FIC: Scars to Show
Title: Scars to Show
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Will (But mostly, it's Will.)
Summary: There's nothing to say except "I'm sorry" and "I told you so" and trite has never been a good look for Will. Fifteen-year law school reunion.
I'm back with scars to show
Back with the streets I know
Will never take me anywhere but here
The stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand
The strangers whose faces I know
We meet here for our dress-rehearsal
To say, "I wanted it this way"
Wait for the year to drown
Spring forward, fall back down
I'm trying not to wonder where you are.
-The Weakerthans, "Left and Leaving"
When the evening's half over and her name tag is still sitting at the hospitality table, Will's not surprised. He keeps checking anyway. Just in case. By the third time he finds an excuse to step out, he's pretty sure the girl from alumni relations has figured him out.
"Sometimes people have to cancel at the last minute," she tells him. She nods to the dozen or so name tags lined up in a neat row on the table. "Deals explode or cases-- "
"I know," he says. He drains his scotch. "So, you think I'm waiting for someone?" He turns his attention to the alumni-relations girl. Alice, her name tag says. So close. He puts on his best charming smile, leans in just enough. "Maybe I just like the company out here."
It's easy. It's too easy, and he slips out of his hotel room while Alice showers.
It's not that he expected her to come, not in the middle of the trial. He's seen the pictures, the way she walks a step behind Peter as they leave the courthouse each day. She keeps her head down, eyes avoiding the cameras. Her hair falls into her face and it makes him think of the hours of his life he spent off to her side, watching the wall of curls that blocked his view of her. I can feel you staring, she used to tell him. I'm not taking a break until we both get through this case, so eyes down, Mister.
He didn't call, after the story broke, and he still feels pretty shitty about that. He doesn't know what he would have said. "It's been a while, but hey, turns out your husband's even more of an asshole than I thought. So sorry about your broken heart." And that's the problem, really. There's nothing to say except "I'm sorry" and "I told you so" and trite has never been a good look for Will.
He didn't expect her to come, but there's a part of him that's still surprised she didn't. In her shoes, he'd want to be anywhere but Chicago right now. He would leap at the opportunity to shed Peter's name and be Alicia Cavanaugh again, even if it was just for one night. He orders another drink as Carla Templeton -Carla Darby, now? Carla Templeton-Darby? - slides onto a stool two seats down from his.
"Will Gardner," she says, recognition spreading over her face. "I didn't see you at the thing, earlier."
Will shrugs. "I was there." He hesitates. "I left before most of the dancing."
The bartender hands Carla a glass of red wine and it clashes with her hair, still as bright orange as it was fifteen years ago. Will remembers too many nights and too much Natty Boh, back before he could be accused of having a Type. He remembers Carla drunkenly pressing against him on the dance floor at Barrister's Ball in 2L, remembers holding her close even as his eyes never left Alicia. Do you want to make her jealous? Carla asked just before she kissed him.
"Probably for the best," she says, and he cocks his head to the side, curious. "Liz Lawrence and that crowd were out in force. You never liked her much, did you?"
"Man, I'd forgotten about Liz Lawrence." Will shakes his head. "I never had a problem with her." Alicia did, but Will doesn't say that. I just don't like meanness or gossip, she told him once. And that's all Liz is about. It was more than that, but he never pushed her. Never pushed her about anything, really. Until he did, and, well, that ended badly. "So she still hasn't learned to keep a secret?"
"I think she was hoping-- " Carla shrugs. "Do you still talk to Alicia?"
Will blinks. "Do I-- ? Not as much as-- Not since-- Not since before everything." He drains what's left in his glass and orders another one. "It's been a few years."
"Hunh. Falling out?"
"Something like that," Will says. A part of him wants to say more. He wants to tell her about accusations and denials, about the fight that somehow wasn't about what it was about. I told her he was cheating three years ago, he wants to say. She hasn't spoken to me since. He wants to tell someone, but he's never had that kind of relationship with Carla and he certainly doesn't now. They never really talked, were never even friends. She was just the first easy thing in nearly two decades of things that came too easily. Now, all these years later, seeing her makes him crave a challenge the way he did back then, watching Alicia until she told him to stop. "I should get to bed. I have an early flight."
