Written for Sweetjamielee's The "Plan B" Summer 2013 TGW Ficathon Prompt: Kalinda/Alicia: ' I wish I had known you back then.' What if Kalinda (or Leela?) had met Highland-Park-Alicia, what would have happened?

The doorbell rings.

It never rings at this time, not on a Wednesday.

Caught mid-sip, I glance upwards, towards the master bedroom.

Nothing.

Not that I'd expected anything else. Peter only staggered home a few hours earlier, barely managing to get to bed before going unconscious.

There had been a time when merely skipping one night's sleep, no matter how much stress he'd been under, would not have been a problem.

Just another sign that neither of us are getting any younger.

Not that our fast-growing children aren't sign enough.

Still, undressing him as he lay on the bed had been... almost pleasantly nostalgic, in its own way.

The doorbell rings again.

I get up, quickly, but not so quickly that I risk spilling my drink, then head to the front door via the kitchen, so I can put my glass in the fridge and pop a mint.

Not that there's anything wrong with drinking wine in the afternoon, of course.

But, as a politician's wife, appearances are everything.

And a rumour, however unfounded, that I liked drinking a little too much...

Well, it could be unfortunate.

Better not to take the risk.

The door opens to reveal a woman, unsmiling, unfamiliar, on my doorstep. She's dressed professionally in a pantsuit, though the rucksack she's holding in one hand offsets that impression a little.

It's not hard to guess that she works for Peter.

But not a lawyer, I think. She doesn't quite have the look of one of us.

Us.

Look at me.

Even after all these years, I can't help thinking that way.

Though I haven't worked professionally in... more years than I care to remember, the part of me that identifies that way still clings stubbornly to life.

The pretence that I'll ever go back to that life is probably why I still keep my accreditation current.

'Just in case.'

The woman's eyes flick over me disinterestedly, before returning to my face. "Is your husband in?" she asks. Her tone is polite enough, but contains the same dismissive undercurrent that I've come to know and expect ever since Peter started his political career.

Expect and loathe.

But expect nonetheless.

And, just like I always do, I force all of this as far under the surface as I can, and smile brightly. "He is, but he's asleep at the moment. How important is this? Can I take a message?"

And if my smile is slightly fake and slightly plastic, well...

She's only one of Peter's subordinates.

And probably not even a lawyer at that.

"There's been some developments," she says, hefting the rucksack a little, seemingly unconsciously. "He wanted to be informed as soon as anything happened."

"Is this the Cragg case?" I ask. Not that I could imagine it being anything else, given the hours he's been devoting to it.

She hesitates, her gaze sharpening, before she nods. "Yeah. That's it."

He may only have gotten a few hours' sleep, but...

"I'll see what I can do," I say, then, "What's your name?"

"Leela," she says. "Leela Tahiri."

"Please, come inside to wait whilst I go upstairs."

It's not that I want her inside, but I couldn't exactly leave her loitering on the doorstep.

It simply wouldn't do. Especially as the kids would be home soon, and someone might *see*.

Appearances, as ever.

I can see her eyes flickering around as I lead her to the sitting room, but it's hard to tell what she thinks beneath the surface.

"Please, take a seat," I say. There's a range available, from plushly appointed chairs to a sofa that stretches half the length of the room.

She doesn't, apparently preferring to loiter on her feet near the centre of the room.

I pointedly *don't* offer her refreshments, but I'm not sure she even notices.

It's only when I'm halfway up the stairs that I even wonder when that kind of slight had become the type I'd started using.

Now *there* is a depressing thought.

Peter's hard to rouse, but all I have to is say the words 'Cragg' and 'Leela Tahiri' once he's semi-conscious to have him struggling out of bed.

"Would you like me to put some coffee on?" I ask him.

He looks blearily up at me. "Thanks," he says, before drawing me into a kiss that's more perfunctory than passionate.

Such is life.

Such is our married life.

A calm rock of stability that we build our lives around.

A castle built of one moment mortared to the next, each almost identical to the last.

Excitement, in my experience, is *vastly* overrated.

