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karatamTitle: It's just a simple line (I am displaced)
Fandom: The Good Wife
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Alicia/Kalinda (if you squint)
Word Length: 1250
Summary: She picks it up and twists her hand around to read what’s written on the other side. As her eyed slide over the neat script, her heart stutters in her chest.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS, Robert King and Michelle King. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work of fiction.
A/N: based off a prompt from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dealan311 who also betaed this for me, so a big thanks to her. Title is from 'Displaced' by Azure Ray.
/ /
It’s awkward.
Any interaction they have is awkward now. There are silences filled with things they won’t – can’t – say to each other. There are glances filled with apologies and accusations. They are polite to each other, the veneer of professionalism keeping all those emotions beneath the surface, waiting to lash out.
They used to work so well together, able to finish each other’s sentences and follow half thought out ideas. Now they can’t even figure out who should speak first, who should take which task. They don’t want to depend on each other, because what if something else happens and they fall all over again?
It’s awkward.
But more than that, it’s painful.
It’s not about the sex, not really. Alicia had accepted that Peter cheated on her months ago. She hasn’t fully forgiven him for it, but she has accepted that it had happened. It’s about the fact that it had been kept a secret from her, even as she let Kalinda further into her life. The woman hadn’t breathed a word of it.
And even more than that, was their friendship even real? Or was it all an elaborate scheme to keep the truth from her? If she looked back on all of their interactions, would she see the fingerprints of a cover up everywhere? Is she really so easy to fool? She’s considered idealistic, naïve even, in a field on cynics and pessimists. Was her less calculating view of people taken advantage of?
It is a fear that lingers at the back of her mind, that it was not a betrayal, but a complete lie, that everything from the very beginning is false. It lingers and festers and taints the way she looks at Kalinda, at Peter, at herself in the mirror.
It hurts to be kept in the dark for years by someone she trusts.
Trusted.
/ /
Alicia stands in her kitchen, leaning against the countertop and breathing deep.
The kids are with Peter for the weekend and she’s alone in an apartment meant for a family. It’s big and empty and he’s still everywhere she looks.
She opens up the small refrigerator under the counter and pulls out a new bottle of wine. Grace has been eyeing her lately, but she needs the relaxation more than ever. She pours out a glass, unwilling even while alone to just drink from the bottle no matter how much she wants to. Taking a long swallow, she stares at the wall opposite her, not really seeing, just unwinding.
There’s still work to be done, files to go over and briefs to write. She takes her wine glass and starts walking to her bedroom door before stopping, turning around and going back to grab the bottle as well.
Alicia places the glass and bottle on the bedside table and sits on the bed, shifting to lean up against the headboard. She pulls her bag up onto the bed, undoing the zipper and pulling it open. She reaches inside to grab the pile of folders she brought home from the office, fighting to keep a good hold on all the papers and not let one go drifting to the floor. She places them on the smooth comforter and carefully separates them by case.
Pausing to take another sip of wine, she grabs the nearest file and opens it on her lap. She reads for a while, making notes in the margins and placing tabs on the edge of the paper. She moves methodically through each document, opening new folders when the old ones are finished, the only sound the soft swish of paper shifting against paper.
When she gets to a section that she knows she made notes on earlier, she grabs her bag again and digs through it for one of her many legal pads. Finding it, she pulls it out and immediately starts to flip through it for her notes. She’s so focused she nearly misses the small piece of paper that falls out from between two sheets and floats down next to her leg.
She picks it up and twists her hand around to read what’s written on the other side. As her eyes slide over the neat script, her heart stutters in her chest.
1058 W Washington Blvd.
Her muscles tense up and the paper wrinkles from the force of her grip. She remembers laughter when Kalinda gave her this slip of paper, a gesture of trust that had truly touched Alicia’s heart. She had been certain that nobody but maybe HR had Kalinda’s address, had been allowed to know the locations of Kalinda’s – inner sanctum sounded pretentious, but fitting.
But that trust had been false, a lie to keep her in the dark. Her best friend had lied straight to her face. Somehow, that hurts more than Peter lying.
