Stages of Grief
Originally posted by needle428 at Stages of Grief
Title: Stages of Grief - Prologue
Author: needle428
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda, but almost everyone makes an appearance and its a little Kalinda heavy.
Spoilers: Post "Getting Off" (2x22), but through "Marthas and Caitlins" (3x4)
Genre: Friendship/Angst
Summary: Grief is a multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed. Grief is not one-dimensional; it manifests in a jumble of intense emotions and dealing with it is not a linear progression, but a whole process. The emotional logic of grief is better understood if you think of it as a series of frantic moves to re-orient to the world after a big loss has left you emotionally off-balance.
A/N: Go easy on me please! This is the first TGW fic that I've written and I'm a little out of practice. I started watching The Good Wife two months ago when my roommate told me it was a 'must see' show and what started out as a one-dvd-out-at-a-time netflix viewing, turned into a frantically-search-online-and-watch-in-hiding-at-work type of obsession. I was devastate when they craftily dismantled the A/K friendship, so I figured this was an appropriate place to start writing. Comments are totally welcome :-)
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Grief A multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed. Grief is not one-dimensional; it manifests in a jumble of intense emotions and dealing with it is not a linear progression, but a whole process. The emotional logic of grief is better understood if you think of it as a series of frantic moves to re-orient to the world after a big loss has left you emotionally off-balance.
---
The fight was totally unexpected. The last few months at Lockhart Gardner had passed with almost quiet resolve, no one quite willing to test the waters, no one brave enough to push the envelope. Even Diane, their impervious leader, had backed off from her well-placed attempts at conflict resolution. She wanted things running smoothly, but even she saw that her involvement could only go so far.
It felt a little bit like limbo, but the dynamic seemed to be working. Kalinda thought that maybe they’d found their rhythm, that maybe they could co-exist successfully at Lockhart Gardner. Eye contact seemed to be less of a struggle, professional phone calls weren’t quite as stilted, and even the occasional acknowledgment as they passed in the hallway didn’t feel so awkward. It would never be the way it was, but then she had accepted that truth the night Blake left town; even before Alicia knew.
Kalinda shifted on her bar stool and motioned to the bartender for another drink. Looking down at her empty glass, she sighed, her face unreadable to the outside observer. Tequila today; it was only fitting. The bartender, a wiry thin, clean shaven, eclectic type, ambled over with a sympathetic gaze and poured her a shot. She knew that look: unabashed pity. It was 11am, the lunch crowd nowhere to be seen, and she was already here drowning her sorrows. Kalinda rarely thought of herself as pathetic, but today the term almost applied.
The bartender, sliding the empty glass away as he replaced it with a fresh one, let his gaze drift slowly from the napkin to Kalinda’s cold, unwavering stare. Her eyes met his and she refused to yield. Prolonged eye contact often made people feel uncomfortable - few people were able to hold a steady gaze for longer than a few seconds - and sometimes she liked to use that to her advantage. It was a game of control and one she rarely lost. He didn’t budge as she’d expected him to. He just leaned back against the wall and held her gaze. Waiting.
One blink. Two. Three. Five.
Kalinda sighed and returned her eyes to the surface of the bar.
“You know, 11am is bad for your liver.” Kalinda didn’t want to acknowledge him. But he just continued to stare.
“Shouldn’t you be trying to sell me on the merits of alcohol consumption, not discouraging me from it? This is still a bar isn’t it?” Her voice had more bite than she’d intended, but the anger of the last few hours hadn’t completely worn off and the last thing she wanted to do was talk.
“Well, yeah, but we usually like to encourage repeat business. 11am rarely leads to that. Not long term anyway.” Arms crossed, he shrugged a little as he spoke, but his gaze never wavered. “I’m Dan by the way.”
“I’m…” She paused for effect, rolled her head to right and breathed “…not interested.” Kalinda met his eyes briefly as she spoke and then rose from her seat intending to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drive you off, you just looked a little like you could use someone to talk to.” He looked genuinely apologetic, but she couldn’t bring herself to put him at ease. Instead she just sat back down, finished her glass in one gulp and motioned for another.
Fingers tight around her empty glass, body rigid as the bar rails. “I don’t want to talk. ” In rare form, her eyes pleaded with him for acquiescence rather than demanding it through intimidation. He gave her a short nod in compliance, poured her another, and drifted towards the other end of the bar.
Kalinda’s mind began to wander again. How exactly had she ended up here?
The ‘before’ her would have been prepared for the last few hours; she would have recognized the calm before the storm and steeled herself appropriately. But the ‘after’ her, was blinded. This woman she had somehow morphed into grasped at impossibilities, ignored rational thinking, and simply craved the comfort of normalcy. It was a weakness and she hated herself for it. Something in her had changed; something she wasn’t sure she could get back.
And now, two hours after one of the most emotionally draining fights she’d ever experienced, she sat alone in a bar licking her wounds. That, more than anything else, was something she was unaccustomed to. Wallowing had never been in her nature and somehow, now, it was the only thing that seemed appropriate.
And at that moment, she couldn’t decide who she hated more: herself or Alicia.