Carla lets him go but catches his wrist as he passes her. "You know the thing about you, Will?" She waits until he looks up. "You're the kind of guy who'll fly halfway across the country for the possibility of seeing someone who lives across town because you're too scared to pick up the phone."
"That's not why I came," he says, but it's a lie and they both know it.
Upstairs, the only trace of Alice is a phone number scrawled on a pad of hotel paper and he can't get Carla's words out of his head. After two bottles from the minibar he scrolls through his contact list until he finds her name and he presses call before he can change his mind.
She answers on the third ring and her voice is soft, almost muffled. "Hello?" she sounds confused, sounds tired. He can't remember the last time he changed his number, can't remember if she would have any reason to know that it's him.
"Alicia." He doesn't know what else to say so he lets her name just hang there for a moment. "I-- It's Wi--"
"I know," she says, and he breathes a sigh of relief. "I-- give me a minute." He can hear the sound of blankets rustling, the squeak of a door.
"Did I wake you?" he asks. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late, I-- "
"You didn't wake me." He's about to say something when she adds, "I don't sleep much, anymore."
"You never slept much," he says, gently. "Not when things were-- "
"Yeah."
They're both quiet for a long time, and he can hear his heart beating, can hear the way her breathing is punctuated by sips of what he can only imagine is wine.
"I'm in DC," he says, finally. "And I just-- "
"Dammit." She curses and he's about to ask why when she adds, "I forgot to cancel my hotel reservation."
"You didn't miss much," he says.
"Tell me anyway," she urges, and so he does.
He tells that he was afraid Janice was going to go into labor right there, that Kevin has finally come out, Hannah's finally gone in-house and Mike's on his third divorce. He doesn't mention Liz or Carla and he certainly doesn't mention Alice.
"You sound like you've been drinking," she says when he pauses to remember what else to tell her.
"A bit," he admits. "So do you."
"I don't," she says, but the protest is half-hearted.
"I should have called," he says. "I didn't mean to not call, I just-- "
"You didn't know what to say," she finishes. "No one does. There's nothing to say."
She's probably right. Infidelity's not the kind of thing that people talk about and maybe that was his mistake three years ago. He thinks about Carla and how transparent he's always been, tries to imagine what Alicia must have thought of him, then.
"Look, the last time we talked-- " He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I didn't want to be right, I just thought-- I just thought that if I was, you should know, but it came out all wrong and I-- "
"Will, don't." She sounds so tired, so resigned, like all of the fight he used to love about her is gone.
"Okay," he says. "I'm sorry."
"I didn't mean to-- I asked him about it. What you said. He said it wasn't true and I wanted to believe him so I didn't-- " She hesitates and he can hear her swallow. "Maybe I should have."
"It was just a rumor," he says, even though he knew then that it wasn't just a rumor, just like Amber Madison isn't a rumor. "Politics is all rumors."
Alicia's laugh is harsh and it jangles awkwardly, out of tune. "The thing is, Will, it's not politics. It's my life."
"I know," he mumbles, contrite. "I didn't mean-- "
"Do you think he did it?" she asks. "Not the- do you think he's guilty?"
He doesn't know how to answer that, doesn't know how to say yes, of course he did it without hurting her more than he already has. "I don't- I'm afraid that if I tell you what I think, it'll be another three years before we talk again."
"So that's a yes," she says, simply.
"Alicia…" He closes his eyes, tries to forget about the grand juries that were threatened but never convened, indictments that were handed down but dropped before trial. He tries to forget about the stories about money changing hands, tries to un-see the steady stream of blondes at the sidelines of too many basketball games, back before Alicia stopped talking to him and Peter stopped showing up. It doesn't work, and he can't forget. He can't forget any of it, can't forget Kalinda standing behind him in the conference room as he watched that fucking press conference, transfixed by Alicia, the way the camera made sure that she was never out of the frame. About time, was all Kalinda said. He never asked what she meant. Never wanted to know.
