Impossible Dreams Can't Be Broken -- a TGW fic
Title: Impossible Dreams Can’t Be Broken
Author: sweetjamielee
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda, a bit of Alicia/Will
Word Count: approx. 5,700
Spoilers: all aired episodes; possible spoilers for 2x21 through 2x23 (although spoilers/speculation/my imagination are hard to tell apart)
Genre: Angst /Romance. Oh, the angsty, angsty romance
Rating: T
Summary: How can you mourn the loss of something you never really had to begin with? The obligatory angsty post-revelation fic.
A/N: DON’T MIND ME, JUST PURGING THE KALICIA ANGST FROM MY SYSTEM. I think I might be better now. This was all very cathartic. Time loop metaphor for my fave Kalicia gf threeguesses (sorry for the sci-fi cop-out, bb), and thanks to mightbefound for putting various and sundry ideas in my head. Also to all my TGW fanfriends for being awesometastic.
Also: YOU GUISE. Come listen to me talk about The Good Wife and Kalicia on the radio on May 12 at 10pm EST, ks? It will be fun! It will be insightful! You may get to hear me embarrass myself! It will be all the good things!
--
In a world where good people are rewarded and bad people are punished, Kalinda would be terrified to even get out of bed in the morning. But this isn’t the fair world that people like to believe in; here, people like Alicia Florrick get betrayal and heartbreak, and people like Kalinda Sharma get a new identity and few consequences.
This is why Kalinda never really saw the point in being good.
She would have preferred it not to end this way, because she is fond of Alicia and distressed by having contributed to her suffering. But the fact is, Kalinda was always going to lose her. Alicia’s recent discontent at Lockhart Gardner has been obvious, as has been the line of high powered headhunters eyeing her interestedly ; really, it’s been just a matter of time before she gets the better offer she doesn’t even know she’s waiting for, and takes it.
They were never the type of friends who would go to the movies or on vacation together or have long talks on the phone. Without their work to connect them, they would have drifted apart, promising to meet for a drink in the future but never quite being able to find the time; their relationship relegated to a friendly nod when they happened to cross paths in court.
So this isn’t really all that different. Except for the ‘friendly’ part.
And except for everything else.
Alicia’s always been the exception.
--
Will and Diane don’t know what to say when she tells them she’s looking for another job. They like Kalinda, respect her; but Alicia’s always been more likable and is clearly the sympathetic party now. So they just promise Kalinda excellent references should she decide to leave, but they don’t fight with her on the issue or encourage her to stay.
She’s tolerated Alicia’s anger, and her hurt, and the stony silence that has followed. She’s dealt with the flippant “Leela’s” Alicia has tossed her way, as well as blatant cold shoulders and freeze-outs. She’s done it because she knows she deserves it, deserves it all, and she loves her job and the people she works with are the closest thing to a family she’ll ever have again.
But what she can’t handle is the utter predictability of Alicia’s disdain, day after day, registering in sickening slow motion every single time they interact - her lovely face pinching where it used to show warmth, glacier-coldness filling her eyes. It’s like a tortuous time loop, a Tantalus torment that leaves Kalinda perpetually hurt and wanting with absolutely no means of disrupting the cycle. Not while she’s here.
Leaving the firm is her only chance. This has become another identity she needs to escape. Neither she nor Alicia can do this anymore.
They’re working on this fucking adultery site case; it would be laughable for Kalinda to be indignant on Alicia’s behalf for the firm even touching this one. But Alicia’s comfort is no longer something Kalinda can protect, so she just works the case mechanically until she can get out, get out as soon as possible.
It’s unexpected when, after a week of conspicuous brush-offs, Alicia comes into office and shuts the door too hard behind her. She doesn’t look particularly conciliatory. Kalinda winces before she even opens her mouth.
“You’re going to leave the firm without an investigator, and our current clients without the evidence they need?” Her voice is clipped, matter-of-fact, and very, very critical.
Apparently either Will or Diane hasn’t been as discreet as Kalinda had hoped. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she offers, lamely.
Alicia’s eyes roll, as if Kalinda’s consideration takes a patience that she doesn’t possess. “This isn’t the time to start being concerned with my feelings. You want to do something for me? Do your job and help me win this case.” Then she turns, opens the door and leaves, proving that she’d only shut it before for the satisfaction of hearing it slam two times around.
Kalinda wonders if Alicia wants her to stay in spite the fact that she hates her, or because she does and knows this is the surest way to eke out every drop of Kalinda’s shame.
All she knows is that she can’t deny her.
--
Kalinda meets Cary a few days later because he’s been calling her. He’s concerned for her, he says. Wants to make sure she’s okay. She wants to roll her eyes at him the way she used to; show him that she’s got this one, knows what she’s doing. But even that takes an energy that’s difficult to conjure up.
They sit side-by-side on a park bench, coffees in hand. Cary’s never asked her about Peter, about the whys of everything. Perhaps he just understands ruthlessness; the ninety-nine percent of the time when getting what you want is the most important thing (until that one time when it’s not, when it’s so, so, not worth it.) “How are you holding up there?” he asks her instead, referring to the firm where they both once worked.
It’s cool for a spring day; she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee cup, too-strong grip making dents in the paper. “It’s not so bad.”
His eyebrows rise to the heavens, and she refuses to give him the satisfaction of confirming his skepticism. “I… don’t believe you,” he says.
Kalinda shrugs noncommittally.
“Have you thought of leaving?”
“Yeah.” She takes a sip; there’s not enough sugar, and everything tastes bitter. “Alicia said I should stay.”
“Alicia said, huh?” Kalinda doesn’t like the way he says her name, over-pronounced, like an insinuation. “So how long are you just going to stay there, paying off your debt?”
“I like my job. I’m not staying just as a favor to Alicia.”
Cary shakes his head slowly. “It’s going to be torture. She needs to direct her rage at someone. It can’t be at Peter, because he’s the father of her children and she needs to stay civil with him. Guess who that leaves to be the object of her wrath? And you’re making it easy for her.”
She glances over at him sharply. “I think it’s about time someone made something easy for her, Cary.”
“So you are being a martyr.”
Irritation seeps in like the cold through her leather jacket. “If you’re just going to criticize my choices I think I’d prefer to go home.”
“No.” His face softens in that way it does just for her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried. I get you made some mistakes but… you’re better than a punching bag, Kalinda.”
She’s always vacillated between annoyance and genuine affection for the man in front of her and right now holds equal parts of both. But his eyes are warm and concerned, and since everything has blown up with Alicia, warmth has been a scarce commodity. She finds her defensiveness fading, just a little, as he puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?” she asks with mock and fond suspicion.
He smiles, gently and with a touch of wistfulness. “I’m getting a distinct impression my kisses are not what’s needed in this situation. Pity.”
It would certainly be so much easier, if it could just be Cary. But she’s grateful for him anyway right now, and gives him her first, tentative smile of the week. “Yeah. Pity.” She pauses before adding, “I’ll be okay.”
Cary doesn’t look convinced, but seems to recognize the futility of trying to convince her. Still, he warns, “It’s going to get harder before it gets easier, you know.”
But Kalinda’s always been bracing herself for something, so that part comes easily.
