Three days passed and Tracey sat on her couch in her apartment filled with darkness, watching the rain slide down the window. Each drop shon with the radiance of the city, blinking as cars passed and glowing from the constant street lighting. Tracey was curled into the corner of the couch, feet underneath her, head propped up on one hand. Her normally vibrant curls fell about her pale face lank and dull, mirroring the condition of her heart and mind, framing the lost look that graced her features. For three days she'd been nursing a broken heart, trying to put herself back together each night in the safety of her apartment, and for three days, it was smashed to pieces every morning when she saw Kelly, heard her name or caught the scent of her perfume lingering in their office. She wasn't just hurt. She was angry, frustrated, tired. Tracey would cry but she had no tears left inside her. And the city seemed to be doing well enough by itself.
The morning after their painful exchanges, Tracey had been reluctant to even go in to work. She didn't want to face Kelly. She didn't want the awkward moments, the humiliation of anyone else figuring out what was separating the winning team. She didn't want to hear any more lies. She didn't want to know what Kelly was planning for her next. She'd spent most of the previous night crying in their office, letting the hurt play out in her shaking body. She'd collapsed onto the couch after an attempt at leaving, fresh tears springing to her eyes and new pain slashing across her heart. She laid there sobbing until her throat gave out and she grieved in silence.
At around 12:30 am, she pulled herself together enough to slip on her coat, wipe away her tears and go home. After a short taxi ride filled with tension that only she felt, Tracey unlocked the door to her apartment, praying faintly to find it empty and devoid of any trace of Kelly. It seemed that God was on her side as Kelly was nowhere to be found and Tracey opened the closet door to find her luggage gone. Filled with relief, Tracey hung her coat up on the hook by the door and proceeded to enter the kitchen and locate a bottle of Scotch. Methodically, she selected a glass from the cupboard and poured herself a drink. She gulped it down, enjoying the burn in her throat, a feeling she'd craved since she'd flagged the taxi down outside the office. A burning unassociated with tears. Quickly, she poured another and the alcohol ran down her throat a little smoother than the first. Tracey had continued to empty the bottle until 3 am when she made her way to bed, stumbling down the hall, wincing as she landed on her hip and the scent of Kelly hit her. She fell asleep with tear drops at the corners of her tired eyes.
She had awoken 4 hours later with a headache and a dry throat to the harsh chirp of her alarm clock. She batted at it heavily, amazed she could even manage that, until the piercing noise ceased. She lay there, sprawled on her Queen sized bed in the clothes she had worn the day before, trying to figure out what to do.
She decided, against her better judgement, that she'd have to drag herself out of her alcohol induced haze and face the day. Tracey Kibre did not take a sick day for a hangover, much less some office dispute. Because that was all it was to the rest of her colleagues working for the DA. No one knew that it went much deeper between Kelly and herself than the outwardly visible. Well, maybe not. They weren't always subtle. Several times, they'd had to hastily reorganise and replace items of clothing and return to their desks, scanning documents or sipping coffee, before granting entrance to Salazar or Ravell and one time, Branch. Remembering Kelly's hand slip out from under her skirt, the blonde winking at her before taking a file from the intoxicated ADAs inbox, feeling empty without Kelly's touch, Tracey shuddered and hauled herself out of bed. No reminiscing, Kibre.
Tracey moaned as she moved into the bathroom and flipped the lights on. Damn… the whisky had really done a number on her. Her head beat an unsteady but constant rhythm and it honestly felt like the world had caved in on top of her skull. Keeping her eyes only half open, Tracey crossed the bathroom to turn on the hot water in her shower. As steam filled the room, the tiny brunette pulled off her red sweater and dark slacks, making short work of each layer, and stepped into the shower recess. She gasped loudly and groaned as the hot spray lashed her body. Tracking the waters constant, changing path down her body, Tracey began to feel a little more human.