"Don't do that," she says, softly. "Don't treat me like I'm made of glass."
"Yeah," he says. "Yes, I think he did it and if I was his lawyer, I would never have let it see the inside of a courtroom."
"He didn't want to take a plea," she says, and she sounds defensive, small.
"Hubris," Will says before he can stop himself. "That's always been-"
"Okay, you know what? Let's not."
"Yeah." He sighs. "Have you thought about… after the verdict?"
"I've been updating my résumé," she admits. "Trying to, anyway." She hesitates. "Thirteen years is a long time."
"Yeah, but you must know people," Will insists. "That's how things work, especially in this economy."
"I don't- I don't want to do that," she says. "I don't want to be… "
"Yeah." Tainted, he thinks, and there's a naïve dignity in that, in Alicia. He tries not to think about how quick he is to excuse Alicia's pride and condemn Peter's. It's different, though. It's wanting to do right, not wanting to get away with doing wrong. It's a distinction that matters.
"Look, Will, I should really- the kids have school in the morning, and I think he's back in court at--"
"No, no, yeah, go, it's- It was good talking to you."
"And you," she says, and it's crazy but he thinks he can hear her smile. "Bye."
"Bye, Alicia," he murmurs, and when he hangs up he's smiling. Three years of not knowing what to say and suddenly there's so much that he wants to say that he didn't. So much he wants to do.
He's almost asleep when he realizes that there's something, one thing, that he can do. Alicia wouldn't want it, but he reaches for his Blackberry anyway. It will be an uphill battle, and he knows it. It's not just Diane, she's politically savvy enough to know that even a disgraced name is still worth something. Julius will be skeptical, but summa cum laude is summa cum laude, no matter when she graduated. He's not worried about Jonas. If Jonas ever shows up, she'll charm the pants off of Jonas. David's the real hurdle, but he'll cross that bridge when they get there. Somehow. If Alicia Florrick submits a résumé, put it on my desk, he types and hits send before he can think better of it. It's done, and Alicia will never need to know.
The ball's in her court, now. The ball has always been in her court.
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia/Will (But mostly, it's Will.)
Summary: There's nothing to say except "I'm sorry" and "I told you so" and trite has never been a good look for Will. Fifteen-year law school reunion.
I'm back with scars to show
Back with the streets I know
Will never take me anywhere but here
The stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand
The strangers whose faces I know
We meet here for our dress-rehearsal
To say, "I wanted it this way"
Wait for the year to drown
Spring forward, fall back down
I'm trying not to wonder where you are.
-The Weakerthans, "Left and Leaving"
When the evening's half over and her name tag is still sitting at the hospitality table, Will's not surprised. He keeps checking anyway. Just in case. By the third time he finds an excuse to step out, he's pretty sure the girl from alumni relations has figured him out.
"Sometimes people have to cancel at the last minute," she tells him. She nods to the dozen or so name tags lined up in a neat row on the table. "Deals explode or cases-- "
"I know," he says. He drains his scotch. "So, you think I'm waiting for someone?" He turns his attention to the alumni-relations girl. Alice, her name tag says. So close. He puts on his best charming smile, leans in just enough. "Maybe I just like the company out here."
It's easy. It's too easy, and he slips out of his hotel room while Alice showers.
It's not that he expected her to come, not in the middle of the trial. He's seen the pictures, the way she walks a step behind Peter as they leave the courthouse each day. She keeps her head down, eyes avoiding the cameras. Her hair falls into her face and it makes him think of the hours of his life he spent off to her side, watching the wall of curls that blocked his view of her. I can feel you staring, she used to tell him. I'm not taking a break until we both get through this case, so eyes down, Mister.
He didn't call, after the story broke, and he still feels pretty shitty about that. He doesn't know what he would have said. "It's been a while, but hey, turns out your husband's even more of an asshole than I thought. So sorry about your broken heart." And that's the problem, really. There's nothing to say except "I'm sorry" and "I told you so" and trite has never been a good look for Will.
