A/N: Warning, this is angsty and it has a fair amount of Alicia-bashing in it. So if you're looking for a feel-better kind of fic, this isn't it. Also, if you haven't read Raileht's "The High Cost" you definitely should.
The package had arrived with the morning post. Considered not important, it had ended up under far more pressing communications and had gone unnoticed the entire day. In the confusion of the case-files piling up on the desk, it had been moved so that a part of the return address was now free from the towering stacks of paper. That was how Will had caught it, while finally getting ready to go home for the day. The name Wade was clearly readable and he took the necessary steps to retrieve the monotonous-brown parcel.
He hadn't heard from Wade since they had handled his case. It was the curiosity of why he had chosen that moment to make a contact that had lead him to open the object in his hand with no hesitation. The book that appeared was not unfamiliar and explained why there hadn't been the need of an accompanying note.
The cover art wasn't a paradigm of novelty. The title in question did not need marketing techniques to be sold. An all caps style had been picked for the name of the author: Niccolò Machiavelli. The solemn lettering spelled the two words that every lawyer had read: "The Prince".
He had discussed the content with her more than once, on the couches in their rooms or sitting uncomfortably down on the blanket she had provided when her sentencing had been "too warm and sunny to be inside".
Youth had been on their side. The idealism was reinforced by the unwavering belief that people like them had the possibility of changing the rules of power. Corruption and the moral degradation of politics were the status quo that could be modified if the right people took the reins of power. They had inveighed against the cynicism that infused Machiavelli's words, they had despised his at-times incomprehensible prose and derided him as a sycophant who had elaborated a theory just to properly kiss His Prince's ring.
Undismayed, some of the concepts had found root in his brain and had grown, unrestrained, uncared for, like infesting weed. It was time to acknowledge just how prosperously they had bloomed.
The laugh that had enchanted him in those spring days, the bright, feral eyes of the lawyer-to-be when one of their classmates had dared defend the thesis of the book, the brown-haired head that had rested on his shoulders when they mocked the Professor's admiration all belonged to a woman that had come to represent the embodiment of the figure Machiavelli had so intricately described.
The Princess.
Leafing through the pages of what was a little more than a booklet, he was hit with some powerful memories and abandoned every intent of going home. Instead he poured himself a drink, sat down, and began reading.
It hadn't taken long to read through the words of centuries before, written for a country that was perennially in a civil war. He had focused his attention on the chapters that in the book appeared as Chapter XVII and Chapter XVIII but that at Georgetown they had re-dubbed, for their own convenience, "the chapters where souls go to die".
Uncanny how now each expression, each line, was one piece of the Alicia Florrick, name partner at Florrick, Agos & Associates and First Lady of Illinois.
"Moreover, men are less careful how they offend him who makes himself loved than him who makes himself feared. For love is held by the tie of obligation, which, because men are a sorry breed, is broken on every whisper of private interest; but fear is bound by the apprehension of punishment which never relaxes its grasp."
The craft of written words had always been a bit lost on him. Oratory, arguments, facial and bodily expression had always meant more to Will Gardner, the lawyer. Yet, he couldn't help but admire the careful choice of vocabulary in that particular page. Who wouldn't succumb to a chorus of private interests, who wouldn't be tempted by an authoritative voice that promised personal benefits? No, Machiavelli had settled on whisper. And indeed just a whisper, a whiff of private interest had been enough to cut that tie of obligation that linked Alicia to him. The opportunity had presented itself for her to get the name-partnership, reinforce her marriage and her reputation at the same time. The whisperings of the fourth-years, delivered in hushed tones, not to be heard, had pulverized 20 years of love.
"Returning to the question of being loved or feared, I sum up by saying, that since his being loved depends upon his subjects, while his being feared depends upon himself, a wise Prince should build on what is his own, and not on what rests with others."
