2.
They don't say another word as Alicia pulls out of the lot, as she turns onto State. It occurs to Kalinda that a normal person might try to dispel the remaining awkwardness, that she's managed to make small talk with a score of former lovers and there's no reason speaking to Alicia should be any worse. She has not been alone with Alicia in even a conference room for nearly a year now, never mind in a car close enough to touch. She jams her hands into her pockets, her heart beating fiercely enough to rip through the leather.
Alicia's phone buzzes. "Hello?" she says. "Yes. She's here. Everything's fine, Diane. Yes. I'll take care of it. Yes, I look forward to it as well. I'll see you soon." She slips the phone back into her coat pocket, then turns onto Roosevelt.
The drive won't take long, but Kalinda recalls from the many times she drove back from the courthouse with Alicia that this is not the route she takes to the office. Alicia intends to give her a ride home. She wants to protest, say that she needs to get back to work on the jurors—Kalinda's empathy for Lauren Fisher, guilty or not, seems to have increased exponentially in the last several hours—but she's ready for a shower, ready to peel from her shoulders a jacket whose lining is now tacky with sweat. She whisks her eyes sideways to glance over Alicia in wonder, the sensitivity she's shown. For Alicia's sake she wants to tell her not to be so kind, that it's unearned—of course Grace would have come home on her own; aside from Peter Florrick Kalinda cannot imagine who would be fool enough not to come home to Alicia when given the chance—and that Kalinda is no good to the people she's close to, she can only seduce them or make them hate her, and Alicia was wise to get out when she could. For Kalinda's own sake she wants to take Alicia's face between her hands, her lips between her teeth, her thigh between her legs. She wants to see Alicia's face flushed and her eyes rolled back, she wants her unbuttoned. But she would settle for kindness, for peace.
Alicia has been to Kalinda's apartment only once, the night after Kalinda's first grand jury appearance last year. Declaring that Kalinda needed a stiff drink and sleep, she ostentatiously proffered the change-of-address card that Kalinda had given her two weeks before and plugged it into her GPS. Kalinda smiled—Chicago's a grid and she herself could find any address in the city with one hand behind her back, but Alicia was still the suburban housewife, unaccustomed to navigating the city. She found a miraculous parking space a block away and trotted towards the building beside Kalinda, who was still puzzled and shell-shocked by the last few days.
There's a cluster of traffic at Racine, sirens flashing, two lanes of cars at a standstill in front of them, drivers rubbernecking fiercely. "Fuck," Alicia sighs. If they were friends, Kalinda would allow herself a smile at the profanity, but as it is, she still can't breathe right and she doesn't think her face can do that.
Inside Kalinda's apartment Alicia had instructed her to sit, opening cupboards in search of tea and bourbon. Kalinda would not have allowed anyone but Alicia to open a single door, but really, she figured, the kitchen was safe enough. Alicia rolled her eyes at the barrenness of Kalinda's cabinets but fixed her a cup of tea with a shot in it. After both of them had downed a few glasses, bracing themselves for sharing the news with Will and Diane tomorrow morning, they had started to mock Glenn Childs' facial expressions in court, some of Alicia's vocal imitations uncanny. She was wearing a periwinkle jacket and the line of her jaw as she laughed, the line of her shell over her breasts—Kalinda couldn't imagine anything more graceful, more beautiful. Suddenly, awkwardly, Kalinda found her hand against Alicia's cheek, reminding herself of Cary a few nights before. Embarrassed by her lack of finesse, she leaned into Alicia's lips, ran a finger over her stocking.
They pass the knot of traffic and continue up Racine. Kalinda's phone gives a single beep, and she jumps; she'd forgotten it was there. It's Will. Kalinda refuses to add to the tension in the car, so she ignores the call. She'll see Will later—it's likely, in fact, that she'll see him for a drink tonight. She sighs. Or maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight she'll just stay home. Alicia looks over when she hears her sigh, but says nothing, and Kalinda is grateful for the space and wants Alicia pressed against her.
Alicia put her hands on Kalinda's shoulders and pushed her back, her touch light and her fingers electric. "You're drunk," she said.
"Not as drunk as you," Kalinda protested, not sure what she was arguing.
"Don't," said Alicia softly. "Okay?"
Kalinda swept her eyes towards the kitchen cabinets. "Yeah," she said.
"It's not—Okay, Kalinda? Please."
She breathed in through her nose and forced herself to look at her friend, at her enviable stillness, her tailored grace. Alicia looked as calm as she always did, but her face rippled with worry—worry for her, Kalinda thought. Worry about hurting her, even then. "Yeah," she said again. Back then she could make herself smile when she needed to, but back then it was easy to smile around Alicia.
Alicia pulls up to the corner beside Kalinda's building, shifts the car into park, and looks at Kalinda with those same fierce, expectant eyebrows.
"Thanks," Kalinda chokes out again. "For everything. And the ride."
"You're welcome," Alicia says coolly. Kalinda remembers when she was unflappable, when she could maintain the distance and calm now painted on Alicia's face. Now all it takes is Alicia and she's ready to shatter. Kalinda tries to force a smile, but her face still doesn't seem to go that way. She slips out of the car and through her front door, wanting to be nowhere.