He didn't expect her to come, but there's a part of him that's still surprised she didn't. In her shoes, he'd want to be anywhere but Chicago right now. He would leap at the opportunity to shed Peter's name and be Alicia Cavanaugh again, even if it was just for one night. He orders another drink as Carla Templeton -Carla Darby, now? Carla Templeton-Darby? - slides onto a stool two seats down from his.
"Will Gardner," she says, recognition spreading over her face. "I didn't see you at the thing, earlier."
Will shrugs. "I was there." He hesitates. "I left before most of the dancing."
The bartender hands Carla a glass of red wine and it clashes with her hair, still as bright orange as it was fifteen years ago. Will remembers too many nights and too much Natty Boh, back before he could be accused of having a Type. He remembers Carla drunkenly pressing against him on the dance floor at Barrister's Ball in 2L, remembers holding her close even as his eyes never left Alicia. Do you want to make her jealous? Carla asked just before she kissed him.
"Probably for the best," she says, and he cocks his head to the side, curious. "Liz Lawrence and that crowd were out in force. You never liked her much, did you?"
"Man, I'd forgotten about Liz Lawrence." Will shakes his head. "I never had a problem with her." Alicia did, but Will doesn't say that. I just don't like meanness or gossip, she told him once. And that's all Liz is about. It was more than that, but he never pushed her. Never pushed her about anything, really. Until he did, and, well, that ended badly. "So she still hasn't learned to keep a secret?"
"I think she was hoping-- " Carla shrugs. "Do you still talk to Alicia?"
Will blinks. "Do I-- ? Not as much as-- Not since-- Not since before everything." He drains what's left in his glass and orders another one. "It's been a few years."
"Hunh. Falling out?"
"Something like that," Will says. A part of him wants to say more. He wants to tell her about accusations and denials, about the fight that somehow wasn't about what it was about. I told her he was cheating three years ago, he wants to say. She hasn't spoken to me since. He wants to tell someone, but he's never had that kind of relationship with Carla and he certainly doesn't now. They never really talked, were never even friends. She was just the first easy thing in nearly two decades of things that came too easily. Now, all these years later, seeing her makes him crave a challenge the way he did back then, watching Alicia until she told him to stop. "I should get to bed. I have an early flight."
Carla lets him go but catches his wrist as he passes her. "You know the thing about you, Will?" She waits until he looks up. "You're the kind of guy who'll fly halfway across the country for the possibility of seeing someone who lives across town because you're too scared to pick up the phone."
"That's not why I came," he says, but it's a lie and they both know it.
Upstairs, the only trace of Alice is a phone number scrawled on a pad of hotel paper and he can't get Carla's words out of his head. After two bottles from the minibar he scrolls through his contact list until he finds her name and he presses call before he can change his mind.
She answers on the third ring and her voice is soft, almost muffled. "Hello?" she sounds confused, sounds tired. He can't remember the last time he changed his number, can't remember if she would have any reason to know that it's him.
"Alicia." He doesn't know what else to say so he lets her name just hang there for a moment. "I-- It's Wi--"
"I know," she says, and he breathes a sigh of relief. "I-- give me a minute." He can hear the sound of blankets rustling, the squeak of a door.
"Did I wake you?" he asks. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late, I-- "
"You didn't wake me." He's about to say something when she adds, "I don't sleep much, anymore."
"You never slept much," he says, gently. "Not when things were-- "
"Yeah."
They're both quiet for a long time, and he can hear his heart beating, can hear the way her breathing is punctuated by sips of what he can only imagine is wine.
"I'm in DC," he says, finally. "And I just-- "
"Dammit." She curses and he's about to ask why when she adds, "I forgot to cancel my hotel reservation."
"You didn't miss much," he says.
"Tell me anyway," she urges, and so he does.
He tells that he was afraid Janice was going to go into labor right there, that Kevin has finally come out, Hannah's finally gone in-house and Mike's on his third divorce. He doesn't mention Liz or Carla and he certainly doesn't mention Alice.
"You sound like you've been drinking," she says when he pauses to remember what else to tell her.
"A bit," he admits. "So do you."
"I don't," she says, but the protest is half-hearted.
