A/N: I just discovered that I am one of a small (but hopefully growing) group of people that ships this pairing. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have no illusions that TGW writers will get on board with us. Alicia's love life is not what the show is about. So I had already given up on anything ever happening. Then came the two most recent episodes, and my imagination ran wild. This is the result. Probably just a one-shot. Maybe I'll write more on these two, maybe not. Depends on where the show goes next, really (wish it were March already...).
(I apologize for any spelling and grammar errors in advance, English is not my native tongue.)
Living on the edge
He thought he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but for once he ignored it. Instead, he focused on the far more powerful vibrations of the machine underneath him. On the wind beating up his body, making it harder to stay upright. On the windy city flying by as a blur on the edge of his vision. And on the sensation of speed that pushed pure adrenalin through his veins, making his hart drum in his chest.
He passed Chicago's city limits. He knew he shouldn't be on a motorcycle right now. He didn't care.
I don't have feelings for you, her voice whispered in his mind.
He crossed to the other side of the road, his eyes on the exit he wanted to take. It was only when he heard the screeching tires and the blaring horn behind him that he realized he should have looked in his side mirror before crossing.
He really shouldn't be on a motorcycle right now. At least he was wearing his gear this time. Including the helmet that hid his face from prying eyes. A mirthless laugh escaped him. That was him. Living on the edge while hiding behind a mask. He had to keep up appearances. But he craved the risk, the adrenalin.
The thrill.
Why else would he have agreed to manage her campaign? Why else would he have allowed himself to see her beauty, the fire of passion in her eyes when she started talking about the things that mattered to her? The vulnerability when he told her about her son, her brother, her mother? And the strength with which she pulled herself together after each blow? He should have walked out the door the second he had felt that first inkling of admiration. Instead, he'd stayed and managed her campaign. Before he knew it, he was back in the game he had tried desperately to escape from.
Loving it. And growing to love his candidate, his girl, a bit more every day.
He'd known nothing good would come from working with her, at least not for him. He'd known she'd just use him up and spit him out, like they all did. She was Peter Florricks wife, for crying out loud! But he hadn't been able to resist the challenge she and her political minefield of a life presented. He'd been about to call it quits, to retire from anything and everything that had to do with politics or campaigning. He'd been done.
And then Eli called in a favor.
So here he was, finally riding his bike again, for the first time in years. Speeding, trying to stay ahead of the thoughts racing through his mind. Not caring where he was headed, as long as it was away.
It meant nothing.
To her, maybe.
The sound of sirens intruded his mind. For a second, he considered going even faster. Instead he slowed down. He liked risk, but he wasn't stupid. Another hollow laugh escaped. Well, not all the time anyway.
He waited for the police cruiser to signal him to a stop, but it drove right past him. Apparently the police had more urgent matters to handle at this time of night. The sirens and lights disappeared, but he didn't speed up the bike again. There was a coffee joint a few miles ahead. The last thing he needed right now was probably more coffee, but he needed to make a phonecall and that was hard to do while on his bike.
The call he'd ignored earlier turned out to be from Alicia. She'd left a voicemail. He hadn't listened to it yet. Sitting in a booth, drinking coffee that was way too strong, he just stared at her name in his recent contacts.
If it didn't mean anything, then why had she called him at 2 am? What was it that she had wanted to tell him tonight, right before they got interrupted?
He had seen the change in her when he had finally looked her in the eyes, his feelings written all over his face. Gone was her confidence, her light and breezy attitude. When she started to speak, her voice had been softer.
He should call her, put an end to this. Tell her to start looking for a new handler. That's what he had come here to do. He put his phone back in his pocket and drank his coffee, staring at his own reflection in the window, not seeing it. Instead, he saw her smile when she purposefully strode toward him in the parking garage.
In a mood.
It just happened.
So why bring it up again, if it didn't mean anything?
The bike roared to life again. He still shouldn't be on it, but how else was he to get home - or wherever he was going? He left the parking lot in his dust and headed back to the city. Slower this time. He wasn't stupid.
Or maybe he was. Because when he passed back through the city limits, he didn't take the turn that would get him home. Didn't even hesitate.
He brought the bike to a stop. Took off his helmet and pulled a hand through his hair. He looked up.
The building was dark, only one window lit. He looked at it and sighed. He should listen to that voicemail before making a fool of himself once again. He started reaching for his phone.
Then he shrugged. The hell with it. He was in a mood. Damn the consequences.
He got off the bike and went to her building. His strides were long and full of purpose. He went inside, not knowing what to expect.
But hoping.
Living on the edge, taking the risk, seeking the thrill.