Work Text:
Mia couldn't wait to see Diego again. To watch him waltz through the door of her corner office, knowing look in his eyes as he crossed over to her desk, leaned in close and uttered those three little words she was aching to hear.
"I have lunch."
This was the image Mia replayed in her head as she washed her hands and exited the unisex restroom of Grossberg Law Offices. The only thing getting Mia through this dreary day was knowing that any minute now, Diego'd make his return with bánh mi from the newest Vietnamese restaurant in town, Phở Real.
Despite devouring her breakfast burrito and shoveling down the strawberry yogurt she'd meant to save for an afternoon snack, Mia's stomach was growling. Was it PMS, emotional eating, or some combination of both? Regardless, she was glad no one was around in the office to overhear the moan that'd escaped her as reread Phở Real's online menu for the hundredth time.
She should be making better use of her time—should be working. But the past week of intensive research into Dahlia Hawthorne's and Terry Fawles's backgrounds had burned her out, and the weather—the overcast skies and the periodic showers they spat forth—wasn't helping. On some level, she felt bad about being so lazy and unproductive on the clock, but by the same token, didn't she deserve it? It wasn't her fault no clients had poked their head into Grossberg Law Offices today; it wasn't like she could just make crime occur, necessitating the need for her or any of her associates.
Well, technically she could but...
Anyway, a watched pot didn't boil, so Mia quit checking out the window every couple seconds for Diego and went to his office to put a pot of coffee on, to brew, and watched it do just that.
The buzzer attached to the front door jarred her attention from the coffee, and Mia switched the machine off, praying that Diego wouldn't be able to tell that it'd been stopped a minute short of its suggested brewing time. She scrambled to retrieve a couple mugs from the credenza behind Diego's desk, and after pouring one for each of them (and ensuring hers had a touch of cream and sugar), Mia shuffled down the hall as quickly as she could with a full mug in each hand. "Hey, I was wondering when you'd—" Turning the corner, Mia was just about to flash Diego a huge smile when she stopped short.
It wasn't Diego.
"Oh, er, hello," Mia started at the same time the boy—man, actually, as he had to be around her age—closed in on her.
He was quite... average, in every sense of the word. Average height, average build... somewhat attractive, though in the way wallpaper could be attractive. His tawny blond hair was disheveled, as was his checkered button-down shirt and khaki slacks. Like he'd either not slept last night, or been running around all morning. Or both.
"Is there something I can help you with?" She asked after several seconds had passed and the man had done nothing but let his gaze flit about the office, clearly in search for something—or someone—who wasn't Mia.
"Are you...?" His expression finally settled into one of disappointment. "You're not Marvin Grossberg."
"I'm not," she replied. "My name is Mia Fey."
"Is Mr. Grossberg here?" The man asked, then, without asking, took one of the coffee mugs from Mia. "Thanks... God, do I need some."
Mia blinked, too caught off guard to respond to his gratitude. "He's not, I'm afraid. He's... ill." Mr. Grossberg had been out sick all week—something about hemorrhoids acting up, he needed to see a specialist. Mia was hardly surprised, with all the duress he'd been under lately. "I could give you his card, with his number, if you'd like to call him back or e-mail him to set up—"
"No!" The man cut her off, then must've realized how harsh he sounded. "No," he repeated, much softer. He paused to take a sip of coffee, to collect himself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound... desperate, but I am. I need a lawyer. A defense attorney. Today."
Mr. Hammond was at the courthouse in the midst of a trial. Which left Mia and Diego as the only available lawyers.
Which left Diego as the only available lawyer.
Mia cupped the mug with her free hand, letting its warmth soak into her skin as she tried to formulate a way to reject him. Eventually she let her hand drop away, the mug too hot for her touch to sustain it. "My apologies, Mr... er..."
"Clare." He looked up at her, and Mia noticed how brown his eyes were—like the coffee, rich and dark. And like surely hers had been at several points in her life, filled with an incredible worry. "Reed Clare."
"Yes, Mr. Clare. I'm afraid the other lawyers at this firm, myself included, have prior commitments."
"Please!" Clare begged, his boyish features turning even more youthful with his desperation. He looked like a child pleading to stay up past his bedtime. "My sister's trial is tomorrow and I don't... I don't have anyone to take her case. Someone has to, because she's innocent!"
A lump settled in Mia's throat. She could hardly get the words out. "Your... your sister?"
"My twin sister, Annette. She's been charged with murdering our... well, he's not our boss, per se, but..." Clare began pacing in a small track in front of Mr. Grossberg's desk, that Mia was now leaning back against. "I... I don't know if you've heard it on the news by now, but... Connor Kapell, the conductor of the L.A. Orchestra? He was killed the other night."
"I... I've heard of him," Mia answered truthfully. His name sounded vaguely familiar, at least. Mia made it a point to read through Los Angeles's daily paper, the Register, to keep herself abreast of the goings-on in the city, even if most of it rarely interested her. But she hadn't read any details into this particular incident, as little more than a blurb had been published.
