Good Wife 1. I-Youthful

**Author's Note: **This is the first fic in a collection of potentially 26 (posting one every other week throughout the entire year). Basically, I'm writing whatever I want and making up the rules as I go—doing whatever it takes me to get all of these fics done. They'll all range in tone, length, mood, subjects (though they will all center on Diane), ratings, and the ways in which they were prompted (though I think most prompts will come from my handy-dandy random word generator app). By doing this, I hope to further explore different ways of writing things and become a better writer in the process. Of course, I can't promise that I will accomplish this goal of getting out a new fic every two weeks, but I promise I'll try!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing—The Good Wife, its plot, and its characters all belong to the Kings and CBS.

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><p><strong>Prompt:<strong> Youthful  
><strong>Summary: <strong>"She was eighteen and completely, madly, head over heels in love."  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Diane/OC or Diane-OC, depending on how you look at it.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Some underaged drinking (well, underaged for the US) and sexual suggestions, but nothing explicit at all.

**I**

Waiting for her company to arrive, she looked up from her cellphone at the sound of a squeal. She should have been angry or perturbed, considering their location—a quiet little café, tucked away in one of Chicago's side streets—but after seeing the two teens together, a young couple, grinning widely and shushing each other's giggles, well, she really couldn't be. As a matter of fact, they actually managed to turn the corners of her mouth upwards into a smile of her own. Oh, to be young and in love.

She was like that once. She was eighteen and completely, madly, head over heels in love. His name was James and he was tall and had brown hair and green eyes. He wasn't the most popular guy in school or a big jock or anything like that, no. But he was a good student, he was mature, and he had ambitions, and she liked that. Oh, and he was as sweet as could be. Even her father liked him! Well, as much as any father could like a guy who was taking his teenage daughter out night after night.

They had known each other for years through school, but it wasn't until just nearly six months before her eighteenth birthday that he asked her out on a date. She could still she see the image of him, palms glistening, hair slightly messed due to him repeatedly, nervously, running his hands through it. "I don't suppose you'd, ah, you know… maybe… like to go to a movie sometime? With me, I mean." It was all really quite adorable. She said yes and that weekend they went to the cinema.

They went to see _Paint Your Wagon_ and she doesn't remember much about it other than the fact that it was a comedic, musical western. But what she _does _remember is that half way through the movie he pulled the ever-classic stretching-yawn-arm-around-her-shoulders move. Some things never change.

After that, the rest was history. They went out again and again, and two weeks later it was official: they were boyfriend and girlfriend and it was sealed with a kiss. She could hardly contain her excitement. Closing her front door behind her, she dashed up the stairs and immediately dialed the number of one of her best friends, Sarah. They chatted and giggled until nearly two in the morning when her father caught her and told her go to bed already. They said their goodbyes and she did go to bed… but she didn't go to sleep—she couldn't! _How _could she after the evening she had just had?!

That Christmas he bought her the most beautiful enamel chain bracelet that had a gold heart charm hanging from the clasp, both of their initials engraved in it. She must still have it, stored away in a box somewhere.

On Valentine's Day, he brought her chocolate and roses and took her out to a nice dinner. Later that evening, as they sat there in his car in front of her house, he told her that he had one more thing for her before they parted. He presented her with a card and after opening it she read the words, "I love you," scribbled in his handwriting. Looking up at him, he spoke the words aloud, "I love you, Diane." Her grin went from ear to ear and she kissed him tenderly before replying, "I love you too." And boy, did she ever.

They did lots of things together. They'd go to school events such as dances and basketball games, they'd go to the café or the diner where they'd sit and talk for hours. Lot's of times, they'd just go for a drive, which they really did quite enjoy… especially because that usually meant they'd end up at "their spot" and make out like the true teenagers they were. But nothing more than making out. At least, not yet.

Her eighteenth birthday came on May 2nd and after having a special dinner at her home with James, as well as her family and her two best friends, Vivian and Sarah, the four youngest members of the group went out for ice cream. When finished, the girls left and it was just the two of them. They once again made their way to "their spot".

"So, now that you're officially an adult, what do you want to do?" she remembers him asking as they looked out at the lake in front of them, her legs folded beneath her and his arm around her.

"Right now? This is what I want to do."

"No," he corrected her. "In general. What do you want to do?"

She thought for a moment before looking at him and stating, "I want to go to Greece."

"Greece?" he questioned, smiling.

"Yes. There are islands and beaches, it's full of history, it's beautiful, and it's warm. I want to go to Greece."

"Alright," he chuckled. "Then we'll go to Greece for our honeymoon."

She hadn't put too much thought into his comment then. She laughed along and probably kissed him, which would have lead to the make out session that she definitely remembers, happened that night. As he kissed her thoroughly there was that one hand of his on her thigh. Slowly, it inched further and further up her leg and under her dress until she pulled back just in time to keep some decency.

"James," she spoke up only for him to immediately pull his hand back and quickly apologize.

"Right. Sorry. I guess I just… I don't know. Sorry," he said again.

"It's alright," she smiled, stroking his face. "Actually…" she paused for a moment, shifting uncomfortably before going on. Jesus, was she nervous (though, admittedly, not quite as nervous as she was on a particular evening a month or so on down the road). "You know Charlotte Ellis is having a bunch of people stay over at her camp on the lake after graduation," she stated rather than questioned, though he nodded anyway. "Do you think you could convince your parents to let you spend the night there? It's supposed to be parentally supervised and everything."

"I—I think that's a possibility," he replied, and she could tell that he was wondering exactly where she was going with this.

"Well, if they go for it—and my parents as well, of course—I was thinking that we could maybe, well, not stay there and go a few miles away to my camp instead." She looked into his eyes, connecting with him before finishing. "And we could, you know… spend the night there together."

"I—you mean _spend_ the night together?"

She nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." And she was. "I mean, only if you want to though, we don't have to—"

"No," he quickly cut her off. "No, I mean… yes. I—I do want to." They both laughed after he sputtered out his words. But, he soon took her hand into his and continued. "I just want to make sure that you really want to do this. It's okay if you don't."

"I know," she smiled softly, appreciating his gesture. "But I do."

"Okay then."

Prom came a few weeks later and the look on his face when she first appeared before him, floating down the staircase in her dusty rose chiffon gown, is a look she could never forget—at least, she'll never forget the way she felt while experiencing him looking at her like that. He kissed her on her cheek then slipped a pink rose corsage onto her white, gloved wrist. She pinned his boutonniere to his lapel and did so without sticking either of them with the point (and she was quite proud of herself for that one). They then posed for pictures and finally, they went off with a group of friends and had a ball dancing the night away.

At the graduation parties they attended throughout the following week, when asked what colleges they would be attending in the fall, they tried not to think about the fact that his answer was located there in Chicago while hers was located in Massachusetts.

Before they knew it they were dressed in their caps and gowns—his cobalt blue, hers gold—and ready to march. When they announced her name to go up and give her speech, he gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. When they called her name again, this time to walk across the stage and accept her diploma, his was the first face she looked out into the crowd and found. He looked back at her, smiling brightly, and when it was his turn to go up, he looked out to find her as well. "I love you," she remembers seeing him mouth.

When the ceremony came to a close, the two met up again. They talked with and got congratulations from their families, then posed for photos. And before going their separate ways for the afternoon, he whispered into her ear, "We're still on for tonight?"

"Definitely."

They had run into a little snag when her parents had been hesitant to let her spend the night at her friend's summer cottage with "all of those boys there," but eventually they gave in and the teens' carefully detailed plan was in action once again. They kissed each other goodbye and she went home for a couple of hours to get ready before heading out for the night.

She remembers that she took a shower first thing upon arriving home. She stood there under the running water, a whirl of various thoughts and emotions running wildly though her mind—excitement of finally graduating and moving on to the next chapter of her life, and also of what her evening would bring… and then there was some underlying nervousness as well. She stood there and she stood there, mind reeling until the water began to run cold. Quickly, she then finished what she had to do and stepped out, drying off with an oversized, fluffy, white towel, wrapping it around her afterwards, then making her way over to the mirror, peering into it before exiting and going back to her bedroom… except she didn't. Instead, she stayed.

She stood in front of the mirror for a nearly endless minute before finally unwrapping herself and letting the towel drop to the floor. Then, as she observed her reflection before her, she suddenly found herself feeling more self-conscious than ever. 'Was all of this good enough?' she wondered to herself. As she scanned her body head to toe she picked out multiple flaws and, in addition, wished she hadn't had that piece of cake earlier… or maybe she should have had two pieces? Was she too skinny or not thin enough? She was feeling a little bloated but then she wished she was just the slightest bit curvier and maybe also that her chest was a bit bigger. None of it seemed right. But then…? She shook her head. It was all getting a bit ridiculous. After all, he must have already had at least some idea as to what she looked like underneath it all, right? And he was still with her and still wanted to go ahead with their night. And looking again, well, she realized that it all really wasn't _that_ bad (nowadays she'd kill to have that body again!). And most of all, he loved her, and if he loved her as much as she knew he did—as much as she loved him—she knew that the small imperfections wouldn't change his opinion of her. And with that all decided, she picked up the towel and wrapped it around her once more and this time she really did exit the bathroom and went on, making her way to her bedroom.

Once in the room, she picked out the dress she wanted to wear—a kelly-green sheath dress (or was it turquoise?)—_as well_ as what she wanted to wear underneath the dress. She picked out matching shoes and jewelry then packed her overnight bag and, finally, styled her hair and applied her makeup. As she began making her way over to her bed, she spotted her favorite perfume—a birthday gift from her mother—and spritzed herself twice then returned the crystal bottle to the top of her dresser. Finally, she was ready, and with that she continued her journey towards her bed, sat carefully on the soft covers, and looked over to her alarm clock on her bedside table. She had fifteen minutes before James would be arriving.

Sitting there, while she doesn't remember all of the details, she remembers that her mind had been actively at work once more and that she had found herself growing more and more nervous by the second. Five minutes in, she had had enough. She went over to her record player, put on something or other by The Beatles, and did her best to relax. And as it turned out, it hadn't worked out quite as well as she had hoped, but thankfully, a song and a half later, out of her bedroom window she saw his car approaching.

"This is it," she had said to herself, taking a deep breath before turning off the record player, collecting her overnight bag as well as her purse, and rushing downstairs, opening the door just as James began making his way up the front steps, and quickly calling out to her parents, "I'm leaving." She had been ready to bolt then, but she hadn't gotten a single foot out the door before her father was directly behind her and telling her to wait. (She still has no idea how he managed to get there so quickly.) Taking the door from her, he opened it widely so that he had a fuller view of both teens. "No drinking," were his first firm words. Then, "Be safe." Next, she saw that he began to say something but stopped, seemingly at a loss for the proper words—something that _never_ happened to _him. _Finally, after giving James a look that she later found out had nearly had him calling off their night altogether, he took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go on," he then told them, and they did just that. To this day she's still unsure of whether or not he knew for sure that they had had something up their sleeves for that night.

When they arrived at the party, after meeting up with their friends, the two separated for a short time, both relaxing and celebrating their accomplishment of finally graduating high school. Each was able to use that time to loosen up (though not with booze or spirits or anything of that sort because, again, it was all parentally supervised by responsible adults), and to forget for a short while about the nervousness they had been feeling.

When music began ringing more loudly throughout the halls and rooms, all of the groups united in the living room. And finding their ways towards each other once more, she and James danced together, and they danced and they danced. Finally, an hour later, there was a lull and he pulled her aside, asking her what time she wanted to be heading out. She told him she was ready when he was and they agreed to say their goodbyes and meet by the door in fifteen minutes. Her friend Sarah's parting words, spoken with a mischievous grin, were, "Have fun," followed by Vivian elbowing her in the ribs.

