"There's a judicial break next Friday," Bill announces, in front of the whole office.

"Next Friday?" Mr. Warren shrugs. "Okay by me."

Everyone cheers. Except for me. I'm simply surprised that judicial breaks must be approved by him.

"Team building time!" Ollie punches in the air.

I try not to look at her as if she grew another head. Or two. I've never met anyone in my life stoked about the idea of team building.

"We all go to Mark's," she explains. "It's a tradition. We always spend single day judicial breaks there. Only us, not the whole building, of course."

I probably still fail to look enthusiastic enough, hence Mr. Warren addresses me.

"They swarm my house and drink my beer, and that's all," he says. "I cook something, everyone gets drunk, and there's a pool, so it's a great opportunity to drown while being wasted."

"You never let me drown," Bill protests. "Remember last time? You pulled me out in seconds."

"I remember," Mr. Warren says, "you don't. Thelma told you about it the next day."

"Ah, okay, never mind." Bill laughs. "No need to worry about drowning."

That's not exactly what I'm worried about.

"It's not mandatory," Mr. Warren tells me. "If you don't want to come, you don't have to."

"Come on, Mira," Ollie yells. "You can't possibly think about not coming. What's your problem?"

Something I don't want to discuss in front of so many people, so I just shrug.

"I guess my socialization process concluded with different results than yours. On a different continent, as you always remind me."

"So? Don't you have team building events there?"

"We do."

"Don't you get drunk?"

"We do."

"Then what?"

"We do it dressed up properly."

"What the fuck?" She laughs out. "Of all the people in the world, you never came across as a prude, babe."

"I respect your ways." I shrug. "I'm just not ready to adopt them. Work and swimsuits don't mix well in my book."

"Well," Mr. Warren cuts in, sounding hesitant, "you already saw me in trunks."

"Yeah," I admit. "But you never saw me in one. And this is exactly how I plan to continue in the future."

He looks at me as if I just told him that he scarred me for life with the sight of his legs, and I was about to file a complaint about workplace harassment.

"Oh, for God's sake," I grunt. "It's not about you. I just don't want to take my clothes off in front of all the people I work with, all right?"

He still looks at me as if I was explaining to him about string theory.

"Of course, you don't get it," I snap at him, "you look like a fucking statue. And the same goes for everyone else here."

"Not for me," Bill chimes in.

I smile at him.

"You're maybe not that hot, but still look good. It must be a secret employment prerequisite. Just another one I don't meet."

"I never knew you had body issues," Ollie butts in. "Don't worry, babe, you can only get hotter getting out of your grandma dresses."

"You're right." I shrug. "Though instead of body issues, I'd rather call it a war, which left its marks on me."

She pales. She doesn't need to tell me she's sorry, I know it.

Mr. Warren inhales deeply. Then exhales. I turn to face him. His gaze is hard as stone. He makes a sudden movement, as if he was about to reach out for me, trying to palpate what's under my clothes, just to know if I'm telling the truth. Then, halted mid-motion, he just folds his arms on his chest.

"Everyone's going to wear proper clothes," he states.

No one feels like questioning it.

Half an hour later, in the bathroom, holding Ollie in my arms while she's crying her eyes out, I kind of reconsider my choice of words.

"Hey," I sigh. "I sounded a bit overly dramatic, maybe. It wasn't just the war, you know. It was a fucking hard pregnancy as well."

"Still," she sobs, "I'm so sorry! I'm such an idiot."

"You are," I agree, "but I love you like this."

"I was just completely sure that you didn't have any issues with your body. You always look so comfortable in your own skin."

"I am."

"And you," she goes on, "didn't exactly shy away from sleeping with someone after knowing each other for half an hour. Without wearing a full-body covering nightgown, I guess."

"Right. It was you who had medieval views on the matter, not me."

"Then why?" she asks. "How is it different from letting us see your body?"

"In every way possible. If everyone and their mother sees it, it becomes part of my story."

"Okay." She nods. Still, I can tell she doesn't understand half of it. Then I get a proof, as well.

"Now I want to see you naked," she states.

"Another sentence you absolutely shouldn't utter in the presence of other people."

"I know," she says. "I learned from my previous mistake, and I'm sorry, again. I just want to check—"

"What, my body? If it's up to standard? You just said you learned from your previous mistake."

"No, no, no, nothing like that!" she protests.

"Then what? Were you inspired by my two minutes crush on Janet, and want to take a chance on me?"

"What? No!"

"Then please, stop bugging me!"

"I just..." she trails off.

"You just?"

