A/N: Been a long while since I wrote a Good Wife fic... please keep in mind that this was started before the latest episode "Judged" ^_^
Eli knocked on Alicia's door at 2:00am, bearing his finest scotch and a new set of plates.
"You have to let me in," he blurted. Alicia had barely opened the door.
She looked about as put together as her guest: robe thrown haphazardly over her shoulders, bleary-eyed, relying too much on the doorjamb.
"Eli," she sighed.
"You have to." He listed slightly to the left, unconsciously mirroring Alicia's pose.
"Are you drunk?"
"Tipsy." Eli paused, emphasized the word by mouthing it again. "I've thought it through, okay? Alicia? I only had just enough that it would be stupid of me to drive home. Unless you actually want me dead." He laughed in a thoroughly unfunny manner. "All the public transportation is closed. I called the cab companies, Uber, even limousines and offered them all a hefty bonus that I really can't afford anymore to not pick me up tonight. Marissa is out of town. You can't call my friends because I don't have any friends except—" Eli faltered, swallowed. "… a-and if you say no I'm going down to that bitch neighbor's door and telling her exactly whose fault it is that I'm waking her up this time of night because yes, I'm that much of a bastard and I'm just drunk enough to deliberately piss you off. More. Piss you off more."
"Really. I thought you were tipsy, Eli." Alicia's expression was pure stone. "I could call Peter."
"Yes, but would he come?"
"… Jesus. Just get in here. Don't wake up Grace."
Eli smiled, even if it was weak.
He shuffled past Alicia, the edge of his suit jacket catching briefly against her bathrobe. Eli automatically turned towards the dining room, spotted the table, shut his eyes, and after a moment of strained silence turned back towards the kitchen. He deposited his load on the counter.
"My dad's best," he said, tapping the bottle's side. "Gave it to me the day I decided to give up music for a 'real damn job.' Never wanted to drink it. Is it awful that I'm giving it to you?"
"Yes." Alicia crossed her arms. She hadn't moved from her spot by the door.
"… I also got you plates. Just plain white ones. Like… well. Should you be walking around barefoot?"
Eli almost wished he hadn't looked. Flannel pajamas and knotted hair was one thing, but there was something obscenely intimate about bare feet. Alicia's were long and pale, overlapping each other to avoid the cold of the tile floor. She wore nail polish—chipped—usually hidden away by her stockings. It was somewhat shocking to see them on display now.
Eli's eyes rose and met an owlish stare. Alicia blinked in pure confusion, momentarily startled out of her anger.
"What?"
"The… shards. From the plates. Sharp bits of ceramic? Should—?"
"Would you care if I stepped on one?"
Eli blanched. "Alicia."
"Grace cleaned it all up." She ran a hand through her hair, the only real movement since Eli walked back through her door. "She's pretty methodical."
"Oh. Your daughter cleaned it up. Now I feel worse." Eli closed his eyes and swayed.
"Good."
But there were tired hands around his arms, guiding him towards the couch. At the last second Alicia roughly let go and Eli careened into the cushions. He pulled himself into a sitting position, his expression softening in turns.
"Don't read into it," Alicia muttered. "I'm just not having Grace clean up your blood if you faint and crack your head open."
Eli nodded into the fabric. He waited.
There were sounds then, sounds that might have been soothing if it weren't for the context of his situation: Alicia's steps like soft suction cups across the floor, the clinking of plates (his plates?), fridge open and shut, metal thrumming, the shhh of a gas stove… Eli remained slouched in silence, not knowing what to do now that he'd made it inside, handed over his offering. He certainly didn't know what to say beyond what had been said before. If any of it was welcome.
Ten minutes later a mug of hot cocoa was set in front of him. Eli nearly laughed.
"See? This is your problem." He gestured vaguely.
Alicia's eyes flashed. "You're really going to—"
"You're too nice," he said, overriding her. "You're awful at hating people, staying mad at them—oh I mean you're great it, didn't actually mean that, but when push comes to shove…" Eli mimed shoving the air, listing again. "If I was ill. Really ill, you'd probably drop everything and come visit me in the hospital. With flowers. And one of those awful gift shop teddy bears. Wouldn't you?"
"So what? That's a damn low bar, Eli. Anyone would put aside a fight if their friend's life was in danger. To do otherwise is inhumane."
"Maybe. But sometimes I think you're the only human around." Eli's head lolled against the back of the couch. He squinted up at the dim ceiling. Then, suddenly, he leaned forward, eyes hesitant and just this side of hopeful. "Friend?"
Alicia pushed the mug forward. "Drink, Eli. You need something in your stomach."
"I brought scotch—"
"Besides alcohol."
Eli wasn't so sure he agreed with that. As a general rule he was mindful of his alcohol intake (baring a drink or two for social necessities sake, of course) but alcohol had been a decent companion this night. It had given him an excuse to visit Alicia's favored liquor store and casually ask the owner about the beautiful lawyer who frequented his shop (even more so lately, apparently. Eli supposed he could only blame himself for that). Alcohol had given him something to do in the early hours of the night besides stare out his car window and second-guess himself. Alcohol had finally given Eli the courage to knock on that door. Perhaps too much courage. He didn't know what to do now that both were fading.
... Listen to Alicia, maybe.