She had always been self-reliant. Astonishingly efficient and with an aversion to delegating. Even during their study sessions, she made her own study-cards because "she felt more comfortable that way". He had somehow imagined that this side of her had been smoothened at bit with her marriage. He had been a fool not to perceive it. For Peter she had given away control. She had been betrayed. She had given him the power over her happiness. She had been burned. How had he possibly deluded himself that she would put risk her fate again by putting it in his hands? Alicia had re-taken full reign on herself. Peter had been the only exception.
"Every one understands how praiseworthy it is in a Prince to keep faith, and to live uprightly and not craftily. Nevertheless, we see from what has taken place in our own days that Princes who have set little store by their word, but have known how to overreach men by their cunning, have accomplished great things, and in the end got the better of those who trusted to honest dealing."
He had been taught of the efficacy of cunning when he was still a boy. His favorite bedtime story had been "The Odyssey". He had listened in raptures to Ulysses' adventures. He had been a bit surprised and awed each and every time at the stratagem the perfect Laertiades* had concocted to get out of the Cyclops's cave. Adding to that, there was the fact that Baltimore was no place for a spoon-in-the-mouth education. Being street-smart was the minimum requirement not to be taken for a ride and trust and loyalty were risky currencies to trade. His profile had been the one of the perfect attorney. Astute and cocky enough to flirt with the limits of the law and get away with it. Trained to look for dangers everywhere, especially within the supposed friends.
Success was linked to practicing those skills properly. It was a basic notion.
How had then Alicia outsmarted him?
She had been his blind spot. Loyalty, love, friendship, honesty were all bundled when it came to her. Too drugged by her kisses, too exhausted by the unresolved sexual tension, too lost in her contemplation he had made the fatal mistake. He had trusted. He had misread her and at the revealing of her true, crafty nature he had been caught off-guard.
"To rely wholly on the lion is unwise; and for this reason a prudent Prince neither can nor ought to keep his word when to keep it is hurtful to him and the causes which led him to pledge it are removed."
It was all in that 16th century treatise, wasn't it? Either she had recovered her ill-used copy from when they had badgered it after the exam and done a careful note-taking or she was a natural at being a Princess as she was a being a lawyer. She had already leveraged her offer from Canning for a bump in salary, why hadn't he used that instance as an example of her character? She had pledged a promise to Lockhart/Gardner, to him in particular and she had kept it as long as it was convenient to do so. An adage as old as time. Strategic behavior 101, and not even a modern re-interpretation of it.
"It is necessary, indeed, to put a good colour on this nature, and to be skilful in simulating and dissembling. But men are so simple, and governed so absolutely by their present needs, that he who wishes to deceive will never fail in finding willing dupes"
"Will I be able to argue for a murderer?" she had asked all of a sudden in the middle of a Criminal-Law all-nighter. "I'm not sure I could help someone get away with taking a life. What kind of person does that?" He had reminded her of the question lawyers never asked to protect their humanity. "Even so, Will, if you think someone's guilty how do you fake so well? I'm not an actress." He had reassured her, telling her that she could consider herself not a defender of the person but a defender of the case in itself, of the law. She had nodded, absentmindedly and gone back to her notes, not before murmuring one more time, "I'm not a great actress." Apparently, being a political wife was more useful in this sense than any prestigious acting academy. Watching her, in an double-interview with her husband after the election, beaming at the screen while discussing her marriage he had difficulties reconciling the two Alicias as being one. She was saying, in a calm but firm tone, how she had always known, deep inside, that their family would make it through in one piece and he had almost thrown the remote at the TV. Had she known when she had called, desperate, because 5 interviews hadn't netted her a job that would pay the rent? Had she known while she was in his bed that he was nothing more than a stand-in, the man she fucked so that her complexion would look better when she smiled for Peter and the cameras? Probably. She had known and donned a mask because asking a man to willingly be used and screwed over wasn't polite. It was crude, not proper for a woman with the big house and a pristine reputation. He had accepted the part of the dupe with enthusiasm. He hadn't suspected nor whined.
