A/N: I'm working on a much more involved fic, but this one hijacked my brain in the meantime. Thanks to my dear shipperatheartrealistbynature for the gracious lookover. :-*


It's Will Gardner, of all people, who first puts Kalinda's feelings out there in the world.

They're at the annual winter holiday party, and he catches Kalinda watching Alicia (she looks lovely in red, always) from across the room. Kalinda's been drinking – just a little – and maybe that's why she isn't as careful as she should be, to keep from getting caught staring.

Will sidles up to Kalinda, and he stands beside her shoulder-to-shoulder by the wall for a silent moment before saying quietly, "I know you have feelings for her, but… I wouldn't go and do anything stupid."

Kalinda's momentarily surprised that Will has seen it – it's not like she wears her heart on her sleeve – but then she remembers that he has the insight of a man who desperately wants a woman, and feels possessive of her; he can smell an interloper from a mile away. Then, she's just amused that he is so bold.

She chooses the course of coyness. "You think I've already fallen for an older straight married woman… and you're telling me not to do something stupid now? If you're right, then I think you're a little late with the warnings."

He gives her a small smile; their arms brush as they lean back against the wall. "I just don't want you to get hurt, is all."

"Considering your history with the person in question, you'll have to forgive me if I don't credit you for selfless concern."

Will always acts confident, whether he feels it or not (fact: he usually feels it). It's something they share in common. It's perhaps a testament to their mutual respect, that he gives her this one. "Fair."

She's done well to be noncommittal, but some small defensive part of her speaks up. "It's not like that."

This gets a chuckle. "I think that's my line." He nudges her with his shoulder before moving on to mingle. "Take care of yourself, Kalinda."

She likes Will most of the time. But irrationally, right now, she hates him with everything inside of her, for reminding her of how ridiculous she is.


Alicia sometimes calls or emails her after long days of painful research of evidence and reports and photographs and depositions, and asks her if she wants to have a drink. Kalinda always forces herself to wait at least an hour before responding, distracting herself with any and everything until the arbitrary time limit is up.

Responding right away feels pathetic, somehow.

Of course, waiting feels pathetic, too.

She hates feeling pathetic. Sometimes she turns Alicia down – it's punishment for making her feel uncomfortable.

It's just friendly disappointment she hears in Alicia's voice, at the rejection. Has to be.

She wishes she could stop reading into things.


Alicia wishes she could stop reading into things, but sometimes there are moments she swears there's… something.

Like the time right before court when Kalinda tells her, "Wait, your lipstick's smudged."

Alicia glances around wildly for a reflective surface; there are only a few minutes before the session begins and there's no time to go to the restroom.

"Here. Don't move."

Kalinda takes a step closer; reaches out and traces the cool, firm tip of her thumb around the perimeter of Alicia's mouth. Her face is very close, focused with single-minded intensity on Alicia's lips.

Alicia is frozen. She feels dizzy, almost nauseous on heightened awareness and excitement.

Kalinda's eyes switch upward; meet Alicia's.

"There," Kalinda says.

And she steps back. Gives a reassuring smile, before heading back to sit in the gallery.

Alicia's heart hammers. She's pretty sure this reaction isn't a normal one, between friends. And she's pretty sure it's also not normal, after calling or emailing a friend for a drink, to check your phone or email account compulsively during each between-work break for a reply.

She feels pathetic.


Part of controlling people and situations is acting like you already believe you do control them; another is looking the part. Kalinda's appearance and style of dress is purposely provocative. People do things for you more often, when they find you attractive.

She wonders if Alicia thinks she's attractive. She doesn't know why it matters.

But a part of her knows exactly why.


Alicia takes care of herself, and she is blessed with genes that give her height and slenderness and soft, pale skin. People usually think she's pretty.

She wonders if Kalinda thinks she's pretty. She doesn't know why it matters.

She just doesn't want to know.


Alicia's never improper, even when she's relaxing a little; the most Kalinda has ever seen is a little silly, a little pouty – a little flirty.

Of course, when it's just "a little," it's difficult to tell if that's what it is, at all.

Women sometimes smile at each other; compliment each other. Sometimes they touch your arm gently to get your attention; lean in a little too close after they've had a few drinks, so you can smell the mint scent of the mojitos on their breath.