"And Annette's been accused of it, just because she was the last person seen with him before he was found..." Clare faded off; clearly, Kapell's death affected him on a personal level.
"This is all information you should share with your sister's lawyer, Mr. Clare," Mia told him as kindly as she could. Really, she should keep him from spilling any more details when she hadn't agreed to represent Annette. But her heart ached at how despairing and hopeless he seemed, in even this short time knowing him, and she couldn't bring herself to outright chastise him for confiding all this to a veritable stranger.
Mr. Clare stared at Mia, then to his coffee, then back to her. "Right," he said quietly, handing the half-empty mug back to her. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Miss Fey. I'll see myself out."
Mia had become a lawyer to keep anyone from being as broken as she'd once been—as broken as Mr. Clare looked and sounded now. Where would he go next? To tell his sister that no one—Mia Fey included—was willing to believe in her?
She couldn't bear the thought.
"Wait, Mr. Clare." Mia placed the mugs down on the front desk before scurrying to the office's door, blocking Mr. Clare from exiting. "My senior associate will be returning to the office shortly. I could find out if he's available to possibly look into your sister's case."
"I thought..." A fragment of hope lifted Mr. Clare's lips into a hesitant smile. "But you said that everyone here is already assigned to a case."
"I did say that. However, the case he's working on is not urgent." It pained Mia to admit as much; to her, to Diego, anything involving Dahlia Hawthorne took precedence. But they'd been at it for four months, what was another couple days? She might not be ready to return to the courtroom, but Mia couldn't turn him down in good conscience. It was worth asking Diego, at the very least. "He'll be back any minute, and we'll see what he says."
"That..." Mr. Clare sounded like he might start hyperventilating, for all his disbelief. "That'd be... I... Thank you, Miss Fey! You have no idea how—"
And Mia continued without any idea, as the front door nudged open and shoved her into Mr. Clare, sending them stumbling.
"Oh, whoops." Diego slipped through the door, large white paper bag in one hand and iced coffee in the other. He raised an eyebrow at Mia and her proximity to this mystery guy whose hands were gripping her by the upper arms, stationing her.
"You're back!" Mia righted herself out of Mr. Clare's hold. Diego's curious expression quickly dissolved when Mia smoothed her skirt down and sent a beaming smile in his direction. Mia wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him in a show of gratitude—well, actually, she wanted to inhale the bánh mi just a little more. So Diego hardly had to hand her the bag; she all but snatched it from him and dug out her sandwich.
Perching herself up on the desk, she unwrapped it. There it was, in all its extra-cucumber-light-chili-sauce glory. Mia poised with it at her mouth, ready to bite in, when she realized both Diego and Mr. Clare were watching her with a mix of amazement and confusion.
"Oh, uh... Mr. Clare, this is who I was telling you about. My senior associate—"
"Diego Armando." Diego extended the hand that wasn't holding his iced coffee. Mr. Clare shook it in return.
After swallowing her first hasty bite, Mia explained, "Mr. Clare needs someone to represent his sister. She's been accused of murder, and I told him that you might be willing to at least consider it?"
Diego held her gaze for a second, his countenance blank. This obviously wasn't how he'd foreseen them spending a day together at the office, and their lunch break at that, but he didn't seem mad, or even slightly irritated. A smirk twitched at his lips, and Mia had been subjected to so many variances of Diego's smirks that she knew this one signaled approval.
"Well, Mr. Clare," he said, turning back to face his would-be client. "What all is there to consider?"
"Just Reed is fine," Mr. Clare said, looking between the two of them. His mouth twisted into a sheepish smile that, again, caused him to appear far younger than he likely was. He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, almost like, for all his pleading, he'd been unprepared for anyone to actually listen. "And yeah, uh... honestly there's not too much I know right now, but what I can tell you..."
Avidly chowing down on her bánh mi, Mia listened as Reed outlined his sister's circumstances more extensively. Annette was the principal flautist with the orchestra, while Reed was the lead oboeist, and they'd been with the orchestra for six years. Which meant they'd known the victim, Connor Kapell, for the same length of time, and revered him. All Reed knew about the murder was that strange fact that Kapell's baton had been positioned in his hand, like he'd been struck dead in the midst of conducting.
"I don't even know what she's told the cops, what they have against her," Reed went on. "I do know there's two witnesses—the one who saw Annette and Connor, like I mentioned to Miss Fey—and then Crash, who found Connor at his podium this morning."
"'Crash'?" Mia repeated through a mouth full of bánh mi. That name alone sounded suspect.
Reed regarded Mia over his shoulder. "Oh, he's just the lead percussionist; Crash is a nickname."
"You don't say." Diego replied dryly.
His sarcasm was lost on Reed. "I don't think he'd believe Annette is guilty either, but the police have had him in questioning all day. I don't know what he thinks, what anyone thinks anymore!"
"Well, that's what we're gonna find out." Diego chucked his empty iced coffee into the trash. "Guess we might as well start by talking to your sis. You can tag along, champ."