Title: Stages of Grief - Prologue
Author: needle428
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Kalinda, but almost everyone makes an appearance and its a little Kalinda heavy.
Spoilers: Post "Getting Off" (2x22), but through "Marthas and Caitlins" (3x4)
Genre: Friendship/Angst
Summary: Grief is a multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed. Grief is not one-dimensional; it manifests in a jumble of intense emotions and dealing with it is not a linear progression, but a whole process. The emotional logic of grief is better understood if you think of it as a series of frantic moves to re-orient to the world after a big loss has left you emotionally off-balance.
A/N: Go easy on me please! This is the first TGW fic that I've written and I'm a little out of practice. I started watching The Good Wife two months ago when my roommate told me it was a 'must see' show and what started out as a one-dvd-out-at-a-time netflix viewing, turned into a frantically-search-online-and-watch-in-hiding-at-work type of obsession. I was devastate when they craftily dismantled the A/K friendship, so I figured this was an appropriate place to start writing. Comments are totally welcome :-)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Grief A multi-faceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something to which a bond was formed. Grief is not one-dimensional; it manifests in a jumble of intense emotions and dealing with it is not a linear progression, but a whole process. The emotional logic of grief is better understood if you think of it as a series of frantic moves to re-orient to the world after a big loss has left you emotionally off-balance.
---
The fight was totally unexpected. The last few months at Lockhart Gardner had passed with almost quiet resolve, no one quite willing to test the waters, no one brave enough to push the envelope. Even Diane, their impervious leader, had backed off from her well-placed attempts at conflict resolution. She wanted things running smoothly, but even she saw that her involvement could only go so far.
It felt a little bit like limbo, but the dynamic seemed to be working. Kalinda thought that maybe they’d found their rhythm, that maybe they could co-exist successfully at Lockhart Gardner. Eye contact seemed to be less of a struggle, professional phone calls weren’t quite as stilted, and even the occasional acknowledgment as they passed in the hallway didn’t feel so awkward. It would never be the way it was, but then she had accepted that truth the night Blake left town; even before Alicia knew.
Kalinda shifted on her bar stool and motioned to the bartender for another drink. Looking down at her empty glass, she sighed, her face unreadable to the outside observer. Tequila today; it was only fitting. The bartender, a wiry thin, clean shaven, eclectic type, ambled over with a sympathetic gaze and poured her a shot. She knew that look: unabashed pity. It was 11am, the lunch crowd nowhere to be seen, and she was already here drowning her sorrows. Kalinda rarely thought of herself as pathetic, but today the term almost applied.
The bartender, sliding the empty glass away as he replaced it with a fresh one, let his gaze drift slowly from the napkin to Kalinda’s cold, unwavering stare. Her eyes met his and she refused to yield. Prolonged eye contact often made people feel uncomfortable - few people were able to hold a steady gaze for longer than a few seconds - and sometimes she liked to use that to her advantage. It was a game of control and one she rarely lost. He didn’t budge as she’d expected him to. He just leaned back against the wall and held her gaze. Waiting.
One blink. Two. Three. Five.
Kalinda sighed and returned her eyes to the surface of the bar.
“You know, 11am is bad for your liver.” Kalinda didn’t want to acknowledge him. But he just continued to stare.
“Shouldn’t you be trying to sell me on the merits of alcohol consumption, not discouraging me from it? This is still a bar isn’t it?” Her voice had more bite than she’d intended, but the anger of the last few hours hadn’t completely worn off and the last thing she wanted to do was talk.
“Well, yeah, but we usually like to encourage repeat business. 11am rarely leads to that. Not long term anyway.” Arms crossed, he shrugged a little as he spoke, but his gaze never wavered. “I’m Dan by the way.”
“I’m…” She paused for effect, rolled her head to right and breathed “…not interested.” Kalinda met his eyes briefly as she spoke and then rose from her seat intending to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drive you off, you just looked a little like you could use someone to talk to.” He looked genuinely apologetic, but she couldn’t bring herself to put him at ease. Instead she just sat back down, finished her glass in one gulp and motioned for another.
Fingers tight around her empty glass, body rigid as the bar rails. “I don’t want to talk. ” In rare form, her eyes pleaded with him for acquiescence rather than demanding it through intimidation. He gave her a short nod in compliance, poured her another, and drifted towards the other end of the bar.
Kalinda’s mind began to wander again. How exactly had she ended up here?
The ‘before’ her would have been prepared for the last few hours; she would have recognized the calm before the storm and steeled herself appropriately. But the ‘after’ her, was blinded. This woman she had somehow morphed into grasped at impossibilities, ignored rational thinking, and simply craved the comfort of normalcy. It was a weakness and she hated herself for it. Something in her had changed; something she wasn’t sure she could get back.
And now, two hours after one of the most emotionally draining fights she’d ever experienced, she sat alone in a bar licking her wounds. That, more than anything else, was something she was unaccustomed to. Wallowing had never been in her nature and somehow, now, it was the only thing that seemed appropriate.
And at that moment, she couldn’t decide who she hated more: herself or Alicia.