--
More days pass. Her phone buzzes with a text at approximately a quarter past twelve; it’s an early night for her, but she’s been working hard, constantly, because losing herself in the incriminating details of other’s lives is better than dwelling on the ones in her own. She gropes for the cell on her nightstand and blinks dumbly at its screen. It’s Alicia.
Will needs the 5/16 Engler deposition.
Cut. Dry. Over and done. Will must be burning the midnight oil with this one, and Alicia must either be helping, or the first person woken up in his search for the file.
Kalinda groans softly and hits reply. The file Alicia is speaking of is currently sitting on her piano bench.
When?
ASAP.
Alicia is making no demands; Kalinda could easily assume she means tomorrow. But now Alicia knows she’s awake, and for all that Kalinda owes her, the thought of not responding immediately feels withholding and petty. So even though she’s exhausted, she rolls out of bed and pulls on her jeans, then heads to the bathroom to pull back her hair and swipe on lipstick and eyeliner because no matter how decimated it’s become in the past weeks, she still has an image to maintain.
The streets of Chicago are surreal at night, brightly and artificially lit yet mostly empty. If Kalinda were more poetic, she might see an analogy and feel a kinship with them. But in a few hours, the sun will come out to warm these streets, and once again they’ll have nothing in common.
Everything’s dim and quiet once she gets to the office. Kalinda considers just placing the file in Will’s mailbox so he has it first thing in the morning, but notices upon further inspection that there is light streaming out of his cracked-open office door -- so she knows at least one person remains here this late at night. She’s both relieved and disappointed that it’s not Alicia.
Kalinda walks to that door and raises her fist to knock, but her hand pauses in suspension. At first she doesn’t know the reason for her own hesitation, but a split second later her consciousness catches up to her instincts. The quiet sounds she hears aren’t the typical ones of Will doing office work - there is no tapping of the keyboard, scribbling of a pen, papers moving. Instead, there is the creak of the desk. A rustle of fabric. A sigh.
And just like that, she knows. She knows exactly what is happening, and what she’s going to see should she open that door. It fills her with an electric dread that makes her half-nauseous… and she pushes at the door lightly with one finger anyway.
Will’s back is to her, and all Kalinda can see of the woman he’s pressing to his desk is her legs. One of those legs is bracing on the floor, while the other is hiked up over his hip; her skirt must be pushed up almost to her waist to be able to spread them so wide. His hand is running across the length of her smooth, pale thigh, and they are kissing, kissing like they may run out of time to do it.
Kalinda doesn’t kid herself, that it might be Tammy. She doesn’t save herself the horror by backing away. She stares as Alicia’s head tips to the side, finally revealed over Will’s shoulder as he presses hot kisses to her throat. Her eyes are closed in presumable bliss.
Until they aren’t. Suddenly, those dark eyes are open, and locked with Kalinda’s across the room.
Everything seems to freeze for a second. Kalinda’s stomach does a violent roll. She expects Alicia to stiffen and pull back, accusing Kalinda without speaking of disrupting her privacy and happiness again.
But instead, Alicia’s eyes close again. Her fingers curl at the back of Will’s head; she drags his mouth back to her own. Apparently she’s out of accusations; after all, the best revenge is living well.
This is so, so much worse.
Kalinda turns on her heels and runs. She throws the file in Will’s mailbox on the way without breaking her stride. She takes the stairwell because she can’t bear to stand still, the heels of her boots clicking furiously and echoing off the walls. By the time she reaches her car and climbs inside she’s breathing heavily, almost gasping, but she doesn’t pause for even a second, pealing out and flying down the Chicago streets as fast as the traffic will allow, speeding through yellow lights with tires squealing.
Alicia, consciously or not, orchestrated this to hurt her. Kalinda knows it, and she knows she deserves it. And more than that, she knows exactly why it worked - why it hit its mark sharpshoot-accurate.
She’d thought that the world wasn’t fair; that the only people who get punished for bad behavior are the people who aren’t very good at it. But now it hits her with stunning clarity that she has been being punished since the very first day she met Alicia Florrick. That someone like Kalinda, who so carefully cultivated an isolated existence, would eventually fall for not just an inappropriate person, but the most inappropriate person - it’s like the universe is teasing her with thorough cruelty, showing her just what utter and total aloneness feels like.
And it’s not until this moment when she realizes just how much she had invested in this impossible fantasy. In Alicia herself.
The sense of utter foolishness and loss fills Kalinda with a savage rage that propels her forcefully into her apartment. She flings open her closet door; tosses items out, a bedspread, a shovel, five pairs of boots, and doesn’t find what she’s looking for. Abandoning all those items on the floor, she storms into her bedroom and drops to her knees beside the bed. Groping blindly underneath it, her hand clasps and releases several times until it closes on the intended item. Nearly growling in bitter triumph, she pulls it out.
Kalinda stares at the bat for a minute. Her palms caress the length of it, the wood cool and heavy in her hands. Then she strides back out to the living area with a purpose.
More than once she has used this bat to defend Alicia, protect her from threats she hadn’t even known about. So much of what Kalinda has done in the past year has been to preserve Alicia’s fragile sense of stability and contentment - keep it from slipping into hurt and chaos once more.
None of it means anything.
With a grunt, she takes hold of the handle and swings hard. The bat’s barrel skims the top of her desk, connecting along the way with the lamp, the phone, the pen holder, folders and papers that were stacked on the surface. There is the satisfying sound of cracking and snapping and shattering, and everything’s flying and crashing to the floor. And it’s still not enough, so she reverses the direction, her shoulders burning with exertion as she drives the bat into the wall. Paint and plaster splinter inside the impressive dent, and still she turns, pulls the bat over her head, and brings it down hard into her couch cushion.
The last blow thumps unassumingly into the soft cushion, an anticlimax that’s not nearly destructive enough, but she’s exhausted herself in this brief, aggressive explosion. The bat slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor along with the broken contents of her desk and her life.
Kalinda crawls onto the sofa on her knees, draping her upper body over the backrest. She’s panting, and her eyes are burning with tears that refuse to fall.
She hates herself for what she’s done, but even more she hates herself for stupidity of what she feels.
What had she ever expected to do with Alicia if she got her? Really? Kiss her, fuck her, sure, then what? Have intimate breakfasts together every morning? Have deep conversations about their feelings? Take long walks hand-in-hand on the beach? Take Alicia’s kids to the fucking roller rink?
It is all so fraught with foolishness, not who she is at all, and grieving the loss of that fantasy is like grieving for a ghost - something that was never substantial or real or meaningful to begin with.
Alicia should be with Will. He’ll be good to her, Kalinda knows. He’ll shelter her from the shitstorm that has been her life for the past year. He’ll love her the way she deserves to be loved.
Kalinda’s instinct to hate him for it and her desire for Alicia’s happiness have a merry war that feels much like nausea.
A neighbor is pounding on her door; wondering if she’s alright.
She’s not, but she takes a deep, shuddering breath, crawls off the couch, and goes to assure him anyway.
--
Kalinda calls off sick the next day, deciding it’s not far from the truth. She has an excellent poker face, but it’s another thing she feels she can’t trust anymore, especially not in front of Alicia or Will in this most awful of morning-afters.