He had been rejected, hidden, made insignificant and taken it all with a masochistic stamina he didn't even know he possessed.
All in preparation for the great betrayal.
"He must therefore keep his mind ready to shift as the winds and tides of Fortune turn, and, as I have already said, he ought not to quit good courses if he can help it, but should know how to follow evil courses if he must."
She had not even had the courage of giving him a decent explanation. "I'm sorry, Will, I must" were the two half-sentences he had been entitled to when she had handed him her letter of resignation. Seething and half-drunk he had gone to her apartment-building because, damn, he was worth more than that. Then he had taken stock of the State Troopers' that were guarding the entrance and given up. He had enough dignity not to be taken away by men in black like trash. That "I must" was stuck in his head. It didn't even deserve the word bullshit. It was less than that. It was a coward justification for a behavior that had no excuse outside the world of modern Princes and Princesses. Outside, in the cold world where smiles and hand-holding didn't buy a gubernatorial mansion, what Alicia had done was nothing short of treason. Why had he ever thought that she needed protecting, that the fragile Alicia would be hurt by the discovery of how far his husband's campaign was going to go to secure victory? She probably would have looked perplexed for a second before coming up with a perfectly-legitimate reason for sabotaging the democratic process, all ready for a press-conference.
He was the one that was in need of a shelter from her cynical way of letting the right circumstances steer her life.
Or maybe of a notebook, to write down, memorize and imitate.
" Every one sees what you seem, but few know what you are, and these few dare not oppose themselves to the opinion of the many who have the majesty of the State to back them up."
He had wanted to scream at the coverage she had received after the election. Features on just how perfect Alicia Florrick was, on how all the men in Illinois wished for their wives to reach that ideal, on how there had never been in Illinois a woman more apt to lead by example. Eli had done his job spectacularly well. Her departure from his firm had been attributed to her necessity to pursue the law without being imprisoned in the bureaucracy of a large firm that she did not control. The hands of the common people had burned applauding her bravery, her all-American capacity to risk it all to follow her ideals. Not one journalist had dug further, wondering just how the friend that had re-started her career had felt on the matter.
The other lights were focused on Diane and her path to the Supreme Court. His firm was considered dead. In an article, they had said that without the wise and stabilizing figure (Diane), the smart and hungry young lawyer (Cary) and without the brilliant First Lady his firm was doomed. Diane had apologized, insisted that they didn't know how to fill the words but the nagging feeling had stayed. He wanted people to hear his version of the story, to yell that Alicia was nothing but an opportunist, that trusting her was a mistake but never did. The scoundrel, suspended, almost indicted of judicial-bribery had no chance to force the tide in the other direction. People believed what they saw. They didn't see Brutus-Alicia, that was a close friend, as close to a family as he had, up until she pushed the dagger in his back.
They saw Saint Alicia.
They were welcome to keep her, to put their faith in what was nothing more than a cardboard figurine that happened to be shaped like a woman he used to love.
He closed the book, more convinced than ever than their Georgetown selves had a point. In those chapters, the recipes of success, power, control, dominion were neatly written one after the other. He had unknowingly soaked up some of Machiavelli's wisdom and applied it in court every day.
But that nickname that had jokingly been the result of a beer too much was entirely appropriate. The Alicia pupil of the Florentine writer was not a human being worth knowing. She was merely a construction of the attributes that her roles of the day required. A little compassion here and there if she was opening the new wing of the Pediatric Hospital, a touch of assertiveness if she was acting as a name partner. Without exaggeration, of course. Dictatorial was not an adjective people wanted to associate with their First Lady. And so on and so forth...
Will Gardner was more than a list of qualities. Will Gardner was a man. Will Gardner had a soul.
Machiavelli and his Princess could go to hell!
* If you're not familiar with Greek Mythology this is a name that was attributed to Ulysses, since he was Laertes' son.