"... All on my own..."

- • -

The third time it happened, Benny was sure he was willing to murder someone for a sandwich, right about then.

It was his fault, really. He had been far too busy when lunchtime rolled around, and had opted to forego eating in favor of reviewing the final details of their current case. It was a simple case; an assault charge and a bad case of racial bias. At his decision, his stomach grumbled and was quick to voice its displeasure - but after downing a cup of coffee and feeling considerably better, he assumed that he was all set for the rest of the day.

Turns out he wasn't.

He felt the first of the hunger pangs at around three in the afternoon, but he had brushed it off. He didn't have time to eat when he was writing his closing arguments - especially when he knew his words would be the clincher of the case.

No. His eating could wait.

In hindsight, this was not a good idea.

His stomach started grumbling even louder a few hours later. So loudly, in fact, that he was almost certain there was a thunderstorm in his gut, or at the very least, someone was firing a cannon in there.

Regardless, he had ignored it. He still couldn't crack the closing statement, and he would be having dinner soon anyway.

Again, not a good idea.

Quite some time later, he all but threw his hands in the air, and finally decided that he needed back-up. Closing arguments were his forte - sure - but he couldn't help the fact that there were times when the words just. wouldn't. come. It was times like these when he would admit defeat and call in the cavalry. He would very much rather ask for a helping hand, than botch up a case just because he had a bad case of writer's block.

And so, he called Chunk.

He almost always called on Chunk for help, if he was honest. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the opinions of the others; he would gladly listen to whatever insights they could provide. It was just that during his first case back on the job, when he defended the female pilot who survived a plane crash, he had experienced the same writing blocks. He couldn't seem to nail his closing statement, especially when it had to address gender bias, and he was sorely out of practice. And that was when Chunk swooped in with his neckties and stories about his own experiences, and just like that, Benny had it.

He had called upon the stylist a number of times after that, and the larger man had yet to fail in providing Benny the help he needed. Not to mention the fact that Chunk was always willing to be of assistance to any member of the team, and he never seemed to mind staying with them no matter how late it got.

And so a few more hours later - long after every other member of the team had gone home - the duo were still poring over the closing statement, and were trying to revise a particularly pesky phrase.

And that was when Benny's stomach decided to call for help.

The grumble was loud enough for the two to pause in their work. Benny almost blushed in embarrassment, while Chunk was busy looking for the active volcano that must have produced such a sound. Putting the pieces together, the stylist raised an eyebrow at the counselor, who had the good decency to look sheepish.

Not a moment later, Chunk stood up, grabbed his coat, and announced that they would do no more writing until Benny got some food in him. Deaf to the smaller man's squawks of protest, the former athlete had to physically drag him to the elevator.

Once the pair were outside, it was then Benny became acutely aware if just how hungry he was. The closest food chain to their office was a Subway about a block away, and he all but ran to the restaurant, with Chunk hot at his heels.

And that was how they found themselves now: Benny waiting impatiently for his sub as Chunk paid the cashier for their meals. Once their food was ready, Benny was quick to sit down at one of the establishment's many chairs, and Chunk cautiously handed him his sandwich and drink.

With the speed only a starving man was capable of, Benny tore into his sub faster than Chunk could unwrap his.

To his credit, Benny tried to put conscious effort into slowing down, but his stomach would have none of it. Chunk ate his turkey breast sandwich at a more leisurely pace, and watched the counselor with a mixture of amusement and concern. He knew Benny was hungry, but he would rather not give the smaller man the Heimlich any time soon.

"You okay, man?" Chunk asked, the concern in his voice, evident. The concern was completely justified, as the former football star watched Benny swallow a bite that he wasn't even sure he could swallow.

"Totally," Benny answered absentmindedly, and he took yet another bite of his sub - a bit of meat hanging off his chin.

Chunk chuckled at the sight of the smaller man, who looked up in confusion.

"What?" the counselor asked - the piece of pastrami swinging wildly. Chunk's chuckles had escalated to full-blown laughter by now, which he tried - and failed - to muffle with his hand.

