Work Text:
Freedom isn't sweet.
Liz told her—several times in fact—but Jane was so sure she knew the right option for herself. Freedom from lobbying and politicians and ethical entanglements, and most of all, freedom from following Liz’s far flung schemes in the pursuit of winning.
But. But.
None of her professors can compete with Liz in holding the attention of a room, or in presenting a problem to solve.
Jane misses the thrill of political chess.
The excitement of winning. The lure of learning from the best in the business.
Sometimes she replays the viral mashup of the trial, the one that starts with Sperling’s shock at finding himself fucked because of Liz’s impeccable foresight. Jane always stops before the end, but the minutes before? The frenetic buzz of the courtroom? The dumbfounded shock of her old employers?
And if she pauses at 2:13, that fraction of a second where Liz can’t hide her trademark smirk? That’s Jane’s private cross to bear.
Every time she watches that video, Jane almost reaches out, then stops. She does not want to be like Liz. And then she worries about her. How she’s coping. In a confined space. Without her phone. No locket of pills.
Jane holds out for three whole months before writing to Liz: ‘Do you sleep at night?’
‘Yes.’
Laying her cards on the table, Jane writes again: ‘I miss you.’
The answer, in Liz’s distinctive scrawl—the same hand that sealed her fate in their plan—seals Jane’s future. ‘Told you so.’