Author's Note: This chapter makes reference to Chapter 8 of The Daily Buzz, for those who might be curious. Hope you enjoy! :)

Alyssa Ford was one of my more colorful clients. She was a local stay-at-home mother of three who was arrested for disorderly conduct and assaulting a police officer while lobbying for a "shoot on sight" bill for drug dealers in school zones. We'd met briefly when I first accepted her case, but after she posted bail, she'd only been in contact with my office staff until today, two days before her hearing. She was underdressed; I made a mental note to explain the court dress code to her before we were done with today's interview.

I greeted her with outstretched hand, and she gave it a firm shake. "Hello, I'm Raquel Gutierrez, and this is my paralegal, Karen Hyde."

My client bobbed her head in greeting. "Yeah. Good to put a name with the face. Thanks for your help."

"Don't thank me. I just work here."

I stared in disbelief at Karen. She'd taken a few liberties with us, but giving an attitude like that to a client was just plain unprofessional. "Karen means to say that it's all in a day's work," I cheerfully covered. Karen glared at me but managed to bite her tongue. "Won't you have a seat? Karen's going to..." I made a show of shuffling through the papers in her case file. "I'm sorry, I think we're missing a document. Please excuse us for a moment."

As soon as I closed the door behind us, I hissed at her, "What is your problem?"

"I don't like her."

"You've never met her before today! Was she giving you grief via email?"

"No, but she's a Decept...ive woman. She's a fangirl of the other robots."

"A fangirl?"

Karen nodded solemnly. "The fangirl, actually, the soccer-mom-from-hell who claims that her robot is the original BBB. Her site is still up and running. I found out while I was doing case research."

"Case research?" I doubtfully echoed, but Karen's face was an impassive mask.

I sighed, frustrated, and answered, "It doesn't matter. She's hired us to defend her, and while I probably wouldn't have taken the case if I knew about her site, it's not exactly a conflict of interest."

"What do you mean, not a conflict of interest?!"

I ignored Karen's outburst, firmly stating, "She's our client until she decides otherwise. Deal with it. Professionally."

Karen huffed but nodded in agreement, and I returned to the conference room. After rifling through the papers one more time, I said, "Here it is! We can begin now. So, first we'd better discuss your plea options. In this case, I'd recommend you plead not…"

"Guilty," Alyssa interrupted. "Guilty as sin. I stood my ground and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

I was too experienced to give in to the exasperated sigh I wanted to exhale. "Okay, I can appreciate your honesty, but you need to understand that a plea is a legal statement, not a moral one. Saying "not guilty" isn't saying you didn't commit the alleged crime; it's saying they don't have enough evidence to prove it."

"I decked that cop," she declared.

"Did he have any bruises? Black eye?" I asked, wondering if Karen had missed something.

"Well… he ducked."

"So, no bodily injury."

"The one holding me kind of tripped when I fought them putting on my handcuffs."

"No video?" I pressed.

"Dashcam was pointed the wrong way," she admitted, crestfallen.

"So it boils down to your word against theirs. They have no proof."

"But I'm guilty!"

"Alyssa…"

"No, listen, I know I'm not alone on this. People are just complacent, but if they see one person stand up for what's right, then they'll have more courage to take a stand the next time. The world is full of fence-sitters who just need a call to arms!"

I spent the next hour trying to talk her down from her crusade and into a plea of "not guilty." She wouldn't give in to me on that one, but we eventually compromised on a plea of "no contest." At that point, we'd been in conference for more than two hours and I was beginning to think that Karen had the right idea about this nutcase. Even after spending so much time working in criminal defense, there were some people who managed to surprise me. Of course, it probably didn't help my impression of her that I knew this woman's attitude toward Ironhide and his alien robot buddies.

"Thoughts?" Karen asked as we watched Alyssa leave through the front door.

"I need two Tylenol. You?"

"I need a drink," she rumbled in answer, giving me a sidelong look, "…almost as badly as you do. I think we need an emergency fanclub meeting tonight."

I half-smiled in answer. "I could go for that. Got anyplace specific in mind?"

"It's karaoke night at a bar and grill near my apartment. Could be fun."

I nodded. "Seven o'clock."

…

Karen was already at the grill when I arrived. "I ordered an appetizer sampler," she said as I slid into the booth opposite her. "Hope you don't mind."

"Naw, I should have something in my stomach before I try to drink myself into oblivion."