"You got a little something here," Chunk said, gesturing to his own chin.

"Oh," was all Benny could say, as he suddenly became aware of the piece of meat on his face. With a small laugh, he took a napkin and wiped away the offending piece of protein.

"Thanks, Chunk," the smaller man said, and without further ado, dove back into the remnants of his sandwich.

Shaking his head fondly and huffing out a laugh, Chunk returned to eating his own sub. After swallowing a bite, the stylist grabbed his drink to wash the food down, only to find that the cup was empty. A quick peek into Benny's cup, and he saw that his companion's drink was nearly finished as well.

Refill time, then.

"I'm gonna get us more drinks," Chunk announced as he stood and took both cups. "Yours was a Coke, right?"

"Yup. Thanks, man."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Chunk proceeded to make his way to the drinking station. The process of refilling the drinks were blissfully uneventful. The moments that followed, however? Quite the opposite.

He wasn't sure how it had escalated so quickly.

After he filled the cups with their respective drinks, the stylist turned to head back to the table where Benny was waiting. What he didn't count on was the fact that a man - in his late twenties, if Chunk had to guess - was passing by the refill station at the exact same time.

The two parties nearly crashed into each other, and if not for Chunk's stellar reflexes - honed by years of athletic training and practice - the brown-haired man would currently be drenched in the carbonated drinks. The former athlete moved the cups away just in time and back-pedaled - his flurry of movement keeping the all drinks securely in their containers.

All but a splash, that is.

"What the heck, man!" the young man exclaimed as he stared down at the stain on his shirt - courtesy of the Coke cup in Chunk's hand.

Well, "stain" was actually an exaggeration, as the mark was no bigger than the size of a quarter. However, it could have been the whole front of his shirt, as far as the man was concerned, and it warranted such a reaction.

"Don't you watch where you're going?!" the young man continued his tirade. Out of the corner of his eye, Chunk could see Benny start to rise from his seat, watching the scene unfold with both confusion and concern.

Chunk, for his part, quickly set the cups down on the nearest surface, and pulled out the handkerchief in his pocket.

"I am so sorry, sir," he apologized sincerely, letting the man's hostility roll off his shoulders. "Let me help you with that."

He began dabbing at the man's shirt, wanting to clean the stain before it had a chance to dry. Unfortunately, this only seemed to anger the man even further.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" the brunette screamed in outrage, and without any warning whatsoever, he shoved Chunk away harshly - using all his strength to push the larger man off.

Normally, such an action wouldn't have fazed the former football player in the slightest, but the unexpectedness of the action, coupled with the fact that he had not braced himself properly, made the larger man stagger back a few steps.

Suffice to say, the stylist was nothing short of shocked. He hadn't expected such a heated reaction, much less a physical one, but apparently this man had other plans. Maybe he was looking too much into it, but Chunk had a feeling that the man's aggression went deeper than a simple drink spill, if the commotion he was causing was anything to go by.

'At least we're not making much of a scene,' Chunk mused to himself - thankful for the lateness of the hour and the lack of people in the establishment. He was too tired to get into an argument with this man - much less having to do it in front of an audience.

"Excuse me, what's going on here?" came a familiar voice from behind, that pulled the stylist out of his thoughts.

Chunk turned around to see Benny walking up to the pair - the beginnings of anger shining in his eyes. The counselor wasn't sure what had transpired between the two, but one thing was certain: nobody pushed his friend around like that. Not if he had anything to say about it.

"Your buddy here just spilled his drink all over me!" the man fumed indignantly, gesturing to the stain on his clothes.

Inspecting the (frankly pathetic excuse of a) stain, Benny couldn't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow at how unbelievably trivial it was.

"And not just that!" the young man continued. "Your buddy over there started to touch my shirt and grab me!"

"Sir," Chunk interjected immediately, taking a step forward. "I was trying to clean the stain before it had a chance to dry and-"

"Pssh! Yeah right!" the brunette interrupted with a disbelieving scoff. "I know what you people are like! I'm lucky I still got my wallet and my phone with what you were doin'!"

