Noble Sun Chapter 1
This is a story that I have published in fanfiction.net about Kalinda and Alicia. :)
Alicia means Noble (kind) and Kalinda means Sun when I searched for their names in baby books, therefore the title.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Good Wife - I just watch and giggle whenever she is in the scene. I am borrowing scenes and lines from the last four episodes (2x20 - 2x23) - therefore there are spoilers. I hope the product of what I have written is what transpired in the moments we weren’t able to see.
I am a first time writer. I will appreciate your feedback. This will be a multi-chapter story, rated M for slash.
Note: Thanks to SSJL for encouraging me.
And my deepest, deepest gratitude to MirandaMinerva for holding my cyber hand while learning how to walk this fan fiction road, you have become my Obi Wan Kenobi. J This is for you.
===========================
Chapter 1
She was never into melodrama. She could never understand the concept of walls closing in, of hyperventilation, of sliding behind closed doors as tremors violently course through the body. No, she had never experienced any of that, and this was the only thing that kept her from breaking down when she first learned the news.
========================
The man finally caught up with her. No matter how expertly she avoided him, he was still able to corner her at the overpopulated celebratory party for Peter. She should have anticipated it. Even someone dressed like a vagabond could slip unnoticed among the suits.
She looks at him with overt sarcasm and a hint of disgust. Like a dog hounding passers-by for food and attention, he walks up to her refusing to be shut off.
“…Blake’s testimonial…” his words cut in and out of her consciousness, “…he said that…”
She is preoccupied perfecting her facial expression so that the proper combination of irony, disbelief and boredom is conveyed.
“…Until I found out that there was not an employee by that name.”
Alicia laughs sardonically and walks out, triumphant that this man has finally hit a steel wall. No more calls, no more stalking, no more forced niceties from her part.
Then she hears it - a name she once heard: a name that is now pounding on her ears, threatening to make her head explode.
The name. The name.
The name is now following the cadence of her heels as she walks away. Lee-la. Lee-la. Lee-la - becoming the very rhythm her heart beats into. Lee-la. Lee-la. Lee-la.
And no matter how she wills it to stop, it just persists even more - sound and sense heightening until she can no longer hear and feel. All that’s there is the constant spinning in her head - but no walls close in, no breath is quickened and no tremors course through her body. It is just her and the pounding and the spinning.
Until -
It stops. A light bulb flicks. A grin spreads.
A sense of calmness and a growing resolve - her calculated actions form in her head, like a soldier’s map, locked and labeled with a dog tag in her mind.
===================
The tears, of course, cannot be avoided. She never held back or resented them. Like the waves of the ocean, she let them ebb and flow. They are, after all, just tears. Alicia knows that the occasional presence and the more frequent absence of tears are meaningless to her agenda. After all, she has taken care of the difficult part that dealt with her family - the loss of innocence, the unfounded accusations and the sowing of a perpetual grudge.
Phase two commences with much worry and trepidation. She was never that good an actress to fake emotions. Of course, if one counts her legendary poker face in Peter’s now infamous press conference, one would think that keeping an act is a walk in the park. But this - this requires a different kind of face. It is the kind that offers the difficulty of always being with emotions - emotions that are not only inexistent, but the complete opposite of the reality she is living.
She wakes up that morning with renewed vigor (and somehow a muted sense of dread) that she almost jumps out of bed. There’s a rhythm playing in her head - a series of tasks repeatedly recited like a mantra. Her actions start giving off a certain level of musicality, one that comes from the predictability of pace.
It starts with the soft squeak of shower knobs turning followed by the rush of water drops and the varying sound they make as each drop falls onto different surfaces.
She smiles as the water wakes her up.
So much better than coffee, she thinks to herself. The sensuality of the gentle dripping of water on her body arouses her as she imagines what her plan can lead to.
Better enjoy it too, she muses. But not now - not yet.
She hurriedly finishes her bath and silently resumes the recitation of her mantra. After a few laborious minutes spent in her morning routine of making herself smell and look professional, (with undertones of worldliness) she emerges from her bedroom appearing confident. Inside, she’s still shaking - from doubt, from residual trauma and from disbelief.
I am really going to do this.
Squaring her shoulders, she walks out the door and into the closing elevator in a span of seconds.
===================
She arrives at Lockhart Gardner disoriented.
