A/N: I wrote this pre-Ham Sandwich!gate; did a few edits afterward so that Kalinda's POV would hopefully still work in context. And figured I'd better post it NOW before another episode airs and canon blows something ELSE out of the water that we presume to know. So HERE. *throws fic at you and runs away*

Spoilers: 2x14, oblique references to 2x17

It's after midnight; the bar is packed.

Kalinda Sharma is alone in that crowd, becoming well and truly drunk.

She should be more careful, stay more alert.

But even drunk, she's got it together more than most sober people. And she's tired of the hypervigilance and the paranoia. Her self-preservation instinct is strong, but so is her pride.

Let him try to find her. Let him try to hurt her.

Tonight she'll be too numb to care. Instead of danger, she's thinking about kissing. Although in some cases, these are the same things.

She thinks of Burton, whose provocative words and mouth she liked, but she liked his intel better. Of Donna, the angry press of her mouth punishing Kalinda for leaving, for breaking her heart, for not being domestic. Of Lana, saying come work for me, tempting Kalinda with berry lips and the unsubtle implications of what accompanies her proposition. Of Blake, the brush of his body against hers and the dark games they play feeling stimulating, but not as satisfying as the crack of her bat against his ribs.

Then, Cary.

It's always a game, in one way or another. And Kalinda's always the winner.

Another shot is delivered in front of her – one she didn't order. She raises her eyebrow at the bartender, who nods at the guy three barstools down. Turning her head, she sees him looking at her with a smarmy grin and a tip of his drink.

She turns back to the bartender, says a few words. Seconds later, there are two more shots in front of her. She takes them smoothly, one after another. After setting the glasses back on the bartop, she wipes her mouth, pushes the untouched gift shot aside, and fixes her would-be suitor with a withering look.

His grin disappears.

She's not in the mood for more games tonight.

"That's quite a collection you've got there."

Swiveling her head, Kalinda sees Alicia, who looks too elegant for this place even in her t-shirt and jeans. She's referring to the shot glasses on the bartop in front of them, scattered and lit colorful in the neon bar lights, like a child's marbles.

If she were on top of her game, Kalinda might manage a cute or clever response. But she's not, and she resents that Alicia always seems to appear, in one way or another, when she's thinking about kissing. "Sort of a late night for you," she says instead, pointedly. Alicia should be home with her husband and kids (sometimes people with cute daughters and sweet little wives do bad things, Kalinda had told her once, as if Alicia didn't know; but for someone who should be so wounded and guarded Alicia could be so, so trusting); not in a place where she'll have to wash her clothes twice later to rid them of the scent of smoke and desperation.

"I called you a few times."

Kalinda pulls her phone from her jacket pocket and observes the three missed calls that she had ignored for the past hour as they were vibrating away. "So you did." Her eyes flick back up to Alicia's. "Just because Courtney goes tattling to you doesn't mean you're responsible for me."

She'd seen the young administrative assistant here about an hour ago, and knows without a doubt she's the one who alerted Alicia to Kalinda's presence. She could almost hear that call now… "Mrs. Florrick? I hate to intrude on her business, but Ms. Sharma's at the bar alone and looks like she's drinking a liiittle too much…"

Sure, she hates to intrude.

"She didn't even come over to say hi," Kalinda adds with scathing and false offense. She knows Courtney is half-scared of her. "Not very polite."

"I just wondered if you might want company," Alicia replies in conciliation, always the diplomat. It's the tone she uses to soothe difficult clients and perhaps her children, and Kalinda is very irritated with her for being here and concerned and lovely.

Tilting her chin just a little, Kalinda urges her closer with a lower tone. "Guess what?"

Taking the bait, Alicia eases forward slightly. "What?"

"Cary kissed me."

Alicia raises her eyebrows. "He did." It's not a question, and doesn't invite further discussion, but Kalinda ignores that.

"You know why?" She leans in conspiratorially, the liquor interfering with her spatial skills enough that her lips practically brush Alicia's ear. "Because he wants to fuck me."

She pulls back, sees the uncomfortable look on Alicia's face and doesn't care. She wants Alicia to be uncomfortable.

"Maybe he actually likes you," Alicia suggests, and Kalinda snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Because you know, Cary always has the most selfless intentions," she scoffs. And that she does feel a little bad about, because she does actually think Cary gives a shit about her - is probably more selfless with her, than he is with most people. But he'll never be free of agenda, and she knows that, too. No one is, or will ever be.

"Lots of people want to fuck me," she adds on a whim, but not. "They… they want things from me. And sometimes when I want things from them… I'll do it. I'll fuck them."