Their five-mile drive was made in silence, save for her direction giving, and after they pulled into the gravel driveway she got out to retrieve the spare key while he gathered their bags. She unlocked the front door and opened it with a creek, then guided them down the hall to the left and into the third door on the right.

"This—this is my bedroom," she told him.

He made his way in and set their bags down on a chair in the corner, and then there they were—two teenagers in love, all alone in a bedroom of a big, empty house, just standing there and staring blankly at each other. Within that moment there was a split second when she _almost _found herself wondering if their whole plan had actually been a mistake; but then something happened: they both laughed—laughed at the awkwardness. It started with small chuckles that then grew into real, genuine laughter, and just like that, somehow, it had caused all of the awkwardness and nervousness to disappear from the room. Suddenly, it was just the two of them as they had always been, with no pressure. Suddenly it all felt right.

He told her that he brought candles then pulled them out of his bag and set them out around the room, lighting them as he went. Without even thinking about it she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck and then kissed him—a thank you for the sweet gesture—but that was all it took.

It was different from what she had expected but then more than she ever could have asked for. He was gentle and caring and told her that she was beautiful as well as that he loved her. Afterwards, after a certain amount of time had passed, she picked up his shirt from the floor, slipped it on, then kicked him out of the bed and stripped it, carrying the sheets with her down the hall. He found her in the bathroom, hand-washing the sheets, and wrapped his arms around her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I like seeing you like this."

She thought that he had meant that he liked seeing her post-intimacy, with tousled hair and standing there barelegged in his shirt. Looking back, she thinks he was talking about the scene before him as a whole, with her standing there in his clothes as she washed the sheets—the domesticity of it all.

They hung the sheets out to dry then went back inside and slipped into the guest bed, soon falling asleep in each other's arms. When she awoke in the morning, she blinked open her eyes only to see him looking down upon her.

"What a beautiful thing you were to wake up to," he smiled. But she was quick to hide her face below the covers with a laugh (really, she wasn't that attractive when waking—she still isn't).

The two got up and dressed then retrieved the sheets from the line outside and made the beds. They packed up and picked up, being sure to not leave a trace behind, and then they made their way to the front door. Before exiting, he put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in, kissing her tenderly.

"I love you," he told her, and she felt as though he meant it more than ever.

"I love you too." And she did as well.

As the summer went on they found that they were closer than ever despite the fact that he was working long hours six days a week at the marina and she three days a week at the university library (the one and only job her father has ever helped her obtain). The one day they both had off, Mondays, they always spent together. They'd spend the entire day sometimes at the lake, boating if he was able to borrow a boat from work, or often times just enjoying themselves at the beach, swimming as well as playing various games such as frisbee or catch, or just lying there in the sand, under the sun, occasionally falling asleep side by side. Other times, they would go out and ride their bikes, or explore, or every so often they'd go shopping (when she gave him that ever adorable look of hers that such few have seen). One particularly rainy day, they spent hours parked at "their spot," entertaining themselves in certain intimate ways.

On the days that he worked and she didn't, she'd sometimes surprise him with an ice cream in the afternoon. He'd take his break and they'd sit on the dock, legs hanging and toes dipped in the water as they ate, kissed, and chatted about this or that. She especially remembers this one afternoon—they were sitting there, looking out as a large sailboat passed by. It was filled with people dressed up in semi-formal attire and at the bow were clearly a bride and groom. She made the off-hand remark that, "She looks beautiful," and with her peripheral vision she saw him nodding. She then felt him squeeze her hand lightly then raise it so that he was able to place a kiss on the back of it. She hadn't put too much though into his gesture then… but maybe she should have.

The days they both worked were, naturally, their least favorites. However, most of the time they'd still find a way to spend time together. They'd often have dinner at each other's houses, though every once in a while they'd go out and have a dinner date of their own. Other times, he'd pick her up after dinner and they'd then go out. They'd go for a long, night drive or sometimes a walk instead. They were regulars at the drive-in as well as, as before, "their spot."

Of course, spending as much time as they did together, they certainly had their moments where things weren't perfect—they had their arguments and disagreements every once in a while. But thankfully, they always seemed to be able to make up in a hurry. And did they ever love making up!

On the fourth of July, though she was fortunate enough to have the day off, he was not. It worked out though so that, after spending the day with her family at a BBQ, she and James were later able to go out and watch the fireworks together. From where "their spot" was located, with the way it faced the lake, they were able to see two different displays at once from two different nearby beaches—one on either side of them. It really was quite remarkable, though it couldn't stand up to what they witnessed an hour later. As they observed the lake, looking about a mile out, they saw flashes of heat lightning. And, as the lightning struck, in addition to the evident bolts that appeared, it managed to illuminate a large portion of the night sky, casting an orange glow across it. To this day that remains to be one of the coolest displays that nature has ever presented to her, and sharing it with him couldn't have been more perfect.

Starting to near the end of the summer, while spending one afternoon with her family at their camp, her mother approached her while she was reading on the dock.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked _as_ she began to sit down in the chair across from her. Did she really have a choice?

"Of course," she said anyway, before going back to her book.

It only took a moment before her mother revealed why she had come down and approached her the way that she had. "So I was wondering, what are you and James going to do come this fall?"

Particularly on the moody side that day (maybe it had been _that _time of the month?), she looked up from her book and over at her mother with one eyebrow raised high and asked her, "_What _do you mean?" Though, admittedly, she's pretty sure that she remembers herself giving more attitude than she actually did. Honestly, her mother rather frightened her at times and she finds it hard to believe that she had had the guts to talk to her in _such _a way, moody or not.

Rolling her eyes (God, she _is _her mother's daughter), but refraining from openly chastising her, her mother went on to question, "Are you two planning on staying together and working things out or—"

"Of _course _we are!" she blurted out with force she hadn't quite intended. After taking a breath, taking a moment to calm herself, she continued. "We're in a relationship and—and we love each other. We enjoy being together—why would we break up simply because we're going to different schools?"

