“Hey,” Chelsea says. “Surprised to see you. I was just makin’ lunch- c’mon, sit down, I’ll dish up.”

“I can’t stay long,” Kia replies, and she looks as anxious as six-four can in front of five-eleven. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do before I head out.”

Chelsea goes very quiet and still, because Kia doesn't sound like she means heading out in the sense of running some errands and going to practice. "Headin' out?"

Kia's anxiety only intensifies, and her fingers are trembling now, her hands stiff at her sides, and Chelsea knows this isn't going to be good, whatever comes out of Kia's mouth. "I asked for a trade."

The worst words any Sacramento Monarch can say to another. Chelsea swallows and bolts for the kitchen. Under the cover of clattering bowl and spoon, she calls to Kia, "Didn't think Detroit was your style, and aren't they already loaded in the post? Baby Yo needs you to cover her back."

"Not Detroit."

The sinking feeling in Chelsea's stomach makes her realize there are worse things one Sacramento Monarch can say to another than just announcing a trade request. "No time for foolin', Kia. We have a big homestand comin' up and we're gonna need you to back up Baby Yo-"

"No foolin'." Kia looks as serious as Chelsea's ever seen her as she comes into the kitchen. "I want out of here. I can't take it anymore. I don't feel like I belong anywhere, and I want to belong so badly it hurts." She straddles the chair, wrapping her arms around the back, and looks more lost and confused than a grown woman has any right to be.

"Crazy talk. Brainwash talk. That's double overtime in San Antonio and forty minutes in New York talking, and you know what happens when you spend too much time on the court not thinking in those places. Worse than LA." Chelsea's seen the whole spectrum in the last four years as a Monarch: the bitterly neutral ones running to Sacramento, the angry ones running to Detroit, the terrified ones running away from the game, the calculating ones running to Phoenix, the weak ones running wherever would take them in. The lines drawn in 2008 are stone walls here in 2014, too high and hard to climb, and too many players have broken in the trying of it, bodies twisted and souls smothered.

"Maybe it's not so bad," Kia says with a shrug. "Essence-"

"Essence is dead," Chelsea interrupts before that train of thought can even start boarding to leave the station. "I was there for the whole thing. Don't hold that up as your example, because I'll tie you to a chair and keep you in this apartment 'til you see sense if I have to." She shivers as the parallelism in her words hits her, and she closes her eyes against the memory of Essence's surrender, how unnatural the stillness of her elegant hands had been, how she'd seen Conlon- never Carson, Chelsea will never go along with that lie even if it kills her- stretch those same elegant hands in front of her before her first game as the olive branch on UConn's bench.

"I never knew how lonely I was before," Kia whispers, and she's already got one foot out the door, never mind she hasn't gotten out of the chair. Chelsea can talk at her until she's Sky blue in the face, and it's not going to matter one bit. It's time to search the free agent pool and start investigating the college ranks for a post player to replace her.

"Have you decided where yet?" The casual tone is so forced that Kia raises an eyebrow lazily.

"Like hell I'm going to be white, so that let out half the league in one shot. Indiana offered the best deal, at least that's what Ticha said. Their three picks for me and our third-rounder."

She should have seen that coming. Indiana always puts together irresistible packages when a player puts herself out on the market. If the league didn't mandate a team having at least one pick in the draft, Chelsea's sure the Fever would trade themselves out of the draft every year. It's a good deal for what both teams do, too; high picks like the ones the Fever are sure to earn can bring real talent to Sacramento to be cherished instead of thrown away, and a low third-rounder like the Monarchs will get would probably be desperate enough to break in that she wouldn't mind selling her soul. And there are worse places than Indiana. At least Catchings seems to have a gentle hand and a loose rein.

She shakes herself. Talk about brainwash talk. It is what it is, and Kia's offered to sign away her soul and her dignity. "What is it about that team?" she asks, her voice dangerously close to shrill with hysteria. "They got Tammy, now they're getting you, how strange is that? Maybe you can say hi to her when you get there. Or something." She remembers now the other quirk about Indiana. "Yeah, or something. I guess this is the last we'll be hearing from each other, isn't it?"

Kia laughs, as much to calm Chelsea down as anything else. "Relax. I'm still here. I'm not dead."

"No," Chelsea replies. "No, not yet."