Best Laid Plans - TGW fic.
As promised, the fanfiction of doom.
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: ICKY
Summary: Kalinda's thoughts on/around THAT NIGHT. You know the night I mean. We all know the night I mean.
Warning: spoilery for 2.17 onwards. Apparently a dubcon warning is necessary, due to the reactions of some readers...
Author's Note: title is a nod to James Blunt, obviously. I'd like to not be ostracised from the fandom for this. Or if I am, I'd like you to at least say goodbye nicely. (In all seriousness, I'm not sure how I feel about this fic, so feedback is much appreciated)
Nobody could ever confuse it with romance. There was no desire, no passion, nothing to actually make her feel good. She's not completely sure he felt the same way. Looking back, she thinks maybe he thought the way he slid his hand up her thigh, a little too fast, was sexy, or would turn her on, even a little bit. It would be laughable if it didn't make her sad. She wonders if he really thought there was chemistry between them, or whether he was just sick of fantasising.
She remembers it all perfectly. In Kalinda's eyes, this is a constant reminder to drink more. Next time she makes a stupid drunken mistake, she doesn't want to remember the vulgar details.
He'd been the only person in her life who could possibly help her escape everything she used to be, and it had amazed her how quickly he'd obliged. Naivety is one of the many virtues that disappeared along with the name Leela. Of course, he'd never asked for anything in return. She can't even be sure this was an ulteriour motive. Did he know she'd be at that bar, on that night? Was he anticipating her grieving something she'd wanted to lose? Was it just coincidence that he'd been there to comfort her, or was this always part of the plan? Even now, she's not sure, and she doesn't want to be.
He'd sat beside her quietly for quite some time. If he was waiting for her to break the silence, she wasn't going to give in. She ordered another glass of whatever the bartender had been pouring all night, it's one of the few specifics she's forgotten. Slamming it back down on the counter top, she hears him faintly whisper "I'll drive you home", and obliges against her better judgment.
They're at a red light when she feels rough skin connect with her own. She briefly considers pushing it away, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, but a voice in her head tells her she should take whatever affection she can get. She's alone now. Leela's gone, there's nobody to fall back on. Kalinda Sharma has no family, no friends, no other options. She's amazed at his cavlier attitude, his eyes not leaving the road as his hand moves under her skirt.
"You're married". Kalinda's voice decieves her. What was planned as a definitive, 'we can't do this' seems to come out as a 'she can never find out'. He grins at her, tells her not to worry, says his wife doesn't understand him, doesn't understand what he needs. And she falls for it. She hasn't fallen for it since. She's sure he didn't actually say the name, she's sure he said 'my wife', yet when the scene replays in her head, it's 'Alicia'. It's always Alicia. She can't remember if she knew Alicia's name back then. She hopes she didn't.
Pulling into the parking garage, he asks if he can come up. It's not a real question, it's agreed upon that she won't say no. She keeps five paces ahead of him at all times, desperate to keep her distance until contact is necessary. Leaving the apartment door open for him, she pours herself a glass of wine. He watches her drink it, and moves over to her slowly as she places the glass in the sink. The reality of what's happening hits her as the light hits it, hurting her eyes, and making her view clearer. There's no going back from this. This is a make or break moment. You do this, and this is who you are. This is who Kalinda is. She barely has time to finish the thought before he's behind her, his hands tugging at her shirt, and his mouth on her neck.
She doesn't kiss him. The whole night, they never kissed. She remembers this night as a turning point. She's never kissed a one-night stand since. Kissing is reserved for somebody she could have real feelings for. Kalinda remembered this night, when Cary kissed her. She spent hours trying to work out whether Cary was worthy of a kiss, or if she'd broken her own rule. Eventually deciding that he kissed her, so the calculations were unnecessary, she ignored the situation for as long as possible. Every kiss she has makes her think of Peter. Every kiss she has makes her hate herself that little bit more.