By the time that I've made coffee and returned to the sitting room - mug in hand - the rucksack is open and its contents spread across the coffee table. Peter, still looking distinctly rumpled, is rubbing his eyes whilst asking Leela questions in a sleep-roughened voice. He gives me an absent smile as I place the mug in front of him, on top of a coaster.

Normally this would be my signal to withdraw, to leave my husband to his business. Be a good little political wife, at least in front of outsiders.

Today...

Well, it isn't as though he hasn't discussed the details of the case with me. Used me as a sounding board, as he often does.

And it isn't as though Leela is exactly an outsider. She works for him. And it quickly becomes apparent that he trusts her enough to be an investigator, on this case of all cases.

And, well, he *is* still tired and his mind can't be functioning on all cylinders.

It wouldn't be right to just leave him here, by himself.

In case he missed something.

So I stay, and I listen, and I question, and I comment.

Peter throws me a few surprised looks, but, well, he doesn't say anything. Not yet, not in front of Leela.

And it might just be Peter is sleepy. It might just be that it's easier, coming from the outside, not being bound up by stress and all the peripheral concerns that a State's Attorney has to take account of...

But I do manage to come up with a few new angles, a few things that it appears that no one else has thought of before.

And if Peter isn't the only one who throws me a surprised glance or two...

If *someone else* in the room just stares at me for a moment as I can almost see her reassessing me...

Well, it just goes to show, Ms Leela Tahiri.

Sometimes even housewives shouldn't be overlooked.

And when the meeting is over, when Ms Tahiri has been thoroughly debriefed and given new instructions, when she has been escorted to the door and, vanquished, had it firmly shut behind her...

I return to the kitchen, finish off the glass of wine I left there and pour myself another one for good measure.

Really, the whole thing has left me feeling far more pleased with myself than is at all appropriate.

Still, that doesn't stop me milking it for every ounce of satisfaction that I can.

It's a few months before the final nails are put in the coffin of the Cragg case.

There's a party afterwards, to celebrate, and, of course, I'm expected to attend, as an ornament on Peter's arm.

And, of course, I'm abandoned halfway through, so Peter can talk serious business, far too serious for me to be included in.

So, like any good political wife, I make the rounds. There aren't many people of importance here, though, and chatting with them doesn't take long at all.

And those of Peter's subordinates sufficiently high up for me to actually approach don't know me, don't *want* to know me, as more than their boss' wife who gives them a quick word and smile on occasions such as this.

Duty done, I do my best to fade, glass of champagne in hand, and try to look like I'm engaging without actually doing so.

A woman approaches me. Neatly dressed, her hair tied back.

Vaguely familiar, with an echo of irritation.

But, really, that could be so many people here.

"Mrs Florrick," she says and it's the *voice* that finally pushes me into full recognition.

"Ms Tahiri," I greet her. I'm maybe not... quite as sincere as I would be with someone more important.

But our last meeting still stings, in remembrance, and I can't help letting that colour my response.

Still, the *polite* thing, the *done* thing would be for her to ignore it.

If she even noticed.

So I'm completely unprepared for her laugh with just the right hint of ruefulness, "I guess I deserved that." Her eyes glint. "I'll certainly make sure not to make *that* mistake again."

I play with the stem of my glass for a moment, but decide not to let her off the hook *quite* that easily. "What mistake?" I ask, faux innocently.

"Underestimating someone in your position," she says bluntly. "So, you're a lawyer?"

And maybe it's the way she said it, in the present tense, without guile or the condescension that had so marked our first meeting.

Maybe it's the way she actually just said what she was thinking, unlike anyone else I've met this evening.

Or maybe it's another thing entirely, less immediately identifiable.

But *something* makes me relax, makes me do my own re-evaluation of Ms Leela Tahiri.

Maybe she isn't so bad after all.

So I nod, and incline my glass slightly towards her in acknowledgement. "Was it obvious?"

"Only slightly," she says, and, again, there's that hint of humour. She pauses thoughtfully, before continuing. "You seemed to enjoy the exercise."

She's clearly probing. But maybe honesty deserves some in return. "I don't get to practise much these days."

