and then Ben leads you back to the dining room. You sit side by side at your table, the only ones seated on that side of the room. He orders coffee from a lingering waiter and after a cafetiere arrives, Ben just has to ask.

“So, what is it with you and Gold?”

“You really want to know?"

“Of course."

You sigh a little and stare down at your coffee cup, dropping a spoonful of sugar into it. “You know I used to work for him? Well, maybe you don’t know this but he’s a complete flirt. I always feel he’s on the verge of making a pass at me..”

“Gold???” Ben almost chokes on his coffee. You observe his shocked expression and almost burst out laughing.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s happily married," you continue. “And at the start, it was almost funny, even a little flattering. But the tension is unbearable. I haven’t done anything to encourage him but the idea of spending all evening beside him, fighting off ALL those flirty comments and then seeing the mistletoe ….!”

You’ve been stirring the sugar into your coffee so vigorously, a little has splashed onto the tablecloth. You blot it with a napkin. “Anyway, in the end, I got a better job offer. It was closer to home and more money, so …”. You trail off, smile and then shrug, feeling nothing more needs to be added.

Ben has to agree. Gold can certainly turn on the charm when he wants. It’s what makes him such an exasperating opponent in the courtroom. But he’s never considered Gold in terms of the opposite sex and the thought of him flirting with you makes Ben a little jealous.

“Let’s forget about Arthur Gold," he says.

“Already have," you agree. “Let’s talk about something else. What plans do you have for the holidays?”

So, talk turns to friends, family, food, decorations and anything else you can both think of as neither of you want the conversation to end. Ben is hoping to see his son and daughter over Christmas, despite the relationship between them all being very tense since his divorce. You are hoping to start visiting family tomorrow as you’ve been saving up a fortnight’s leave to do so. Ben hasn’t put up any decorations in his apartment yet, though he does have a small tree ready to come out of its box. You have already decorated your house but have wondered at the sense of doing that as you won’t be there to enjoy it for a while.

A gloomy thought suddenly hits Ben and his smile fades.

“I won’t see you until the New Year, will I?"

“Afraid not.”

“That’s two weeks away!” protests Ben.

“You’ll be fine. Shambala or Danielle will keep you company … maybe even Arthur Gold!” You want to sound upbeat and you do love your family. But the idea of not seeing Ben for two weeks ..

They are interrupted by Adam Schiff. “Mayor’s ready,"  he says.

“Oh, I forgot," said Ben. The mayor was a nice enough man but Ben doesn’t really go in for the political schmoozing Adam has to do.

“Perfect timing," states Schiff. “Snow’s coming down fast now." 

Ben stands up, feeling disappointed that the evening has come to a premature end. He reaches out and lightly brushes the back of his finger against your cheek which blushes at the gesture. “So ..” he says softly.

“So ..” you repeat, also standing up and looking out of the dining room windows. Large white snowflakes are tumbling down now and you look back at Ben. “See you next year. ..?”

Ben Stone nods, puts his hands in his pockets and walks with you and Adam to the hotel cloakroom.

The snow is falling heavier by the minute and the hotel foyer is a riot of noise as guests have descended on it en masse, not wanting to be stuck in the hotel unable to get home. The large revolving doors are spinning guests out onto the front steps in ever increasing numbers, whooshing icy air and snow flurries back into the foyer. When you are collecting your coat, you lose the whereabouts of Ben and Adam. You spot Paul Robinette and briefly exchange hellos and goodbyes, the first time you’ve had a chance to speak to him all evening.

Surprisingly, you spot Logan again, draping a languid arm around his date’s shoulder.

“They should really get a room." Logan leers in the direction of a couple who are standing in the doorway of the hotel. You follow his gaze and to your dismay, you realise it’s Ben Stone and Shambala Green. They are standing facing each other, seemingly talking quite intimately.

You suddenly feel a little sick. “God, I’m so stupid," you think, wanting to make a getaway as soon as possible. You try to nudge and elbow aside guests to get to the revolving doors but then a hand links through your arm and pulls you towards where Stone and Green are standing.

“Let’s go this way,” says Max Greevey. You try to protest but Max keeps tugging you towards them. He approaches the lawyers with a friendly “evening counsellors” and then makes such a show of trying to get past Stone and Green that the latter finds herself back in the throng of guests trying to exit the hotel.

