Tracey Kibre was not a sentimental woman. She couldn't afford to be. Sentimental men can still rise to power, but in women, any sign of emotion is seen as weakness. Tracey was damned if she was going to allow them to think that she was any less ruthless, any less cold-blooded than any male EADA. She made certain that no one, not even those she worked with closely, ever saw a glimmer of sentiment in her fiery dark eyes.
And so she built a wall of solid granite around herself. She polished it daily with the blood, sweat, and tears of every victim, every family member who wept on the stand for thwarted dreams. Now, after all these years, all these trials, it gleamed with a high gloss. Not a nick showed, not a scratch could be seen. At least, that's what Tracey thought.
She was sitting in her office, attempting to write her closing, after a particularly grueling cross-examination of a man accused of having beaten his daughter to death with a tire iron. The evidentiary pictures of the crime scene left nothing to the imagination. The only question to be answered was why, and she was damned if she could figure it out.
Her own relationship with her father had left a good deal to be desired, but this? She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that this man, who, from witness testimony had appeared to love his child, had walked out to the car, opened the trunk, taken out the crowbar, walked back into the house, gone upstairs to his daughter's room, opened the door, and then savagely beaten her while she screamed for mercy.
Tracey stared at the photos, trying not to feel the terror and desperation, the disbelief and pain of that girl, but it washed over her like flood water over the top of a dam, filling her mind and heart to bursting. The single light of her desk lamp spilled a pool of pale gold across the desk and up her face as she leaned forward, resting her head on her arms for a moment, a solitary tear slipping down her cheek, as a smothered sob shook her body.
“Tracey?” Kelly spoke softly, clearly afraid to startle her.
The sound of that familiar voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Tracey sat up sharply, the ever-present mask of stoicism falling effortlessly into place. Well, almost effortlessly. For just an instant, her dark eyes met Kelly's clear blue ones, and Tracey could see that everything had changed.
Tracey Kibre did not let anyone see her cry, and yet, here she was. She expected amused disbelief from her assistant at the unheard of display of emotion. She was wrong. There was no surprise, no criticism, no disappointment in Kelly's gaze. Only concern, and affection.
“How the hell did that happen?” Tracey wondered, slight shock registering at the absence of fear or irritation on her part that someone had finally seen through her carefully constructed wall.
“Are you okay? I just stopped by to pick up my coat. Is there anything that I can do?” Kelly asked gently, advancing a few steps into the room.
“Yeah, I'm fine. No, there's nothing to do. Just writing my closing,” Tracey responded slowly, although it was obvious that she was lying.
“You sure? Serena's waiting downstairs, we were going to get a drink. Why don't you come with us?”
“No, that's ok. But thanks. Maybe some other time. Gotta get this damn thing done.”
“Okay, if you're sure,” Kelly murmured, her eyes still watchful and troubled. “Do you need me to stay, because I really don't mind?”
“No, I don't need you to stay. But thanks. Go. You shouldn't leave a good looking woman waiting for you. This building is full of miscreants, you never know who she might wander off with,” Tracey kept her voice light, teasing Kelly in hopes of restoring some of the equilibrium of their relationship.
“True,” Kelly laughed, “I think that Jack's still around.”
“My point exactly. Get out of here. I'll see you in the morning, okay?” Tracey smiled back, her look trying to impart some of the amazed gratitude she was feeling.
“Right. Don't stay too late. You need some sleep for tomorrow,” Kelly told her, taking a few steps back to stand just outside the doorway to Tracey's office.
“Absolutely. Night,” Tracey answered, intentionally picking up her pen and starting to write.
“Night.”
Listening to Kelly's footsteps fade down the hall, Tracey realized that things would never be the same between she and Kelly again. For better or worse, in that freeze-frame moment, something had forever altered. Who knows, maybe she could get used to letting someone inside the enclosure, even if it was just for visiting hours.