Archive of Our Own

I do not own them, I wish I did. I just like playing with them every once in a while, no money is made.

SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT…TWO BITS

Files sit open sprawled all over, coffee cooling on the desk.

Della's still at her typewriter, finishing the last of the day's correspondence, her fingers slowing as fatigue seeps in. She pulls the final page free, checks the spacing, and exhales.

Walking into his office and putting it on the corner of his desk. "That's the last of them," she murmurs. "Unless you've got some secret brief hidden behind your back."

Perry looks up from the case notes spread before him, eyes tired but amused. "You make it sound like I hoard work for sport."

"You do," she says, stretching her arms. "You hide depositions the way children hide candy."

He grins faintly. "Guilty."

Della smooths her skirt and turns toward the door. "Did you want me to wait until Mr. Burkey shows up in" glancing at her watch, "an hour and a half?"

He rises slowly, crossing the space between them until he's standing close enough that she can feel the warmth of him. His tie is loose, his sleeves rolled, and his voice drops low. "You know, Della… I've been thinking." Brushing a stray hair from her face. "You ever think," he says slowly, "that maybe we're too good at following our own rules?"

That catches her attention. She pauses and lifts her eyes to stare at him. "Our rules are what keep this office running, Counselor."

"Our rules," he repeats, as if savoring the phrase. "You mean the big one."

She takes a step back from him, a faint warning in her smile. "You know exactly which one."

"Remind me," he says softly, taking the step closer to her and leaning his so his lips are right next to her ear. "Why did we make that one again?"

She closes her eyes as she feels his breath. "Because someone—"

"Someone very wise?" he interrupts.

"—someone very stubborn," she continues, "thought it would be dangerous to mix business with personal matters in the office."

He rests his hands on her hips and pulls her closer. She can smell the faint spice of his aftershave. "Dangerous," he echoes. "You make it sound like I'm about to cross a minefield."

"You could always cancel on Mr. Burkey," she says, trying to sound firm but her tone wavers. Reaching up to play with his shirt collar. "Of course, you had to reschedule him two days ago."

He starts peppering kisses along her jawline until his lips hover just over hers "We have an hour and a half."

"Perry…" Her voice drops. "We said we'd keep what we have separate. The office is work. The rest—"

"—is everything else?" he finishes then his lips meet his and her arms snake around his neck. Her one hand running through the back of his hair and the other dropping down his back. A girl can only resist so much.

They break for air and she laughs lightly. "You're impossible."

"I've been accused of worse."

"Perry, if we start blurring that line, there's no un-blurring it. You said it yourself when we first—"

"When we first decided to try this," he finishes for her. His tone softens. "Six months, Della. Six months of having to wait until we're out of this office. I'm a strong man, Della." He hears her slight moan "but when it comes to you, I'm weak, very," kissing down her neck, she can't help but toss her head back to allow him more access, "very weak."

"That's why we made the rule. So we wouldn't end up—" She knows she's fighting a losing battle especially with how he is making her feel.

"Like this?" He pulls her tighter "Well then let's go to your house and…"

"We should stop." She sighs out.

"And yet you're not stopping me." his voice deepens.

"I'm trying to," she whispers.

He smiles again against her throat — that infuriating, tender smile that's undone juries and witnesses alike. "Try harder."

She exhales, torn between laughter and surrender. "You're a menace."

"I'm a man in an empty office with a woman who knows exactly how to undo him."

His words are velvet over gravel, and she freezes, caught between sense and want. Her pulse betrays her long before her words do.

"Perry… this is reckless."

"So is wanting you every day." Leaning in "Yet, you make me wait until we're not here."

"You're still breaking the rule," she murmurs, but her voice is trembling now.

He leans in, his breath warm against her ear. "Then consider this… a closing argument."

He lifts his head and her eyes meet his. Her hands come up to his chest, meaning to push him away, but they stay there, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt. He leans in toward her and their lips meet. The kiss deepens; her resistance melts.

When they finally break apart, both are breathing hard. His tie hangs crooked, her blouse slightly rumpled, the rule they made lying somewhere between them on the floor like a broken promise.

"Perry…" she says again, half a laugh, half a sigh.

"Della." His tone is half apology, half triumph. Their lips meet again. His hands pull her tighter as they wrap around her waist and she runs one through the back of his hair.

And then—

The office door swings open.

"Hey, Perry, I was just—" Paul Drake freezes mid-sentence, blinking. "Well, I'll be… holy smokes."

Della jumps back, cheeks flushed, fingers smoothing her hair as if that could undo what Paul just saw. Perry straightens his tie, slow and unruffled, but there's no mistaking the guilt in his eyes.

"Paul," Perry says evenly, "ever heard of knocking?"

Paul's grin spreads wide. "Didn't think I needed a secret code to enter the premises." He looks between them, delight dawning. "Wait—you two? Since when?"

Della folds her arms, mortified but composed. "Since, none of your business."

Perry shoots Paul a long, warning look. "You can start making it your business to back out that door."