"Long distance can be more difficult than you think, Diane," her mother tried to tell her.

"Yes, well, fortunately we have the invention of the telephone." (Again though, she may not have been quite as snarky as she remembers because, again, she doesn't quite remembering herself being brave enough to try something like that with her mother.)

"Do you really want to spend your time off at college tied to a phone, or do you want to spend it going out, making memories with new friends?"

"We're not breaking up," she told her mother firmly. "Besides, I thought you liked him?"

"I do," she nodded. "But you're my daughter and I like you better. I want what's best for you—and him," she added. "Massachusetts is a long ways away and four years is a long time—and then there's law school as well if that's still what you want to do."

"I'm happy with him. I'm better off _with _him. I know that being apart will be difficult, but it's going to be worth it. And who says that it has to be four years? One of us can always transfer for next fall."

"Are you really going to be willing to give up _Wellesley_, Diane? Your dream school?"

"Yes…" she told her, though she honestly hadn't been sure if she meant it or not.

Nodding, her mother stood up. But before walking away, she placed a hand on her shoulder and asked her to, "Just think about it all, alright, darling? Just think about it."

After her mother finally walked away, she heard her father's voice from the back porch asking how it went. She imagines her mother simply gave him a look as his response was, "Well then…"

She was livid. How did they _think _it was going to go? She wasn't thrilled about the situation they were being faced with but they _were_ going to make it work. Her mother was being ridiculous she thought then. A part of her was even convinced that she wanted them to break up only because she didn't like seeing her one and only daughter that happy. Or maybe even because she somehow knew that they were having sex and didn't want him around her. No matter what the reason was, it _couldn't_ have been because she had actually thought that _that _was what was best for her—preposterous! Later on she came to realize that _sometimes_ mothers really did know best (and that they weren't necessarily just out to make their daughter's lives miserable either).

In late August, the day after James' last day of work at the marina, she surprised him with tickets to a Cubs game. He really had deserved it after all of the hard work he had done throughout the past months. He had told her that she had officially won the "Best Girlfriend of the Year" award. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, the Cubs lost. But, she could tell that he had had a great time anyway. After the game was over they went out and split a giant ice cream sunday before once again returning to "their spot." It was the last time they would do so that summer before she left for college in three day's time.

Up until then they had been trying to avoid the subject of her leaving; trying to pretend that it wasn't going to happen—after all, ignorance is bliss, right? They were then at a point, however, where they had to face the music—the terribly sad music that they would be apart for the following three months as well as long periods of time beyond that. Sitting there, close together with her in his arms, they were silent as they looked out at the lake. "So I'll call your house and let your parents know when I have my address and phone number," she finally said.

He nodded, "And I'll get back to you right away with mine."

"You'll call often?" she questioned, though she already knew the answer.

"I'll call and I'll write—I'll write you love letters," he grinned.

"Oh, what a lucky girl I am." She thought it then and, even today, despite the fact that things didn't work out between them in the long run, she still considers herself lucky to have experienced what she had with him—he really was quite extraordinary.

"I love you," she said seriously after a moment. And though she fought to keep it back, one single tear managed to escape, trailing down her cheek until he gently wiped it away.

"I love you too," he replied, taking her face between his hands and lovingly pressing his lips to hers. "I'm going to miss you so much," he whispered after barely separating from her.

"I'm going to miss you."

They kissed each other again, and then again and again and proceeded to experience each other intimately once more. Afterwards, they continued to lie there. He stroked her hair as she lay in his arms and she placed a kiss on his jaw. Neither wanted to move and they certainly didn't want to separate. They didn't want this evening to come to an end. They didn't want their time together to come to an end.

"This is perfect," he finally spoke. She agreed. "I could be happy like this," he added and, once again, she agreed. She could be, she thought to herself then—someday.

When they checked his watch and the little hand was near the eleven while the big hand was almost to the six, they regretfully decided that, like it or not, it was time to get her home and then him as well.

Arriving at her house, he walked her to her front door once more and they kissed each other goodbye. They kissed as lovers as well as best friends and simply two people who adored each other more than words could express. And while they were terribly sad about their temporary parting, they were still happy—they were happy to have spent the time they had together and they were happy to be together as a couple.

"Have a safe trip," he told her as they stood there.

"I will," she smiled sadly before once more telling him, "I love you." And she really did. She loved him in a way that she had never loved anyone before, and thinking further, she hasn't loved anyone in quite that particular way since—she never would. There's something pretty special about a girl's first love.

"I love you too," he returned once more and God, did she love hearing that.

He leaned in to give her one more final kiss before she entered her home and then later left for Massachusetts. And she had been aware of the fact that it would be the last time she would be kissing him for quite some time—what she didn't know was that it was going to be the very last time she kissed him. Period. She's glad she treasured that kiss. She then entered her home, and he left for his home as well.

She spent her final two days mostly with her parents both at home and out running errands, preparing to leave for college. Bright and early the next morning, they were at the airport and off they went, Wellesley bound.

In the late afternoon of move-in day, after being informed of her new mailing address as well as her phone number, she made a call to James' home where his mother picked up (she was the _nicest _lady). She gave her the information and, in turn, she promised to pass it along and also gave her his new information. She had called him immediately after hanging up, but there was no answer. Apparently his mother had managed to get in touch with him at some point though because she learned later that he had called her that evening—but she had missed that call herself. It took two whole days for them to finally get in touch, and even then it was only for ten or so minutes due to her needing to leave to attend a mandatory seminar.

Another four days and they were finally successful. They talked for an hour, each going on about this and that that happened during the beginning of their first week of college. They compared their schedules and worked out mutually convenient times to have "phone dates," as they liked to call them (not to be confused with phone sex, thank you very much). They hung up with "I love you's" and an agreement to keep in touch.

