Chapter Text
“Of course, I know you’d rather not come back at all, Ms. Sharma,” Dr. Rhys intones as if it’s funny. Everyone here still calls her by title, though she’s heard patients down the hall addressed by their first names. “But you’ve got a few days away from us, at least.”
Kalinda nods.
“You should be happy. It’s been an amazingly smooth recovery. We’re all thrilled.”
Kalinda nods. Thrilled isn’t the word she’d use for it, nor happy, not really. She doesn’t really care. She’s ready to go home, though, ready for her own bed, Nick-tainted as it is. Most of her life will be Nick-tainted, she can see that now, but she’s ready to shut a door or two between herself and the world. She doesn’t know how Alicia could stand these weeks of it, the constant hovering, the medical professionals and the husband and children and Kalinda herself. Kalinda doesn’t want care. All she wants is silence, a silence without the echoes of gunshots in it.
“It’s Mr. Gardner who will be looking after you?”
Kalinda tries to keep herself from snorting. Will will “look after her” exactly as she’ll look after herself. But it was easiest to keep him on the roster; he’s picking her up, will take instructions from the nurses. She says a thin, raspy, “Yeah.”
He was my husband, Kalinda had to write the second or third time Will appeared in her hospital room. Mr. Savarese.
“Alicia told me,” Will answered. Kalinda looked at him, startled at first, but when she thought about it she supposed it made sense. “We’re doing the best we can to keep it out of it, K. We’ve told them you had a prior relationship. That might satisfy them.”
Everyone she knew on the force, too, knowing about Nick, or Nick in some form. Kalinda didn’t want to think about what she’d been reduced to in their eyes. Frank had stepped in a couple of times, but he was clearly struggling to be professional, clearly confused about how either that or friendship should be done. All it took was Kalinda raising her eyebrows (attempting, she thought, to initiate a conversation) to drive him backwards out of the room.
The day before yesterday Frank ushered in some detectives, two women Kalinda had never met, to take her statement; per Will’s instruction, they offered her a keyboard for it, and she answered their questions, typing as quickly as she could. Will sat beside her, but the investigation seemed by the book; he had very few objections, very little to say. She alluded, calmly, to a “prior romantic relationship” between herself and Nick Savarese, who had been an associate of the deceased in the drug trade; she watched Frank swallow as she said it, didn’t look at Will saying nothing at all. They left, finally, with a, “Thank you, Ms. Sharma, Mr. Gardner, we’ll be in touch,” and Frank closed the door as he walked out, Will sat beside her, touching nothing, saying nothing. Kalinda appreciated it more than she could say. Reasonably, given that she could hardly say anything at all.
“Well, I’m sure that Kenneth will remind him, but—”
There’s a knock at the door. Kalinda’s amused to think that Will has been nodding along to a nurse’s instructions for the last five minutes, waiting it out. She pictures Will’s eyes glazed over as Kenneth, the sweet young nurse who was with Kalinda the first time she woke, explains the cleaning of the scar, the ways Kalinda has to sleep. Dr. Rhys opens the door.
The only thing that could startle Kalinda more than the sight of Alicia, Grace, and Zach Florrick is that after only a second’s hesitation Zach and Grace both rush forward and embrace her. Zach moves first, a little too quickly, but his sister follows almost immediately, rests her head for a second on Kalinda’s right shoulder and whispers into that ear, “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Kalinda meets Alicia’s eyes over Grace’s head, then blinks and looks down. Alicia’s coat is smooth down her right side and flaps from her left shoulder. She’s wearing tailored gray pants and a forest green sweater, and her left arm is in a sling, a hospital contraption of blue woven plastic.
“Alicia Florrick,” Alicia says to the doctor, holding her right hand out for him to shake as the younger Florricks finally step back from Kalinda. “This is Zach, and this is Grace. We’ll be taking Ms. Sharma home.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Dr. Rhys says, though he doesn’t sound pleased and Kalinda’s not sure why. “Kenneth out front has her discharge instructions—”
“Yes, I got them, thank you,” Alicia says.
“Well, Ms. Sharma,” the doctor says, “we’ll see you back in a few days.” Something about Alicia is clearly making him uncomfortable. He doesn’t offer any pleasantries as he exits, which Kalinda thinks is just as well.