"That Ford woman wasn't that bad."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "You're the one who said she needed to get drunk after being locking in a confined space with her for almost three hours."

"I said I needed a drink, a single one. The karaoke is to have something more ridiculous than her to laugh at."

Familiar strains came from the speakers across the room, and my heart froze. Karen must have noticed my stricken expression because she asked, "What?" and then looked around the room as if expecting an assassin or something.

"It's our song," I breathed. "Mine and my ex's."

She relaxed slightly but didn't offer any opinion.

"Would you dance if I asked you to dance," the singer crooned and I whirled in true horror this time. There, holding the microphone as if he really were Enrique Iglesias, was my ex-husband David. And he was looking straight at me.

I turned around and, for a split second, wished that Karen was a man and I was here on an actual date instead of a pathetic drown-my-sorrows girls' night out. "I'm out of here," I blurted and started sliding out of the booth bench.

Karen caught my arm in a surprisingly firm grip and didn't let me go. "Why?"

"Because that's my ex, singing our song, trying to win me back."

"It was his idea to sever your bo…marriage vow, wasn't it?"

I blinked for a second in the face of her odd wording. "He's the one who filed for divorce, yes."

"So don't let him have control over this, too."

It made a certain, belligerent kind of sense – the kind I would expect from Karen. "I…I'm not up to this right now." The very last thing I wanted to do right now was break down in front of my paralegal. Not to mention David.

"Up to what? Ignore him. Or throw napkins at him. Or something heavier, if you're feeling adventurous." She waggled her eyebrows at me like she was just spoiling for the heavier artillery. "Him be your hero?" She snorted in derision.

I rolled my eyes. "Karen, when he's done, he's going to come over here and ask me what I thought of the song and probably ask me to dance and what am I going to say?"

"Shove off? Shove it up your…" I gave her a dirty look and she trailed off into a grin. "You don't need to run, Raquel. You've got grit – I've seen it. You can handle this."

I swallowed hard and slouched back into my seat. "When have I ever shown you grit?" I demanded.

In answer, she just grinned all the wider.

During the song's interlude, our appetizers came, and I ordered a turkey club sandwich and a beer.

"I just want to hold you…"

I ran my hands over my face once before glaring at Karen. "We'll get kicked out if I start throwing things."

"Have you ever seen the video for this song?" she said conversationally. "It's stupid."

"Not as bad as the one for 'Total Eclipse of the Heart,'" I pointed out. But talking about the old song reminded me of my first break-up way back in high school and another song that helped me through it. Did I dare, though? I wasn't exactly good at singing.

The speakers played the final strains of the song and David set down the microphone before making a beeline for our table.

"Shoot me now," I muttered under my breath.

"So…" he awkwardly began.

"So."

Karen defiantly crossed her arms and said nothing leaving me to my own devices. Traitor.

"Imagine meeting you here," I said at the same time he blurted out, "What do you think?"

We both blinked at each other for a moment – him expectantly and me trying to process what he'd asked.

If I spoke what I'd thought, it would probably lead to a very public, very embarrassing fight. Looking around, I said, "I think it's a pretty decent place." Glancing at Karen, I said, "Great choice." Unfortunately, I wasn't quite able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"I'm David, by the way," he said, extending a smile and a hand in greeting to Karen before I could warn him against barking up that tree.

Her frown deepened and she answered, "I know."

Untouched, his hand fell to his side.

"So…can I buy you ladies a round?"

"No," Karen retorted. "Thank you, but no," I added, trying to make things a little more cordial.

David nodded to himself and, turning on his heel, walked off.

It was hard to watch him go, and if Karen hadn't been radiating disapproval, I might have been tempted to let him buy me a drink and salvage something. I wasn't going to take him back, but he had been my best friend once upon a time and a part of me still missed that.

Our meals arrived halfway through the next song. We ate in silence that would have been awkward with anyone except Karen. When I finished my beer, I ordered another one and then started to rise to my feet but Karen caught my arm again.

"I've got a better idea than matching misdemeanors for disorderly conduct," I explained. "You might want to plug your ears though. I wouldn't blame you."

Heart pounding, I marched up to the karaoke machine and praised whatever deity watched over divorcees because the song I wanted was there. To answer his crooning, I sang, "At first I was afraid/I was petrified/Kept thinking I could never live/without you by my side…"

When I got to the line, "And now you're back/from outer space," Karen gave me an odd look and then studied David much more closely than before. The distraction made me lose my place, but I jumped back in a couple of lines later and then belted out the chorus. "Oh no, not I/I will survive!"