This leaves you standing in the doorway with Ben as Max unlinks your arm and walks towards Marie who is waiting for him on the top step of the hotel.

“Bye Max!” calls Ben and he now looks at you. “Merry Christmas. See you in two weeks’ time ..?”

“If you like," you reply, focusing on his bow-tie and trying to sound nonchalant, believing you’ve been reading the signals wrong all evening. Ben tucks a forefinger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“I would like," he says softly.

You have always found it impossible to put into words, how you feel whenever Ben Stone looks at you. The world with its sights, sounds and smells just melt away whenever you look into those intelligent blue eyes. And you can only think of replying, “well, if you ever fancy another dance with a plank of wood, you know where I am!”

His face then breaks into the most adorable dimpled smile you feel no middle-aged man has a right to have.

As he watches you continue your exit out of the hotel, Ben spots Max looking at him. Max is jerking his head in your direction, encouraging him to do … what?

Then Ben remembers. He calls out your name just as you have stopped on one of the first snowy steps to put on your coat, your purse between your feet. The wind has picked up and snowflakes swirl around as Stone stands before you.

“I forgot about this." He pulls out the mistletoe he had taken earlier that evening and holds it up over your head with his left hand.

“Oh." It is the only thing you can say.

He drops his head as you take a step towards him though you still have to stand up on your toes to get higher. He lowers his head a little more and his lips seem to hover over yours for an eternity. You whisper, teasing him. “Go on then."  Ben’s now visible breath quickens, your warm body welcoming his right arm as he slides it under your coat and around your waist, pulling you towards him.

It is a kiss that stops the world. One of your arms encircles his waist under his dinner jacket and coat, the other you place on his chest, needing to keep your balance. His lips are soft, warm, the tenderness of the kiss at odds with the intensity with which you feel the fingers of his hand spread and grip your waist tighter. Needing to take a breath, Ben starts to end the kiss, just as you become aware of a heady mix of coffee and cologne hitting your senses. He attempts to take an intake of breath, but you press your lips to his again with more fervour. The action takes him by surprise and his lips break into a smile under your own, eagerly returning the urgency. His tongue tentatively touches your bottom lip, tasting the rose flavour of your lipstick. He desperately wants this kiss to be so much more passionate but knows this is not the time or place.

Your lips reluctantly part, flushed faces melting every snowflake that lands, visible breaths swirling around you. Ben slowly lowers his left hand and pockets the mistletoe again. Then releasing your waist, he bends down and picks up your purse.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Stone."  You reach up a thumb, rubbing a little of your lipstick away from his mouth. Ben can have no more doubts as to your feelings for him now and he hands you back your purse, deliberately brushing his fingers against your own. A sudden impulse to tell the Mayor to go hang, grab your hand, and run off with you into the night pops into his mind but instead, he watches you almost skip down the increasingly whitening hotel steps and get into a waiting cab with another colleague.

You settle yourself in the back seat of the cab and as it drives away, you turn to look out of the rear window, seeing Ben stand on the pavement surrounded by fast falling snow. You return his wave and continue to do so until you can no longer see him and then notice your purse is open. You reach a hand in, realising something is not allowing you to snap your purse shut and take out a small box, wrapped in silver wrapping paper.

The source of your present watches the rear lights of your cab retreat into the whiteness of the night and buttons up his coat. But Ben Stone doesn’t really feel cold at all …

Chapter Text

It’s New Year's Eve and nearly nine in the evening.  Ben Stone is sitting in the front room of your next-door neighbour’s house.  Has been for over three quarters of an hour.  An elderly but sprightly lady of about eighty, she has been regaling Ben with “when I was your age” stories and she is so impressed with his good manners, insists on making them both a second mug of Irish coffee.  He is not at all surprised she’s talking non-stop as each mug has a generous slosh of whisky in it.

Chapter Text

On a very cold January morning, it is probably not a good idea for Ben Stone to decide to walk part of the way to the courthouse, but he is feeling happier than he has been in a long time.  He hasn’t been in a ‘steady’ relationship since his divorce and other than a couple of dalliances, for the past few years, he has really just been concentrating on his work.   Since the New Year, he has spent as much time as possible with you, mostly at your place, as he’s never considered his apartment as any kind of love nest.  With its many bookshelves, heaving with law books, autobiographies on jazz legends, general history and even gardening, it’s almost like an extension of his office.  Your own home, on the other hand, feels warm, inviting, and ideal for romantic trysts.  And Ben has certainly made sure there have been as many romantic trysts as possible.

