Diane's ears are ringing as she leaves the conference room. Can't they get through a single partners' meeting without it devolving into a shouting match?
She has to be grateful that Clarke Hayden's strategizing has forced David Lee to stay but she can't help wishing the exasperating divorce lawyer would occasionally make himself scarce. Never mind. She is done with office politics for the day.
Fresh off a six million-dollar success, she's looking forward to sinking her teeth into a new case. She's meeting with the client tomorrow and there is a pile of reading waiting for her.
To her annoyance she finds that Will is blocking her office doorway.
"What is it?" she asks.
"I'm trying to fill out some insurance forms and I wanted to run a few of our options by you."
"Do you really need me for this?"
"Don't we decide these things together?" he says.
Diane grumbles a little but she allows him to follow her into the office.
When she is finally rid of him, she is able to open a file folder and begin to read. It is an interesting case. A recreational fisherman is claiming the Cook County Forest Preserve is responsible for the boating accident in which he lost a leg. Diane circles a few things, jots some notes in the margins and then hears a knock on the door.
It's Will again. Incredible. This had better be important.
"Diane? Building Security called. There's going to be a fire drill at two o'clock on Friday."
"Okay, got it," she says, putting it in her calendar. "And Will? The next time you come in here, it had better be because there is an actual fire. Or at the very least a tornado warning or something."
"Want me to hang a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door?"
"That's not the worst idea you've had."
She turns her attention back to the folder.
A drop of water lands splat on the page in front of her. She looks up and sees that there is a wet spot forming on the ceiling directly over her desk.
A second drop falls and then a third.
Diane moves her files and electronics off of her desk and onto the floor and the end table beside her couch. She positions a coffee mug to catch the water droplets. Then she calls the extension for Building Facilities Management, gets their voicemail and leaves a message.
For a half an hour, she reads, seated on the couch and listening to the maddening drip, drip, drip as the ceiling continues to leak.
Finally, her phone rings.
"Hello, Ms. Lockhart?"
"Yes."
"This is Peyton at Facilities Management. You put in a call about a leaky ceiling?"
"Yes."
"Well, we'll take care of that as soon as we can, Ma'am, but we have a number of work orders to fill. How urgent would you say the problem is?"
There is a loud crack from overhead. Diane looks up in time to watch a new, jagged line across the ceiling lengthen and then burst open. Water gushes forth, soaking her desk and spurting in all directions. The spray hits Diane in the face and the chest.
She looks down at her blouse, which is splotched and wet.
The deluge continues, water spilling over the sides of the desk and pooling on the rug.
She stands in stunned silence for a moment.
"Ms. Lockhart?" Peyton prompts.
"I would say it's quite urgent," she manages.
When she gets off the phone, she heads for Will's office. Already a fair number of people have stopped working and gathered to gape through the glass wall at the hole in her ceiling and the mess but Will is on the phone and so far oblivious.
"Will," she says pointedly.
"Now who's disturbing whom?" he asks, swiveling in his chair to face her. "Why's your shirt all wet?" He says into the receiver, "I'm going to have to call you back."
"May I work in here?" Diane says. "There's a problem with my office."
Two workers manage to stop the water damage from spreading but it's going to take a day to replace the pipe and repair the ceiling.
One of the men helps Diane move a table from the hallway into Will's office to use as a desk, the other carries her chair.
She notices Clarke Hayden hovering in a doorway and surveying the parade with an air of satisfaction.
"Looks like you and Will are sharing an office after all," he says.
It is actually kind of funny.
She gives him a reluctant smile and says firmly, "The arrangement is temporary."
"Oh, I understand."
He still looks a bit like the cat that got the cream.
Will also appears to be more than a little amused as Diane plugs in her laptop and gets settled at her make-shift desk.
"Have everything you need?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Takes you back, doesn't it? I shared an office when I was starting out. With a guy named Lucas. Lucas… Krasinski? Koslowski? Why can't I think of his last name? Lucas. I wonder what happened to him."
"Will, don't talk to me. I need to work."
"Okay, sure. I'm working, you're working. No distractions."
Diane picks up her reading and her notes and then realizes she doesn't, in fact, have everything she needs. She stares at the table for a full thirty seconds before giving in.
She clears her throat.
"Will?"
"Yes, Diane?"
"Do you have a pen?"
"Lucas used to borrow my pens all the time. Not just my pens. He borrowed my stapler, my three-hole punch, my batting gloves… He never returned the favor, either."