A week later, she received her first letter from him. She doesn't remember exactly what it said, but she remembers it was sweet. He started off by writing something along the lines of, "I told you I'd write you love letters but, sitting down here, with paper and a pen in front of me, it has occurred to me that I'm not quite sure of what writing a love letter entails." He went on, telling her that he'd do his best, then proceeded to inform her of all of the things he most loved about her. She thinks she has that letter stashed away in a box somewhere as well.

Another week went by and she was faced with a difficult decision to make. While awaiting James' call, she was approached by her then new friend, Francine, asking if she wanted to go out with a group of them to a local bakery they had heard had some great cheesecake. She had been tempted, but alas, decided to pass and instead wait to hear from James. They had had a nice conversation that evening, but a part of her wondered if she possibly would have had a better time going out with her new friends.

On a later date, she _did _go out with that particular group. One of the girls knew a guy from Harvard and the plan was that he and a group of his friends were going to come to town and they would all meet up at a lounge near by. She had been hesitant to go—she _did _have a boyfriend, after all—but Francine had twisted her arm, convincing her that they were all just there to relax and have a good time, chatting as a group. And so she went, and she did have a good time. They all talked and they laughed and they had quite the evening. And the best part: the fact that she was out till the wee hours of the morning with a bunch of young men—one of which was flirting with her! (though, of course, she did not flirt back)—and no one could say a damn thing. She had no parents at home, awaiting her arrival, no midnight, during-the-school-year curfew, and, in fact, her parents hadn't even had a clue as to what she was up to that night and goodness, was it liberating! And even James, though he knew she was out with friends, didn't know a single detail. He had wanted her to call him when she got back to her dorm, so he would know she had returned safely, but she had said she'd be fine and flat out told him that she was not going to do so and that he should _not _be expecting a call either way. She quite liked being independent, she decided.

She went out with her friends more often after that, though most of the time it was not with the Harvard boys (who, of course, officially became her rivals once attending Yale four years down the road). And occasionally, she'd go out on adventures on her very own (she learned not to inform even James of these adventures though because he was far too over protective and had expressed multiple times that he worried about her when she went out and did stuff like that). One time, she even went into Boston on her very own and had a glorious day, walking around, going to the museum and window shopping as well as stopping into a little café where she had had the _best _cup of coffee.

She and James had been keeping in touch, of course, though, admittedly, it was somewhat less frequently than they had originally planned as she began cancelling their phone dates every now and then to participate in an activity of some sort, going out and doing stuff with her new friends or going on one of her little adventures (but in her defense, she always let him know in _advance _if she'd be unavailable for a date). The next day, on the phone with James, he brought up the subject. He didn't accuse her of anything or anything like that, he simply mentioned that she had been canceling a lot lately and asked her if anything was going on—she had apologized and told him that there wasn't anything wrong. And she was telling the truth to a certain extent, because she had convinced herself that there really wasn't… deep down though, even then, she knew better. However, with a promise from her to do better (and it is important to add here though that he didn't pressure her into doing so—she had made the promise on her own), they told on another that they loved each other and hung up.

Another two weeks then went by—two weeks where she hadn't done much socializing or adventuring, opting to stay in and talk with James instead. However, that weekend, James had been taking the night to work on a big paper due the following Monday and, by chance, her friends happened to be going out once more—this time to a party. Partying had never really been her thing—she had never quite had the desire to partake in it. However, it _did _sound interesting to her at the time. And considering she no longer felt as though she had an obligation to stay in, she decided to let her arm be twisted again by whom else but Francine.

They went out and walked into the party and Francine was quick to track down the alcohol and came back with two shots of rum and a bottle of coke. "Take the shot then take a swig of this," she instructed before clinking her glass to hers and tossing back the liquid. After observing her and only slight hesitation, she did the same. "You took that like a pro," Francine smiled. "Let's do another round!" They did. And then they did another and another. And then who else should show up but her old pal Eric (…or was it Aaron? Well, for descriptive purposes she'll just go with Eric), the same Harvard guy who had been flirting with her a couple of months back when they all went out and met up at a nearby lounge.

Quite happy with the way she was feeling, she did yet another shot. She was getting pretty good at them. A half hour later, he approached her, saying hello, and they began chatting. She had yet _another_ shot and she really doesn't remember a whole lot after that. Apparently she had been flirting with Eric. It was nothing too bad, but it had seemingly been enough for him to feel confident enough to make a move to kiss her. She had moved back, avoiding it, of course, but that in itself had shaken her up to the point that, half way back on her trip returning to soberness, she was feeling pretty emotional and quite guilty. Once back to her dormitory, though her friends had tried to convince her not to, she called James. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and she had woken him up, crying into the phone that she didn't mean to and that she loved him. Thankfully, Francine took the phone away and explained the situation (because that is the kind of thing they did for each other), then helped her get into bed.

The next day, after being reminded of the whole ordeal, she called James again, and this time apologized for her drunken apology as well as soberly apologized for her activities from the night before. He had told her that if she had been that upset over quite literally nothing _actually_ happening, then he really couldn't be that angry about it all. He did, however, question her drinking. She had told him that she had just wanted to try something new (which was true!). She had always been the good girl, the one who did everything and more than was expected of her, and honestly, building off of the summer where her mild rebellion had gotten its start, she had been quite enjoying acting out to a certain extent. She was loving doing things for herself. He then warned her that maybe she should hold off on the drinking for a while.

"I'm fine, really," she told him. "I've learned my lesson—moderation is the way to go."

"I know, I just…" she heard him sigh on the other end of the line and she was pretty sure she wasn't going to love what he had to say next. "I'm worried about you, Diane. I—I know you're going through… whatever it is you're going through. I know that you want to try new things and I can accept that. But, I hate that no one is there to look after you while you're doing so. I hate that _I'm_ not there to protect you."