Being consumed by thoughts and then forcibly pried out of that reverie by lack of sensory stimulation results in a twilight zone experience. She makes a mental note of it. The monochromatic three-piece suits that flock the equally colorless building where the offices are located drown her senses with dreariness. The unidirectional and monotonous flow of professionals going in the gleaming glass doors of the building reminds Alicia of the Stepford wives - only these are Stepford lawyers, accountants, businesspeople etcetera etcetera.
She quickly snaps back to reality as soon as she sees the lacquered walls of the office. The smell of ink drying on paper grounds her senses to the present.
“The report you asked for last week has been amended,” says her assistant. “It’s on your desk.”
“Thanks, Courtney. I’ll review it.” And with a few words, together with the speedy click clack of Alicia’s stilettos, her plan fogs into the background of her consciousness. A week ago, she was involved in a lawsuit that had a tyrant involved. She asked her assistant to do the documentation of the case, and the initial draft was lacking some important information about translation and languaging. She now has the task of rereading a 50-page document and checking not only for completion but accuracy.
At the end of the week, she recovers from her temporary amnesia - and it is by accident that she remembers what she is supposed to do.
Alicia wanted to ask Will a very important question about the deposition and her feet carried the evidence of her rush. Through the glass door of his office, she sees her talking to him, stance clearly indicating the seriousness of their discussion. She freezes on the spot, disorientation taking over once more.
She knows she is supposed to feel awkward about Kalinda being around, and she does. But why - she can’t seem to point out just what it was.
Kalinda walks out of Will’s office at the same time she turns around to finish her task.
“Hey.” Kalinda greets her with a cheerfulness that is solely hers - cheerful but not quite.
“Hello,” Alicia calls back, teeth ground together in a forced grin.
“Hello. Everything alright?”
“Yep,” Alicia’s smile is plastered on her face. She knows she is looking more and more like a fool by the second. “Gotta get to - work.”
They both nod at each other politely, determined to keep their hours at work doing exactly what they are supposed to do. In the past, they both knew that however little time they had to exchange small talk inside the office, they could always make up for-during their after-work tequila shots.
And that is the only reason Alicia can breathe a sigh of relief - she knows her secret is safe. She can continue with her plan. As she watches Kalinda walk away, her memory comes back full force. Once again, her mantra begins and she swears she will never allow herself to get sidetracked ever again.
She is going to have what Peter had.
Alicia means Noble (kind) and Kalinda means Sun when I searched for their names in baby books, therefore the title.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Good Wife - I just watch and giggle whenever she is in the scene. I am borrowing scenes and lines from the last four episodes (2x20 - 2x23) - therefore there are spoilers. I hope the product of what I have written is what transpired in the moments we weren’t able to see.
I am a first time writer. I will appreciate your feedback. This will be a multi-chapter story, rated M for slash.
Note: Thanks to SSJL for encouraging me.
And my deepest, deepest gratitude to MirandaMinerva for holding my cyber hand while learning how to walk this fan fiction road, you have become my Obi Wan Kenobi. J This is for you.
===========================
Chapter 1
She was never into melodrama. She could never understand the concept of walls closing in, of hyperventilation, of sliding behind closed doors as tremors violently course through the body. No, she had never experienced any of that, and this was the only thing that kept her from breaking down when she first learned the news.
========================
The man finally caught up with her. No matter how expertly she avoided him, he was still able to corner her at the overpopulated celebratory party for Peter. She should have anticipated it. Even someone dressed like a vagabond could slip unnoticed among the suits.
She looks at him with overt sarcasm and a hint of disgust. Like a dog hounding passers-by for food and attention, he walks up to her refusing to be shut off.
“…Blake’s testimonial…” his words cut in and out of her consciousness, “…he said that…”
She is preoccupied perfecting her facial expression so that the proper combination of irony, disbelief and boredom is conveyed.
“…Until I found out that there was not an employee by that name.”
Alicia laughs sardonically and walks out, triumphant that this man has finally hit a steel wall. No more calls, no more stalking, no more forced niceties from her part.
Then she hears it - a name she once heard: a name that is now pounding on her ears, threatening to make her head explode.
The name. The name.
The name is now following the cadence of her heels as she walks away. Lee-la. Lee-la. Lee-la - becoming the very rhythm her heart beats into. Lee-la. Lee-la. Lee-la.
And no matter how she wills it to stop, it just persists even more - sound and sense heightening until she can no longer hear and feel. All that’s there is the constant spinning in her head - but no walls close in, no breath is quickened and no tremors course through her body. It is just her and the pounding and the spinning.