Twenty minutes later, she was dried, dressed and half way through her first cup of coffee. Usually her coffee machine at home was purely for use late at night when she was working. This morning, Tracey was determined to be on top of her game from the moment she entered the DAs office. While inside she was still bleeding, Tracey knew that she had to at least appear calm and in control. For herself, for her team … even for Kelly, she thought. Checking her watch, Tracey gulped down the last of her coffee and took a deep breath, walking to her hall mirror. She checked her reflection once more, casting a discerning eye over her neatly tamed curls and flawless make up. Only just satisfied with what she saw, Tracey blinked once and turned to pull on her coat, brushing her ringlets over her collar with one hand. Scraping her keys across the hall table, the small brunette bent to gasp the handle of her briefcase and felt her shoulder groan with the effort of lifting the slight weight upwards. No matter how professional and everyday she looked, Tracey thought, her joints sure as hell remembered the half bottle of Scotch that still trickled languidly through her system, toxic to the last. Tracey almost swore off alcohol then and there, leaving her apartment. But she knew that surviving the next few days, weeks, months… required some sort of self medication.
Thirty minutes later, Tracey stepped through the swinging doors to the bull pen and glanced quickly around, releasing the air she held in her lungs in relief, not seeing a single blonde head amongst her subordinates. Gathering herself, she walked brusquely to her office door, slipping off her coat and hanging it just inside the doorway. Tracey swung her briefcase onto her desk and scanned Kelly's for a sign that she'd been in already. There was nothing out of place, nothing that wasn't there last night. She cringed inwardly at the memory of her screaming tears, the slicing hurt filled hours she'd spent in the office that night. Her head started to thump the familiar, unsteady rhythm against her temples. Making a disgusted noise and lifting one hand to push her palm against her head, Tracey picked up her white mug and left to get coffee.
"Hey Tracey!" The tiny EADA twisted her neck a little too sharply and mentally berated herself, not outwardly showing any discomfort. Tough as nails. Blinking several times and reminding herself to just I look /I like she was going at a regular speed, Tracey continued towards the coffee machine, followed by a cheerfully strident Hector. "Have you seen Kelly this morning? She's meant to be meeting a witness with me." Tracey slammed her mug down on the counter and Salazar checked himself at her forcefulness. She paused a moment and picked up the pot, pouring the steaming dark liquid into her abused mug.
"No, I haven't seen her." Tracey glanced and Hector and caught his confused expression. Sighing, she turned and began to head back to her office. "Have you checked her mobile?" Hector followed her, keeping just behind her, like a puppy dog. Tracey forced herself to be civil. She was liable to shout at someone who mentioned Kelly too much in conversation. She was trying to avoid the issue and Hector wasn't helping.
"No. I'll try her now." He stopped at her office door as Tracey moved ahead, circling her desk and dropping into her chair. She took a moment to contemplate the darkness of her drink before swallowing a scalding mouthful down. It was bitter and tasted awful. This was why she went out for coffee. Gloomily, she congratulated herself on not thinking of Kelly for a whole ten seconds. A useless exercise.
"She's running a little late. I'm gonna pick her up at her apartment. We won't be back till around lunch. Is that ok?" Hector swung around the door and paused, eying Tracey cautiously. She looked up at him, considering an answer. The whole morning. She'd been granted at least four hours grace. Thank God. She closed her eyes for a moment, sending up her prayer. She opened them and gave Hector a curt nod.
"Fine. I'll expect that revised statement by 3 pm." Hector nodded in return and left the office. Tracey sighed and swallowed half of her remaining coffee, ignoring the taste and the temperature. She was being an ogre. And surprisingly, she did care. The fact that she was an emotional train wreck didn't seem to erase her sense of duty towards her team. She was happy she spoke to Hector, though. Ravell was likely to make a smart ass remark and she really would have snapped then.
She placed her coffee carefully next to a photo of the victim of their latest defendant, the teacher of a bright 17 year old boy with blue eyes and dark hair that had been bludgeoned to death in an alley behind a games arcade and now stood smiling for the camera on Tracey's desk. Looking at the photo, she felt that resolve that came with the fight for justice well up inside of her, not pushing her other emotions aside but dominating them, using them. Determined to make her difference, Tracey reached for her legal pad and a black biro, screening images of far more familiar blue eyes from her mind.