Eli picked up the mug, being extra careful that he didn't spill any of it. His hands were a little unsteady, but he got the rim to his lip, tipped it all too fast, and hot chocolate rushed down his throat.
He nearly moaned. This right there was Alicia. Not warmth necessarily. Not even decadence, but effort. Anyone could have thrown powder and lukewarm water together for the drunk (tipsy) guest. That was easy. But Eli could taste the piping hot milk, the baker's chocolate she'd melted down on the stove. Absolutely ridiculous.
He finished his drink in record time. Eli felt light and languid and he barely managed to catch the coaster as he set the mug back down. Alicia reached forward and silently hooked two fingers against the rim, exactly as she had a week before. Eli's body flooded back through with tension as he waited for the inevitable, "Get out."
Instead Alicia sat back, her own drink untouched. "What do you want, Eli?"
"I..."
"Quit imitating a trout. If you have anything else to say, say it."
Did he? He could apologize. Again. Try to employ logic. Bargaining. Maybe even beg. He might have enough left in him for that.
He could say a lot of things.
Eli opened his mouth and produced none of the above.
"Marissa thinks I'm in love with you."
The moment the words hit the air Eli was scrambling forward, his hands waving, half trying to snatch them back, settling for halting Alicia's response. There would be too many words then. His wouldn't be able to compete.
"Wait!" he stuttered. "She said that. Not me, but hell if I'm not drunk enough—yes, drunk—to admit that I don't know. I don't know, Alicia! What the hell do I know about love?"
Eli sat back with a sweeping gesture, warming to the topic now that there was no going back. Since Alicia wasn't stopping him.
Yet.
"I'm a bastard. Right? We know it. I'm a liar and a cheat and I do whatever I have to in order to get ahead. My mom used to say that my cutthroat attitude wasn't inherently bad. Not if I used it for family, friends." He smiled a crooked smile and shook his head, somewhat wildly. "Family's dead, and I don't have friends besides... look. I wasn't me then. I mean it was. Obviously. But not the me now. That Eli thought didn't give a damn if he hurt you, not so long as it helped Peter's campaign. He didn't know you. I—I do though, and I want nothing more than to go back to that Eli and stop him. Give him a good few smacks too. For you."
He couldn't look at her anymore. Eli stared at the tabletop, shakily drawing his finger through a cooling drop of cocoa. Because of course, despite his efforts, he'd still managed to spill some.
"I didn't even realize it was happening," he murmured. "Changing. Ha... maybe I didn't though, because it's only you. You're the only one I'm not going to throw under the bus to get a jump in the poles. Coffee? Non-politics coffee? You think I grab that with anyone else? I clear my calendar for you, Alicia. I have a picture of us on my desk. I don't even keep a picture of Marissa on my desk.
"And I'm not saying this excuses anything. Fuck, I'm not saying you owe me or anything because you're the one damn person in my life I can apply mom's advice to. I guess I'm just saying that... I don't know. I really don't know if I love you, but I do know this is probably the closest I'm ever going to get. I know that you need to be mad at me, maybe for a really long time, but if you stay mad at me forever... that—that might break me. Okay? It…i-it would."
Eli nodded to himself. It started off shaky, then grew in confidence.
"That might be exactly what I deserve."
He waited silently for her judgment. Eli couldn't—wouldn't—look up and hurry her anger. Going back over his admissions he wanted to crawl beneath the cushions of the couch, like a bug, curl up there in shame and self-loathing. Love? That was the last thing Alicia wanted to hear about, especially from the man who'd kept her from it.
Yet Eli couldn't deny his words. If there was ever a time to bother with truth, listing drunk in Alicia's apartment at 2:30am seemed like as good a time as any. He couldn't take them back, after all. They were between them. Words had landed him here. Words might have dug him a deeper hole.
That sat in silence another two minutes... then ten.
Eli was shockingly close to crying under the silence. He kept his eyes on the tabletop, shaking minutely, wondering if he'd somehow missed her getting up and leaving him here, when in his peripheral vision the blur of white suddenly moved. Alicia stood, brushing past him with crushing indifference.
Eli shut his eyes. Resigned.
"There's a blanket in the hall closet."
He whirled, looking for something, but all Eli got was the hunch of Alicia's back as she turned from him. He thought he saw a hand reach to rub at her eyes.
"I'll see you in the morning."
"… Okay."
It turned out that hope wasn't a pleasant feeling. It caused his heart to pound and sent adrenaline shooting through every inch of Eli's skin. He felt sick in ways that had nothing to do with his intake, a churning in his stomach that forced him to pant rather than breathe; run his hands through his hair in a stupid attempt at comfort. Eli spent the next hour tiptoeing quietly between kitchen and couch, carefully rinsing his mug, choosing his blanket, marveling that he was simply here.
When he did finally sleep, Eli dreamed of another couch in Alicia's possession. The one from all the way back in her first office at Lockhart and Gardner. He waited throughout the dream, patiently for her to arrive.
In the end, Eli didn't see Alicia in the morning. His body's needs caught up with him and he slept through to the afternoon—through Grace's departure and Alicia's audible sighs. When Eli finally rolled back to wakefulness he opened his eyes to a tuft of hair tickling his nose.
It was a teddy bear. An awful gift shop teddy bear. There was a scarp of legal paper tucked under its arm.
Eli,
You ARE sick, but you're also forgiven.
Alicia.