It took a moment for Benny to process what had been said - but when he did, he could feel something hot and heavy build in his chest. It felt as if it were growing exponentially by the second, and threatened to burst out at any moment.

"Excuse me?"

The words were out of the counselor's mouth before he could even think about speaking them.

Chunk could feel his muscles coil and his senses sharpen, but it was neither in anger nor offense. It was out of worry. Benny's words practically dripped with fury, and he could tell the smaller man would be hard-pressed to reign in his temper. His words were posed, not as a question, but a challenge; as if daring the offender to speak such bigoted words again. The stylist knew his friend could be a scrappy fighter if he wanted to, and knew that there could be a very real need for his restraining skills soon.

Unfortunately, this was all lost on the brown-haired man, as he remained unfazed by the counselor's tone.

"C'mon man," he sneered. "You know what I'm talkin' about. I grew up in a neighborhood full o' black guys, and I know what they're like! They're all criminals!"

Benny could feel an inferno burning in his gut, and the edges of his vision were slowly tinting red. He couldn't believe the nerve of this guy! He was insulting one of his closest friends, and branding him a criminal just because of the color of his skin?! Oh, what he'd give to slug this man.

"You're all a bunch of thugs, you know that?! Animals with no self control!" the man continued his bigoted tirade, going so far as to fix his gaze to Chunk and address him directly. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Benny had balled his hands into fists, and steam was practically coming out of the shorter man's ears.

The brunette took it a step further by taking a step towards the dark-skinned man, a contemptuous smile on his face.

"Well we're not in your little gang territory, are we? So you can't do anything to me! I bet you'd punch me if you could - or pull out a gun you filthy nigg-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH," Benny thundered, pulling the man back sharply by the arm, and stepping in front of Chunk. The stylist was at a loss for words in the face of the verbal assault - reeling at the sheer amount of hateful prejudice. Benny, on the other hand, was more than happy to use his words instead.

"Now listen here," the lawyer seethed through clenched teeth, pointing a finger at the offender who seemed shocked at the being pulled away from the other man. "My friend here is one of the kindest, most understanding people I know. He wouldn't raise a hand to anyone, even a scumbag like you who deserves it, because he knows he can beat you within an inch of your life. So no, he's not going to fall for your pathetic bait or give you the satisfaction, and he is not going to punch you."

At his words, the man looked thoroughly unimpressed, and even the slightest bit disappointed. Knowing he wouldn't get a rise out of the colored man, and with nothing the left to say, the brunette - in the fashion of a playground bully - simply turned around, scoffed, and grumbled a "whatever".

But he wasn't going to get off that easy.

Chunk was thankful that his senses were on such high alert, because if not, he would have missed Benny's whispered words.

"But I will."

In a flash, Benny threw his fist - aiming for the man's head and ready to pound this guy - consequences be damned. He would have made contact, had he not felt a much stronger arm stop his, and another wrap around his torso - nearly lifting him off the ground and effectively retraining him.

"Let it go," came the whispered words in his ear, as he continued to struggle in the former athlete's grip. "He's not worth it. Let it go."

To all this, the offender remained blissfully ignorant, even as Benny burned holes in the back of his skull with his gaze.

"Benny," Chunk stressed. "C'mon man. Let's go."

His words seemed to have the intended effect, when slowly but surely, the smaller man began to relax in his grip. Sure, he still felt like knocking the living daylights out of the racist low-life, but his rational side - which he momentarily misplaced - begged him to consider otherwise. It wasn't worth it. Stooping down to the man's level, though incredibly satisfying, wasn't going to solve anything. It would just prove him right. Not only that, but Chunk wouldn't want Benny to get into trouble for his sake - much less face an assault charge in his defense.

And so with a shuddering breath, the counselor reigned in his anger and relaxed fully. He stopped struggling in the the ex-football star's grip, and willed his breathing to slow as he uncurled his fists and let his shoulders drop.