Sighing, Tracey leaned back in her chair, scanning the formerly neat desk now strewn with witness statements, evidence logs, photos and financial records as well as pages and pages of her own, neat script. Mess, she thought with tight, quick smile, wasn't always bad. Not when she was moving that fast. Tracey craned her neck forward, back and then side to side, ignoring the somewhat ugly cracking sounds. She then gathered up a few select papers, picking some out from piles and others from beneath her long empty coffee mug. Shuffling them and tapping the pile squarely on the edge of the desk, she stood and went to grab her coat. She had decided early in the morning that she would not be present when Kelly returned that afternoon. She knew it was childish to avoid her partner, delay the inevitable, but she had a wounded heart to protect and if she didn't save herself, no one else would. No, she couldn't handle seeing Kelly. Not today.
Patting her coat pocket to check she had her wallet, Tracey left her office and walked quickly across the bull pen to Branch's door. Tapping twice, she waited for the gruff "Come in." before pushing the door open. The DA sat behind his oak desk, his reading glasses on, peering over a typed sheet of paper. He looked up as Tracey entered, acknowledging her presence, and his eyes returned back to the page. Tracey was used to think sort of offhand treatment and leaned forward to drop the pile of pages neatly in front of her large, Southern superior.
"These are my notes on the Friar case. There's the few solid leads we have with documentation, a sheet of discrepancies Salazar and Ravell need to review and the front page is just an overview of our starting position." Tracey listed the documents she'd just handed over to Branch. He looked up again, an amused glint in his eye and gestured to the pile of paper.
"And if you skip every second word it's a letter of resignation and a suicide note?" She cocked an eyebrow in a very unamused manner, vaguely recognising the reference to an old comedy show that played reruns at 11 on cable. She chose to ignore the display of humour Branch had blessed her with, obviously rather proud of himself, and continued.
"The last page is a list of references I need Kelly to look up when she gets back. Cases we could cite, legal subclauses … could you give it to her when she comes in?" Branch frowned. He'd never known Tracey to ask him to correspond with any of her staff for her, especially Kelly. She always seemed to go to particular trouble to keep in close contact with her partner.
"Why can't you give it to her?" He asked, giving an annoyed edge to his voice. He found that if he flustered whoever he was talking with enough, they would get straight to the point. Embarrass them a little, make them feel slow. It wasn't a nice tactic but it worked. Hell, he was DA, wasn't he? But Tracey Kibre was no ordinary civil servant or scumbag defence lawyer. She didn't bat an eyelid at the tone of his voice.
"I'm going out. I need to check a few things with Homicide, return some files and ask some questions. The usual. I'll grab some lunch on the way." She shrugged, her tone casual and vaguely final, as if there was nothing more he needed to know and could she go now please? She added the lunch comment because she knew Branch had a tendency to worry about her working too hard, forgetting meals, sleep, things like that. He really was a big softy inside. She wouldn't tell, though.
"Make sure you do, Ms Kibre." Branch warned, looking at her over his glasses. Pausing for a moment, he nodded towards the stack of papers. "I'll give it to her." Tracey gave a small, thankful smile, grateful he hadn't asked further questions. She could feel that he knew more than he said about her and Kelly. Not about their relationship outside of work but just about their partnership in general. She'd never worked as well with another ADA and he could tell. He wasn't always an insensitive ass.
"Thanks." She turned on her heel and left the office, closing the door behind her. Branch's eyes stayed on the glass pane of the door for a moment before turning back to his reading.
As Tracey stepped out of the state's record department, she looked both ways before turning right into the street, allowing herself to be swept along the pavement by the swarming pedestrians. The swell of people wrapped in their scarves and coats were agitated by the wind that had blown up and moved quickly, paths crossed and jerking. Tracey didn't notice. She was contemplating the complete idiocy of the Homicide detectives. Their cataloguing of evidence was so shoddy that she'd be surprised if anything made it into court. She would never be able to build a case on what they had given her. And that evidence were her best chance… She'd need some extra time for Salazar and Ravell to come up with something new.
Being pushed along the street by the people around her, Tracey felt her stomach growl it's displeasure. When she'd left Branch's office, she hadn't felt much like eating. She couldn't decide whether it was the liquor she'd consumed less than 12 hours ago or the idea of seeing Kelly that day. She'd been overwhelmed by the thought earlier, consumed with an ache somewhat greater than her fear of further conflict, and now felt the anxiety creep up upon her once again. The courage the whisky gave her, the brief resolve, had disappeared as soon as she had left her apartment that morning. She had no desire to see Kelly again. Not even the regular urge that came like an addict's need to score, that feeling that tugged at her stomach, naturally, constantly searching for Kelly's presence. Even that had gone.