Slowly, Alicia moves her hand holding the paper to hover over the wastepaper basket sitting on the floor by her bed. Her fingers loosen, but don’t let go.
The paper is evidence.
It’s evidence that maybe it was real, what they had. It’s real and in her hand, with words written in Kalinda’s own hand showing a connection that went deeper than a façade. If it was all a lie, Kalinda wouldn’t have given this much away, not with the way she plays everything so close to the vest.
Evidence must be examined and considered, never thrown away.
She hesitates.
Her friendship with Kalinda had been her touchstone for the last two years, through all the insanity of the appeal, then the campaign, through the turmoil in the firm and her conflicting feelings for Will and Peter. Kalinda had stood by her side without fail, lending a shoulder of support whenever Alicia had really needed it. Kalinda had been the one person she could rely on, no matter what.
The trust was gone, but Alicia can’t let go of that piece of love hidden deep within her chest. Kalinda had hurt her, she had hurt Alicia badly, but that love is still there and Alicia doesn’t know how to make it go away.
And while it remains, she can’t let Kalinda go completely.
She pulled her arm in toward her chest and curls her hand around the scrap of paper, cradling it nearly. Slipping off the bed, she walks slowly to the bookshelf against the wall. Her eyes scan the books, looking for one in particular.
Finding it, she pulls out “Eat, Pray, Love” and opens it to a random page in the middle. She slips the paper in, pressing it up against the spine and closing the book carefully. She holds the book in her hands, staring blankly at the cover, almost wishing that the past two weeks had never happened. Swallowing tightly, she places the book back on the shelf, noting its place in her mind for future reference.
Maybe she’s idealistic, maybe she’s naïve, but she has to keep it. She has to hope that there’s a chance it was real, even if she doesn’t know how they’ll mend the fissure that has opened up between them. Maybe they’ll never bridge the gap, but a lawyer never throws out evidence.
Taking a deep breath, steeling herself really, she turns around and heads back for the bed. She picks up her pen and a brief and determinedly doesn’t look at the bookshelf.
It hurts too much.
Fandom: The Good Wife
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Alicia/Kalinda (if you squint)
Word Length: 1250
Summary: She picks it up and twists her hand around to read what’s written on the other side. As her eyed slide over the neat script, her heart stutters in her chest.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS, Robert King and Michelle King. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work of fiction.
A/N: based off a prompt from
dealan311 who also betaed this for me, so a big thanks to her. Title is from 'Displaced' by Azure Ray./ /
It’s awkward.
Any interaction they have is awkward now. There are silences filled with things they won’t – can’t – say to each other. There are glances filled with apologies and accusations. They are polite to each other, the veneer of professionalism keeping all those emotions beneath the surface, waiting to lash out.
They used to work so well together, able to finish each other’s sentences and follow half thought out ideas. Now they can’t even figure out who should speak first, who should take which task. They don’t want to depend on each other, because what if something else happens and they fall all over again?
It’s awkward.
But more than that, it’s painful.
It’s not about the sex, not really. Alicia had accepted that Peter cheated on her months ago. She hasn’t fully forgiven him for it, but she has accepted that it had happened. It’s about the fact that it had been kept a secret from her, even as she let Kalinda further into her life. The woman hadn’t breathed a word of it.
And even more than that, was their friendship even real? Or was it all an elaborate scheme to keep the truth from her? If she looked back on all of their interactions, would she see the fingerprints of a cover up everywhere? Is she really so easy to fool? She’s considered idealistic, naïve even, in a field on cynics and pessimists. Was her less calculating view of people taken advantage of?
It is a fear that lingers at the back of her mind, that it was not a betrayal, but a complete lie, that everything from the very beginning is false. It lingers and festers and taints the way she looks at Kalinda, at Peter, at herself in the mirror.
It hurts to be kept in the dark for years by someone she trusts.
Trusted.
/ /
Alicia stands in her kitchen, leaning against the countertop and breathing deep.
The kids are with Peter for the weekend and she’s alone in an apartment meant for a family. It’s big and empty and he’s still everywhere she looks.
