I had intended to write a fic about this scene before I wrote the fic about the season 4 finale, but got distracted. So, when a bunch of you left reviews asking me to write more (THANK YOU!), I thought I may as well try to write this one. Next time, I think I'll try something a bit more creative...
One. His hand, her hand, separate but touching. Two. Two rings, his and hers, part of the same set. Three. That was three steps. Four. This was supposed to work. Five. It wasn't working. Six. Flash! Seven. Click! Eight nine ten eleven clickflashflashclickclickclickclickflashflashclick . Twelve. Grace's age. Her daughter. Their daughter. Thirteen. Fourteen. Zach's age. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. The number of times Peter had—no. Counting the number of steps she took was not a good distraction. Alicia would have to try something different.
Had she finished counting, she would have discovered that it took exactly 47 steps to get to her spot near the podium, and 51 for Peter to take his place behind it. That it took 47 steps was something Alicia would never know, but that Peter's place was behind the podium, speaking, and hers was off to the side, looking—how she was supposed to look? Supportive? Content? Betrayed?— however she looked, was something she was very aware of. Painfully aware of.
"Good morning," Peter began, "An hour ago, I resigned as State's Attorney of Cook County."
There was a thought Alicia had been unable to shake since the scandal broke the afternoon before, and it returned to her once again upon hearing these words. She'd given up her career to support his, and this was what he chose to make of that sacrifice. Not only had he been unfaithful, but he'd ruined his political career in the process! EVERYTHING Alicia had done for him was now irrelevant. Or, perhaps, it wasn't. After all, she reasoned, she hadn't given up her career solely or even primarily so Peter could become a politician. She had wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, and had tried to balance work and motherhood for a few years. And she'd been happy as a housewife. To say she gave up her own pursuits to give Peter an opportunity he then threw away would be to rewrite history.
"I did this with a heavy heart, and a deep commitment to fight these scurrilous charges."
He was good at this. She hated that he was good at this. She hated that she liked that he was good at this. "Scurrilous." Nice word choice. A pointed attack in one word, and he delivered it well.
"I have never abused my office. I have never traded lighter sentences for financial..."
This was the part she could listen attentively to. Though she knew Peter did not share all the goings on of the State's Attorney's office with her, she knew the legal world fairly well, and the way things could be misconstrued. And she firmly believed that Peter was a good State's Attorney who would not abuse his office. There was simply no way he was guilty of the criminal charges.
"... or sexual favors."
Or was there? Yesterday morning, she would have said there was simply no way he would ever commit adultery, and obviously, he had. There was evidence of that, in the form of a video tape. She flinched at this recollection.
"At the same time, I need to atone..."
Atone. This was the part about her, the part that would be even harder to stomach. There was simply no good way to write this part of the speech. Alicia knew writing was one of her strong suits—it came naturally to her, and Peter often sought her advice on his speeches, and even she would have been stumped. No matter how eloquent the wording, this part of the speech was going to be bullshit, pure and simple. She looked back at Peter, concentrating.
"... for my personal failings with my wife Alicia..."
All eyes on her. Great. She looked down to avoid making eye contact with the camera.
"... and our two children..."
Forgetting her own predicament for a moment, Alicia thought of Grace and Zach. How could Peter have betrayed his family? His children, his teenage children, were so hurt. Alicia could handle it, barely, but Alicia was in her forties, not middle school. Grace had spent the entire night crying, asking her mother questions Alicia couldn't possibly have answered. And even though he'd tried to be strong and act unfazed, at around 2 am, Zach had walked downstairs and joined his mother and sister in contemplative silence, astonishment, and tears. They'd all been up all night. Peter too, but not at home: he'd spent the night surrounded by lawyers and advisers drafting the speech he was now reading and the legal strategies he'd employ in the coming days.
"The money used in these transactions was mine, and mine alone."
Well, it was also Alicia's, technically. But money could wait for later. She was now reliving the past day right in front of the camera, trying to make it seem like she was not reliving the past day, trying to make it seem like she was unaffected. Her life was her own, it was not supposed to be a headline. But now that she'd gotten distracted by remembering her pain, there was no going back.
"But I do admit to a failure of judgment in my private dealings with these women."
That was an understatement. Alicia took a deep breath and glanced around the room. Everyone had seen the sex tape. Everyone was thinking about the sex tape. Disgusting.
A stray thread; white, against his black suit. An anomaly, something that was not supposed to be there. Anger. Intense anger. She no longer heard Peter's words. And she needed to get rid of that thread. Throw it away. Crush it under the spike of her heel. Do to it what she couldn't do to her marriage. It was an ugly blemish with a simple fix. It could be easily discarded, and then Peter would look perfect, even if his reputation had taken a hit. They'd be one step closer to getting back to where they were before without that stray thread. So did she want to destroy the thread in order to burn bridges, or did she want to destroy it in order to remove an obstacle? Too much, too fast, too complicated. She'd found herself standing here by Peter's side, despite questioning why the hell anyone in her situation would agree to this. But he was Peter, her Peter, her husband of fifteen years, the father of her children—
What was that? Alicia noticed a slight glimmer out of the corner of her eye. Oh. It was her ring. She'd moved her hand towards the thread, apparently. Whoops. That wouldn't replay well on television. But—oh!—Peter grabbed her hand. To the camera, it looked like they were in sync. She raised her hand at the moment he reached for hers. But she had never felt more distant.
There was something forceful about Peter's grasp; he wanted to get out of there. Alicia didn't blame him for that. She followed along. Onetwothreefourfivesixseven... the pace was faster this time, they were almost running through the crowd as they made their escape. Reporters shouted. All Alicia heard was "prostitutes!" "Women!" "sex!", three of the words she wanted to hear least at that moment. And even once they were out of the room, away from the screaming journalists, it didn't stop. There was talk of interviews.
She couldn't take it anymore. Was she supposed to care about Peter's schedule for the day? Why did Peter care about his schedule for the day? Why was that what he jumped into first? Was she an afterthought? Maybe he hadn't intended to ignore her, but wasn't this the time for him to be overcompensating and apologizing profusely? She wouldn't have liked that any more, she realized. There was simply no good approach to this situation. So Peter shouldn't have caused it in the first place. Alicia froze. Peter noticed, eventually, and doubled back towards her.
"Hey. You alright?"
Ha. No, she was not alright. She could not possibly be alright. Nothing about her demeanor said she was anywhere close to alright. She was angry. Furious. Confused. Frustrated. She wanted to slap him. And why not? Why not slap him? Not even the most rational part of her mind could think of a good counterargument. So she raised her arm, intentionally this time, and slapped him as hard as she could. She was not alright. But she felt a wave of relief for the first time that day, enough to let her regroup her thoughts, adjust her skirt and jacket, and walk away.
It didn't last long. At the end of the hallway stood dozens of reporters and photographers, all desperate to see her break down. She leaned against the wall; closed her eyes. This was her life now. Welcome home.