Karen applauded with gusto when I finished, and as I took my seat, she even raised her beer in a toast. I touched my now-full glass to hers and grinned, feeling better than I had since before the fiasco with Alyssa Ford.

The high lasted for all of three minutes because David was at the microphone again as soon as the duo that followed me finished.

As he started up, Karen wadded her napkin into a tight ball and prepared to throw it at him. I caught her wrist just in time. "No."

She frowned and grumbled something under her breath about not being any fun. It just wasn't worth a misdemeanor. The words to David's song broke through, then. "Take your records, take your freedom/Take your memories, I don't need'em/Take your space and take your reasons/But you'll think of me."

I remembered sobbing on our anniversary, remembered all the fights we had over Ironhide (or rather, over all the things I couldn't tell him about Ironhide). Yes, I'd made appeals for space. Yes, I had good reasons – reasons I was not at liberty to share with my husband. The lyrics stung as they hit home.

I discretely wiped a tear from my eye, only to have my hand caught by Karen. Her expression was intent…angry almost. "I'll wipe the floor with him," she growled, and for a surreal second, I honestly believed she could. Then I shook my head. "He's not worth it."

Yes, I thought about David. But so what? It's not like that fact changed anything. And that thought inspired me yet again. I ordered another glass of courage and nursed it through the rest of his song. Karen studied me closely before slowly nodding in approval.

I rose to my feet and all but marched to the screen to select the song I was quite certain would be there. Even though it was written a bit high for my voice, I did my best. "I guess I just lost my husband/I don't know where he went…" It felt good, so much better than I'd expected, to all but shout the words, "So what? I'm still a rockstar, I've got my rock moves, and I don't need you!"

As I stepped away from the microphone, I decided it was time to head home – nothing was going to top that, and I didn't want to stick around for whatever song David would try to use as a brilliant come-back. Grinning triumphantly, I told Karen, "Let's go."

She seemed to understand and gave me a fist-bump before dropping some cash on the table and standing up to join me. "Nice way to end the night."

"Exactly." We walked out into the hot Mission City evening. "In fact, I'd say it was just about perfect."

I wobbled as I stepped off a curb, though, and the heel on my left shoe snapped. Karen caught me and I started laughing. Wasn't I just the picture of grace?

"Raquel," David said from behind me, and I hobbled along faster.

Karen turned and I urgently said, "Not worth it!"

I hadn't made it across the street before tears were streaming down my face, and I came crashing down from the high of the night.

"You okay?" she wondered.

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't know. I think so." I couldn't make sense of my feelings.

She made an unhappy rumble deep in her chest that for one wild second reminded me of Ironhide. I must have been tipsier than I realized.

"Let me drive you home," she offered, steering me around the corner. There, tucked away in a small, private parking lot, was a massive white Topkick. "You drive one, too?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly rough with emotion.

"Wouldn't have anything else," she muttered.

"It's the wrong color," I observed as I hobbled closer.

She just gave me an appraising look, probably wondering just how drunk I could get off of two beers. Or had it been three? My head was starting to hurt from the crying.

"Up you get," she said as she helped me into the seat.

I dug a tissue out of my purse while Karen walked around to the driver's side, got in, and fired up the engine. We rode in silence, mostly because I didn't trust my voice and I was staring out the window to hide my tears. I'd won the war of words – so why this breakdown? I just couldn't wrap my mind around it.

We arrived at my house, and Karen again helped me out and to the door. "Get some rest," she ordered.

Yeah right. But I managed to pass out from exhaustion less than half an hour later.

The next morning, I awoke to three texts from David. I got through half of the first one and decided he wasn't paying me to be his therapist so I didn't owe it to him to finish.

I tried to piece together what he was rambling on about and remembered telling Karen that he wasn't worth getting in trouble over. It was the first time I'd said something like that about David, and I was genuinely surprised when I realized I meant it. He was the one who couldn't handle not knowing. He was the one who ended things. Karen of all people was the one who held me together on our anniversary. Remembering her little pep talk and the pile of food she'd dumped on my desk, I realized my employee had more compassion for and patience with me than my own spouse.

Former spouse.