Until -
It stops. A light bulb flicks. A grin spreads.
A sense of calmness and a growing resolve - her calculated actions form in her head, like a soldier’s map, locked and labeled with a dog tag in her mind.
===================
The tears, of course, cannot be avoided. She never held back or resented them. Like the waves of the ocean, she let them ebb and flow. They are, after all, just tears. Alicia knows that the occasional presence and the more frequent absence of tears are meaningless to her agenda. After all, she has taken care of the difficult part that dealt with her family - the loss of innocence, the unfounded accusations and the sowing of a perpetual grudge.
Phase two commences with much worry and trepidation. She was never that good an actress to fake emotions. Of course, if one counts her legendary poker face in Peter’s now infamous press conference, one would think that keeping an act is a walk in the park. But this - this requires a different kind of face. It is the kind that offers the difficulty of always being with emotions - emotions that are not only inexistent, but the complete opposite of the reality she is living.
She wakes up that morning with renewed vigor (and somehow a muted sense of dread) that she almost jumps out of bed. There’s a rhythm playing in her head - a series of tasks repeatedly recited like a mantra. Her actions start giving off a certain level of musicality, one that comes from the predictability of pace.
It starts with the soft squeak of shower knobs turning followed by the rush of water drops and the varying sound they make as each drop falls onto different surfaces.
She smiles as the water wakes her up.
So much better than coffee, she thinks to herself. The sensuality of the gentle dripping of water on her body arouses her as she imagines what her plan can lead to.
Better enjoy it too, she muses. But not now - not yet.
She hurriedly finishes her bath and silently resumes the recitation of her mantra. After a few laborious minutes spent in her morning routine of making herself smell and look professional, (with undertones of worldliness) she emerges from her bedroom appearing confident. Inside, she’s still shaking - from doubt, from residual trauma and from disbelief.
I am really going to do this.
Squaring her shoulders, she walks out the door and into the closing elevator in a span of seconds.
===================
She arrives at Lockhart Gardner disoriented.
Being consumed by thoughts and then forcibly pried out of that reverie by lack of sensory stimulation results in a twilight zone experience. She makes a mental note of it. The monochromatic three-piece suits that flock the equally colorless building where the offices are located drown her senses with dreariness. The unidirectional and monotonous flow of professionals going in the gleaming glass doors of the building reminds Alicia of the Stepford wives - only these are Stepford lawyers, accountants, businesspeople etcetera etcetera.
She quickly snaps back to reality as soon as she sees the lacquered walls of the office. The smell of ink drying on paper grounds her senses to the present.
“The report you asked for last week has been amended,” says her assistant. “It’s on your desk.”
“Thanks, Courtney. I’ll review it.” And with a few words, together with the speedy click clack of Alicia’s stilettos, her plan fogs into the background of her consciousness. A week ago, she was involved in a lawsuit that had a tyrant involved. She asked her assistant to do the documentation of the case, and the initial draft was lacking some important information about translation and languaging. She now has the task of rereading a 50-page document and checking not only for completion but accuracy.
At the end of the week, she recovers from her temporary amnesia - and it is by accident that she remembers what she is supposed to do.
Alicia wanted to ask Will a very important question about the deposition and her feet carried the evidence of her rush. Through the glass door of his office, she sees her talking to him, stance clearly indicating the seriousness of their discussion. She freezes on the spot, disorientation taking over once more.
She knows she is supposed to feel awkward about Kalinda being around, and she does. But why - she can’t seem to point out just what it was.
Kalinda walks out of Will’s office at the same time she turns around to finish her task.
“Hey.” Kalinda greets her with a cheerfulness that is solely hers - cheerful but not quite.
“Hello,” Alicia calls back, teeth ground together in a forced grin.
“Hello. Everything alright?”
“Yep,” Alicia’s smile is plastered on her face. She knows she is looking more and more like a fool by the second. “Gotta get to - work.”
They both nod at each other politely, determined to keep their hours at work doing exactly what they are supposed to do. In the past, they both knew that however little time they had to exchange small talk inside the office, they could always make up for-during their after-work tequila shots.
And that is the only reason Alicia can breathe a sigh of relief - she knows her secret is safe. She can continue with her plan. As she watches Kalinda walk away, her memory comes back full force. Once again, her mantra begins and she swears she will never allow herself to get sidetracked ever again.
She is going to have what Peter had.