"Will, if you give me a pen, I promise I will do something for you sometime."
"That's what Lucas used to say!"
"Yes, well. Just call me Lucas."
"Here's your pen, Lucas. You reading up on the Forest Preserve lawsuit?"
"Yes."
"What's the story there?"
"I don't know yet," she says testily. "That's why I'm reading the literature."
"Let me see," he gets up and comes to look over her shoulder.
"Will. Sit. Sit in your chair," she barks.
"Fine," he says.
They are silent for twenty minutes.
"Hey. Lucas."
"Hm?"
"If I'm inviting Judge Pérez to Wednesday Night Basketball, do you think I should sign the email 'Sincerely'?"
"Will, you're a managing partner. You have a JD. I think you can write an email without my help, don't you?"
"Yeah, but this matters. He's new to the county, I've never met him and I want to make a good impression. Would you just look at it?"
Diane heaves an exaggeratedly heavy sigh and gets up. She stands behind Will and looks at his screen.
"It's okay, right?" Will says.
"Um… Are you sure you want to use a colon there instead of a comma?"
"That? No that's fine."
"There's a typo in the second 'graph."
"Where?"
"Right there."
He fixes it.
"And I don't know about the split infinitive there," she points. "I hear he's rather traditional. I'll bet he doesn't like split infinitives."
"A split infinitive? Seriously?"
"Some people are finicky about that."
"Okay, you know what? Never mind. I'm sorry I asked for your help."
"Let's see. You were asking how you should sign it, right?"
"Diane. Sit. Sit in your chair."
Several hours later, Diane looks up.
Will has stopped typing and is staring out of his darkened window at the city lights.
"It's finally quiet," she says.
Will starts.
"I think everyone's gone home," he says
"'Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,'" Diane recites.
"The third-years were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of plea bargains danced in their heads."
She laughs.
"Do you want a drink?" he asks.
"I deserve one," she says with conviction.
He pours each of them a scotch and asks, "So what about you? Did you ever share an office?"
"Yep. When I left my first firm to follow Stern. I shared with Steve Caruso for about a year. He died a few years ago. A brain aneurysm."
"God, that's awful."
"It was. I went to the funeral."
"I'm sorry."
"You remind me of him a little. He was – sweet."
"You think I'm sweet?" Will says teasingly.
Diane grins back at him while she considers how to answer.
"There's no one I'd rather share office space with."
The following morning, Diane has been working for about ten minutes when Will arrives and hangs up his coat. He looks at their two coats hanging side by side in the closet and chuckles.
"This is nice," he says. "You, here, waiting for me. It's almost home-y."
"If you say so," Diane says, but she's happy too this morning.
Happy until she hears doors slamming and raised voices echoing through the building.
"Sounds like the natives are restless," Will says.
"Why should today be different?" she answers. "Do you want to go investigate or shall I?"
"I just got here," Will says. "I haven't even checked my email. You go. Go crack the whip."
She raises her eyebrows. "Crack the whip over the restless natives?"
Will shrugs. "Something like that. Hey, look!" he is reading his emails. "Judge Pérez is coming to basketball."
"In spite of the split infinitive?" Diane says.
"No, I fixed that."
"Good." She heads for the door.
After lunch, she meets with the fisherman client in a restaurant – a little unusual, but he is understanding – and agrees to take his case.
When she arrives back at the firm, she is greeted by a worker who tells her that the ceiling is repaired and her office is fit to work in.
She inspects the repair job. There is a huge patch on the ceiling that will need to be painted over. But otherwise, all is good as new.
She leans back and spins around in her chair. The corner office. The view. Her paintings. She worked hard for all of it and she loves it.
Still, she'd like to ask Will's opinion on the case strategy she's considering and he's not here. She looks across the way at him and sees that he's meeting with Cary and Kalinda. It's not the time, then. She sighs and starts listening to her voicemail messages.
Later that afternoon, Will pokes his head in the door.
"Nice place you've got here."
"Don't I know it," Diane beams.
"May I borrow a pen?" he asks.
"Sure, Lucas."
She hands him the pen but he shows no sign of leaving. Instead he motions at the couch.
"Can I work in here? There's a problem with my office."
"What problem?"
"It's a little lonely."
She can't resist his mischievous grin.
"Don't touch anything," she says severely.
Will's smile widens. "I'll get my computer."