The cab driver drops him off a couple of blocks from the courthouse.  It’s well below freezing and any fallen snow has already frozen solid on the pavements, making walking with any decent pace tricky. But the sky is bright and sunny, and it compliments Ben’s mood.  He strides confidently on the icy sidewalks, whistling softly under his breath.

He is due to present a case to a grand jury and it’s a tricky one, as the defence attorney Danielle Melnick is not making it easy for him.  But when he arrives, he finds everyone is standing outside on the sidewalk.  His colleague, Paul Robinette is also there, looking pristine as always in a dark grey coat and burgundy patterned scarf knotted neatly around his neck.  To Ben, Paul always looks as if he’s been pressed and dry-cleaned.

“Hey Ben,” Paul raises a leather gloved hand in greeting.

“What’s going on?” Ben looks at the unhappy looking court staff who are huddling together, trying to keep warm.

“The fire alarm went off in the building about 10 minutes ago.  No sign yet of when we’re allowed back in.”  Paul notices Ben is wearing the same clothes as yesterday.  It’s not his place to comment, but he has noted that it’s happened a couple of times this month.  “If we don’t get in soon, we may have to reschedule.”

“Well, well.  What do we have here?”  A strong southern drawl booms into the chatter of the crowd.  Ben and Paul turn to see Arthur Branch marching confidently towards them. No fear of slipping here, figures Ben.  

“Morning Arthur,” Ben pulls up the collar of his trench-coat. “Private practice keeping you busy?”

“Morning Ben, morning Paul.”  Arthur Branch greets them, genially shaking each man’s hand with an almighty strong grip. “Just on my way to a breakfast meeting with a client.”  Arthur is a year younger than Ben but due to his height (he’s an inch or two taller) and his burly build, he looks older.  Despite this, and the fact his face is flushed red with the cold air, Ben has to admit he looks in the rudest of health.

“How’s Lillian?” asks Ben, re-adjusting his scarf, not feeling quite so upbeat as he did earlier.

“She’s fine.” It’s well known Arthur completely adores his wife. “Still likes me getting out from under her feet every day.”

Ben smiles at the reply and ponders yet again where things went wrong in his own marriage.  He worked long hours just like his own boss Adam and Arthur Branch.  Why did his fall apart but theirs were still going strong?   Were he and Laura wrong for each other, even from the very start?  Neither of them would say the marriage was a mistake because after all, it gave them Pamela and Peter.  But he did take Laura for granted.  He was going to have to knuckle down and make sure this time, he didn’t make the same mistakes again. 

Conversation continues to be good-humoured but after another 20 minutes in the icy wind, everyone is getting restless and very cold.  The sun disappears behind a large grey cloud and it’s not helping that they’re blocking other commuters trying to get to work.  Though the hot-dog and coffee vendors don’t seem to mind, they’re doing even more of a roaring trade than usual.  Ben feels his good mood evaporating.  And his throat doesn’t feel great either …

“You know what we need?” announces Arthur suddenly. “Chicken soup.  Lillian makes it every weekend this time of the year. Don’t know how she does it but it’s the best you’ll taste this side of Georgia.”

Ben remembers he has left his thermos at your place and looks over to the food stands.  Bit early in the morning but maybe soup would be perfect round about now, though he doesn’t think the vendors sell that.  Much longer here and he will have to buy something.  The biting cold is starting to seep into his bones.

Arthur continues to beam at Ben. “You know, a little bird tells me a young lady has finally nailed you down .. put a little spring in your step.”  From the corner of his eye, Ben can see Paul grinning at him.

Ben raises an eyebrow. “This ‘little bird’ wouldn’t be Adam Schiff, would it?”

Arthur chuckles. “Now, Ben … I’m not one for telling tales out of class.”

“Something’s happening,” says Paul, noticing a very flustered clerk attempting to rush down the courthouse steps towards them.  Slipping on a patch of ice, she somehow regains her balance.  She looks very apologetic and just a little terrified.