"I just have a wonderful bikini for you!" she bursts out. "I bought it for myself, and it doesn't fit, but you, having these beautiful big tits... it'd look perfect on you!"

"For God's sake, Ollie!" I palm my face. "You are a clothes junkie, do you know that?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay. Just please, accept that I'm not. And, just for the record, I'm not your mother either."

"Of course, you're not." She shrugs. "You're not that old. Only the clothes you wear are. Come on, you only have a few years on me."

"Quite a few," I sigh. "But it's not what I meant. Ollie, it's still a bit creepy when you treat me like you wanted to treat her, but never had the chance."

"So what?" she asks. "It still heals me."

She's crying again. I hold her in my arms again. Telling her that she's good enough, again, likely for the hundredth time. Still, it's not enough. But what could I do? I curse her mother mentally for the way she treated her, and even more for dying before making any amends.

We spend way too much time in the bathroom, but no one gives a damn.

In the next few days, Mr. Warren is away, on a business trip. He has some very important meetings with some very important people, whom I should know by name, but I don't.

Under Bill's reign, everyone slacks up a bit. I don't, because I'm assigned to take all the insignificant cases the city has to offer. That's how I feel, anyway.

When I ask Bill, how is it possible to attend eight trials a day, he laughs in my face.

"You need to get into a routine," he says, "taking cases and attending trials alone."

"Oh, so that's why I get the chance to do eight people's work," I muse. "To practice how these low claims procedures go."

"Or rather," Bill says smirking, "to practice how not to send the court into a frenzy."

When he sees the confusion in my eyes, he bursts out laughing again.

"At least that's what Mark said," he giggles. "He told me you wouldn't lose a single case, no matter how many I give you. He also told me that you needed to get familiar with the judges, their different ways, their quirks, their limitations... and it seems he was right, wasn't he?"

I curse under my breath and run to the next trial. In four days I attend thirty-three of them. I try to bargain with Bill, but on this single matter, he's adamant. At the end of my four-day long treadwheel run, I feel frustrated enough to lose a case on purpose. I don't know, just to prove the magnificent Mr. Warren wrong. But I simply can't. The last moment it comes to my mind that it's a real case, concerning real people, so I just spread my hands, and plead my last statement to be left out of consideration.

The next morning I feel like Cinderella. Decidedly not the royal ball version, but the one who just finished picking the lentils out of the ashes.

Still, when Mr. Warren asks us if everything was in order in his absence, I just nod. And when he asks me later, directly, if I found it a useful experience, I just nod again.

"Absolutely, Mr. Warren," I assure him. "I learned a lot, thank you for the opportunity. About the judges, their different ways, and most of all, about how not to ask them questions."

Five minutes later Bill taps my shoulder.

"Hey. I just want you to know that Mark never specifically told me to assign you thirty-three cases in four days. He just told me that he'd dare to make a bet on the fact you wouldn't lose a case, no matter how many you're given. And I, being the asshole I am, gave it a try."

"Did he ask you to tell me this?" I raise my brows.

"No. I came of my own accord. A single look at him was enough to convince me that I should. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. That it was useful. And even this I told him very politely."

He doesn't answer, he just palms his face.

"What?" I ask him.

"Your fucking ice queen manners, that's what."

"I don't do it on purpose." I shrug. "It just kicks in when I feel treated like shit."

"Okay. Next time you just slap me, okay? I entitle you to do so, any time you feel treated like shit."

"What's all the fuss about?" I ask. "Nothing happened. I survived, and even Ollie raising my child for a few days had its pros. I bet he's more fashion-conscious now."

"I'm sorry." He grimaces. "I should have thought of your schedule too. Just slap me. Like, seriously."

"Hey, no one died."

"Not yet," he sighs. "I don't even know if it's possible to die from running too much."

"It is. If it pleases the court."

"What?!"

"I was forced to utter this a bit too many times in the last few days," I tell him. "Now I feel the urge to add it to each and every affirmative sentence."

"Fuck. It sounds like a bad case of legal overdose."

"It does."

"Oh, never mind. It will fade with time. For today, you have only three trials."

"You must be wrong." I smile at him. "For today, I have none."

"How is it possible?"

"You take them." I smile even wider.

"What?" He furrows his brow. "These small claims shits? I'd rather just get slapped. Go on, let's get over it."

"I just thought you might want me to make it visible to third parties in some clever way that you informed me on your regrettable asholeness, and—"

"Oh, fuck," he grunts. "Say no more. Where are the folders?"

I seriously love Bill.