The silence in her apartment is deafening. She thinks of calling someone - someone who would gladly fuck her into oblivion, hard and fast and without asking anything about who she is and what she’s done and how she feels. But she needs arrogance to fuck like that, and arrogance is a surplus she’s recently exhausted.
She decides to drink instead.
The bar is familiar to her; she knows the bartenders, and they top off her drinks and know when to leave her alone when she comes here. She’ll keep drinking until she forgets that she used to meet here with Alicia, and they would chat and sip their gin martinis until they both smiled a little more than usual, Alicia giggling over Kalinda’s irreverent assessments of their co-workers and clients and other bar patrons and leaning toward Kalinda in a manner that, if you squinted, might look like flirting.
For a moment when she enters the bar and makes to head to her usual seat, she has a crazy thought that the woman she sees sitting in it must be some sort of mirage - a vestigial image from her memories.
But it is certainly Alicia Florrick, sitting alone and nursing the last of what was once a healthy glassful of bourbon.
What is she doing here? If Alicia had called off work today, Kalinda would have assumed it was to be in Will’s bed, not to be in a bar alone.
Alicia notices her before she can turn on her heels and escape. Kalinda freezes.
Fate is alive and well. And it hates her these days.
“I’ll leave,” she says, as if she needs permission; even though last night clearly demonstrated that she can run.
“No.”
No?
Alicia motions to the stool next to hers. “Sit.”
Kalinda’s legs refuse to obey for a moment, postponing the inevitable until Alicia looks over sharply. Her expression conveys disbelief that Kalinda would deny her such a simple request; of course, Kalinda can’t.
In the end, she walks over mechanically, sitting on the stool next to Alicia with a stiff back and smoothing her skirt with a compulsive motion. The both stare straight ahead. Kalinda can smell the other woman’s perfume, and her tangential and masochistic imagination recalls Will burying his face into Alicia’s throat, breathing in her scent. Guilt and jealousy roll through her.
“How do you do it?” Alicia asks without prelude.
Kalinda twitches slightly at the sound of her voice. “What?”
“How do you do it.” Alicia articulates each word carefully, for clarification. “Just… fuck someone. Without caring about the rest.” The vulgar word sounds foreign coming from her lips; makes everything feel even more uncomfortable. The bartender glances over at them, curious.
Kalinda could pretend to not know what she is talking about, but it would probably just piss Alicia off. Withholding got her into this mess, and she won’t use it to get herself out. “Some people can’t. Some people can, but… not with everyone.”
Alicia’s nails trace the bartop as she considers it. The silence is a vast and empty thing that makes the few inches of space between them feel cavernous.
“I do care about Will,” Alicia finally says.
Kalinda hazards a glance over, but Alicia’s still focused on the bottles of liquor that line the wall.
“I care about him. And I wanted… I wanted, and damn it, I deserved it. But I couldn’t go through with it. It just wasn’t… right.” A bitter chuckle escapes her. “Isn’t that amazing? That any part of me would even care about right anymore?”
The guilt and jealousy takes a lurching turn into a sick relief that feels very, very selfish. She didn’t sleep with Will. Like it matters. Like it means anything about…
Them.
The thing about dreams is that when they were always impossible, there is very little else that can shake them. Not logic or reason or any of the other things that she values above all else - it pales next to the hope, the stupid, misplaced hope that finds resuscitation in the most innocuous details.
Alicia turns now and looks at her with drunken, fatalistic curiosity. “Have you ever cared?”
It’s laughable, really, that Alicia is asking her this when all Kalinda has been doing is caring, caring far too fucking much. “Yes.” It’s whispered, and she can’t meet Alicia’s eyes when she says it.
Alicia blinks hazily, studying Kalinda in the dim light, searching for… something. Kalinda prays to a God she’s sure doesn’t exist, that the questioning is over. Her old friend’s stare is heavy, intense; searching for answers that she can’t actually want to hear.
In the end, it’s the bartender and not God who saves Kalinda, interrupting to inquire if Alicia needs another drink, and if Kalinda needs her first.
Alicia pulls her eyes away from their task of scathing scrutiny. “No. I’m done,” she says flatly, draining what is left in her rocks glass.
Kalinda watches as Alicia clumsily searches through her purse for her wallet. “Are you…” she begins hesitantly.
“Taking a cab.” Alicia’s finally successful at liberating her credit card, and she gives Kalinda an insincere, tight-lipped smile. “But thanks for your concern.”
Anything close to emotional honesty has disappeared, and Kalinda hurts for its loss. She watches Alicia pay for her drinks, slide off her stool, and walk unsteadily to the door.
The bartender looks at Kalinda expectantly; she shakes her head at him. “I’m done, too.”
Of course, she’s never really had the chance to start.
--
Alicia avoids her for the next week; although to be fair, it appears that Alicia is avoiding everybody -- even Will seems to get the bare minimum of interaction necessary to work on the case. Kalinda sees the way people glance at each other when Alicia’s back is turned; not all of them know what’s happened since Peter won the campaign, but they know what tension looks like, and Alicia’s got it in spades.
Life has a way of only allowing avoidance for so long before it thrusts the dreaded topic back upon you again, reminding you of its existence, the unresolved nature of it. This time it takes advantage of Kalinda’s distraction as she’s flipping through her notebook while waiting for the elevator. After she steps inside, she doesn’t realize she’s trapped there with Alicia until the moment the doors begin pulling shut.
These uncomfortable moments are to be expected; Alicia had told her to stay at this job, in this space with her, and Kalinda made the choice to do so. Still, the sinking sensation inside of her matches the sluggish descent of the elevator. They stare up at the floor counter as it moves painfully, painfully slow.
“I’m divorcing Peter.”
Kalinda startles imperceptibly at the sound of Alicia’s voice; looks over sharply.
The words aren’t as condemning as she would have thought; Kalinda doesn’t read “…because of you” unspoken at the end.
What she does read is “…and you. This is something I can’t get over, so I’m not going to pretend to try. I’m divorcing both of you.”
Kalinda has to say something. Anything. She settles on, “I hope it’s the right decision.” It sounds incredibly trite to her own ears.
Alicia’s still not looking at her, but she’s talking anyway.
“You know the worst part of everything? Seeing my children hurt. They should look up to their parents; not be ashamed of them. I hate their shame.”
Kalinda has no idea what to say. She knows being a parent has always been the thing Alicia values the most, but Kalinda herself can’t imagine what it’s like to take on such an unselfish role. She can’t empathize, or do anything but stare miserably at the woman across from her in this too-small space, knowing that hurting Alicia’s children tops her unforgivable offenses.
Alicia doesn’t seem to care about the silence. “But you know what’s almost as bad?” She doesn’t wait for a response, but is suddenly looking at Kalinda; pinning her with her eyes to the elevator wall. “Missing you.”
Kalinda’s heart wedges in her throat. She feels like she’s choking on it.
“I can’t think of our time together without imagining you sitting across from me, having slept with my husband, knowing what a fool I was for not knowing.”
“I never thought…” Kalinda tries.