“Do you have any stuff here, Kalinda?” Grace asks.
Kalinda doesn’t; anything she had with her was cut off or became evidence, and Will seemed dumbfounded when he brought her the packaged sweatpants and V-neck shirt that she’s wearing now. She shakes her head, and a few strands of hair shake free of the loose knot the nurses assembled at the nape of her neck.
Now that there’s no one to be professional with, Alicia is watching her, her expression one that Kalinda doesn’t recognize. “Grace, honey, Zach,” she says finally, “can you give us a minute?”
“Sure, Mom,” Zach says quickly, and Grace murmurs her own assent. The siblings exchange a look as they exit that makes Kalinda wonder just how perceptive they are, how much they understand about Kalinda and their mother, but Grace still brushes Kalinda’s arm with her hand as she passes.
“They insisted on coming,” Alicia says as the door closes behind her children. “They were there when you called, we used Zach’s phone to call the police and Grace called Peter, you know I wasn’t getting a signal in there, and I know they’ve been …” She pauses, and Kalinda wonders what they’ve been. Alicia shakes her head. “It’s been a lot for them. Anyway. I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”
It was, a little. Kalinda’s not really inclined to be touched at the moment; it took a lot of reminding herself that they were children to prevent her from jumping back. Kalinda shakes her head. She hadn’t really noticed herself getting close to the Florrick children, those days in the hospital, though it’s clear that it happened; she hadn’t really noticed anything but Alicia.
The air thickens around them. Kalinda leans against the bathroom doorframe. She can’t talk, so Alicia will have to.
“You’re in the clear,” Alicia continues, a little quieter. “Your story and mine matched up and all of that matched the ballistics and the—the documentation of your injuries, the medical reports, everything. Enough that they’re not going to look into—your husband, they don’t need to. We made it make sense.” Kalinda looks at her. “They called Will last night, but I think you were asleep when he called you.” Kalinda nods; it wouldn’t surprise her, given how much she’s been sleeping. “So I—wanted to come. I needed to see you.”
Then an expression that Kalinda’s seen too often comes over Alicia’s face, as if she’s looking inside herself, bracing for pain, tucking in all the loose ends. It frightens Kalinda; it’s so often meant that she, too, is going to be hurt. “Alicia,” she says, her voice horribly raspy.
Alicia looks at her. Tucking in the loose ends hasn’t worked; she doesn’t look ready, just raw and furious. She’s staring right into Kalinda; tears rim her eyes, and her tone is cold. “You told me I didn’t have to worry.”
Kalinda bites her lip. Even that movement seems to be straining some small, sore muscle connected to her scar.
“You told me you’d be fine.”
“I am fine,” Kalinda says, though her voice belies it.
“You’re not fine!” Alicia’s voice catches. “You’ve been in the hospital for a week, you’ve been a suspect in your own, you almost—I thought I heard you die, Kalinda! There I was with my children, and I thought I was listening to someone kill you! Do you have any idea what I—”
When Alicia moves towards her, Kalinda backs away, automatically, groping for the wall.
Alicia stops speaking.
Kalinda blinks when she realizes what she’s done, sees hurt and need flash across Alicia’s face. They look at each other, chests rising and falling rapidly.
Kalinda forces a little air into her lungs, forces herself still. She moves towards Alicia again, a tiny step, all she can manage.
Alicia reaches out and touches her scar. The skin around it is still a little raised, still a little hot, or maybe Kalinda’s imagining it.
“Will said you had a tube in here?” Alicia says quietly.
“He hit my throat with the gun. I think you heard that. It wasn’t—by the time I got here I was—suffocating. That’s how they fix it, in an emergency.” Kalinda has no idea if any of that was at all intelligible. It’s also strange to be rambling when she can hardly speak.
Alicia nods, absorbing it. She brushes the back of her hand against the spot, follows the movement up and across Kalinda’s hair. She cups Kalinda’s cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Kalinda murmurs.
“Oh—Kalinda, no. Please don’t.”
