This is a missing moment of TCOT Confusing Colours, involving events that took place on the Sunday before the lecture.

WARNING: This is really rated M, and for reasons that will evolve in the next chapters. If you don't like that, please close this window (beautifully said, Jlk9506 … thanks).

Just a few parts in just a few days. Enjoy.

Paper works - Missing Moment of TCOT Confusing Colours

One

Though he was even way beyond the wrong side of seventy, he considered it no wonder at all that his thoughts were drifting off to the colour of the undergarments she was wearing today.

He knew that the laced, silkened lingerie accentuated all of her alluring features in all the right ways as an everlasting but never boring cliché, and that it's colour was an exotic emerald green. He knew that, because this morning he had insisted on clasping the bra, and tying the little ribbon that was there to elegantly hide the clasp. He had insisted. The clasp of this bra was positioned not at her back as usual, but at her front.

And while he had been fastening her bra, he had been positioned behind her, looking at her in the mirror in front of them.

She'd watched his reflection from under her lashes and had said nothing. The look they'd exchanged had held a thousand different notions, one of them being the ridiculous idea that they actually looked like a casefile, standing together like this. He'd blamed it to their plans for today, the sight of his large arms around her and the green tied ribbon in between her breasts.

It'd felt like a very appropriate start of this day of paper work.

Because this emerald green bra was fastened in the way she used to seal her case files. With a fastener and a ribbon.

She'd leaned back to him, smiling. He'd placed a soft and gentle kiss on her bare shoulder and had let her go to get dressed.

Clasping and fastening forgotten quickly after that, he'd been working in the office almost non stop from eight o'clock this morning until twenty minutes ago, when he had been forced to stop by his own mind. The words simply didn't reach him anymore after hours of working continuously. The information he'd been collecting and investigating couldn't be processed in the way he needed it anymore.

So ?

So, as the clock had already ticked most of this Sunday away into the late afternoon he'd decided to take a short reces from his paper work, to watch hers. She had a hell of a lot of paper work on her hands.

While he'd been going through numerous newspaper articles since last Friday, to investigate and read about his alledged questionable ways as a lawyer, and to abstract where he should focus on during the upcoming lecture, she'd taken care that the files he needed were here, in his office, the including information as accurate and complete as possible.

It had taken her hours to go through all the dossiers in the two archives they used. During this, she'd occasionally been assisted by Paul Drake and Ken Malansky, the latter becoming more and more astounded by every minute he was watching the neatly stored and archived case files, and the effortless way in which she knew where to find the pieces of information she thought could be of use in preparation for Perry's lecture.

The lecturer himself, Perry Mason, watched the piles of paper work, that were occupying the greater part of the carpet of his office now. The files were sorted by their year of completion, and were arranged in alphabetical order, 'A' at the bottom, going to 'Z' at the top of the pile. On all piles, Della had placed a note, with the digits from the concerning year, without the '19'. Most of the files were indeed sealed in her typical efficient way, with a clasp and a ribbon. The materials she'd used to do that with, had changed over the years because of changing technology of course, but she'd always filed in the same characteristical manner he'd learned about while working with her.

The official, personal documents about the client were behind the first tab page in the file. The second tab page held the information about the indictment and the courtsessions. The third part consisted of depositions and transcriptions if available, and the judicial declaration of the dismissal or, only sometimes, the verdict. And always, behind the last tab page, there was a collection of notes, paper clippings, memo's, scribbles and remarks made by her, by himself and by Paul Drake Senior.

Her filing ways had transformed the case files into little booklets, telling stories about challenges and struggles, mostly with a satisfying and happy end. The few lost or unfinished cases were sealed differently, and marked with a black elastic band around the file jacket.

The ribbons prevailed.

In more ways than one today. He sighed.

She was on her knees, her back turned towards him, surrounded by her paper work, arranging the piles and while doing so she fingered the ribbons at the sides of the dossiers into a straight line.

The black tight skirt and the green blouse did nothing else than steer his thoughts into the direction of the first ribbon he'd seen and touched this morning.

He inhaled and shook his head. He was too old for even only having these thoughts in here. And, she was too old as well. For having these thoughts about, and, well …

He pushed the thoughts away, because they were messing with his mind while he should be fully concentrated on his lecture.

But he couldn't. Della Street was not only in his own humble opinion the most beautiful woman ever placed on the face of this earth. He'd once said he would have been such a fool had he not noticed her extravagant beauty. And he'd spent the last twenty minutes fully noticing it, enjoying an increasingly pleasant, yet undefinable mood along the way.

But was it undefinable, or did he just not want to define it, afraid of the consequences ?