Now all Tracey felt was hunger. She looked up, registering her surroundings and noticed the fiery red neon of the Krispy Kremes sign half a block away. Shrugging, she pushed through the slowing tide of people and made her way to the door, pulling it open with one hand. Immediately enjoying the relief of the indoor heating, Tracey scanned the shelves. Confronted by so many choices and a growing line behind her, the small brunette stepped up to the counter after the young man before her grabbed his bags and left. Hesitating a moment, a little slower than usual, she ordered a plain doughnut with chocolate icing. As the smiling girl with her red hair in a pony tail placed the bag on the counter, Tracey handed the money over and picked up the sugary snack, skirting the other customers as she pushed the glass doors open.
Out in the cold, with the blistering wind tugging at her coat, she turned quickly down the street as she pulled the iced confection out of its bag. Startlingly hungry, Tracey bit into it, savouring the sweet taste and the give of the dough beneath her teeth. She finished the saccharine lunch in under a minute, feeling full and satisfied. Not seeing a trash can anywhere, the brunette balled the bag in one fist and shoved it into her coat pocket. Looking up at the building she was passing and not recognising it, Tracey stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi. A yellow cab screeched across one lane and stopped beside her. She wrenched the back door open and dropped onto the seat, slamming it behind her. Tracey dictated the address of the DAs office, on autopilot, and leaned back into the seat. She could still taste a certain sweetness in her mouth. As her thoughts wandered to who she might meet back at the office, the taste on her tongue turned sour.
Tracey entered the bull pen to find it completely empty. A Spanish cleaner named Marie exited Branch's office as she passed. She was older than Tracey and had laugh lines on her bronzed face. She smiled at the tense ADA and greeted her with a lyrical 'Hola' and a wave. Tracey smiled back, always touched by this woman's friendliness, and nodded her greetings back.
"Hola, Marie." The cleaner smiled again and pulled her trolley from Branch's office, crossing the bull pen and pushed the doors open. Tracey continued into her office, feeling a little lighter after the encounter. She spoke with Marie in her stilted Spanish whenever she stayed late at work and enjoyed listening to her playful laugh and jokes at Tracey's attempts at linguistic grace. She was a truly simple, happy person. Today especially, Tracey was grateful that she knew her.
It was a little after 5 pm and no one was left in the office. This surprised Tracey somewhat but she didn't have the energy to wonder why. She was just happy that she was spared the sight of Kelly for a whole day. It was miraculous, really. Incredible. God must have been on her side, she thought, checking her desk for notes left by her team. There were a few typed pages crossed with Kelly's neat script in corners and margines. Tracey leafed through the pages, stopping at the last, her eyes catching several notes crossed out and scrawled across the page. The writing was shaky and faulted, not like Kelly's at all. In fact, it looked like that last page had been written by someone else entirely. Tracey frowned and dropped the sheets of paper back onto her desk. Whatever it was, Kelly wasn't her problem any more. Kelly's work was her responsibility. Nothing more.
The next day was much the same. Tracey came in, dreading the sight of her ex-girlfriend, and was relieved to find her out with Ravell this time. Sparing only a moment to wonder if Kelly was avoiding her or simply getting on with her job, Tracey buckled down and worked like she hadn't done since her bar examinations. She attacked two separate defence lawyers over the phone, reducing even the most hardened of the briefs to jelly with her ferocious arguments. Branch passed her office as one of those calls ended and retreated without saying a word, seeing the state Tracey was in. He was becoming highly suspicious of his senior ADA and also of her partner whom he had seen the day before looking nervous and scattered, peering around corners as if avoiding someone and snapping at junior aides constantly. He decided to ignore it for the time being, hoping that he was imagining things. He would be extremely displeased if one of the best teams he'd ever had working for him got all cute and broke up. For whatever reason.
At 12:30, when Tracey was just contemplating getting something to eat between rounds with the defence and paperwork, Kelly walked into their office. Tracey sat still in her chair, like a wild animal sensing danger, her eyes trained on Kelly's. Her partner looked haggard; her clothes were immaculate, her blue shirt and slacks clean and straight, but her eyes were tired and she had deep, dark circles underneath them. She stood in the doorway, watching Tracey for a moment before stepping forward. Tracey was sure she had lost more weight. Kelly looked frail and sick, her skin pale and her shirt too big. Tracey felt the old feelings for Kelly well up inside her and nearly voiced her concern to her partner but managed to stop the words before they left her mouth. None of her business.