“Everyone,” she pants. “Sorry, but the building will have to remain closed for at least another couple of hours.” There is a collective groan from the crowd, but Ben is relieved.  It means he can travel on to his warm office.    Paul has read his mind and is already hailing a cab for them.

“Arthur, aren’t you going to miss that meeting?”  Ben really just wants to be indoors now.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just mosey on,” drawls Arthur, still not making any immediate move. “I arrived earlier than planned so I’ve got plenty of time.” He looks with concern at Ben. “You know you’re looking a tad peaky.  Maybe get that young lady of yours to rustle up some soup.  Put a little substance on those skinny bones of yours.”

All three men say affectionate goodbyes to each other, Arthur Branch giving such a hearty slap on Ben’s back, it nearly sends him careering into another bystander.  When a cab eventually arrives, Arthur gallantly holds the rear passenger door open for them and Ben sighs with relief when he realises the driver has got the heating on.

***************************

When they arrive at their office building, Ben feels worse than when he arrived at the courthouse and going up in the elevator is an eye opening experience.   On a typical morning, everyone stands in silence, hardly making eye contact. This time, it’s full of sniffing, coughing, and blowing of noses.  Ben closes his eyes, a feeling of dread coming over him. “‘I do not need this,” he tells himself, acutely aware his throat is starting to feel dry and scratchy.

After removing their coats and scarves, Ben asks Paul to tell their boss Adam Schiff the latest news.   He makes a beeline for the little kitchen area where there is usually fresh coffee on the go and returns to his office with two steaming mugs.  Flopping into a chair, he sits back and lifts his long legs to rest on his desk.  As he takes out his pocket watch, it dawns on him he is still wearing the same clothes as yesterday and hopes Paul didn’t notice.  Will have to put a stop to that, he thinks, and wonders if he should keep some clothes at your place.  You’ve spent a couple of nights at his apartment too.  Maybe you should keep some of your own clothes there as well ..?  Or is that too soon?  The world of ‘steady’ dating … he feels very out of step with it.

Ben hears a noise and recognises it as rain hitting the windows.  He smiles, knowing that you like to lie in bed at night and listen to the rain outside as you find it so comforting.  After checking his watch, he notes that just a couple of hours ago, he was in your warm bed, nuzzling his head next to yours.  Ben closes his eyes.   He can still smell your skin, your hair, even hear the sound of your voice, moaning his name ...“Ben …”  Still feel how slick, warm, and soapy your bodies were in the shower.  And he can still …

“Am I interrupting, counsellor ..?”

Ben is jolted out of his enjoyable daydreaming by an amused looking Danielle Melnick, who is standing in front of him.  He lowers his legs off his desk.

“Er …hello Danielle ..”

“You okay?”

Ben looks at her, unsure now if the warmth he is feeling is down to sickness or the memory of early morning lovemaking.

“Think I’m coming down with something.”  He tells her about the delay to the grand jury.

Danielle is looking much as expected.  Perfectly coiffed hair and make-up, violet-colored coat with dress to match and, despite the slippery sidewalks outside, black high heels.  At below average height, she more than makes up for it with her punchy attitude.  Ben likes her.

“Wouldn’t at all surprise me if you had arranged it,” she says wickedly, setting her briefcase on his desk and sitting opposite him.  “You know I’ve got you on the ropes, Ben. You don’t have a cat in hell’s chance of getting anything past the grand jury!”

“Really?” Ben replies good-naturedly. “And how did I do that?  I’d only just arrived!”

Paul comes back into his office, looking so healthy, Ben almost can’t stand it.  “Adam wants us,” he says.  “And he’s not happy.”

Ben puffs out his cheeks. In a perfect world, he would just leave the office and return to your warm bed.  You would be at work now, but it wouldn’t matter.  Your perfume would still be on the sheets …

“No problem, gentlemen!”  Danielle helps herself to Paul’s mug of coffee on Ben’s desk.  “I’ll just wait here, shall I …?”

On the way to Adam’s office, Ben nudges Paul’s elbow.

“Paul ..?”

“Yeah?”

“The way I feel now.  If Adam says, ‘take a plea’ .. I won’t be responsible for my actions ..”