Like a thunderbolt, I knew it in my bones. It was time to move on. That was what that weird breakdown was: goodbye. For the first time since David brought up the word divorce, I knew I could do this on my own.

Karen was already at work by the time I arrived, and she watched me warily as I entered the building.

I patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I just needed a good cry."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

She grunted once in acknowledgement and got back on task.

…

I never did end up going to Alyssa Ford's hearing. After spending those three grueling hours trying to talk some sense into her, she fired me a couple of weeks later. I got a terse email telling me that she'd found another lawyer and wouldn't need my services anymore. I observed a moment of silence for the poor man or woman who would have to put up with her and then went back about my day.

Karen came in about a half hour later. "I noticed the Ford case has been closed."

"Yes, she fired us and retained a different attorney."

She gave me a wistful grin. "Probably won't pay her bill, either, now that she's got another one."

"I'll happily take that hit. Want to celebrate tonight?"

"Yeah," she slowly nodded. "I think so." As an afterthought, she added, "No karaoke, though."

"Or alcohol," I muttered. "How 'bout we go out for steak?"

"I'm there," she agreed.

That evening I beat her to the restaurant and ordered a diet cola for myself while I waited. It was half gone by the time she showed up, but I forgave her when I saw the gift bag she was carrying.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, handing it to me, "but here."

I pulled the long, thin package out, tossing aside the tissue paper, and opened it to find the last thing I expected – a knife. It was a beautiful, lethal-looking blade with a bone handle and leather sheath and I just stared at it for a second, dumbfounded.

"Check the card," Karen mumbled, blushing.

In it I found a gift certificate for self-defense classes, leaving me even more baffled than before. Looking up, I blurted out, "David's not that much of a menace. He's not really a menace at all."

Karen snorted in agreement. "He's not. But some of your clients are iffy. That Ford woman, for instance…"

"Really?" I said, interrupting her. "I've dealt with far more unsavory characters than her."

"She's dangerous," Karen insisted, glowering at me. "Or at least, the robots she hero-worships are. I worry about you, Raquel. I about had a heart attack when I found out she was one of your clients and I'm more glad than you know that she's out of your life now."

I half-laughed. "Well, thank you. I'll take the self-defense class, and between the two of us, no rabid robot fangirl of any stripe will stand a chance."

Karen looked down, frowning, and I tilted my head. "What?"

"There's something I have to tell you, and I don't think you're going to like it."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I have to give you my resignation."

Her words knocked the wind out of me.

"It's my brother-in-law," she continued. "His wife died and he's really struggling. Gets himself into trouble all the time without someone to watch his back."

"Oh, Karen, I'm so sorry."

She shrugged, still avoiding my gaze.

"Can't he come here?" I blurted out. "A new town, a new life – maybe a fresh start would do him some good?"

"Naw, that stubborn old f…fellow wouldn't relocate. There are other considerations that keep him where he's at, too. Confidential stuff, though."

I nodded in understanding. "Of course."

"So…" she cleared her throat. "Consider this my two-week notice."

I stared slack-jawed at her for a moment as it slowly sunk in that she was leaving. I'd come to rely on her – her skills, her steadying influence, her shared interest in Ironhide and his friends. "I hate to lose you."

She finally looked up, determination sparkling in her eyes. "You won't, not really. I promise you that. I'll keep in touch. There's Facebook, and at least until I land a new job, I could do some work for you on a contract basis."

I sighed. "It won't be the same, but it'll have to do, I guess."

She nodded once just as the waiter, with impeccable timing, approached our table to take our orders. I hastily placed the lid back on the gift box that held my new knife and hid it in the gift bag. I couldn't imagine a time or place where I would use it, but it was a gift from someone I considered one of my best friends.

We placed our orders and after the waiter left, I said, "Thank you. For the knife. It's…thoughtful." In a slightly creepy kind of way.

"Would have gotten you a gun, but there are too many restrictions on that," she mumbled, looking down at the table. Raising her gaze to mine, she said, "Promise me you'll take the self-defense course, though. A weapon without training is worse than useless."

I solemnly nodded my head. "I promise."

Two weeks later Karen cleared off her desk and walked out my office door. She did end up doing some contract research memos for me from time to time, but while I did friend her on Facebook, I never saw her again – not in that guise, anyway. But that's a different story.

Author's End Note: No, really, it's a different story (titled "Reunion," also up and running on our profile). :)