Paul chuckles, hands raised in mock surrender. "All right, all right. Don't let me interrupt… whatever this is. But for the record—wow. The office romance pool just paid out big."

"Paul," Perry warns.

"Gone," Paul says quickly, retreating to the hallway. "But from now on, I'm knocking first."

He shuts the door behind him. Silence returns, and Della starts to laugh helplessly, covering her face with her hands.

"I cannot believe he—"

From the other side of the door comes a playful rhythm — knock knock knock-knock knock — followed by Paul's voice:

"Two bits!"

Della's laughter spills out, bright and unrestrained. Perry groans, dropping into one of the client's chairs in front of his desk.

"Next time," he mutters, "I'm installing a lock."

She leans down, eyes sparkling. "Next time, Counselor, you might want to reinstall that rule, too."

He catches her hand, holding it just long enough to make her blush again. "Not a chance."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning sunlight spills through the blinds at Clay's, turning the chrome trim and glassware gold. The air smells of coffee, bacon, and the faint hum of a jukebox that's been playing the same Sinatra song for the past hour.

Della sits in a booth across from Perry, stirring her coffee a little too carefully. She's impeccably dressed, as always, but there's something about the way she avoids his eyes that gives her away.

Perry, for his part, looks far too composed — newspaper folded neatly beside his plate, tie perfectly knotted. Only the faintest smirk betrays him.

"You're enjoying this," she says finally, without looking up.

"Enjoying what?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"The fact that we were caught in your office last night by your closest friend and favorite investigator."

He takes a sip of coffee. "You make it sound scandalous."

"It was scandalous."

"I'd argue it was… circumstantial."

Della lowers her spoon with a sharp clink. "You're lucky Paul didn't call the evening edition."

"He wouldn't do that," Perry says easily. "Not before he finished his pancakes."

She laughs despite herself, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are having breakfast with me."

Before she can answer, a familiar voice rings out across the diner.

"Well, well, if it isn't the happy couple!"

Paul Drake strolls in, grinning wide enough to fill the room. He spots them and makes a beeline for their booth before either can pretend they haven't seen him.

Della mutters under her breath, "Too late to hide under the table?"

Perry doesn't bother to look up. "He'd find us. He's got a nose for trouble."

Paul slides into the booth beside Della without asking. "Morning, lovebirds."

"Good morning, Paul," Della says sweetly. "Coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do." He snatches her cup, takes a sip, then grins. "Tastes like guilt."

Perry folds his newspaper with a snap. "You're remarkably cheerful for someone who almost got himself thrown out of my office last night."

"Hey, you're the one breaking the rules. I was just the innocent bystander."

"Innocent?" Della says dryly. "You announced it to the hallway."

"I was surprised!" Paul protests, hands up. "You can't drop a bomb like that and expect me to just walk away. Six months, and not a word?"

Perry hides a smile behind his coffee. "Some things are better handled privately."

Paul grins. "Sure. In a locked office."

Della groans. "We are never living this down."

"Relax, Della. My lips are sealed," Paul says — then adds with a wink, "Unless Tragg finds out, and then all bets are off."

"Tragg will not find out," Perry says firmly.

"Of course not," Paul replies, too innocent. "Unless he happens to walk into your office the same way I did."

Perry gives him a look sharp enough to cut through his pancakes. "He won't."

Paul leans back, still grinning. "All right, all right. I'll behave. But I am getting you two an engraved plaque for the office door."

Della eyes him warily. "Dare I ask what it would say?"

He taps the table twice with his knuckles in rhythm — knock knock knock-knock knock.

Then he hums, "Two bits."

Della covers her face with her napkin, laughing helplessly. Perry sighs, resigned.

Paul beams. "See? You've already got your secret knock."

Perry shakes his head. "Paul, if you ever do that in the office again—"

"—you'll what? Make me your best man?"

Della laughs harder, and Perry can't help but smile. The tension from the night before dissolves, replaced by something lighter, easier — the three of them back in their familiar rhythm, even if the ground under it has shifted a little.

When Paul finally waves down the waitress and orders his usual, Perry leans across the table toward Della.

"You see?" he murmurs. "I told you the rule was doomed."

She meets his gaze over her coffee cup, eyes warm and amused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon, the Mason office hums with quiet activity again. The sun filters through the windows in clean, golden stripes; the typewriter clacks rhythmically; the smell of fresh coffee lingers from Della's latest pot.

Della is back behind her desk, composed, efficient, and absolutely determined to pretend that the night before never happened. Her hair is perfect, her files are in crisp stacks, and her voice — when she calls out through the open door — is steady.

"Perry, I've redrafted the witness list. Do you want to review it before I call Burger's office?"

Perry glances up from behind his desk, eyes glinting. "Bring it in."

She hesitates only half a second before rising. The moment she steps into his office, he leans back in his chair and says softly, "You look lovely Miss Street."

"Don't start," she says under her breath, handing him the papers.