She opens up the small refrigerator under the counter and pulls out a new bottle of wine. Grace has been eyeing her lately, but she needs the relaxation more than ever. She pours out a glass, unwilling even while alone to just drink from the bottle no matter how much she wants to. Taking a long swallow, she stares at the wall opposite her, not really seeing, just unwinding.
There’s still work to be done, files to go over and briefs to write. She takes her wine glass and starts walking to her bedroom door before stopping, turning around and going back to grab the bottle as well.
Alicia places the glass and bottle on the bedside table and sits on the bed, shifting to lean up against the headboard. She pulls her bag up onto the bed, undoing the zipper and pulling it open. She reaches inside to grab the pile of folders she brought home from the office, fighting to keep a good hold on all the papers and not let one go drifting to the floor. She places them on the smooth comforter and carefully separates them by case.
Pausing to take another sip of wine, she grabs the nearest file and opens it on her lap. She reads for a while, making notes in the margins and placing tabs on the edge of the paper. She moves methodically through each document, opening new folders when the old ones are finished, the only sound the soft swish of paper shifting against paper.
When she gets to a section that she knows she made notes on earlier, she grabs her bag again and digs through it for one of her many legal pads. Finding it, she pulls it out and immediately starts to flip through it for her notes. She’s so focused she nearly misses the small piece of paper that falls out from between two sheets and floats down next to her leg.
She picks it up and twists her hand around to read what’s written on the other side. As her eyes slide over the neat script, her heart stutters in her chest.
1058 W Washington Blvd.
Her muscles tense up and the paper wrinkles from the force of her grip. She remembers laughter when Kalinda gave her this slip of paper, a gesture of trust that had truly touched Alicia’s heart. She had been certain that nobody but maybe HR had Kalinda’s address, had been allowed to know the locations of Kalinda’s – inner sanctum sounded pretentious, but fitting.
But that trust had been false, a lie to keep her in the dark. Her best friend had lied straight to her face. Somehow, that hurts more than Peter lying.
Slowly, Alicia moves her hand holding the paper to hover over the wastepaper basket sitting on the floor by her bed. Her fingers loosen, but don’t let go.
The paper is evidence.
It’s evidence that maybe it was real, what they had. It’s real and in her hand, with words written in Kalinda’s own hand showing a connection that went deeper than a façade. If it was all a lie, Kalinda wouldn’t have given this much away, not with the way she plays everything so close to the vest.
Evidence must be examined and considered, never thrown away.
She hesitates.
Her friendship with Kalinda had been her touchstone for the last two years, through all the insanity of the appeal, then the campaign, through the turmoil in the firm and her conflicting feelings for Will and Peter. Kalinda had stood by her side without fail, lending a shoulder of support whenever Alicia had really needed it. Kalinda had been the one person she could rely on, no matter what.
The trust was gone, but Alicia can’t let go of that piece of love hidden deep within her chest. Kalinda had hurt her, she had hurt Alicia badly, but that love is still there and Alicia doesn’t know how to make it go away.
And while it remains, she can’t let Kalinda go completely.
She pulled her arm in toward her chest and curls her hand around the scrap of paper, cradling it nearly. Slipping off the bed, she walks slowly to the bookshelf against the wall. Her eyes scan the books, looking for one in particular.
Finding it, she pulls out “Eat, Pray, Love” and opens it to a random page in the middle. She slips the paper in, pressing it up against the spine and closing the book carefully. She holds the book in her hands, staring blankly at the cover, almost wishing that the past two weeks had never happened. Swallowing tightly, she places the book back on the shelf, noting its place in her mind for future reference.
Maybe she’s idealistic, maybe she’s naïve, but she has to keep it. She has to hope that there’s a chance it was real, even if she doesn’t know how they’ll mend the fissure that has opened up between them. Maybe they’ll never bridge the gap, but a lawyer never throws out evidence.
Taking a deep breath, steeling herself really, she turns around and heads back for the bed. She picks up her pen and a brief and determinedly doesn’t look at the bookshelf.
It hurts too much.