She's often wondered if she was the first. He was clumsy, flustered even. He didn't have the confidence of a man who felt comfortable cheating on his wife. She remembers his three failed attempts to unbutton her shirt, before she stopped him and removed it herself. She turned away from him as he removed his own shirt, worried that seeing him undress would suddenly make everything in her head click, and she'd break down in tears. Keeping her cool, she waits until he moves towards her. She doesn't remember making any moves that night, like she was desperate to not initiate anything. A part of her wanted him to know that she wasn't doing this because she wanted him, she was doing it because she needed something. Anything.
Even at the time, she hated the way he said her name. The way he breathed it against her skin. Kalinda. Reminding her that he knew her secret. Kalinda. Making sure she could never forget that they shared something that nobody else knew about. Kalinda. It made her wonder how he said his wife's name. Was this husky, breathy voice reserved for her? Had his wife ever heard her own name with such passion from the man she loved and trusted? Kalinda. Was she at home, sleeping, or was she awake, wondering what was keeping her husband so late? Kalinda. Was she used to these late nights? Was Kalinda one of many? Or would she be the first in a string of 'late meetings'? Kalinda's contempt for herself grew with every nauseating whisper of her name.
She doesn't call him Peter. Alicia's probably never noticed, why would she? She keeps it at 'your husband', almost hoping that she can forget who she's talking about. But every time she comes close, she reminds herself. She never planned to form this relationship with her. She never wanted to become Alicia Florrick's best friend. She actively tried to avoid it, presenting herself as a person she believed Alicia would dislike. Of course, in typically Alicia fashion, she was still kind, polite, respectful, and Kalinda found it impossible to dislike her. The only thing she could ever hate about Alicia is how damn likeable she is.
She wonders if Peter had any respect for his wife. If he has any respect for her, even now. Does he regret hurting her, or has he learned that he can fuck whoever he wants, and she'll forgive him. She wonders if Alicia would ever forgive him for this. If Alicia will ever forgive her for this. She can't decide if it makes it better of worse that she didn't even want to sleep with Peter. That she felt sick about it, that she took the next three days off work and stayed in a dark apartment, a mix of shame, guilt, and confusion ruling her life.
He didn't quite feel right. She can't pinpoint why, but she remembers nothing seeming to work. Nothing seeming to fit, to work, everything feeling awkward. She thinks maybe her body was aware that she didn't really want to feel him inside of her. It was trying to warn her, she thinks. Trying to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life. She felt uncomfortable, she knows that for sure. She distinctly remembers closing her eyes tight, not certain whether it helped to be able to feel each hard thrust, every movement, to be aware that somebody is above you, watching and exploring the most intimate parts of your body, without being able to see the person in question. She doesn't know whether it hurt her more to make this person completely anonymous, but she knows that he seemed to revel in the fact that it was her. She'd seen the way he looked at her, she knew that he wanted her. She imagines that the tighter she squeezed her eyes shut, the wider his opened.
He left soon afterward. She'd made it quite clear that this was a one-time thing. She'd ensured it lacked intimacy. When he'd tried to kiss her, tried to touch her, tried for more, a second of eye contac had been follow by a subtle shake of her head, and he seemed to have understood before he redressed and walked away, glancing back at her before he walked out of the door.
She sat at her bedroom window for what must have been hours, wrapped in a blanket from her couch, silently watching cars pass by on the street below, mesmerised by the lights, wondering where all of these people were headed at 3am. The only thing stopping her forgetting she'd just done was the nausea. She stripped the bed, throwing away the sheet, leaving the rest in a heap on her kitchen floor. She'd wash them tomorrow, and decide whether that was enough, or they needed to go too.
She's not sure exactly when she threw up, but she knows it was hours after he left. She remembers how cold the bathroom floor was as she sat there, sobbing. Turning on the shower, she removed her underwear, throwing everything in the trash without even looking. She let the water burn her skin, over and over. It never seemed like enough. She never quite managed to get it all off. To get him off of her. She's often wondered what he did when he got home that night. Did he even take a shower before he climbed into bed with his wife? She's often recalled his disappointment at how brief their encounter was, and wondered if he and Alicia had sex when he got home that night. She manages to push this to the back of her mind, but sometimes she can't even look at Alicia without the possibilty dominating her thoughts.
She knows she'll never forgive herself, but sometimes? Sometimes she hopes Alicia won't forgive her either.