But Alicia was hearing none of it. “And even thinking of that… knowing that our friendship wasn’t any of the things I thought it was… I still miss it. Miss it more than all the friends I lost after the scandal. And that just makes me feel like so much more of a fool.” She shakes her head slowly; tiredly. “Can you explain that? Why it matters to me now, more than the divorce? Why I miss something so much, that wasn’t real to begin with?”
There’s no good explanation for anything. Kalinda could try to tell her how there had been nothing false about it for a long, long while; how the time they had spent together had been the closest Kalinda had come to genuine in years. But Alicia’s not ready to hear it; might never be, so Kalinda just drops her head and whispers, “I miss you, too.”
The truth of it weighs heavy enough to crash through the floor. Alicia lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. “Well. Aren’t we a pair.”
The elevator finally reaches Alicia’s intended floor; makes a mocking, cheerful ding as the doors slide open. Alicia blinks hard, as if coming out of a trance. Kalinda can almost see the professional draining in, the emotions draining out.
“Have a good day,” Alicia says faintly. She smooths her blouse and walks away.
Kalinda slumps against the wall as the doors close again.
--
Court is brutal the following week; the opposing counsel know this case hits home for Alicia, and they find stealthy and cunning ways of using it to unnerve her. Alicia is usually so good about not falling for that kind of manipulation, but it’s been a long few weeks; cracks are showing everywhere, and when session is adjourned for the day after she snaps at the judge and is scolded, she disappears into the washroom for a concerning amount of time. Will waits for her; finally gives up. Kalinda hovers for an even more embarrassing amount of time, going back and forth inside her own head and pacing the courtroom floor before remembering she has absolutely nothing to lose anymore.
Kalinda enters the washroom slowly, as if she expects an attack from behind its doors. She finds Alicia alone, standing with her hands braced against the sink, head bowed.
“Are you okay?” she asks tentatively. It’s a stupid thing to say, but what else is there?
For a moment Alicia doesn’t move or respond. Just when Kalinda thinks it may be better to leave, Alicia turns. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she looks so very exhausted.
“I’m getting a divorce, my husband’s a cheater and a liar, my kids hate both of us, and after everything I’ve done to earn respect in the last year people are still looking at me with either ignorance or pity. And you know, I think I could handle all of it, just deal with it, if I could just sit in a bar after this awful case and drink tequila with my friend.”
Kalinda had been expecting a brush-off; she’s unprepared, even though it’s becoming more and more apparent that it all comes back this - them, drawn together again and again, back to the same damn impasse.
It would be a lovely, perfect day if Kalinda could suggest they do just the thing Alicia said; that they forget about all this unpleasantness, put it behind them, start over with a clean slate and the new knowledge of how important this is - how important they are. If they could make a promise to never squander it again. But nothing is clean anymore, and if there’s one thing she’s learned it's that denial is an empty, temporary defense.
“I’m sorry.” It’s futile and insufficient and all she has. “I’ve never been more sorry about anything.”
Alicia’s head cocks, as if Kalinda’s speaking a strange and foreign language she’s just beginning to learn. They both know this isn’t the time or place, but so often timing is like love; inconvenient, unwanted, and choosing of you. “I believe you. I think. That you cared. That you do care. I’m not sure it matters.”
The understatement of it all rings as loudly as a falsehood.
“The thing is,” she continues, “I want to be the one to walk away from this. From you. And yet… I’m struggling. Holding on. Sentimental, maybe.”
What’s Kalinda supposed to say? Is she supposed to agree with her? Tell her that despite the struggle, the right thing is for Alicia to walk away? That anything is better than this nauseating limbo they’re in? Kalinda’s new at the selfless thing and is so, so bad at it. So she chooses the course of silence, leaving Alicia to say…
“…or maybe something else.”
Something else. What else could there be? Alicia’s taking a step closer, studying her strangely, and Kalinda’s blinking dumbly at her.
“I miss you,” Alicia repeats her words from the elevator. Her tone drops softly; becomes a shameful confession. “I miss you.”
Kalinda recognizes the intent before it’s carried through, and through her shock at it comes a near-crippling sense of disbelief, hope, anticipation, dread, alltoomuch and yet she can’t stop it. Alicia’s lips connect with her own, warm and full and fuck, oh fuck.
Impossible. This was supposed to be impossible.
Kalinda doesn’t deserve this. Not Alicia’s tenderness, not her desire, not her confused and hurting but over-forgiving heart. This kiss, that should be thrilling and sexy and filled with promise, is colored by shades of shame and guilt and knowing that this is part of the punishment, somehow and someway; a taste of something beautiful that will be ripped away from her, mocking with visions of the way it could have been had she not been so damned selfish.
The tears she’s been mostly successful at holding inside the past few months betray her now, spilling hot and abundant down her cheeks to their joined lips. The salty flavor mingles with the taste of Alicia’s mouth; Kalinda sobs into it, and their tongues brush together, Alicia’s touching her face, and it’s all too lovely and painful and she can’t bear any of this.
She pulls away at the same time her lips are still searching, brain and body not connecting and agreeing on a course of action. “Please,” she whispers, “please,” and she’s not sure what she’s asking for.
Alicia seems too calm, as if the past few months have exhausted her ability to fluster. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as she regards Kalinda.
“I can’t,” Kalinda tells her, voice breaking. “I wish I could do anything, give you anything, but this… I can’t. Not if there’s no chance that you could…”
She can’t even say the words. Suggesting Alicia forgive her, asking for it, feels so presumptuous and Kalinda can’t bear the weight of another selfish act. The feel of Alicia’s lips remains on hers, like a ghost or a dream, and if it doesn’t mean anything Kalinda will just shatter, shatter to pieces. This is what other people must feel like - those who feel, who care. She had pitied them, before she realized she is one of them.
Alicia sighs; shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just… don’t know anything I feel. I didn’t understand the things I felt before all this happened, and now… dammit, Kalinda. Why did it have to be you?”
It was the closest they’ve come to being on the same page in a month. Ever, maybe. Kalinda wipes her eyes with the back of her hand; it comes away black with liner as Alicia speaks again.
“I just know I’m tired of fighting it all the damn time. I’m just… tired.”
Hope has never been Kalinda’s friend, but she can’t suppress it; it bubbles up, whispering maybe, maybe, maybe… “You don’t have to know right now.”
“No.” Alicia’s head dips; she touches her temples. “But I can’t keep punishing you in the meantime, can I.”
Kalinda has to hold back another sob of relief, both at the sentiment and the validation.
“I wish I could have been the friend you deserved, Alicia,” she says, and she can’t mask the tremble in her voice. There’s nothing to mask anymore, her horror and guilt and dammit, all these other feelings on full display. “I wish I could be.”
Alicia reaches out instead of responding, rubs away Kalinda’s streaked eye makeup with her thumbs; Kalinda’s lipstick is already worn away from their kiss. Alicia examines her. “You look almost like a real person, under all of that,” she tells Kalinda quietly.
For the first time, it’s all Kalinda wants to be. Just real. Just for her.
Alicia’s fingers drop, but their gazes hold for a few seconds longer. Then Alicia walks to the door. Kalinda stays behind, watching, until her friend looks back questioningly - a request to follow. And she follows. She’ll follow anywhere.