"Of course I will!" Reed said, a legitimate smile emerging. "This means the world to me, Mr. Armando. I told Annette, I'd do anything to help her, even if it meant I had to end up representing her myself."
"Ha...! I'm just taking the case—I can't make any promises about the results. Only that we'll find the truth."
"Great! I'll meet you guys at the detention center."
We? You guys? Mia perked up, mid-chew, catching the expectant spark in Diego's eyes.
"You coming, Ms. Fey?" Diego asked as Reed hurried out of the office. He caught the door before it closed, standing there and holding it ajar, all the while keeping his focus on Mia.
Mia wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and stuffed it into the bag with Diego's untouched one. Hopping off the desk, she crossed to the door, pausing only to touch Diego's arm on the way out as she whispered, "Thanks."
The drive to the detention center was silent, minus the squeak of the windshield wipers as the skies opened up halfway there, until Mia couldn't keep it bottled in any longer.
"I meant what I said, Diego," Mia spoke up softly as they eased to a stop at a red light. "Thanks."
"I told you Phở Real was the best in town. The Vietnamese iced coffee is, anyway. Plus they dropped a load of coupons in with our lunch, so I'm sure we'll be back for more."
"No, not that..." She swatted at him gently from the passenger's seat. "Well, yeah, that, but... for taking Mr. Clare's case. Especially since we're... so busy, otherwise."
"No need to thank me. That's our job, Mia. Who could blame you, that poor kid goin' on about his sister? Those big sad eyes of his?" The light changed to green, and Diego continued down the street, towards the detention center. "Sheesh, I'd like to think I'm pretty immune to a show like the one he put on, but... sometimes it's not really a show, is it?"
"I was kicking myself at first. God knows that just because someone looks innocent, that doesn't mean they're not the devil incarnate underneath." Dahlia's simpering smile and fluttering doll-like eyes flashed through Mia's mind. "But you're right, when he said his sister, I couldn't... I couldn't just kick him to the curb. Even if I can't do anything—"
"What are you talking about, Kitten? You did the most important thing a lawyer could do. You heard him out. Gave him a shot where no one else would. And we're gonna do the same for his sis."
"'We'?" Again, Diego—and Reed, it seemed—had the idea that she was involved in this case.
"It's been a while since we've worked a case together."
"Oh, I don't know about working it together," Mia ventured meekly. "I mean, I can be here for moral support, but..."
Diego reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "That's still together, in my book. You don't have to come into the courtroom with me, if you're not ready. But you know as well as I do, attorneys might fight their battles in the courtroom, but they prepare for it everywhere else. Besides, every pretty face needs a strong, fierce hero at their side, ready to save them at a moment's notice."
Snorting out a laugh, Mia replied, "And here you are, ready to save my pretty face?"
"No," Diego said. "But I know you're ready to save mine."
His words sunk in, warming Mia from the inside-out. She squeezed his hand back, settling into a comfortable quiet for the remainder of the journey. No less than five minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the detention center.
Hunting for a parking spot was nothing short of a nightmare, the rain coming down in a steady stream. Diego found Reed's car, a blurry blue shape that he must have gotten a better look at back at the office, and parked three spots away. Mia pawed around for the umbrella Diego always kept on the floor under the passenger's seat before they both realized he'd left in the office this morning, when he'd arrived for the day and the rainfall had been equally as ruthless.
"Dammit," Mia muttered to herself, edging the door open and being greeted with the rain's drumming rhythm.
"No." Diego motioned for her to drop her hand from the door. "Wait a minute."
Before she could protest, he had unbuttoned his waistcoat and thrown open the driver's side door. Vision warped by the rain-spattered windshield, Mia watched as Diego simultaneously stripped off his waistcoat and rushed around the front of the car to her side.
"Here, come on." His words were muffled by the rain, but Mia opened the door and stepped out, shielded by the canopy Diego had created by his waistcoat stretched above her head.
They darted across the lot, up the front steps of the detention center. Mia's short heels splashed through the puddles, spraying rainwater all over her bare shins, but for the most part she remained dry until they were safe under the the awning that hovered several feet out over the main entrance.
She couldn't say the same about Diego.
Shaking out his drenched waistcoat, Diego turned to Mia. His hair was dripping, weighted down and causing him to resemble an over-watered plant. The shoulders and collar of his shirt were darkened, almost black, and Mia bit back a smile as she considered the impossible: that she had never found him more attractive.
"Shall we?" Diego asked, showing absolutely no restraint in smiling back at her. Droplets trailed from his hair down his forehead, over and around his eyes and nose. "I'm guessing our new friend Reed is already inside. Don't want to keep him waiting."
"Hold it. First things first." Mia closed the space between them, pressing herself up to Diego's damp chest and circling her arms around him.
"Oh?" Diego tucked his head down. Despite his previous instruction, he sounded perfectly thrilled at this momentary interruption.
"Get your pretty face over here, Armando." Mia lifted her hand, fingertips brushing Diego's wet, stubbly jaw as their lips met.
While he might have declared he was no hero, especially not hers, that didn't mean Mia couldn't give Diego a kiss worthy of one.