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: ICKY
Summary: Kalinda's thoughts on/around THAT NIGHT. You know the night I mean. We all know the night I mean.
Warning: spoilery for 2.17 onwards. Apparently a dubcon warning is necessary, due to the reactions of some readers...
Author's Note: title is a nod to James Blunt, obviously. I'd like to not be ostracised from the fandom for this. Or if I am, I'd like you to at least say goodbye nicely. (In all seriousness, I'm not sure how I feel about this fic, so feedback is much appreciated)
Nobody could ever confuse it with romance. There was no desire, no passion, nothing to actually make her feel good. She's not completely sure he felt the same way. Looking back, she thinks maybe he thought the way he slid his hand up her thigh, a little too fast, was sexy, or would turn her on, even a little bit. It would be laughable if it didn't make her sad. She wonders if he really thought there was chemistry between them, or whether he was just sick of fantasising.
She remembers it all perfectly. In Kalinda's eyes, this is a constant reminder to drink more. Next time she makes a stupid drunken mistake, she doesn't want to remember the vulgar details.
He'd been the only person in her life who could possibly help her escape everything she used to be, and it had amazed her how quickly he'd obliged. Naivety is one of the many virtues that disappeared along with the name Leela. Of course, he'd never asked for anything in return. She can't even be sure this was an ulteriour motive. Did he know she'd be at that bar, on that night? Was he anticipating her grieving something she'd wanted to lose? Was it just coincidence that he'd been there to comfort her, or was this always part of the plan? Even now, she's not sure, and she doesn't want to be.
He'd sat beside her quietly for quite some time. If he was waiting for her to break the silence, she wasn't going to give in. She ordered another glass of whatever the bartender had been pouring all night, it's one of the few specifics she's forgotten. Slamming it back down on the counter top, she hears him faintly whisper "I'll drive you home", and obliges against her better judgment.
They're at a red light when she feels rough skin connect with her own. She briefly considers pushing it away, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, but a voice in her head tells her she should take whatever affection she can get. She's alone now. Leela's gone, there's nobody to fall back on. Kalinda Sharma has no family, no friends, no other options. She's amazed at his cavlier attitude, his eyes not leaving the road as his hand moves under her skirt.
"You're married". Kalinda's voice decieves her. What was planned as a definitive, 'we can't do this' seems to come out as a 'she can never find out'. He grins at her, tells her not to worry, says his wife doesn't understand him, doesn't understand what he needs. And she falls for it. She hasn't fallen for it since. She's sure he didn't actually say the name, she's sure he said 'my wife', yet when the scene replays in her head, it's 'Alicia'. It's always Alicia. She can't remember if she knew Alicia's name back then. She hopes she didn't.
Pulling into the parking garage, he asks if he can come up. It's not a real question, it's agreed upon that she won't say no. She keeps five paces ahead of him at all times, desperate to keep her distance until contact is necessary. Leaving the apartment door open for him, she pours herself a glass of wine. He watches her drink it, and moves over to her slowly as she places the glass in the sink. The reality of what's happening hits her as the light hits it, hurting her eyes, and making her view clearer. There's no going back from this. This is a make or break moment. You do this, and this is who you are. This is who Kalinda is. She barely has time to finish the thought before he's behind her, his hands tugging at her shirt, and his mouth on her neck.
She doesn't kiss him. The whole night, they never kissed. She remembers this night as a turning point. She's never kissed a one-night stand since. Kissing is reserved for somebody she could have real feelings for. Kalinda remembered this night, when Cary kissed her. She spent hours trying to work out whether Cary was worthy of a kiss, or if she'd broken her own rule. Eventually deciding that he kissed her, so the calculations were unnecessary, she ignored the situation for as long as possible. Every kiss she has makes her think of Peter. Every kiss she has makes her hate herself that little bit more.