They leave together, but Kalinda’s impossible dream, for now, goes nowhere.
Author: sweetjamielee
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda, a bit of Alicia/Will
Word Count: approx. 5,700
Spoilers: all aired episodes; possible spoilers for 2x21 through 2x23 (although spoilers/speculation/my imagination are hard to tell apart)
Genre: Angst /Romance. Oh, the angsty, angsty romance
Rating: T
Summary: How can you mourn the loss of something you never really had to begin with? The obligatory angsty post-revelation fic.
A/N: DON’T MIND ME, JUST PURGING THE KALICIA ANGST FROM MY SYSTEM. I think I might be better now. This was all very cathartic. Time loop metaphor for my fave Kalicia gf threeguesses (sorry for the sci-fi cop-out, bb), and thanks to mightbefound for putting various and sundry ideas in my head. Also to all my TGW fanfriends for being awesometastic.
Also: YOU GUISE. Come listen to me talk about The Good Wife and Kalicia on the radio on May 12 at 10pm EST, ks? It will be fun! It will be insightful! You may get to hear me embarrass myself! It will be all the good things!
--
In a world where good people are rewarded and bad people are punished, Kalinda would be terrified to even get out of bed in the morning. But this isn’t the fair world that people like to believe in; here, people like Alicia Florrick get betrayal and heartbreak, and people like Kalinda Sharma get a new identity and few consequences.
This is why Kalinda never really saw the point in being good.
She would have preferred it not to end this way, because she is fond of Alicia and distressed by having contributed to her suffering. But the fact is, Kalinda was always going to lose her. Alicia’s recent discontent at Lockhart Gardner has been obvious, as has been the line of high powered headhunters eyeing her interestedly ; really, it’s been just a matter of time before she gets the better offer she doesn’t even know she’s waiting for, and takes it.
They were never the type of friends who would go to the movies or on vacation together or have long talks on the phone. Without their work to connect them, they would have drifted apart, promising to meet for a drink in the future but never quite being able to find the time; their relationship relegated to a friendly nod when they happened to cross paths in court.
So this isn’t really all that different. Except for the ‘friendly’ part.
And except for everything else.
Alicia’s always been the exception.
--
Will and Diane don’t know what to say when she tells them she’s looking for another job. They like Kalinda, respect her; but Alicia’s always been more likable and is clearly the sympathetic party now. So they just promise Kalinda excellent references should she decide to leave, but they don’t fight with her on the issue or encourage her to stay.
She’s tolerated Alicia’s anger, and her hurt, and the stony silence that has followed. She’s dealt with the flippant “Leela’s” Alicia has tossed her way, as well as blatant cold shoulders and freeze-outs. She’s done it because she knows she deserves it, deserves it all, and she loves her job and the people she works with are the closest thing to a family she’ll ever have again.
But what she can’t handle is the utter predictability of Alicia’s disdain, day after day, registering in sickening slow motion every single time they interact - her lovely face pinching where it used to show warmth, glacier-coldness filling her eyes. It’s like a tortuous time loop, a Tantalus torment that leaves Kalinda perpetually hurt and wanting with absolutely no means of disrupting the cycle. Not while she’s here.
Leaving the firm is her only chance. This has become another identity she needs to escape. Neither she nor Alicia can do this anymore.
They’re working on this fucking adultery site case; it would be laughable for Kalinda to be indignant on Alicia’s behalf for the firm even touching this one. But Alicia’s comfort is no longer something Kalinda can protect, so she just works the case mechanically until she can get out, get out as soon as possible.
It’s unexpected when, after a week of conspicuous brush-offs, Alicia comes into office and shuts the door too hard behind her. She doesn’t look particularly conciliatory. Kalinda winces before she even opens her mouth.
“You’re going to leave the firm without an investigator, and our current clients without the evidence they need?” Her voice is clipped, matter-of-fact, and very, very critical.
Apparently either Will or Diane hasn’t been as discreet as Kalinda had hoped. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she offers, lamely.
Alicia’s eyes roll, as if Kalinda’s consideration takes a patience that she doesn’t possess. “This isn’t the time to start being concerned with my feelings. You want to do something for me? Do your job and help me win this case.” Then she turns, opens the door and leaves, proving that she’d only shut it before for the satisfaction of hearing it slam two times around.
Kalinda wonders if Alicia wants her to stay in spite the fact that she hates her, or because she does and knows this is the surest way to eke out every drop of Kalinda’s shame.
All she knows is that she can’t deny her.
--
Kalinda meets Cary a few days later because he’s been calling her. He’s concerned for her, he says. Wants to make sure she’s okay. She wants to roll her eyes at him the way she used to; show him that she’s got this one, knows what she’s doing. But even that takes an energy that’s difficult to conjure up.
They sit side-by-side on a park bench, coffees in hand. Cary’s never asked her about Peter, about the whys of everything. Perhaps he just understands ruthlessness; the ninety-nine percent of the time when getting what you want is the most important thing (until that one time when it’s not, when it’s so, so, not worth it.) “How are you holding up there?” he asks her instead, referring to the firm where they both once worked.
It’s cool for a spring day; she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee cup, too-strong grip making dents in the paper. “It’s not so bad.”
His eyebrows rise to the heavens, and she refuses to give him the satisfaction of confirming his skepticism. “I… don’t believe you,” he says.
Kalinda shrugs noncommittally.
“Have you thought of leaving?”
“Yeah.” She takes a sip; there’s not enough sugar, and everything tastes bitter. “Alicia said I should stay.”
“Alicia said, huh?” Kalinda doesn’t like the way he says her name, over-pronounced, like an insinuation. “So how long are you just going to stay there, paying off your debt?”
“I like my job. I’m not staying just as a favor to Alicia.”
Cary shakes his head slowly. “It’s going to be torture. She needs to direct her rage at someone. It can’t be at Peter, because he’s the father of her children and she needs to stay civil with him. Guess who that leaves to be the object of her wrath? And you’re making it easy for her.”
She glances over at him sharply. “I think it’s about time someone made something easy for her, Cary.”
“So you are being a martyr.”
Irritation seeps in like the cold through her leather jacket. “If you’re just going to criticize my choices I think I’d prefer to go home.”
“No.” His face softens in that way it does just for her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried. I get you made some mistakes but… you’re better than a punching bag, Kalinda.”
She’s always vacillated between annoyance and genuine affection for the man in front of her and right now holds equal parts of both. But his eyes are warm and concerned, and since everything has blown up with Alicia, warmth has been a scarce commodity. She finds her defensiveness fading, just a little, as he puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?” she asks with mock and fond suspicion.
He smiles, gently and with a touch of wistfulness. “I’m getting a distinct impression my kisses are not what’s needed in this situation. Pity.”
It would certainly be so much easier, if it could just be Cary. But she’s grateful for him anyway right now, and gives him her first, tentative smile of the week. “Yeah. Pity.” She pauses before adding, “I’ll be okay.”
Cary doesn’t look convinced, but seems to recognize the futility of trying to convince her. Still, he warns, “It’s going to get harder before it gets easier, you know.”
But Kalinda’s always been bracing herself for something, so that part comes easily.