" What are we looking for exactly, Perry? " She sighed, sat up and straightened her shoulders, moaning softly while she brought both hands to her back to massage the strained muscles.

Waiting for his reply, she turned to see where he was, and to see if the thoughtful gaze she'd felt burning through her clothing on her skin was really there, and if it was as meticulously directed at her as she'd expected.

It was.

He was seated against the edge of his desk, held his head to the side, his legs crossed at the ankles, his large strong hands on either side of him on the desk. The deep lines on his face were clear and evident proof of how tired he really was, yet the firm set of his jaws also brought on a certain enchanting arrogance. It was the same arrogance he radiated when he was certain about winning a case even before the actual court session, his strategy polished and proven succesful without even having been tried. She'd already seen his corresponding testosteron smitten stare in the mirror this morning.

It was usually also the presage of something undefinable and raw.

She swallowed and pushed the thought away. Not here in the office, not now. They were way too old for that.

And besides, there was a lecture to prepare.

Now, what was the question again ?

" Perry, what are we looking for exactly ? "

" Well … " he spoke low, and rubbed his face with his left hand " … we're looking for anything that has anything to do with perception, with the way people look at things, and just conclude or interpret in a way that suits them best. "

" Mmm-mmm. " She nodded.

" I want the clients that were involved in these particular cases to be present at the lecture, and that might mean that the older cases can't be used. The older clients might not be able to attend. "

She shook her head. " You know, Perry, I've tried to contact a number of these clients from the earlier years already. Some of them are indeed deceased or too old to cooperate, but there are still some who are fit enough to be there. "

" Mmm-mmm. Let's start going through the younger cases anyway. "

" But we can try, don't you think? Who knows? Maybe we'll be surprised to learn what these oldies are capable of ... "

Yes, Della, what will the oldies be capable of ?

" Mmm-mmm. " He cleared his throat, and swallowed.

" Fifty years … " he changed the subject, gesturing at the piles that were surrounding her. " And this isn't even all, is it? "

Della stood up gracefully, walked to Perry and leaned back to the desk next to him." No. I've already made a first shifting, back in the archives. This isn't even half of all the dossiers. " She shrugged. " And it could never be fifty years completely, Perry. You do know we miss out on eight whole years … " she looked aside shortly " ... and there aren't any files from the first seven years of your practice, when I wasn't … " She sought for the right words " … when I wasn't with you yet. "

She eyed her handiwork in front of them, feeling contented and somewhat melancholic. " Thirty five piles, Perry. Thirty five years of work … "

He nodded.

They were both silent.

" It feels like watching our brood, doesn't it? " She said while she stared at the thirty five well documented years on the floor.

" In a way we are, Della. " Suppressing a yawn, he brought one of his large arms around her shoulder.

She leaned her head to his chest momentarily, then looked up at him. " Are you tired, baby ? "

" Yes, I am. But I want to start going through these files now. " He looked downwards, into her eyes.

" Can I get you anything ? "

" No. " His gaze drifted off, and then went back to her eyes again. " You know I have my ways to stay sharp and awake … " The sonorous tones were soft, vibrating towards her.

" U-uh. Yes, you have your ways to concentrate… "

He nodded, looked back at her with that far away gaze in his eyes, which she interpreted to be that he couldn't be fully reached until he'd found what he was looking for.

She returned to the piles of paper work, took one of the case files from ' 91 and started reading. He went to stand next to her, leaned forward putting his hands on the armrest of the couch for support, and toed his shoes off without unlacing them, before he struggled to sit down on the floor. With an irresistable, slow gesture he loosened his collar, and continued to open the first buttons of his shirt. He shifted a little to be able to sit more comfortably, with his back against the couch, lifting one knee slightly while he fumbled to take off his cough links. He placed the items on the coffee table, and started rolling up his sleeves swiftly.

He took a file and opened it, the ribbon and the fastening clasp quickly yielding under the expert touch of his long fingers.

She watched him from aside. He had no idea how very much she loved the sculptured lines on his granite face, how deeply she cared for the etched wrinkles next to his eyes, serious pieces of evidence of the amount of years he owned. Her gaze lovingly trailed the line where the beard took over the skin of his cheeks. The imperfections of his face caused by living life to the fullest had always been and still were fascinating her. And more.

Were they too old?

Unvoluntarily, her eyes were drawn to the chest hair that was revealed by his open collar.

There was a lot of him to love, and there were lots of ways to love him.

She took a deep breath, inhaled his scent, and swallowed.

Yes, he was on the wrong side of seventy. But, did she really care ?

- TBC -