"You've pursued other options?"

I shrug, and take a drink. "I don't have enough time to do a proper job of being a mother as well as pursuing a legal career." I'm surprised at how hard it is to keep a note of bitterness from my voice. It isn't as though this hadn't been my choice, to take some time off when we'd discovered that I was pregnant with Zach. And, afterwards, well, with Peter's political ambitions, it had just made *sense* for me to stay home, to support his career.

Not to mention doing a far better job of raising the kids than my mother had *ever* managed.

And, certainly from a monetary perspective, it hadn't been a bad choice. Especially if Peter's slow ascent towards the post of governor, and then to senator, bore fruit.

I really have no right to feel like there's anything absent from my life.

It's... undoubtedly just a phase I'm going through.

A mid-life crisis of sorts.

"At least you have some time to yourself, now that both your children are at school."

"Yes." My response is flat, even to myself.

There's another of those thoughtful pauses. "I could do with a consultant," she offers, almost tentatively.

I raise an eyebrow. "A consultant?"

She shrugs. "On my cases... it's sometime useful to have an outside perspective."

I can't help laughing a little. "I'm the wife of the State's Attorney. I'm *hardly* an outside perspective."

"You don't think the same way they do. In the same boxes."

"Okay, that's what you get out of it. What's *my* incentive in all this?" I ask, smiling wryly.

She tilts her head, considering. "I can't pay you on my salary. So... I'll give you a good reference?"

I laugh again. It's a ridiculous offer, and from the gleam in her eyes, Leela knows it. She's an investigator, not a lawyer, not anyone a firm would ever listen to.

But...

On the other hand, it *would* be nice to use my brain again, use my lawyering skills again *now* rather than 'sometime in the future.'

And I guess it wouldn't hurt to have someone who might become a friend outside the usual social circuit. Someone I can talk with about things outside the usual patter, the usual social inanities that make up my life whenever I talk to the other housewives.

"Well," I say. "I'll see if I can fit anything into my busy social schedule. But I usually have a gap around three."

It's the hour that's become my 'me' time.

The hour that I can just retreat from the world.

The hour I can savour a single, solitary glass of wine before the children come home.

But, on the whole, this might be almost as good for me.

A change is as good as a rest, after all.

And, if it doesn't work out, it's not like I'll have problems breaking any engagements.

"I'll bear it in mind," Leela says.

The next morning, away from the party, when my head has had time to clear, things are a lot more ambiguous.

Leela probably doesn't *actually* intend to follow up on her inquiry - it was obviously just a way to defuse a potentially career-limiting problem with the boss' wife.

And, to be honest. it worked.

I have to give her that.

Besides, if she does contact me, I can't help thinking that will mean that things will actually change.

A sheer change.

A phase change.

Not just the result of one small thing building on another, the smooth line that has been the path of my life for... for longer than I like to think.

But an actual discontinuity.

It's probably just as well, I think, as one day becomes two, becomes four, smoothly accumulating into a whole week, then two.

Who knows how well I'd be able to cope with that kind of thing these days, anyway?

So it's two weeks and one day when she actually phones me, and asks me if I'm free today, if she can come over, consult with me.

"I think I have something you might be interested in," she says.

The moment has the feeling of a precipice, of the banks of the Rubicon.

It's within me to refuse, to just say that I'm too busy. But, instead, I open my mouth, take a metaphorical step forward and say "Yes. Of course."

A few hours later has me bent over the dining table. Rather than the usual sparse decoration, open books and documents are spread over its surface.

I can see by now why Leela wants to consult with a lawyer - an investigation of this complexity is going to be a legal minefield. Especially if this actually gets to a trial.

Of course, she could ask for help at the State Attourney's office.

Probably even should.

But, doubtless, the lawyer assigned at this stage would be resentful of the use of their time - even if it did make court, doubtless someone further up the food chain would take charge of it at that point.

And, besides, this way Leela gets to look like more of a miracle worker.

Something that I can't imagine is lost on her.

Still, for once, the circumstances are to my benefit.