She's often wondered if she was the first. He was clumsy, flustered even. He didn't have the confidence of a man who felt comfortable cheating on his wife. She remembers his three failed attempts to unbutton her shirt, before she stopped him and removed it herself. She turned away from him as he removed his own shirt, worried that seeing him undress would suddenly make everything in her head click, and she'd break down in tears. Keeping her cool, she waits until he moves towards her. She doesn't remember making any moves that night, like she was desperate to not initiate anything. A part of her wanted him to know that she wasn't doing this because she wanted him, she was doing it because she needed something. Anything.
Even at the time, she hated the way he said her name. The way he breathed it against her skin. Kalinda. Reminding her that he knew her secret. Kalinda. Making sure she could never forget that they shared something that nobody else knew about. Kalinda. It made her wonder how he said his wife's name. Was this husky, breathy voice reserved for her? Had his wife ever heard her own name with such passion from the man she loved and trusted? Kalinda. Was she at home, sleeping, or was she awake, wondering what was keeping her husband so late? Kalinda. Was she used to these late nights? Was Kalinda one of many? Or would she be the first in a string of 'late meetings'? Kalinda's contempt for herself grew with every nauseating whisper of her name.
She doesn't call him Peter. Alicia's probably never noticed, why would she? She keeps it at 'your husband', almost hoping that she can forget who she's talking about. But every time she comes close, she reminds herself. She never planned to form this relationship with her. She never wanted to become Alicia Florrick's best friend. She actively tried to avoid it, presenting herself as a person she believed Alicia would dislike. Of course, in typically Alicia fashion, she was still kind, polite, respectful, and Kalinda found it impossible to dislike her. The only thing she could ever hate about Alicia is how damn likeable she is.
She wonders if Peter had any respect for his wife. If he has any respect for her, even now. Does he regret hurting her, or has he learned that he can fuck whoever he wants, and she'll forgive him. She wonders if Alicia would ever forgive him for this. If Alicia will ever forgive her for this. She can't decide if it makes it better of worse that she didn't even want to sleep with Peter. That she felt sick about it, that she took the next three days off work and stayed in a dark apartment, a mix of shame, guilt, and confusion ruling her life.
He didn't quite feel right. She can't pinpoint why, but she remembers nothing seeming to work. Nothing seeming to fit, to work, everything feeling awkward. She thinks maybe her body was aware that she didn't really want to feel him inside of her. It was trying to warn her, she thinks. Trying to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life. She felt uncomfortable, she knows that for sure. She distinctly remembers closing her eyes tight, not certain whether it helped to be able to feel each hard thrust, every movement, to be aware that somebody is above you, watching and exploring the most intimate parts of your body, without being able to see the person in question. She doesn't know whether it hurt her more to make this person completely anonymous, but she knows that he seemed to revel in the fact that it was her. She'd seen the way he looked at her, she knew that he wanted her. She imagines that the tighter she squeezed her eyes shut, the wider his opened.
He left soon afterward. She'd made it quite clear that this was a one-time thing. She'd ensured it lacked intimacy. When he'd tried to kiss her, tried to touch her, tried for more, a second of eye contac had been follow by a subtle shake of her head, and he seemed to have understood before he redressed and walked away, glancing back at her before he walked out of the door.
She sat at her bedroom window for what must have been hours, wrapped in a blanket from her couch, silently watching cars pass by on the street below, mesmerised by the lights, wondering where all of these people were headed at 3am. The only thing stopping her forgetting she'd just done was the nausea. She stripped the bed, throwing away the sheet, leaving the rest in a heap on her kitchen floor. She'd wash them tomorrow, and decide whether that was enough, or they needed to go too.
She's not sure exactly when she threw up, but she knows it was hours after he left. She remembers how cold the bathroom floor was as she sat there, sobbing. Turning on the shower, she removed her underwear, throwing everything in the trash without even looking. She let the water burn her skin, over and over. It never seemed like enough. She never quite managed to get it all off. To get him off of her. She's often wondered what he did when he got home that night. Did he even take a shower before he climbed into bed with his wife? She's often recalled his disappointment at how brief their encounter was, and wondered if he and Alicia had sex when he got home that night. She manages to push this to the back of her mind, but sometimes she can't even look at Alicia without the possibilty dominating her thoughts.
She knows she'll never forgive herself, but sometimes? Sometimes she hopes Alicia won't forgive her either.