Realizing that his companion had calmed down and wouldn't be throwing punches anytime soon, Chunk released his grip on the smaller man.

"Thank you," he whispered gratefully, eyes shining in gratitude.

With one final glance at the youth who had gone back to his business as if nothing had happened, Chunk took Benny by the shoulders and led him out the door.

"Thanks for uh... holding me back there, Chunk," said Benny when the elevator had opened up to their floor in the TAC building.

Now that he had time to think about it, the lawyer realized that throwing a punch wouldn't have been the best of ideas. Sure, he had been provoked, but he'd still be guilty of battery and would hard-pressed to defend himself in court.

"Any time man," the stylist smiled, but instead of heading toward's the counselor's office, he took a different turn in the opposite direction. Curiosity piqued, Benny followed the larger man into another room.

When they reached their destination, the smaller man nearly laughed.

His punching bag. Of course.

"Now," Chunk began as he took his place behind the sand-filled column. "I saw your fist a while ago man, and while your punch would've been solid, your knuckles would be bruised like hell right now."

At these words, Benny couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips, which the larger man returned with a grin.

"I used to box when I was younger," the former athlete continued. "And I know you're used to using gloves, but you gotta learn to make a proper fist."

Benny smiled and nodded, bracing himself against the floor and getting into position in front of the bag.

"So you gotta make sure your thumb's wrapped around your second and third knuckle," Chunk instructed, holding up his fist to demonstrate.

"Like this?" the raven-haired man asked, holding out his own fist for inspection.

"Yeah, good. But you gotta make it look like a solid brick so just move your- yup. That's it. Okay, so punch straight and- good. That was good. Again."

With Chunk's words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Benny threw punch after punch at the bag - the movements effectively dissipating what anger remained.

And as he pounded the piece of equipment mercilessly, the counselor realized something that made his face break into a wide grin and made him shake his head in happy disbelief.

He had his closing statement.

- • -

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

*SCREAMS BECAUSE IT TOOK ME FAR TOO LONG TO WRITE THIS*

Hi everyone! First of all, I'd really like to apologize for how long it took me to write this chapter! ='(

This chapter is the longest so far, but I still feel horrible for making you all wait so long! I really don't have any excuse, and I'd just like to apologize again. (I'm very bad at writing a series, which is why you'll notice I mostly just have one-shots BUT I AM DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS ONE!)

So, as I promised, this chapter is different from the two before it, since it now deals with racism and how Benny defends Chunk from it! Cookies for you if you noticed the wittle foreshadowing at the start, and the Hamilton Off-Broadway reference!

As always, I just really wanna thank you all SO MUCH for all the support! Your reviews really make my day, and I really appreciate them! There were lots of times when I couldn't find the usual drive to write this, but looking at all your kind words spurred me on!

Also, special shout-out to kensi54382! She's really awesome and you should really check her work out!

She helped me out, because I encountered a kind of speed-bump while writing the ending. Originally, I intended for Benny to slug the guy who insulted Chunk, and for it to end with our favorite stylist icing his bruised knuckles (you can have this very satisfying imagine if you like =3). Unfortunately, I realized the guy could charge Benny with assault and battery. It wouldn't do so well for someone like Benny, who is a lawyer, to actually break a law.

*cue hours of research into state laws on assault, digging into Quora about how to punch someone legally, and going over loopholes in my head*

Finally, I came up with this, and kensi54382 was kind enough to let me run the idea by her! I like to think it has a better message, and fits in with the story better =)

AAAAAND I'M RAMBLING AGAIN, SORRY!

Anywho, I really hope you all liked this chapter, and please tell me what you think! I'm worried about the characterization, and I'd love to hear your opinions! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

As I said before, my inbox is always open, and I'm always up for a chat! =D

We're halfway through this story, everyone! (You can probably guess the quote now and the title's origins =D) I couldn't have done this without all of you, so thank you again!

Bye!

-RW ;)