There is a flicker of some foreign emotion on Alicia's face – Kalinda's read is off, obscured in the smoky bar, but she definitely sees displeasure, or distaste. Maybe judgment, but Kalinda's feeling bold, and decides that somewhere in there is jealousy. It's gone in a flash, traded for something more determined. "Come on. Let's go. I'm driving," Alicia says. She pulls out her wallet from her handbag and signals at the bartender for Kalinda's tab. Who says that chivalry is dead?

The urge to pick at that chink in Alicia's armor is sudden and fierce. She has to be as bad as the rest, of course, somehow and someway – Kalinda hasn't found that way yet, but she wants to, and sex is power and an excellent way to gain access to a person's darker side.

"What do you want from me, Alicia?" she queries. She sees her reflection in the mirror on the backbar – sees the mischievous glint in her own eyes, the unmistakable flirtation in the way she's leaning forward. This tone, this look, this act – she's used it dozens of times, on women and men, and even when she's drunk it's polished and slick and nearly always successful. "It's always something."

Alicia looks at her steadily, refusing to be intimidated by her aggression. It's admirable, really. "I want to take you home…"

Kalinda smiles a little bigger at the suggestion.

"…Where you can sleep this off."

It makes sense that Alicia would be a tougher than average nut to crack. But Kalinda doesn't shy away from challenges when she's sober, and she's never felt more reckless. She pouts prettily; swings her knee to press against Alicia's thigh.

Their faces are very, very close once Kalinda leans in, and now, no matter how drunk she is, she's sure she knows the look on Alicia's face – curiosity and desire and hesitation. "Question," she whispers, persuasive, blowing tequila-scented breath over Alicia's lips. "If I kissed you… would it be better than with Cary? Better than the others? Would you kiss me back?"

She wants Alicia to either do it, or run away screaming, but nothing in between. Kalinda's life has been about extremes for so long now that she has no idea what to do with the in between.

Alicia's not backing down, and for a thrilling second Kalinda believes that it's going to be the former, which is really the more pleasant of the two options anyway. Her heart beats faster because she finds this part stimulating – sometimes using and being used aren't all bad, and she has a feeling that with Alicia, 'not bad' would be very, very good.

Alicia first answers the question by breaking their eye contact and turning, slapping money down on the bar. Then she swivels back and delivers a firm and distinct, "No," before taking Kalinda by the wrist and pulling her gently but decisively off the barstool.

Kalinda makes a displeased sound that's lost in the din of the bar. She stumbles a little, no longer so graceful on the spike heels of her boots, and Alicia tucks an arm around her waist so they can maintain the brisk pace, weaving through the maze of the other patrons.

Kalinda hates the support. She's now resentful – enraged, even – and imagines shoving Alicia away; Alicia with her soft hands and expensive perfume and confusing eyes. Trusting and patient Alicia, who refuses to be as bad as everyone else.

This isn't the script.

But she is past the point of a little drunk; has ignored her limits, and the consequence is that she can only follow this woman who is clearer and more surefooted than her. Follow her outside into the chilly night, to the parking lot where Alicia is opening a car door for her, urging her inside.

"Put on your seatbelt," Alicia tells her, once she's in the driver's seat and the engine has turned. Boston belts from the speakers, too loud, telling them it's more than a feeling before Alicia turns down the volume.

Kalinda just fixes her with a baleful look until it seems like if she doesn't follow the instruction, Alicia might just lean over and do it herself, as if Kalinda were a small child.

The ride is silent but for the music. Kalinda wishes she'd never given anyone her change of address form; it's better to be a mystery, even if it means that if you disappear, no one will know where to look to find your body. She wishes even more that she'd never met anyone with the last name 'Florrick.'

Alicia's no rings in her ears.

"Thanks," Kalinda says shortly once they get to the parking lot of her new home sweet home. She flicks off her seat belt and opens the car door. "I'll see you on Monday."

But Alicia is turning off the engine, unbuckling too. She's following on Kalinda's heels. "I'll see you up."

Kalinda isn't the only stubborn one here, but she's the coldest. She strides up the stairs, a little clumsier than usual, but without a glance back. She's excellent at heating things up, but better at the freeze.

Depending on Alicia to shut the apartment door behind her, Kalinda heads straight for the bathroom where she takes off all her clothes but her camisole and panties, throwing each discarded piece harder than necessary onto the tiled floor. She's usually neat, but tonight the mess is satisfying, and she doesn't bother to pick up the pile before giving her face a cursory wipe with makeup remover and stalking back out into her bedroom.

Alicia's still there. There's a glass of water on the nightstand, and the covers on the bed are turned down.

"Go home," she tells the woman sitting in the leather armchair across from the bed. Kalinda passes in front of her on the way to the bed, uncaring of her own state of half-undress. It's nothing Alicia has never seen. Nothing she wants to see.