--
More days pass. Her phone buzzes with a text at approximately a quarter past twelve; it’s an early night for her, but she’s been working hard, constantly, because losing herself in the incriminating details of other’s lives is better than dwelling on the ones in her own. She gropes for the cell on her nightstand and blinks dumbly at its screen. It’s Alicia.
Will needs the 5/16 Engler deposition.
Cut. Dry. Over and done. Will must be burning the midnight oil with this one, and Alicia must either be helping, or the first person woken up in his search for the file.
Kalinda groans softly and hits reply. The file Alicia is speaking of is currently sitting on her piano bench.
When?
ASAP.
Alicia is making no demands; Kalinda could easily assume she means tomorrow. But now Alicia knows she’s awake, and for all that Kalinda owes her, the thought of not responding immediately feels withholding and petty. So even though she’s exhausted, she rolls out of bed and pulls on her jeans, then heads to the bathroom to pull back her hair and swipe on lipstick and eyeliner because no matter how decimated it’s become in the past weeks, she still has an image to maintain.
The streets of Chicago are surreal at night, brightly and artificially lit yet mostly empty. If Kalinda were more poetic, she might see an analogy and feel a kinship with them. But in a few hours, the sun will come out to warm these streets, and once again they’ll have nothing in common.
Everything’s dim and quiet once she gets to the office. Kalinda considers just placing the file in Will’s mailbox so he has it first thing in the morning, but notices upon further inspection that there is light streaming out of his cracked-open office door -- so she knows at least one person remains here this late at night. She’s both relieved and disappointed that it’s not Alicia.
Kalinda walks to that door and raises her fist to knock, but her hand pauses in suspension. At first she doesn’t know the reason for her own hesitation, but a split second later her consciousness catches up to her instincts. The quiet sounds she hears aren’t the typical ones of Will doing office work - there is no tapping of the keyboard, scribbling of a pen, papers moving. Instead, there is the creak of the desk. A rustle of fabric. A sigh.
And just like that, she knows. She knows exactly what is happening, and what she’s going to see should she open that door. It fills her with an electric dread that makes her half-nauseous… and she pushes at the door lightly with one finger anyway.
Will’s back is to her, and all Kalinda can see of the woman he’s pressing to his desk is her legs. One of those legs is bracing on the floor, while the other is hiked up over his hip; her skirt must be pushed up almost to her waist to be able to spread them so wide. His hand is running across the length of her smooth, pale thigh, and they are kissing, kissing like they may run out of time to do it.
Kalinda doesn’t kid herself, that it might be Tammy. She doesn’t save herself the horror by backing away. She stares as Alicia’s head tips to the side, finally revealed over Will’s shoulder as he presses hot kisses to her throat. Her eyes are closed in presumable bliss.
Until they aren’t. Suddenly, those dark eyes are open, and locked with Kalinda’s across the room.
Everything seems to freeze for a second. Kalinda’s stomach does a violent roll. She expects Alicia to stiffen and pull back, accusing Kalinda without speaking of disrupting her privacy and happiness again.
But instead, Alicia’s eyes close again. Her fingers curl at the back of Will’s head; she drags his mouth back to her own. Apparently she’s out of accusations; after all, the best revenge is living well.
This is so, so much worse.
Kalinda turns on her heels and runs. She throws the file in Will’s mailbox on the way without breaking her stride. She takes the stairwell because she can’t bear to stand still, the heels of her boots clicking furiously and echoing off the walls. By the time she reaches her car and climbs inside she’s breathing heavily, almost gasping, but she doesn’t pause for even a second, pealing out and flying down the Chicago streets as fast as the traffic will allow, speeding through yellow lights with tires squealing.
Alicia, consciously or not, orchestrated this to hurt her. Kalinda knows it, and she knows she deserves it. And more than that, she knows exactly why it worked - why it hit its mark sharpshoot-accurate.
She’d thought that the world wasn’t fair; that the only people who get punished for bad behavior are the people who aren’t very good at it. But now it hits her with stunning clarity that she has been being punished since the very first day she met Alicia Florrick. That someone like Kalinda, who so carefully cultivated an isolated existence, would eventually fall for not just an inappropriate person, but the most inappropriate person - it’s like the universe is teasing her with thorough cruelty, showing her just what utter and total aloneness feels like.
And it’s not until this moment when she realizes just how much she had invested in this impossible fantasy. In Alicia herself.
The sense of utter foolishness and loss fills Kalinda with a savage rage that propels her forcefully into her apartment. She flings open her closet door; tosses items out, a bedspread, a shovel, five pairs of boots, and doesn’t find what she’s looking for. Abandoning all those items on the floor, she storms into her bedroom and drops to her knees beside the bed. Groping blindly underneath it, her hand clasps and releases several times until it closes on the intended item. Nearly growling in bitter triumph, she pulls it out.
Kalinda stares at the bat for a minute. Her palms caress the length of it, the wood cool and heavy in her hands. Then she strides back out to the living area with a purpose.
More than once she has used this bat to defend Alicia, protect her from threats she hadn’t even known about. So much of what Kalinda has done in the past year has been to preserve Alicia’s fragile sense of stability and contentment - keep it from slipping into hurt and chaos once more.
None of it means anything.
With a grunt, she takes hold of the handle and swings hard. The bat’s barrel skims the top of her desk, connecting along the way with the lamp, the phone, the pen holder, folders and papers that were stacked on the surface. There is the satisfying sound of cracking and snapping and shattering, and everything’s flying and crashing to the floor. And it’s still not enough, so she reverses the direction, her shoulders burning with exertion as she drives the bat into the wall. Paint and plaster splinter inside the impressive dent, and still she turns, pulls the bat over her head, and brings it down hard into her couch cushion.
The last blow thumps unassumingly into the soft cushion, an anticlimax that’s not nearly destructive enough, but she’s exhausted herself in this brief, aggressive explosion. The bat slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor along with the broken contents of her desk and her life.
Kalinda crawls onto the sofa on her knees, draping her upper body over the backrest. She’s panting, and her eyes are burning with tears that refuse to fall.
She hates herself for what she’s done, but even more she hates herself for stupidity of what she feels.
What had she ever expected to do with Alicia if she got her? Really? Kiss her, fuck her, sure, then what? Have intimate breakfasts together every morning? Have deep conversations about their feelings? Take long walks hand-in-hand on the beach? Take Alicia’s kids to the fucking roller rink?
It is all so fraught with foolishness, not who she is at all, and grieving the loss of that fantasy is like grieving for a ghost - something that was never substantial or real or meaningful to begin with.
Alicia should be with Will. He’ll be good to her, Kalinda knows. He’ll shelter her from the shitstorm that has been her life for the past year. He’ll love her the way she deserves to be loved.
Kalinda’s instinct to hate him for it and her desire for Alicia’s happiness have a merry war that feels much like nausea.
A neighbor is pounding on her door; wondering if she’s alright.
She’s not, but she takes a deep, shuddering breath, crawls off the couch, and goes to assure him anyway.
--
Kalinda calls off sick the next day, deciding it’s not far from the truth. She has an excellent poker face, but it’s another thing she feels she can’t trust anymore, especially not in front of Alicia or Will in this most awful of morning-afters.