She was right. And she found herself taking a deep breath, in and out, before responding. "I'm fine taking care of myself," she told him. "Besides, it's not as though I'm _completely_ on my own here…"

"So who's looking out for you, Francine? She sounds like more of an instigator or a cohort if you ask me," he muttered.

She was silent, biting her tongue (metaphorically, of course). And he must have sensed it too, because it was only seconds before he was apologizing. "I'm sorry, Diane… Like I said, I'm just worried."

"I know," she nodded. "But you don't have to be. And for the record, Francine does look out for me: she tried to stop me from calling you last night." And yes, there may have been a bit of a particular tone in her voice.

"Don't be like that," he sighed.

She responded innocently, asking, "Don't be like what?"

Silence on the other end.

Taking a break from playing defense, she took a moment to sit there and did consider his words. "James," she spoke into the phone, softly.

"I just love you, Diane. I'm really not trying to be difficult."

"I know," she said. And she did. "And I love you too. It's just…" she trailed off, almost fearing to continue. "Anyway," she said instead, shaking her head. "I haven't even had breakfast yet and I'm famished. Why don't we leave this for today, I'll go get some food, get some more rest, and we can talk some other time, alright?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she nodded. "Good bye."

"Good bye."

And with that they hung up.

After doing so she let out a long sigh, leaning back and letting her head rest against the wall. It was then that it occurred to her that maybe continuing her relationship with James wasn't going to work out after all. She did still love him, she really did, but they were at a point where she was feeling distant from him and there were many barriers getting in the way of their happiness.

First of all, maintaining a long distance relationship was difficult enough in general, especially for her as, if she was going to do so, she wanted to do it right. She took their relationship seriously and wanted to be fully committed to it—she wanted to be there to have their "phone dates" nearly every day and she wanted to not even look at another guy—that, however, took a lot of effort to manage and balance properly, and it was something she was struggling with. It was one thing to be with him-with him—she loved being with him!—but to be both with him and away from him at the same time was something different. Her relationship with James was keeping her from spending time out with new friends and from building new relationships (and really, she hadn't even been thinking of the romantic kind, simply friendship). And with that, in being both away from him as well as not yet truly connected with new friends (besides Francine, of course. But even then, they weren't as close as they could have been or later were), she felt as though she was in some sort of limbo and it was rather lonely there. She had to admit that being in a long distance relationship _was_ more difficult than she had expected. That being said, a part of her thought that that alone may have been something they could have worked through… maybe. What she knew would be a larger issue, however—one she did not see them overcoming—was her newfound preference for independence up against his need to protect her.

She knew _why_ he had acted as he did—she knew it was because he loved her and cared about her and she honestly loved him for that. He _was _a true gentleman. But that being said, she was growing into herself and entering a phase of her life where she felt as though she needed to do things on her own. She needed to grow further by discovering and exploring new things and ideas and she needed to do it by herself—without others guiding her, telling her what to do, or interfering in order to "protect" her. She could take care of herself—well, she wanted to better learn how to take care of herself. And so, while she appreciated all that he was and all that he did for her, and as much as she loved him, it was clear to her that they were no longer compatible. Neither of them were going to be satisfied or happy if they stayed together, she thought then, and being in a relationship was supposed to make you feel just those things, right?

Closing her eyes and letting out another sigh, she reluctantly made her decision: upon returning home for Thanksgiving break, she would break up with James. She had been tempted to do so sooner, but she felt as though she at least owed it to him to end the relationship in person. (Looking back though, she has to wonder if maybe it would have been better to have just gone and done it right then, despite it being over the phone.)

As the weeks went by, she continued on with partaking in their phone dates. And while she was still friendly with him and told him she loved him (because she did), she tried to stay somewhat distant from him—her goal was to not totally blindside him (though, as it turned out, she didn't even come close to accomplishing that—she still today feels quite badly about the way everything played out).

Periodically, she found herself changing her mind about whether or not she truly wanted to end her relationship with James. She had tried to reason with herself that everything could be worked out—that having someone looking after her wasn't really such a terrible thing. She told herself that ending their relationship wasn't fair to James (and it wasn't)… but then she reminded herself that it also wouldn't be fair to either of them to stay in it. Sometimes the right thing to do isn't always the easiest thing to do, nor is it necessarily the thing that leaves you feeling the best before, during, or immediately after.

As her final week before break passed by, she found herself actually rather looking forward to how things would be upon returning to school. She was going to come back no longer under the watchful eyes of her parents as well as now no longer attached to a boyfriend. She was going to be coming back a completely free young woman, ready to experience and discover new things and seize each day. She was going to live the way she wanted, without any judgment, without worrying about anyone else, and she was going to do things for _her_.

As she was back in her bedroom at her home in Chicago, once again awaiting James' arrival, she was feeling rather confident about her decision—though she was still terrified and feeling absolutely sick to her stomach at the thought of breaking the news to him. Looking out of her bedroom window, seeing a set of headlights making their way down her driveway, she headed down stairs. She was about to exit the front door when her father called her into the parlor where her mother was as well.

"Are you about to go out with James?" she remembers him asking, despite the fact that she had already told him so earlier in the evening.

"Yes."

"Right," he nodded before continuing. "I—I love you, Diane," he told her.

His behavior was rather odd, she decided, but she responded nevertheless. "I love you too."

Both of her parents smiled at her before her mother told her to, "Have a good evening."

She smiled back, thanking her, though she doubted she would—and goodness, was she right.

With that, she walked back to the foyer and out of her front door just in time to quite literally bump right into James.

"Oh, hi!" he grinned widely at the sight of her, laughing lightly. He seemed so happy and it was all enough to make her stomach churn. Before she knew it his arms were around her, hugging her tightly, lifting her feet ever so slightly off of the ground, and pressing a kiss to her cheek after setting her down. "Here," he handed her a bouquet of red roses.

"Oh, thank you," she replied almost robotically, grasping the flowers, though hesitant to actually take them.