It rarely means they want to kiss you.


Kalinda's nicer to her, than she is to most people they work with. Alicia's seen how Kalinda talks to others - her tone is always professional, sometimes respectful, but often almost dismissive. But when she's with Alicia, she allows a trace of softness in her voice, and her face. The closest Alicia's ever seen Kalinda be to gentle, is the rare times they're discussing personal matters.

Alicia doesn't want to think too much of it. She knows Kalinda likes her. Platonically. Sisterly, maybe.

But just because someone's nice to you, rarely means they want to kiss you.


Alicia has this life. And this history. And none of it points to the likelihood of her ever considering someone like Kalinda a romantic prospect.

Every fantasy Kalinda has had of kissing Alicia ends with Alicia pulling away with regret and sympathy in her eyes – telling Kalinda she's flattered and thinks she's a very nice woman, but she just doesn't have those feelings for her.

It horrifies her. She can't stand the thought of Alicia pitying her, thinking her the poor young thing who probably never had a stable adult role model, and is now looking for a surrogate mother in the form of an older, married woman.

It will always be a better idea, to just be friends.


Alicia prefers all her relationships to be on equal footing. It bothers her that she will always need Kalinda more than Kalinda needs her – because Kalinda doesn't need anybody.

It makes Alicia uncomfortable, the thought of Kalinda knowing. She imagines Kalinda rolling her eyes at another repressed, curious straight woman lusting over her and thinking she has feelings just because Kalinda is hot. And Alicia hates it. She hates the thought of Kalinda pitying her.

She'd rather have Kalinda's respect as a friend, than her sympathy as… whatever else.


Kalinda knows people, but she's certain Alicia's more intuitive than her. Alicia's got that empathy thing going on; she can slide into someone else's shoes as easily as her slippers in the morning.

One of these days Alicia is going to figure her out.

That day is anticipated, dreaded, and feared. If anybody makes a move, it has to be Alicia.

Kalinda takes plenty of chances, but with people, not on them.

She hates herself for even entertaining the idea of something that's obviously so impossible. When she does entertain it, her stomach flutters in that way she's always associated with weakness. That doesn't make it any less exhilarating.

There's no way Alicia could ever think about her this often.


Alicia's smart, but she's certain Kalinda's smarter than her. Kalinda's mind moves quicker and sharper; perhaps a plus side of being unencumbered by myriad moral dilemmas.

One of these days, if she hasn't already, Kalinda's going to figure her out.

Some days, Alicia wishes it would happen faster. If anybody makes a move, it has to be Kalinda.

Alicia prides herself on being bold, but she has no idea what these feelings mean, or what she's doing, and she's not that reckless.

But she feels so stupid – even for the fantasy of it. She needs to forget about all this.

There's no way Kalinda thinks about her even a quarter as often as Alicia thinks about Kalinda.


And still they find themselves at the bar together after a particularly brutal court loss, morosely sipping at piña coladas because Kalinda lies and says you can't feel sad when you're having fruity drinks. After this they'll probably switch to whiskey.

"You ever just want to… do something crazy?" Alicia asks, and it seems an idle question. She's not slurring yet, but her voice is slow and thoughtful.

(Hope's a funny, flighty thing that doesn't care about reason; it makes Kalinda's pulse speed up.) "How crazy?"

Alicia shrugs, twirling her paper umbrella through her fingers. "Leave notes for everybody telling them to fend for themselves for awhile. A message for Will and Diane to reassign any pressing cases. Hop a flight to Bali and just melt onto the beach for a week because really, that's the place to be having drinks like this."

"If you leave notes and messages, it's not that crazy," Kalinda points out. "Move there, change your identity, and never come back, we'll talk.

Alicia just shakes her head ruefully. (Because their ideas of "crazy" are something else that will never match up.)

They drink in silence for a few moments, in their own heads.

Then Kalinda says, "If you call the travel agent, I'll go pack my swimsuit."

(Alicia knows Kalinda is humoring her; that doesn't stop her from wondering if it means something.)

They exchange wry smiles, and suck down their drinks to numb the frustration and pain of losing.