She's not late. The chimes from clock tower in the Plaza have barely faded into the night when she arrives. 7:00 on the dot.
He's already ordered a glass of wine for her. It's sitting on the table, right across from him, in front of an empty expectant chair. Everything is ready. All she has to do is walk through the door, just go inside and take that place he's prepared for her. She can almost picture the smile on his face when he sees her.
So why is she watching from the window?
"Eli turned you into a saint... You're the best of us... always been the good girl... I'm stuck being the good one... the cleaners of other people's messes..." She hates the battery of praise in her head, so she does what she's been doing all day where he's concerned: she talks to herself. "It's one drink. Why is that a problem?" But just like the rest of her day, it's a sad, almost pleading voice. And her body is already facing away when she asks the real question: "Who am I being faithful to?" And it's at that point that her feet start walking.
For the first 10 steps or so, she wants to turn back. Until her feet are flexing against the asphalt in the center of the cross streets and she realizes she's not such a saint after all- she's double jaywalking. She hadn't even looked both ways before she'd stepped off the curve, so there.
After that, the urge to turn around lessens with each step. She wanders for a few blocks, oddly unafraid for being a pretty woman in expensive looking clothes alone in downtown after dark. Unsure of where she's going... until her heels ring on familiar tiles. And her hand presses a button in an elevator car she's ridden in before.
With each floor that dings, she lets a new excuse to leave run through her head. There's no way he'll be home. He's probably still working. Or out having a drink. Or maybe home and not alone.
She could call. It would be the easiest thing in the world to get back in the elevator and ride it down, wait in the neutral space of the lobby and see if he was free. If he is, she can say she's in the neighborhood, check her email a respectable amount of cover time before heading up. If he isn't... he'd never know where she was.
But she knocks. And when Cary opens the door, he looks pleasantly surprised to see her. He's clearly just gotten home. Jacket shed, shoes off but socks still on, tie nowhere to be seen, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up. But he looks alone... until she hears soft music playing inside. But there's no accompanying laughter, no female voice calling out "Who is it, Cary?" He just seems... alone.
He watches her, that little tip to his head like an inquisitive puppy. He's not mad, just curious and maybe a tad concerned. But he doesn't say anything, just opens the door a little wider and steps to the side. But when she moves, she doesn't step in. She clears the threshold and turns into him, arms wrapping under his, securing around his ribcage. His are wrapped around her in a heartbeat, comfortingly tight across her shoulders in a brief hug- until she straightens back out of it again.
"Was I... disturbing you?" She's still hovering inside the doorway, suddenly a bit shy, ready to flee if he needs her to.
"You never disturb me, Alicia." The reply is warm, and he moves one arm to ease the door shut.
"Oh. Well were you... doing anything?" She'd taken her gloves off downstairs, and her hands are already working her coat buttons. He slips behind her to help her ease out of it before he answers. "Just some work, but I can do it later." Her head turns and their eyes catch over her shoulder.
"Cary-" but a noise inside cuts her off. Oh, God. Her eyes snap shut for a second and she starts to pull away, trying to tug her coat back on and reach the door at the same time. "Oh, it... I'm-"
But he stops her with a hand around her wrist and tugs her back to face him. "Ah, ah, ah," he admonishes, and she's reminded of his lilting string of 'no's back at the office that morning. "It's the TV. It's absolute crap and if you tell anyone I watch it, I'll deny it, but... it's just the TV." He divests her fully of her coat and hangs it up out of reach before he speaks again. "You wanna watch with me?"
She nods, face relaxing into a soft smile as she says, "That sounds nice. What were you going to do for dinner?" She asks as she slips off her heels and follows him toward the living room.
He scratches the back of his head, pondering the light in the kitchen. "Uh, I think I've got some leftovers... or something." She's shaking her head with a grin as she gets out her phone and wallet and orders from Burt's: Classic Chicago deep-dish, with Cary's favorite toppings, salad and garlic bread. She refuses to let him pay even half, saying she'd crashed him and at least this way she knows he's eating.
They settle in on the sofa with crisp salad, steaming pizza and icy beer- even though Cary keeps at least 2 bottles of her favorite red on hand- and watch Cary's show. It's that strange procedural Grace had gotten her into, and she comments that she was watching it earlier. He pesters her for clues about the killer, but she refuses with a laugh, telling him to work it out himself. After the reveal at the end- "the brother? Are you kidding me?"- they let it run to the next program, an old comedy they're both surprised to find the other likes.
Her feet are tucked up under her, one side pressed against Cary's solid frame while she sips at her second beer. There are no kisses, no tight embraces- they don't even have an arm around one another. But it's nice. The fullness of good food, the occasional fond word, mixed laughter, companionable silence... it's the most relaxed she's been all day. Cary ends up with a bit of pizza sauce on his shirt, and she wipes the smudge in the corner of his mouth away with the pad of her thumb before demanding he hand it over. She takes it to the kitchen and performs first aid with some club soda while Cary heads into the bedroom, emerging a short time later in pajamas. He offers her something more comfortable too, but she's alright. Really, she's good.
They work together for an hour, then she sends Cary to bed. He tries to argue, saying he has to get the Donaldson brief done, but she puts her foot down. "You looked after me today; it's only fair I return the favor."
He rolls his eyes with that little smirking grin of his. "You always look after me, Alicia. That's sort of what today was about..."
She ponders this while she shrugs into her coat, that little smile playing around her mouth. "Well, that's what makes us such good partners- we take care of each other." He steps in, arms circling her but keeping a bit of distance between so he can look her in the eye.
"Yeah. Yeah, we do." Her hands slide up his arms to his shoulders, going around his neck as they hug. It's content, simple, friendly- despite the fact that they both close their eyes- and lingers a few minutes before they break apart. Alicia places a hand on Cary's cheek and leans up to press a kiss to the other. He turns a bit and her lips end up right in the corner of his. Their eyes meet and hold a while as they part again, that silent communication they share passing back and forth like arcs of electricity.
She clears her throat a little before murmuring a good night and stepping to the door. When she's safely in the hallway, she turns back to look at him: one hand on his hip, forehead resting against the door edge, an unreadable expression on his face. "Good night, Alicia," he finally says and closes the door between them.
A/N: wasn't sure why, but I just had this thought that when she didn't go in the bar, she'd go to Cary's. so she did.
hope you liked it. whether you did or not... you know the drill. thanks for reading.