"I thought we'd go to Paciaeino for dinner, what do you say?"

"I, umm… wow." Paciaeino wasn't the _most_ expensive restaurant in Chicago, but it wasn't cheap either. It was nice.

"I…" she tried again. This was all too much. There she was, trying to build up the nerve to break up with him, but he had been acting as sweet as could be. He seemed to be absolutely elated to see her and, truth be told, had she not been planning to break things off with him and feeling so guilty, she would have been just as happy to see him. She really did love him. Still. But all good things must come to an end at some point, right, she thought. "Do you think we could maybe… go for a walk first?" she suggested and picked up on his hesitation and curious, squinted eyes immediately.

"A walk?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Just, you know, from here."

"Is everything alright?"

She moved her head in the slightest movements, nodding. She's pretty sure he sensed that she was lying but, seemingly gulping, he then nodded as well before they began walking.

After making it down to the street from her doorstep, then a few steps beyond, he looked over to her. She didn't want to do what she knew she had to do next. She wanted to walk more first. She wanted to walk allover Chicago before talking to him. She wanted to walk allover the world before telling him. But that wasn't quite practical. Also, she knew (especially at this point in her life, after being on the other side of that situation once or twice) that it wasn't fair to him to drag it out—he didn't deserve to be standing there with his mind racing for another however long she would have ideally liked to have put it off for.

"James," she finally said, turning and looking at him. And as she said it, she saw the reality settle in and his eyes dull ever so slightly. That was the moment that she knew he knew for sure it was coming. Her heart sunk, as she's sure his did as well.

"This is it, isn't it?" he questioned.

She was quiet for a moment. "I—I'm sorry. I just…" She saw him flinch, visibly taken aback. "I _do_ love you," she told him.

"I don't understand." The poor kid. He had been on top of the world and then she had gone and just knocked him right off of his feet. Her eyes began to well up then, the guilt and sadness building up within her beginning to escape (but she hadn't even known the half of it then).

"I'm so sorry," she said again, begging to keep her tears at bay—after all, she wasn't the injured party there. "I just can't do it anymore. Us. I… I can't."

He nodded once more, swallowing. "Would you mind if we, uh, headed back and I left?"

"Yeah," she said softly, "of course." They turned back, walking towards his car and rounding it to the driver's side. She tried to give his flowers back to him but he shook his head, "No, it's fine."

She began to speak once more, "James—" but he cut her off, shaking his head again.

"Don't worry about it. Everything's fine." With that, he stepped into his car, closed the door, then started the engine and backed out of her driveway.

She stood there, looking after him as he drove off. He had taken it rather well, she had thought even then. Now, considering the circumstances, she has no idea how he did it.

She made her way inside, closing the door behind her and taking a deep breath. It hadn't been fun and she would miss him greatly, but it was over. Apparently after hearing the door click though her parents called out to her, "Diane?" before meeting her in the foyer.

"You're back so soon," he mother audibly observed. "Did you even leave?"

"No."

"Well?" her mother urged her to continue.

She let out a long breath, letting it hiss through her nose as she briefly let her eyes blink closed, preparing herself. She hadn't wanted to tell her parents then, but she _was_ going to have to tell them eventually and, better sooner than later, she supposed. "I broke up with him."

Her parents then gave each other a look before her father further questioned, "So you said 'no?'"

"What do you mean?"

They gave each other another look. "Diane," her father went on. "I think you need to go and talk to him. And right away," he added.

"He already left," she informed them. "Besides, he seemed alright," she tried to convince them as well as herself. And she clearly hadn't been picking up on the signals her parents had been emitting.

"No, Diane," her mother said softly, taking a step closer towards her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You need to go and talk to him. He was going to propose tonight."

The news her mother broke had hit her probably just about as hard as the news that she had wanted to break up had hit James. She stood there, flabbergasted, as her parents looked on. "No," she said in denial. "He wasn't."

"He _was_," her mother reaffirmed.

Suddenly it all made sense to her—the flowers, the dinner, and thinking back upon their summer, it only made more sense. "But…" God, there have only been a few times in her life that her head has spun as it did then. "How do you know?" she questioned.

Her father answered this one. "He asked our permission."

"And you said _yes_?!" Unbelievable. All of it was unbelievable. Honestly, even now, forty year later, it still seemed surreal.

"Diane," he went on. "You are an intelligent girl… an intelligent young _woman_," he corrected himself. "You are responsible and you have a good head on your shoulders. Also, James is a nice young man. He seemed to have put a lot of thought into marriage and aside from him wanting to take my only little girl away from me, I have no problems with him. As much as I hate to admit it, you're obviously growing up and this was your decision to make—not mine and not your mother's. I wasn't going to be the one standing in your way."

"Okay," she said nodding, attempting to process it all… she _had_ wanted more independence and freedom to do as she pleased. "But now I've… God," she winced. "What have I done?"

"It's okay," she remembers her mother's soothing voice.

Her father then handed her a set of keys. "Here, take my car and go talk to him."

"But what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll figure it out." She hadn't believed him, but of course he was right. After giving her another set of consoling words, her mother sent her on her way and after arriving at James' home but not seeing his car in it's usual space, she knew there was only one place he could be. She went to their spot.

Seeing his car immediately, she pulled up beside him, got out, and walked around to where he was, sitting on the hood.

"Mind if I join you?" she spoke up. He shrugged, scooting over an inch or two and she took that as consent.

Sitting down beside him, she looked over and touched her hand to his. "I am _so_, so sorry." She had said it before and she had meant it then, but nothing could compare to the sorrow and regret she felt at that moment and she tried to express that in her words.

"They told you?" he guessed, looking at her.

She nodded.

"So does it change anything?" he tried, smirking sadly, only for her to remain silent. Oh, how she had wished it had. Unfortunately, it only made her feel more strongly that they didn't belong together at that time. She moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, taking a heavy breath before resting her eyes and slowly swiveling her head. "I'll take that as a no," he concluded. "But would it help if I told you that there was a diamond ring involved?"