Alicia kisses her, awakening a need that Kalinda realizes she had almost, already, forgotten. Alicia kisses her throat, kisses around the scar in a manner both gentle and maddeningly arousing. She kisses Kalinda’s clavicle; Kalinda puts her lips on any part of Alicia she can reach. For a second, it’s all there is. Then Alicia stops and stares at her, looking for something.
“It’s not your fault, Kalinda,” Alicia says, softly. “I didn’t want to say that. I just—need you to be safe.”
“I won’t be, Alicia,” Kalinda says, feeling the words abrade her throat. She pulls back and looks at Alicia. “Not the way you mean.”
“And what way do I mean?”
What does she mean? Kalinda just knows Alicia wants something she can’t offer. When Kalinda cares for someone, all that follows is disaster. People endure horrible damage, terrible pain. But she doesn’t know how to express that. She looks at Alicia, willing her to understand. But Alicia clearly doesn’t. “I killed him,” Kalinda says.
“You had to,” says Alicia.
“I didn’t. Not at first. I let it—I made it so I had to." Too many words; her throat hurts. "And even if—I won’t—be safe for you. You can’t protect me.”
“I know that, Kalinda.” Alicia almost sounds amused. “And you can’t protect me. I’m asking you to protect yourself.”
Kalinda’s gaze shifts to the floor. She doesn’t know what to say.
“And I know you did,” Alicia says. “I just—I was so afraid.” She takes a deep breath, one that seems to blow air around the room. “I need you, Kalinda. Can you understand that?”
“Yeah,” Kalinda says, still looking at the linoleum. She makes herself lift her head, let Alicia see her eyes. “Yeah. I do.”
Alicia waits.
“I need you too,” Kalinda says, her voice still quiet and scratchy but tinged with exasperation; that much, really, should be obvious to Alicia by now. “But if I’m this dangerous to both of us—I can’t—I can’t see you hurt again. By me or—anyone else.”
“You will,” says Alicia. “We both will. It’s what happens. Maybe not like this—” she gestures to both of their injuries, and releases a shaky laugh that Kalinda echoes “—but it happens.”
“I’ve hurt you so much,” Kalinda whispers.
“Yes,” says Alicia. She shrugs her good shoulder, a little theatrically. “And you’ll probably do it again. And I’ll do it to you. And we’ll see what happens.”
Kalinda’s throat hurts, so she doesn’t answer; frankly, she’s counting her lack of voice as good fortune at the moment.
“But, Kalinda. I can’t.” Alicia’s voice is completely different now, almost as throaty as Kalinda’s own. Tears are threatening to spill from her eyes, and her breath is getting lighter, little puffs of air. “When I heard that shot and then—Kalinda, I thought I was going to—going to lose you.”
Then Kalinda is in her arms, Alicia’s hands holding Kalinda’s back as it quivers, there in the blank center of the hospital room. She’s crying, sobs spilling onto Alicia’s shoulder, and she may feel one or two tears falling onto her own hair. “No,” is all Kalinda says, choking it quietly into Alicia’s sweater. She’s not sure Alicia can hear her, she can hardly hear herself, but Alicia holds her close, closer. Kalinda feels the tentative, renewed strength of the other woman’s body surrounding her. Alicia holds her, and holds her, and holds her.
“We’re okay,” says Alicia, her soft voice skimming the tip of Kalinda’s ear, the ragged strands of her hair. “We’re okay.”
Kalinda doesn’t say anything, but after a second, she leans up and kisses Alicia with all the energy that remains in her body. The spark of it is forceful, delicious, starts to fill in the hollow spaces in Kalinda, the places that have emptied in the course of the last week, that the long drive with Bill, her own gun, the memory of Nick, have left in her. Nothing has been this lovely in so long. She slides her hand along the fine gray wool of Alicia’s trousers, presses her hips to Alicia’s, inhales the clean, crisp scent of her jaw. She ignores her tears as her hands explore the curves and turns of Alicia’s body, her lips never leaving the other woman.
She doesn’t want to be without Alicia either.
“Can I take you home now?” says Alicia when Kalinda’s forehead rests against hers. She rests her arms, gently, around Kalinda’s shoulders. “Please, can I take you home?”
Kalinda nods.