"We have a suspect to reinterview at Sing Sing." Kelly said quietly, her voice gravely and rasping. She cleared her throat and her eyes fluttered. She breathed deeply for a moment and then looked back to Tracey, still sitting in her chair. The older ADA regarded her for a second, hostility plainly written on her face, mixed with something else.. something less tangible to Kelly. Tracey nodded and stood quickly, picking up her briefcase and heading towards Kelly who stepped aside while her partner grabbed her coat. Kelly followed Tracey out without speaking.
"I don't have time for this, Mr Jameson!" Tracey thumped the metal table with one hand. The man sitting opposite her looked a little alarmed but maintained the slouch and stupid grin that most guys in orange jumpsuits with a cocky lawyer wear. Tracey huffed and shot an accusing glance at Kelly sitting beside her. She'd hardly said a word throughout the interview and nothing in the ride to Sing Sing. Tracey was thoroughly pissed off by the idiot of a masked murderer wannabe in front of her and Kelly wasn't helping. Sickness, or whatever the hell it is, was no excuse for slacking off in an interview.
"Just tell us what you know and maybe the DAs office can cut you a deal." Kelly's soft voice interrupted Tracey's irritable stream of thought. The con looked her over salaciously and licked his lips. His eyes caught on the top button of her shirt.
"How about you cut me a deal, baby?" He drawled, winking in a way that disgusted Tracey nearly as much as the photos of his ex-girlfriend lying on her kitchen floor, her throat slashed. She was about to snap at his brief to shut him up when Kelly leaned forward with a speed that startled Tracey and the prisoner and snaked her arm out to grab his wrist. The lawyer sitting opposite them jumped in alarm.
"Listen to me, you worthless piece of shit. If you don't tell us exactly what you know about Caroline's sister's whereabouts, I will personally see to it that you are placed in a cell with the biggest, most frustrated son of a bitch rapist in the block. And when I say big, I am not just talking about the size of his muscles, you hear me?" Kelly lowered her voice delivering the last of her threat and dug her nails into the perps wrist until he shouted in pain.
"Ok, ok! She's in my apartment. Tied to the bed. She's only been there a couple of days. Fuck, let go of me!"
Only then did she release her grip and lean back in her chair while he nursed his wrist. Stunned, Tracey noticed that Kelly had drawn blood.
"Fucking bitch…" Billy Jameson cursed, glaring daggers at Kelly who sat coolly, if a little silent, in her chair. As his brief began to protest about his client's rights, Tracey recovered enough to stand up, retrieving her briefcase from the floor.
"I think we're done here. Call us when your client has decided to cooperate more fully." Tracey headed for the door, followed by Kelly who seemed a little off balance but still radiated anger. They heard the nearly teenaged whine of Billy's voice and the hushed tones of his defence council as they left the interview room.
In the ride back to the office, neither woman said a word. Kelly looked dog tired, occasionally rubbing her temples but never letting her head drop in front of Tracey. Her partner watched her critically, trying to decide if some sort of action should be taken. She'd called Hector and Chris already to tell them where to find the missing girl and, with that taken care of, was left to study the woman sitting beside her. Kelly was behaving extremely strangely and Tracey couldn't decide if it was helping or hindering their case. She was tempted to ask, if somewhat sarcastically, whether she was alright or not. But she reminded herself that it was none of her business. Kelly was none of her business.
The day after Kelly's attack on their defendant, Tracey came in early to find her partner already at her desk. She hung up her coat and retrieved her coffee mug from her desk without saying a word to Kelly and nothing was said when she returned with a full cup of the black liquid. As Tracey sipped her coffee, she watched Kelly reading something from a plain beige folder. Her partner was leaning her head in her hand and looked as if she was barely staying awake. As Tracey drained the last of her coffee, Kelly closed the file and tossed to over onto Tracey's desk.
"What's this?" The older ADA enquired, flipping the folder open and reading the first few lines of the front page. Kelly blinked heavily and paused before answering.