My mind hasn't had a workout like this - not even having Peter, or another, more current lawyer, to rely on for some of the finer points of law - since...

Since I had a real job.

And Leela, too, is something of a discovery.

She's clearly not had much in the way of a formal education.

But she's quick and willing to learn, biting her lower lip absently as she writes notes almost as quickly as I can talk in an orange notebook.

Her writing, from the glimpses that I manage to catch of it, is somehow messier than I'd imagined, a sprawling mix of cursive and print, filling up each page until nothing more can be squeezed on it before she flips over to the next.

It's actually with a jump that I hear the front door open, the loud sounds of Zach and Grace entering the house tearing across the world I've been constructing since she arrived.

For a moment longer, I'm still a lawyer. Then, with a wrench, I'm just a mother and a wife again.

Leela looks up sharply, eyes wide, tensing a little.

"It's just my kids," I say, obscurely feeling the need to reassure her.

Her eyes slide towards mine, and she nods.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, and make my way towards the source of the noise.

The rambunctious presence of Zach and Grace dispels whatever... unease was left after the abrupt transition, and, with a polite smile, I dismiss the man Peter hired to transport them to school and back.

In years past, I had undertaken this task myself.

It's apparently not the done thing, though, for the wife of someone in Peter's position.

And so a driver was hired.

And I had one thing less to occupy my day with.

Greeting the kids, listening to the stories of their day and generally getting them at least a little settled takes five minutes.

Maybe ten tops.

But by the time I get back to the dining room, Leela has gone, taking her documents with her.

And the only sign that she was ever there is all the open textbooks.

She returns the next day, though.

A knock at the door a few minutes prior to three, and there she is standing on my doorstep, notebook and bundles of documents in her arms.

"Good afternoon," I say.

"Hey," she says, and hesitates on the threshold, not entering, clearly awaiting permission.

"You left without saying anything yesterday." My tone is mostly mild, but with an undertone of steel.

I don't make it too obvious, though. She seems too smart to miss even a trace.

She doesn't. "Sorry. Figured you wouldn't have time once your kids came home," she offers cautiously.

I look at her levelly. "And if you're seen by Zach or Grace, it might get back to Peter?"

Her mouth curves slightly. "That too."

I leave her waiting for a moment longer - no need to make it too easy on her - before continuing. "Then I guess we've got work to do."

Her relief is muted, but palpable.

It's about an hour in when I really get to the meat of the investigation. Rather than just commenting on what Leela is legally allowed to do to pry further at this or that aspect, I start hitting the documents - which were notably *not* here yesterday - that address the core of what the investigation is about.

I look up at Leela to find her watching me silently with large, slightly tentative eyes.

"You didn't just want me here as a lawyer, did you?"

She doesn't reply, just keeps on looking at me.

Because this... this is a case that has the potential to blow wide open if mishandled.

And it also explains why Leela isn't getting much in the way of legal help from the office.

Because if this goes critical, anyone remotely involved is liable to find themselves out on the street, accused of 'over-reaching their authority.'

One bad apple, and all that.

I can't help wondering what Peter is thinking of.

I can't help hoping that it's not just theatre, playing games with people's - Leela's - career for the purposes of scoring political points.

"You also wanted the politician's wife as well," I say.

"Is there a difference?" she asks.

I can't help laughing, though it doesn't seem funny at all.

Because, yes is my first thought. Yes, there is a difference. As a young lawyer, I always wanted to do the good cases, the ethical cases, make life better for people using the sword of the law.

And because, no is my second thought. No, there is no difference at all. The mind that advises Peter on how to approach his campaigns, that helps keep him from missteps in his career is almost exactly the same part of me that was trained in law school.

"And I also thought at first that you might have prompted him to give me this case," Leela suddenly blurts out before looking like she can't believe that she just said that, apparently having taken my response a different way to how I'd intended.

Which is...

Well, possibly not completely unfair.

But at least untrue.

In this case.

"I'm glad we've got that sorted out," I say dryly, then sigh. "I'll see what I can do."

Leela sags a little. "Thanks."

I bend back down to start looking at these papers again.

Because this case just got a lot more interesting.