The silence in her apartment is deafening. She thinks of calling someone - someone who would gladly fuck her into oblivion, hard and fast and without asking anything about who she is and what she’s done and how she feels. But she needs arrogance to fuck like that, and arrogance is a surplus she’s recently exhausted.
She decides to drink instead.
The bar is familiar to her; she knows the bartenders, and they top off her drinks and know when to leave her alone when she comes here. She’ll keep drinking until she forgets that she used to meet here with Alicia, and they would chat and sip their gin martinis until they both smiled a little more than usual, Alicia giggling over Kalinda’s irreverent assessments of their co-workers and clients and other bar patrons and leaning toward Kalinda in a manner that, if you squinted, might look like flirting.
For a moment when she enters the bar and makes to head to her usual seat, she has a crazy thought that the woman she sees sitting in it must be some sort of mirage - a vestigial image from her memories.
But it is certainly Alicia Florrick, sitting alone and nursing the last of what was once a healthy glassful of bourbon.
What is she doing here? If Alicia had called off work today, Kalinda would have assumed it was to be in Will’s bed, not to be in a bar alone.
Alicia notices her before she can turn on her heels and escape. Kalinda freezes.
Fate is alive and well. And it hates her these days.
“I’ll leave,” she says, as if she needs permission; even though last night clearly demonstrated that she can run.
“No.”
No?
Alicia motions to the stool next to hers. “Sit.”
Kalinda’s legs refuse to obey for a moment, postponing the inevitable until Alicia looks over sharply. Her expression conveys disbelief that Kalinda would deny her such a simple request; of course, Kalinda can’t.
In the end, she walks over mechanically, sitting on the stool next to Alicia with a stiff back and smoothing her skirt with a compulsive motion. The both stare straight ahead. Kalinda can smell the other woman’s perfume, and her tangential and masochistic imagination recalls Will burying his face into Alicia’s throat, breathing in her scent. Guilt and jealousy roll through her.
“How do you do it?” Alicia asks without prelude.
Kalinda twitches slightly at the sound of her voice. “What?”
“How do you do it.” Alicia articulates each word carefully, for clarification. “Just… fuck someone. Without caring about the rest.” The vulgar word sounds foreign coming from her lips; makes everything feel even more uncomfortable. The bartender glances over at them, curious.
Kalinda could pretend to not know what she is talking about, but it would probably just piss Alicia off. Withholding got her into this mess, and she won’t use it to get herself out. “Some people can’t. Some people can, but… not with everyone.”
Alicia’s nails trace the bartop as she considers it. The silence is a vast and empty thing that makes the few inches of space between them feel cavernous.
“I do care about Will,” Alicia finally says.
Kalinda hazards a glance over, but Alicia’s still focused on the bottles of liquor that line the wall.
“I care about him. And I wanted… I wanted, and damn it, I deserved it. But I couldn’t go through with it. It just wasn’t… right.” A bitter chuckle escapes her. “Isn’t that amazing? That any part of me would even care about right anymore?”
The guilt and jealousy takes a lurching turn into a sick relief that feels very, very selfish. She didn’t sleep with Will. Like it matters. Like it means anything about…
Them.
The thing about dreams is that when they were always impossible, there is very little else that can shake them. Not logic or reason or any of the other things that she values above all else - it pales next to the hope, the stupid, misplaced hope that finds resuscitation in the most innocuous details.
Alicia turns now and looks at her with drunken, fatalistic curiosity. “Have you ever cared?”
It’s laughable, really, that Alicia is asking her this when all Kalinda has been doing is caring, caring far too fucking much. “Yes.” It’s whispered, and she can’t meet Alicia’s eyes when she says it.
Alicia blinks hazily, studying Kalinda in the dim light, searching for… something. Kalinda prays to a God she’s sure doesn’t exist, that the questioning is over. Her old friend’s stare is heavy, intense; searching for answers that she can’t actually want to hear.
In the end, it’s the bartender and not God who saves Kalinda, interrupting to inquire if Alicia needs another drink, and if Kalinda needs her first.
Alicia pulls her eyes away from their task of scathing scrutiny. “No. I’m done,” she says flatly, draining what is left in her rocks glass.
Kalinda watches as Alicia clumsily searches through her purse for her wallet. “Are you…” she begins hesitantly.
“Taking a cab.” Alicia’s finally successful at liberating her credit card, and she gives Kalinda an insincere, tight-lipped smile. “But thanks for your concern.”
Anything close to emotional honesty has disappeared, and Kalinda hurts for its loss. She watches Alicia pay for her drinks, slide off her stool, and walk unsteadily to the door.
The bartender looks at Kalinda expectantly; she shakes her head at him. “I’m done, too.”
Of course, she’s never really had the chance to start.
--
Alicia avoids her for the next week; although to be fair, it appears that Alicia is avoiding everybody -- even Will seems to get the bare minimum of interaction necessary to work on the case. Kalinda sees the way people glance at each other when Alicia’s back is turned; not all of them know what’s happened since Peter won the campaign, but they know what tension looks like, and Alicia’s got it in spades.
Life has a way of only allowing avoidance for so long before it thrusts the dreaded topic back upon you again, reminding you of its existence, the unresolved nature of it. This time it takes advantage of Kalinda’s distraction as she’s flipping through her notebook while waiting for the elevator. After she steps inside, she doesn’t realize she’s trapped there with Alicia until the moment the doors begin pulling shut.
These uncomfortable moments are to be expected; Alicia had told her to stay at this job, in this space with her, and Kalinda made the choice to do so. Still, the sinking sensation inside of her matches the sluggish descent of the elevator. They stare up at the floor counter as it moves painfully, painfully slow.
“I’m divorcing Peter.”
Kalinda startles imperceptibly at the sound of Alicia’s voice; looks over sharply.
The words aren’t as condemning as she would have thought; Kalinda doesn’t read “…because of you” unspoken at the end.
What she does read is “…and you. This is something I can’t get over, so I’m not going to pretend to try. I’m divorcing both of you.”
Kalinda has to say something. Anything. She settles on, “I hope it’s the right decision.” It sounds incredibly trite to her own ears.
Alicia’s still not looking at her, but she’s talking anyway.
“You know the worst part of everything? Seeing my children hurt. They should look up to their parents; not be ashamed of them. I hate their shame.”
Kalinda has no idea what to say. She knows being a parent has always been the thing Alicia values the most, but Kalinda herself can’t imagine what it’s like to take on such an unselfish role. She can’t empathize, or do anything but stare miserably at the woman across from her in this too-small space, knowing that hurting Alicia’s children tops her unforgivable offenses.
Alicia doesn’t seem to care about the silence. “But you know what’s almost as bad?” She doesn’t wait for a response, but is suddenly looking at Kalinda; pinning her with her eyes to the elevator wall. “Missing you.”
Kalinda’s heart wedges in her throat. She feels like she’s choking on it.
“I can’t think of our time together without imagining you sitting across from me, having slept with my husband, knowing what a fool I was for not knowing.”
“I never thought…” Kalinda tries.