"It's our new case." She turned back to her desk and pulled out a not pad which she began to write an address on from a sheet of paper propped up in front of her. Tracey looked up sharply, annoyance crossing her face.
"Why didn't you give me this earlier?" She asked, anger evident in her voice. Kelly didn't look up as she wrote, the task seeming laborious and slow. She answered, her voice deliberate and unconcerned.
"You were busy." Tracey glanced at her coffee mug and snorted in disbelief, slapping the file against her desk.
"This is much more important than coffee. Cases come to me first, Kelly." Her partner finished writing and looked up, dismissing Tracey's anger with a shrug. This only pissed her off more. "Don't just shrug at me. I'm your boss, Kelly. Don't forget that!" Kelly stood, ripping the paper f the white writing pad and folding it, creasing it with her nails.
"You are not my boss, Tracey. You don't own me. Stop being such a self righteous bitch." Kelly almost shouted. She turned to grab her coat off the back of her chair and stormed out of the office. Tracey stood, glowering and followed her. As she reached the door, Kelly was already leaving the bull pen. Tracey growled and nearly stamped her foot. That's when she saw Branch standing in his office door. He looked even more irritated than her.
"Ms Kibre, a word." He called to Tracey. She stormed into his office, trying in vain to calm herself down. He may be a Southern prick but calm down, Tracey told herself. She had no desire to be fighting with her boss as well as her partner. But she was still burning with anger.
"I'll be blunt, Tracey." Branch said, closing the door behind him. He rounded his huge oak desk and sat down behind it. He turned his attention to her. "Something is wrong between you and Ms Gaffney, anyone can see. Now I want to know what the hell is affecting our clear up rates. Because the State does not have time for whatever the hell you two are pulling." Tracey sighed in frustration and bit her lip.
"I don't know what you mean, Arthur." Branch snorted and raised his eyebrow.
"The hell you don't! I heard that little exchange you just shared, along with the rest of the staff, and I am not impressed. You should know better. You're the EADA here, Tracey. Set a damn example!" Branch brought his fist down on his desk. Tracey stood shocked. He'd never accused her of not behaving professionally before. She set the standard. And now he was chewing her out for being a bad role model for all the pathetic aides they had running around.
"I haven't done anything wrong here, Arthur! Where do you get off telling me how to behave?" Tracey stormed.
"I am your boss, Ms Kibre. And if you ever want to make it to DA, you'll learn to respect the position. Now, we have a case that needs serious attention and you are behaving atrociously. Kelly has been working herself sick. Is there something you haven't been telling me?" Branch asked, giving Tracey a dangerous look. She narrowed her eyes.
"I don't know what you're implying…"
"Cut the crap, Tracey. Have you opened your eyes and actually looked at your partner in the last few days? She's pale, she's not eating. I don't even think she's sleeping any more. I don't know what you have been doing to her but…" Tracey cut Branch off, enraged that he would try to pin Kelly's state on her.
"Now hold on, Arthur! Kelly's health has nothing to do with me. If she's sick, then she's sick. You think that I've been putting too much pressure on her? If you would stop thinking about your political stance by hiring more female ADAs then…" Branch stood, shouting over Tracey.
"That is it, Tracey! You will not disrespect me any more today. Go home. We need everyone here to be working properly on this case and you are not helping. You need to go home and cool off. Do not come back until you have sorted yourself out!" Tracey was stunned and angry. She stood for a moment in from of the Southern DA, fuming and then turned, opening his office door and slamming it behind her.
That was the morning and now Tracey sat on the couch, still watching the rain. Having time at home, all day to think, the anger had melted away with the rain and now all Tracey could feel was the pain she had been burying in work for three days. She could feel her heart ache and every beat was an effort. She didn't want to think any more. She didn't want to remember. She cursed Branch for the thousandth time for sending her home to think. Damn him.
In the dark of her apartment, the phone rang. The sound was loud and alien. It startled Tracey out of her reverie and she picked up the receiver at the third ring. Before she could answer, she heard Branch's voice, strangely anxious.
"Tracey. Don't talk. It's Kelly. She's collapsed at a crime scene. They've taken her to hospital. Tracey," Branch's voice softened and in her panic, Tracey nearly missed the consideration behind his words, "I thought you should know."