"I should have called," he says. "I didn't mean to not call, I just-- "
"You didn't know what to say," she finishes. "No one does. There's nothing to say."
She's probably right. Infidelity's not the kind of thing that people talk about and maybe that was his mistake three years ago. He thinks about Carla and how transparent he's always been, tries to imagine what Alicia must have thought of him, then.
"Look, the last time we talked-- " He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I didn't want to be right, I just thought-- I just thought that if I was, you should know, but it came out all wrong and I-- "
"Will, don't." She sounds so tired, so resigned, like all of the fight he used to love about her is gone.
"Okay," he says. "I'm sorry."
"I didn't mean to-- I asked him about it. What you said. He said it wasn't true and I wanted to believe him so I didn't-- " She hesitates and he can hear her swallow. "Maybe I should have."
"It was just a rumor," he says, even though he knew then that it wasn't just a rumor, just like Amber Madison isn't a rumor. "Politics is all rumors."
Alicia's laugh is harsh and it jangles awkwardly, out of tune. "The thing is, Will, it's not politics. It's my life."
"I know," he mumbles, contrite. "I didn't mean-- "
"Do you think he did it?" she asks. "Not the- do you think he's guilty?"
He doesn't know how to answer that, doesn't know how to say yes, of course he did it without hurting her more than he already has. "I don't- I'm afraid that if I tell you what I think, it'll be another three years before we talk again."
"So that's a yes," she says, simply.
"Alicia…" He closes his eyes, tries to forget about the grand juries that were threatened but never convened, indictments that were handed down but dropped before trial. He tries to forget about the stories about money changing hands, tries to un-see the steady stream of blondes at the sidelines of too many basketball games, back before Alicia stopped talking to him and Peter stopped showing up. It doesn't work, and he can't forget. He can't forget any of it, can't forget Kalinda standing behind him in the conference room as he watched that fucking press conference, transfixed by Alicia, the way the camera made sure that she was never out of the frame. About time, was all Kalinda said. He never asked what she meant. Never wanted to know.
"Don't do that," she says, softly. "Don't treat me like I'm made of glass."
"Yeah," he says. "Yes, I think he did it and if I was his lawyer, I would never have let it see the inside of a courtroom."
"He didn't want to take a plea," she says, and she sounds defensive, small.
"Hubris," Will says before he can stop himself. "That's always been-"
"Okay, you know what? Let's not."
"Yeah." He sighs. "Have you thought about… after the verdict?"
"I've been updating my résumé," she admits. "Trying to, anyway." She hesitates. "Thirteen years is a long time."
"Yeah, but you must know people," Will insists. "That's how things work, especially in this economy."
"I don't- I don't want to do that," she says. "I don't want to be… "
"Yeah." Tainted, he thinks, and there's a naïve dignity in that, in Alicia. He tries not to think about how quick he is to excuse Alicia's pride and condemn Peter's. It's different, though. It's wanting to do right, not wanting to get away with doing wrong. It's a distinction that matters.
"Look, Will, I should really- the kids have school in the morning, and I think he's back in court at--"
"No, no, yeah, go, it's- It was good talking to you."
"And you," she says, and it's crazy but he thinks he can hear her smile. "Bye."
"Bye, Alicia," he murmurs, and when he hangs up he's smiling. Three years of not knowing what to say and suddenly there's so much that he wants to say that he didn't. So much he wants to do.
He's almost asleep when he realizes that there's something, one thing, that he can do. Alicia wouldn't want it, but he reaches for his Blackberry anyway. It will be an uphill battle, and he knows it. It's not just Diane, she's politically savvy enough to know that even a disgraced name is still worth something. Julius will be skeptical, but summa cum laude is summa cum laude, no matter when she graduated. He's not worried about Jonas. If Jonas ever shows up, she'll charm the pants off of Jonas. David's the real hurdle, but he'll cross that bridge when they get there. Somehow. If Alicia Florrick submits a résumé, put it on my desk, he types and hits send before he can think better of it. It's done, and Alicia will never need to know.
The ball's in her court, now. The ball has always been in her court.