"Start what?" he asks, innocent as ever.

"That tone," she says, trying to sound crisp. "The one that makes me want to… forget where we are."

He smiles faintly. "I'd call that an effective argument."

"Perry…"

He glances toward the outer door, then back at her. "Relax. Paul's out, and Gertie's on lunch. We're perfectly professional."

She crosses her arms, though her lips twitch. "You're impossible."

"I'm efficient," he says, still studying her. "And very fond of you."

Before she can respond, the door flies open.

Paul strides in, grinning like he's been waiting all morning for this. "Afternoon, lovebirds!"

Della stiffens. "Paul."

"Drake," Perry says coolly. "We were just discussing—"

"Office protocol?" Paul cuts in, dropping a file on the desk. "Or new after-hours procedures?"

"Paul," Della warns under her breath.

He just smirks, perching on the edge of the couch. "Relax, Della. I'm just saying, if you two are gonna keep your meetings that interesting, I might start showing up early."

Perry shoots him a look.

Paul opens his mouth — but the knock at the outer door interrupts him.

Before anyone can react, Lieutenant Tragg walks in, looking like he owns the place. Right behind him, Hamilton Burger follows, expression already wary.

"Well," Tragg says, taking in the room. "The gang's all here."

"Speak of the devil," Paul mutters.

"Drake," Tragg says, tipping his hat. "Mason. Miss Street." His eyes narrow slightly, scanning their faces with the instinct of a man who can smell secrets. "You all look… lively today."

Burger sets his briefcase down. "I'd say you look smug, Lieutenant."

"Just observant," Tragg replies, still watching Perry and Della a beat too long.

Della moves smoothly back toward her desk, all professionalism. "Can I get either of you coffee?"

Burger nods politely. "Black, thank you, Miss Street."

Perry rises, his courtroom calm returning. "What brings both of you here? Joint investigation?"

Tragg grins. "Joint interrogation, maybe. We were just across the street — figured we'd drop in and see what you're cooking up before I have to clean up after it."

"Your faith in me is touching," Perry says dryly.

"Experience, Counselor."

While Della pours coffee, Paul leans toward Perry and mutters just low enough for the two of them to hear, "You're sweating, Counselor. Want me to distract them? Maybe mention the rule you broke?"

"Say one more word," Perry says under his breath, "and I'll have you served with a cease and desist."

Paul just grins wider.

Meanwhile, Tragg is studying Della like a cross-examining attorney. "Miss Street, you look awfully chipper for someone who's been working around the clock."

She hands him his coffee without missing a beat. "Good lighting, Lieutenant."

Burger takes his cup next, eyeing Perry over the rim. "You seem unusually relaxed too, Mason. Must be confident about the Richardson case."

"Confident," Perry says, "and well-rested."

Paul snorts, trying to turn it into a cough.

Tragg's gaze flicks toward him. "Something funny, Drake?"

"Just… coffee," Paul says, waving it off. "Went down the wrong way."

Burger eyes them all suspiciously, clearly sensing something he can't quite place. "You're all acting strangely," he says.

"Only because you're here," Perry says lightly, setting down his cup.

Tragg chuckles. "You'll forgive me for not buying that. You've got that look again, Mason — the one you get right before you pull a rabbit out of a hat."

"Or a scandal out of a file," Burger adds.

Paul leans back, arms crossed. "Gentlemen, if Perry ever did have a scandal, you'd be the last to find out."

"Is that so?" Tragg says, amused. "And why's that?"

"Because I'd blackmail him first," Paul says cheerfully.

Della's coffee almost sloshes over the cup. Perry shoots him a glare that could melt glass.

Burger frowns, turning to Della. "Miss Street, are you sure you're not working these men too hard? They're… unhinged today."

"Always," she says smoothly, setting down the pot. "But I assure you, everything is perfectly under control."

Tragg takes a slow sip, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so."

After a few more minutes of polite but suspicious chatter, Burger checks his watch. "We should go, Lieutenant. Mason will find a way to twist this conversation."

"Probably," Tragg says with a grin. He tips his hat to Della. "Pleasure as always, Miss Street. Mason. Drake."

They head out the door. The moment it shuts, Della exhales, leaning against her desk.

Paul bursts out laughing. "Oh, that was beautiful. You both looked like kids caught with a slingshot."

Perry sits back down, loosening his tie. "One day, Paul, you'll learn the value of silence."

"Not likely."

Della shakes her head, smiling now. "He's right about one thing, Perry — you did look guilty."

"Guilty?" he says, feigning outrage. "Not guilty, Your Honor. But perhaps… caught off guard."

Paul grins. "That's what Tragg calls probable cause." He says as he walks to the side door to make his exit.

He opens the door, stops and — knock knock knock-knock knock…

"Two bits!" Paul sings out, before laughing his way into the hallway.

Della looks at Perry, eyes dancing. "I'm starting to think that's never going away."

Perry sighs, smiling despite himself. "Neither is he."

The End

Please read and review!

Thank you!