But Alicia was hearing none of it. “And even thinking of that… knowing that our friendship wasn’t any of the things I thought it was… I still miss it. Miss it more than all the friends I lost after the scandal. And that just makes me feel like so much more of a fool.” She shakes her head slowly; tiredly. “Can you explain that? Why it matters to me now, more than the divorce? Why I miss something so much, that wasn’t real to begin with?”
There’s no good explanation for anything. Kalinda could try to tell her how there had been nothing false about it for a long, long while; how the time they had spent together had been the closest Kalinda had come to genuine in years. But Alicia’s not ready to hear it; might never be, so Kalinda just drops her head and whispers, “I miss you, too.”
The truth of it weighs heavy enough to crash through the floor. Alicia lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. “Well. Aren’t we a pair.”
The elevator finally reaches Alicia’s intended floor; makes a mocking, cheerful ding as the doors slide open. Alicia blinks hard, as if coming out of a trance. Kalinda can almost see the professional draining in, the emotions draining out.
“Have a good day,” Alicia says faintly. She smooths her blouse and walks away.
Kalinda slumps against the wall as the doors close again.
--
Court is brutal the following week; the opposing counsel know this case hits home for Alicia, and they find stealthy and cunning ways of using it to unnerve her. Alicia is usually so good about not falling for that kind of manipulation, but it’s been a long few weeks; cracks are showing everywhere, and when session is adjourned for the day after she snaps at the judge and is scolded, she disappears into the washroom for a concerning amount of time. Will waits for her; finally gives up. Kalinda hovers for an even more embarrassing amount of time, going back and forth inside her own head and pacing the courtroom floor before remembering she has absolutely nothing to lose anymore.
Kalinda enters the washroom slowly, as if she expects an attack from behind its doors. She finds Alicia alone, standing with her hands braced against the sink, head bowed.
“Are you okay?” she asks tentatively. It’s a stupid thing to say, but what else is there?
For a moment Alicia doesn’t move or respond. Just when Kalinda thinks it may be better to leave, Alicia turns. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she looks so very exhausted.
“I’m getting a divorce, my husband’s a cheater and a liar, my kids hate both of us, and after everything I’ve done to earn respect in the last year people are still looking at me with either ignorance or pity. And you know, I think I could handle all of it, just deal with it, if I could just sit in a bar after this awful case and drink tequila with my friend.”
Kalinda had been expecting a brush-off; she’s unprepared, even though it’s becoming more and more apparent that it all comes back this - them, drawn together again and again, back to the same damn impasse.
It would be a lovely, perfect day if Kalinda could suggest they do just the thing Alicia said; that they forget about all this unpleasantness, put it behind them, start over with a clean slate and the new knowledge of how important this is - how important they are. If they could make a promise to never squander it again. But nothing is clean anymore, and if there’s one thing she’s learned it's that denial is an empty, temporary defense.
“I’m sorry.” It’s futile and insufficient and all she has. “I’ve never been more sorry about anything.”
Alicia’s head cocks, as if Kalinda’s speaking a strange and foreign language she’s just beginning to learn. They both know this isn’t the time or place, but so often timing is like love; inconvenient, unwanted, and choosing of you. “I believe you. I think. That you cared. That you do care. I’m not sure it matters.”
The understatement of it all rings as loudly as a falsehood.
“The thing is,” she continues, “I want to be the one to walk away from this. From you. And yet… I’m struggling. Holding on. Sentimental, maybe.”
What’s Kalinda supposed to say? Is she supposed to agree with her? Tell her that despite the struggle, the right thing is for Alicia to walk away? That anything is better than this nauseating limbo they’re in? Kalinda’s new at the selfless thing and is so, so bad at it. So she chooses the course of silence, leaving Alicia to say…
“…or maybe something else.”
Something else. What else could there be? Alicia’s taking a step closer, studying her strangely, and Kalinda’s blinking dumbly at her.
“I miss you,” Alicia repeats her words from the elevator. Her tone drops softly; becomes a shameful confession. “I miss you.”
Kalinda recognizes the intent before it’s carried through, and through her shock at it comes a near-crippling sense of disbelief, hope, anticipation, dread, alltoomuch and yet she can’t stop it. Alicia’s lips connect with her own, warm and full and fuck, oh fuck.
Impossible. This was supposed to be impossible.
Kalinda doesn’t deserve this. Not Alicia’s tenderness, not her desire, not her confused and hurting but over-forgiving heart. This kiss, that should be thrilling and sexy and filled with promise, is colored by shades of shame and guilt and knowing that this is part of the punishment, somehow and someway; a taste of something beautiful that will be ripped away from her, mocking with visions of the way it could have been had she not been so damned selfish.
The tears she’s been mostly successful at holding inside the past few months betray her now, spilling hot and abundant down her cheeks to their joined lips. The salty flavor mingles with the taste of Alicia’s mouth; Kalinda sobs into it, and their tongues brush together, Alicia’s touching her face, and it’s all too lovely and painful and she can’t bear any of this.
She pulls away at the same time her lips are still searching, brain and body not connecting and agreeing on a course of action. “Please,” she whispers, “please,” and she’s not sure what she’s asking for.
Alicia seems too calm, as if the past few months have exhausted her ability to fluster. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as she regards Kalinda.
“I can’t,” Kalinda tells her, voice breaking. “I wish I could do anything, give you anything, but this… I can’t. Not if there’s no chance that you could…”
She can’t even say the words. Suggesting Alicia forgive her, asking for it, feels so presumptuous and Kalinda can’t bear the weight of another selfish act. The feel of Alicia’s lips remains on hers, like a ghost or a dream, and if it doesn’t mean anything Kalinda will just shatter, shatter to pieces. This is what other people must feel like - those who feel, who care. She had pitied them, before she realized she is one of them.
Alicia sighs; shakes her head. “I don’t know. I just… don’t know anything I feel. I didn’t understand the things I felt before all this happened, and now… dammit, Kalinda. Why did it have to be you?”
It was the closest they’ve come to being on the same page in a month. Ever, maybe. Kalinda wipes her eyes with the back of her hand; it comes away black with liner as Alicia speaks again.
“I just know I’m tired of fighting it all the damn time. I’m just… tired.”
Hope has never been Kalinda’s friend, but she can’t suppress it; it bubbles up, whispering maybe, maybe, maybe… “You don’t have to know right now.”
“No.” Alicia’s head dips; she touches her temples. “But I can’t keep punishing you in the meantime, can I.”
Kalinda has to hold back another sob of relief, both at the sentiment and the validation.
“I wish I could have been the friend you deserved, Alicia,” she says, and she can’t mask the tremble in her voice. There’s nothing to mask anymore, her horror and guilt and dammit, all these other feelings on full display. “I wish I could be.”
Alicia reaches out instead of responding, rubs away Kalinda’s streaked eye makeup with her thumbs; Kalinda’s lipstick is already worn away from their kiss. Alicia examines her. “You look almost like a real person, under all of that,” she tells Kalinda quietly.
For the first time, it’s all Kalinda wants to be. Just real. Just for her.
Alicia’s fingers drop, but their gazes hold for a few seconds longer. Then Alicia walks to the door. Kalinda stays behind, watching, until her friend looks back questioningly - a request to follow. And she follows. She’ll follow anywhere.
They leave together, but Kalinda’s impossible dream, for now, goes nowhere.