A/N: Hi again. It's me, Cherie. I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but the past two weeks have been filled with camp and writer's block, a deadly combination. So I didn't write nearly as much as I have in previous chapters, but I think I cranked out a decent (and very important) chapter. This may not be the Kalinda and Cary we see on the show as frequently. I borrowed a lot from the kiss episode and the Grand Jury episodes in general, because that's really how they react under stress. (Note: Everything I write is unbetaed, so let me know if you see any grammar errors.)

Anyway, I genuinely hope you enjoy this update, and as always, any kind of feedback is appreciated. All the Favorites and Story Alerts are wonderful, but it really makes my day if you leave a review. However long, short, flattering, constructive criticism, whatever, it really does help.

And now, I'll shut up. On to the actual chapter.

It's over
It's over
I feel like, the feeling is like
It's over
Why is it so hard to stay away?

"Ms. Sharma, did you or did you not sleep with him?"

"How are you going to respond to these allegations?"

"Who's this guy?"

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Do you always sleep around to get ahead?"

It's all Kalinda can do to keep pushing through the crowd. The flashes of the cameras are blinding, the questions are thorns in her side, and the attention she's getting is just too much. She needs to be low-profile more than almost anything. She wilts in the spotlight, which only makes her look weaker than she already is. It's a damn good thing she has Cary to back her up.

"Okay, people," he says calmly, "let's ease up a little, shall we?" His voice is low and intense as he continues to cajole and then shove reporters out of his way. His eyes harden toward one photographer in particular, a tall, skinny woman with thin lips and snake eyes. She snaps one more shot and skulks away into the sunlight. Kalinda's eyes, down at the ground, suddenly snap up, alert, and she starts handing out most of the elbowing and fighting herself. She's acted like too much of a damsel in distress lately; she doesn't need to give Cary the idea that he's her knight in shining armor. Still, she doesn't feel compelled to push away the hand resting protectively against her back. She'll give him that to hold on to, if nothing else.

Several blocks later, she still can't figure out how the hell they managed to lose the photographers.

For the first time in ten minutes, she looks up at him, her eyes feeling unnaturally watery. For the first time in two and a half years, his eyes are unreadable.

"Well," she says, her voice cracking as if she's been lighting up. Now that she thinks about it, she could really use a smoke. "Not exactly how you'd pictured your first tabloid cover, is it?"

She has to give him credit; he really does try to edge out a chuckle or something resembling it. It doesn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

"Cary..."

"You're in deep shit, Kalinda."

The only sound she can hear is the pumping of blood in her ears. Her eyes narrow dangerously. She makes her way closer to him slowly and tauntingly, stepping on his insteps with her boots to get a better look at his face.

"What did you just say to me?" She's doesn't even try to contain the hiss coiled in her throat.

His face is as resolute as ever. "You are more fucked than I could ever put in words."

Unfortunately, it's not something she can argue with.

"The headline tomorrow is going to read 'Second Florrick Mistress – Sleeping Around To Get Her Way.' They're going to find out why you did, Leela. You've lost your anonymity, your freedom, your dignity, maybe your job…"

"And you." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her eyes widen and she looks up to see his reaction so that she can fight or flee if she needs to. "And don't ever call me that," she adds, trying to regain control of the situation.

For the first time this morning, he laughs.

"Fine, I will. You're Kalinda to me anyway. But sweetheart? You've never had me." His eyes crinkle as he smirks. "But you've had my word that I'll protect you from yourself. I'm going to see it through to the end."

Stupid Cary, thinking she needs to rely on anyone but herself. (What she wants might be a different thing entirely, but that's something she keeps under lock and key.) "Who says I need your protection?"

"You don't. But you wouldn't have lasted this long without my holding off Detective Wiley. Don't worry, Kalinda. Hydrogen doesn't need spaghetti to function." His eyes still unreadable, his lips ghost over her hairline, and he takes a step back to whistle for a taxi. Lucky for them, one screeches to a stop almost immediately, curbing the need for Kalinda to shoot off a comeback to the "spaghetti and hydrogen" crack. She slides in as gracefully as she can, and he follows suit, giving the driver her address.

Ten minutes later, once she's finally been able to control the slight shaking in her hands from the morning's events, she breaks the silence. "You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know," she says.

"Unless you want to do the walk of shame, you really should go back," he says pointedly. "And it's not following if I have to be at Lockhart Gardner anyway."

"You're making that up."

"I would never do such a thing." As the taxi comes to a stop in front of her apartment building, the two step out of the car, and Cary places a few bills in the cabbie's hand. Kalinda frowns and makes a mental note to repay him later.

Once they're in the lobby, they keep up the stride. The actual reason he's supposed to be at Lockhart Gardner finally pops into her head.

"The Kim Larkin case," she realizes.

He nods. "Alicia and I are interviewing the witnesses today."

Kalinda's step falters. Alicia. How is she supposed to face the younger Florrick today, when someone in the woman's ex's camp broke the news that they've each tried so desperately to hide?

Cary turns and stops in front of her, lifting up her chin gently. "You okay?" His voice holds no humor, no triumph, and no anger. It's just the voice of a man concerned for someone he cares about. And that's the worst part of this entire thing. He cares about her.

She nods, tight-lipped. "I'm fine."

His hand finds a better home resting at the base of her neck. "Tell me the truth."

"I did."

"Not your half-assed version of the truth that you use for denial, Kalinda, the real thing. I need you to be completely honest with me."

Not on your life, kid.

"Please," he says softly.

If she were completely insane, she'd swear that Cary's uttered the word "Please," without being sarcastic. Or drunk, for that matter.

"If you do just one more thing for me, Kalinda, do this. I can't help you if you don't let me in. Now, are you okay?"

Silence. "I will be," she says simply, walking away. When she notices (almost immediately) that she's alone, she turns around. "You don't need to wait down here, Cary. I don't know how long I'll take."

His mouth drops open a little but seems to take the comment for what it is – an invitation. He clears his throat and follows her into the elevator.

A/N: Reviews are writer's crack. If you give me some, I'll give you virtual cake and brownies!