***************************

“Uh huh … okay … yeah ..” Don Cragen’s side of this phone call isn’t making sense to Detective Mike Logan but he’s sure the Captain will fill him in at some point.  Standing beside the radiator in Cragen’s office, he reaches out to get some warmth to his hands.  It’s stone cold.  ‘Doesn’t anything work in this building?’ he thinks to himself.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Cragen is saying.  “I’ll tell Max.  He’s due in this afternoon.  Are you sure you’re alright, Stone?” 

Tony Profaci arrives at Cragen’s office door, but Cragen holds a hand up before Profaci can open his mouth.  He’s not ready yet.

“You slob.” Mike Logan goes over to his colleague and points. “What is that?” 

Tony looks down at the white dusting on his tank top.  “Just had a donut ..”

“Another one?” Mike shakes his head. “You know, Profaci … when you die and they cut you open, there won’t be any blood.  Just powdered sugar ..”

“Meh.” Tony isn’t bothered. “What about you, wise ass? If anyone cuts you open ..?”

Mike points to himself, affecting an angelic expression. “Me?  Hey, I’m full of milk and honey ..”

“That’s not what Maggie says ..”

“Oh, really?” Mike’s eyes start to flash.  Any remark about this previous girlfriend always riles him.  He stands over Profaci, who holds his ground.  Mike jabs a finger into Profaci’s ribs. “You make another wisecrack like that ..”  Profaci swipes Mike’s hand away.  “Yeah?  What are you gonna do, Logan?”

“Okay, Stone.  I’ll talk to you later,” says Cragen, looking at Logan and Profaci squaring up to each other.  “Got a couple of problems to sort out ..”

Logan and Profaci look at Cragen, who has wrapped up his phone call and is looking at them with his hands on his hips.  “You ladies need to get a room?  You do remember whose office this is …?”

Both detectives mumble apologies and Cragen sighs.  Sometimes, he feels like he’s running a kindergarten.  Profaci hands over a fingerprint report and disappears. But not before blowing a sarcastic kiss in Logan’s direction.

“What’s up, Captain?” Logan is still pissed at Profaci’s comment.

“Stone just called. To tell you the truth, he doesn’t sound so good, but he was able to tell me how things went with the grand jury ..”

“And how did it go?”

“It didn’t.” Cragen tells him about the courthouse’s evacuation. “And he doesn’t know when the grand jury will be reconvened.”

Mike Logan returns to his desk.  He glares over at Tony again.  “Hey Profaci. What was that remark about Maggie ..?”  Tony shrugs, refusing to answer him.

“Any more wisecracks, I’ll nail your tie to that desk ..”

“At least, I’ve got taste.” Profaci points at Logan’s red tartan tie. “If anyone’s ties need nailed to a desk ...”

There then proceeds a heated argument between the two detectives, which is basically full of empty threats and hot air.  Cragen shuts his office door hoping to block out the noise but even after doing so, he can still hear them arguing.  ‘I’m sure this happened last week too,’ he murmurs under his breath.  He reaches for his fourth coffee of the morning, idly wondering what Marge will make for dinner. 

He kicks the radiator and it makes a familiar gurgling sound.  After a few moments, he feels a welcoming warmth radiating from it. “Well, at least something works in this building,” he thinks to himself …

***************************

Luckily, the grand jury reconvenes later on that afternoon.  Despite Ben’s voice faltering several times during his questioning of witnesses, the grand jury agrees with his recommendation of a charge of murder in the second degree or a possibility of manslaughter in the first degree, if (as he sees it), Danielle Melnick sees sense.

By the end of the day, he is not a well man at all.  His always efficient secretary dashes to a nearby pharmacy and phones you to let you know what’s happened.  Paul helps him into a cab and Ben’s briefcase is filled with various tablets and painkillers, with orders not to come in the next day.   Once in the cab, Ben hesitates.  Should he give the driver his own address or yours?  He can’t just turn up at your place, expecting you to nurse him better.  Can he?  Ben’s forehead feels very hot, his body cold and shivery but he tells the cabbie to continue driving until he decides what he should do.

Ben gazes out of the window, watching the lights and the people of New York go by.  His head feels like it’s full of cotton wool, but he does recall how content Arthur Branch was that morning.  To be that happy after all these years, Arthur and Lillian must be … well, soulmates or something, Ben reckons.  He rests his head back against the seat.  Was that it?  He and Laura just weren’t soulmates?  The past few weeks run through Ben’s mind like a kind of movie-he is able to play, pause and rewind again everything that’s happened.  Seeing you naked for the first time.  Tender whispers, touches, and caresses under the bedclothes.  A first breakfast together, a stroll in the park on a Sunday afternoon.  And a tense moment when it felt like everything was over before it had begun.  It hadn’t been any real argument.  More of an edgy discussion about Ben working late and …

Ben pauses the movie and sits up.  Oh, God.  Not again.  Not this time.