She looked over to see half a smirk on his face and she had to chuckle. But then it occurred to her:

"Is _that_ why you worked so much this summer?"

He shrugged again.

"Oh James," she sighed before telling him once more, "I do love you."

He squeezed her hand but she then saw his face fall just a bit. "So what happened then?" he finally asked the question he more than deserved to hear the answer to. "Did I do something?"

"Of course not," she told him, first easing that concern before she went on to further explain. "A part of it has to do with simply being unable to deal with balancing the whole long distance thing—"

"I can always transfer closer for next fall," he offered, cutting her off, but she only continued.

"But then there's also the fact that we seem to be in two very different places right now. I'm at a point where I just want to go out and, honestly, do whatever I want. I want to be independent and experience new things on my own and not have to worry anything. And you want to take care of me and protect me. And I love you for that, I do, but… it's…" she paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. He watched her carefully. "With where both of us are, individually, right now, we don't make a good match. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to stay in this. I deserve the freedom that I want, and you deserve someone who is as committed to being in a relationship as you are—you deserve someone who won't fight you for doing what you feel is right and for just trying to love and care about them."

He nodded. "So marriage is _definitely_ out of the question," he muttered his conclusion.

It was tempting. God, was it tempting. But, it wasn't right for her—not then. And not even for some time after that, as it turned out. "If I were ready for it, I'd marry you in a heartbeat," she told him. And she meant it. He was anything and everything a girl her age (or any age) could have asked for. It wasn't that _he _wasn't right for her—no one was right for her at that time. (Though she decided to spare him the "It's not you, it's me," excuse.) "But I'm not ready."

"Well, then I guess that's that," he nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"James?" she went on.

"What?"

"In a few years, if neither of us is with anyone and we're both on the same page, do you think we could try again?"

Giving her a ghost of a smile, he nodded. "Yeah. I think we could do that."

Before long he stood up, pulling her with him. "You should get out of here, you're going to freeze." It had been a rather mild late fall evening, but as time went on, it was only growing cooler.

She nodded. "But what about you?"

"I think I'll stay here a little while longer. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She nodded once, giving him a tight smile as they both stood there for a lingering moment, looking at each other. She was just about to step away when he stepped closer and wrapped his arms tightly around her. It wasn't like their earlier hug, it wasn't happy or light, but it was perfect for right then. They embraced each other, saying a true good bye and she's pretty sure that the emotions that encroached on both of them were just as unexpected to him as they were to her. He whispered into her hair and told her that he loved her one more final time. And then they separated. He placed a gentle, loving kiss on her forehead then, without speaking a word, guided her to the driver's side door of her father's car, helped her in, and closed the door for her. And that was it.

When she arrived home and opened the front door, her parents were waiting for her. She can't say that she hadn't been glad they were there. As she walked in, all of the realizations had hit her. She had broken his heart. The one she had loved as she had never loved another before was no longer going to be a part of her life. They were really over. She had broken her own heart.

Seeing her father before her she stepped forward, letting him wrap his arms around her and settled her face in his chest as she began to sob. It was all over.

As time went on, their agreement to try again, should the circumstances be right a few years down the road, had never played out. Some things just weren't meant to be.

Looking back at the young couple before her in the coffee shop, she wondered what their fate would be. She hoped that things would work out. If not, that was okay too. It was a part of life. That being said, she hoped they would end things on good terms and that thinking back on their relationship would leave a sweet taste in their mouths as opposed to a bitter one. She hoped that being apart would bring them just as much good as being together had, and that they would find happiness wherever their lives took them, be it through personal achievements and a career (and a few other relationships along the way, of course), or a family—wife and three beautiful girls included. And she hoped that, years down the road, if they ran into each other, walking the sidewalks of Chicago, they would be able to be happy for the other and all that came of their life, and maybe they too could catch up over coffee one Sunday morning.

"Hello."

She looked up, hearing a deep voice and saw the tall figure before her.

"What're you doing?" he questioned with a smirk—she assumed he was inquiring about her dazed expression.

"Nothing," she smiled, "Just thinking. And hello, again."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> So, there it was-the first of twenty-six! Since I'm getting a late start, just thought I'd let you know that the next two installments will be (hopefully) coming out on the two coming Fridays so I can catch up. Hope you enjoyed reading and sorry for the long length!


	2. II-Envy

**Prompt:** Envy  
><strong>Summary: <strong>"Occasionally, she finds herself feeling a little envious of men."  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> One bad word. It's K+, but yeah... look out for that one bad one.

**II**

Diane Lockhart has a confession to make: and it's that, occasionally, she finds herself feeling a little envious of men. All of the men she's fought against for job positions or recognition. For promotions. For acceptance. For Goddamn respect. All of the men and their sacred boy's club with its built in opportunities and connections and everything else that goes along with it. All of the men she's battled in court who have tried to use their gender as a tool to "over power" her. All of the men who have surpassed her in her career without deserving to. All of the men who have had it so fucking _easy_.

But then she realizes something.

She made it anyway.

She beat the odds and made it to the top. She got the jobs and promotions despite sexism and those preconceived notions that women "don't have what it takes." She earned respect and acceptance and, on her own, found and made opportunities and connections. In court, she showed those men that she couldn't be scared that easily and, most of all, she worked. She worked twice, three times, _four_ times as hard as any of her competitors did! And she has that. She has that knowledge that _that_ is why she's here. She sacrificed, she worked, she fought, she climbed to the top of the legal field with those manicured claws of hers, and she did it with dignity. And now there she is, in her corner office on the 28th floor, looking out over Chicago, thinking about all she's accomplished and overcome and the feeling she get's while considering that—she'll take that feeling over ease any day. And suddenly, she finds herself pitying rather than envying men, and she couldn't be more happy or proud to be a woman. A _woman_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed!


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