She doesn't understand it… how Alicia could not want to kiss her, not want to fuck her - but still be here? What's the point?

Kalinda downs half the glass of water before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up high over herself. Turning on her side, away from Alicia. She can show herself out.

The springs on the bed give to the weight of the person settling down beside her. She feels a tentative hand on her arm, overtop the blanket.

"You know why I said no?"

Kalinda blinks at her wall. Alicia continues without permission.

"I'm not going to undermine our friendship. I'm not going to kiss you because you're drunk and angry and trying to prove a point. And I'm also not going to do it because you're pretty and I'm… curious." Kalinda can feel the jiggle of Alicia's knee that accompanies the admission, and she hears her sigh. "If we kissed, it would have to be because we liked each other. And that's it."

This isn't computing. Kalinda's liquor-fuzzy brain attempts to wrap around the concept and she finds that it can't. She can't. She turns finally, facing the woman hovering over her and searching for a clue as to what this means.

Alicia is studying her too, huge brown eyes playing over Kalinda's face in the dim light. "What?" she asks, at her flummoxed expression.

Kalinda pauses for a long moment. She feels drunk and unclear and guilty, always so guilty. "I don't remember what that's like," she finally says, slowly. "Kissing someone… just because you like them."

She hates that she admitted it. Hates Alicia's look of sympathy. Kalinda wants to tell her not to feel sorry for her – that Kalinda's kisses with people have likely earned her a hell of a lot more than Alicia's ever have. But she knows if she does, Alicia will hear the jealousy in her voice, and the defense – so she stays silent.

Suddenly, she feels very, very tired. The room is doing a lazy turn, and it makes her want to close her eyes.

A soft hand cups her cheek; smooths over her forehead.

"Sleep," Alicia whispers. She stands, and the light turns off.

Before everything fades to black, Kalinda hears Alicia on the phone.

"I'll be home in the morning. I have to look out for a friend for awhile."

When she wakes up, her head is buzzing – not in the good way. A person shouldn't feel so shaky while she's lying down. She rolls over, limbs feeling like dead weight.

Alicia's curled up in her armchair, afghan pulled over her body.

Kalinda manages to fight back a groan at having been babysat all night; is not as successful when she struggles to a sitting position. Her pained vocalization wakes the woman in the chair, whose eyes spring open and blink confusedly for a few seconds before coming into focus, and awareness of where she is.

A soft curse, and Kalinda moves to swing her legs over the side of the bed. But Alicia is in action mode now, even as her voice is still hoarse with whatever sleep she managed in her uncomfortable position.

"No, wait. Just stay still for a minute." Alicia gets up and shuffles from the room.

Kalinda rubs her eyes. Presses her fingers to her temples. Remembers what happened last night, what was said, and feels very, very awkward.

"Here." Two small white capsules are pressed into one of her hands, and a new, cool glass of water into the other. "Take them, and drink the whole glass. It'll make you feel better."

She isn't feeling awake or well enough to be contrary. She tosses the pills to the back of her throat and gulps once, twice, then stares at the glass, knowing full well it can't take the worst of her pain away.

Alicia watches her quietly.

"You didn't have to stay here. I would have been fine." Kalinda's voice doesn't sound familiar to her own ears now, after years of training it to the proper tone, the proper accent.

"I know you would have been. I wanted to."

Kalinda hesitates. There's embarrassment that feels like an itch, maddening. She has to work with this woman.

More than anything else she wants from Alicia, she wants her respect.

Her forgiveness.

"I'm sorry for…"

"Shh." Alicia settles in beside her, overtop the covers. Leaning back against the headboard, she puts an arm around Kalinda and pulls. Yesterday's clothes still hold a mixture of her perfume and the faint scent of smoke from the bar.

For a second Kalinda resists, because that's her nature. She not affectionate. She's not sentimental. She doesn't want comfort.

But Alicia's body is warm, and the pills haven't started working yet and Kalinda's head is throbbing. She rests it in the spot between Alicia's shoulder and breast, and closes her eyes again.

"I really do like you." Kalinda doesn't want it to feel like a dark, shameful secret, but when the words leave her lips a surge of anxiety makes her throat tighten as if she's in danger.

She is in danger.

They are.

But Alicia doesn't know it yet and she gives her a tiny squeeze, turning her face into Kalinda's hair. "I really like you, too," she whispers. And she presses her lips to Kalinda's temple, allowing them to linger there, warm and soft, for several long seconds.

The iron vice in Kalinda's head loosens a bit. The throbbing fades.

It's the best kiss she's had in a long time. The most real.

For a moment, she lets herself believe that things might just be alright.

A/N: Somebody hold my hand? :(