The cabbie looks at Ben in the rear view mirror.  “Hey, you okay?” he calls back.  “Made a decision yet?”

“Yeah, I’ve made a decision.”  Ben leans forward and points a finger towards a turn up ahead.  “Take the next right here ..”

***************************

A few days later and Ben Stone is sitting in a comfy armchair in the corner of your bedroom, watching you strip the bed.  Thanks to the weather and that flu outbreak ripping its way through his office, he has been stuck in bed with something close to a fever and it’s time to refresh everything, pillowcases, sheets, the lot.

Holding the stripped sheets in your arms, you turn to look at him.  Despite the thermometer in his mouth, he flashes a dimpled grin. You can’t help but smile back.  His lean frame and outfit of striped pyjama bottoms and white vest, along with the tousled hair and boyish face make him look about 12.

He removes the thermometer. “Need a hand?” The usual soft voice is raspy, and he winces a little, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “No, I can manage,” you say. “Anyway, you’re not really offering, are you?”

“You’re right, I’m not.” He grins again.

You walk over to him, resting the back of your hand against his forehead. “Well, you’re cooler than you were yesterday.” Removing your hand, he kisses the back of it.

“Careful, Stone. You’re still a little germ factory. I don’t want you to give it to me!”

He chuckles and releases your hand, popping the thermometer back into his mouth again.

“Do you want a cardigan or a blanket?” He shakes his head.   After another couple of minutes, you check the thermometer. “It’s okay.” Ben sees the relief on your face, knowing you were worried, especially as his temperature had shown no signs of coming down quickly.  He grabs your just released hand again, squeezing it reassuringly. “And I’m okay.”

You kiss him on the forehead and continue to gather up the rest of the bed clothes ready to carry them downstairs to be washed. 

Suddenly, Ben says, “What’s that smell?”

“Oh, lord!” You run out of the room with the bedding and almost fall down the stairs in a panic. He can just about make out faint noises from the kitchen, rattling of cutlery and pans. Possibly a couple of swear words. Then he hears you shout, “It’s okay!”

He looks around the room.  A pair of his red and blue striped braces are hanging over the back of another chair across from him. A white bra has also been thrown there.  He smiles, remembering the first time he had seen you get ready for work in this room. He had sat on the edge of the bed, watching you put on that bra and buttoning up your blouse.  And then your half-hearted protests when he had come over to unbutton the blouse again. He had been nearly late for work that day …

For the past few days, you have been sleeping in the spare bedroom. He hopes that now his temperature is normal, you will sleep beside him tonight.

It’s only four in the afternoon but the room suddenly darkens. He looks out of the window beside him and sees ominous dark grey clouds gathering. The curtains billow gently back, a cool breeze welcoming on his still flushed face.  He hears your footsteps on the stairs again and as you arrive a little breathless, a wonderful savoury aroma seems to enter the room with you.

“Think it’s ready,” you puff. “But if you don’t like it …”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Ben hasn’t been able to manage much food but hopes a little may spark his appetite, especially when you have gone to so much trouble.

He guiltily watches you making the bed. He really wants to help but now feels quite sleepy again.  You help him out of the armchair and walk him to the side of the bed, where he removes his pyjama bottoms. He sighs gratefully as he gets in and lies on his back, welcoming the coolness of the fresh sheets against his skin.

“Need anything, love?” you ask, gently touching his cheek.  Ben Stone looks up at you through half closed baby blue eyes. “Just you,” he murmurs, patting the empty space on the bed beside him.

Relenting, you take off your trainers and jogging bottoms and get in beside him.  Snuggling under the duvet, Ben rolls over onto his side to face you, resting an arm across your body and intertwining a long leg through one of your own.   He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, and you wrap an arm around him, pulling him close.  Eventually, you both fall asleep to the noise of the heavy sleet now hitting the bedroom window and the smell of chicken soup drifting its delicious way around the house.