Charades, pop skill
post;S1; Will Gardner, Alicia Florrick
Funny, he thinks, how the Alicia in his imagination is always wearing a dress.
Charades, pop skill
Water hyacinth, named by a poet
Imitation of life.
He looks at her face through the open door of the bedroom and it all comes back to him. Dark hair tumbling in waves down her back, shaking when she threw her head back in laughter, slipping through his fingers when he held her close. Deep, impossibly dark eyes, now shrouded by scandal, but once filled with only wit and laughter.
Will closes his eyes, remembering Before, and can't help but smile.
Funny, he thinks, how the Alicia in his imagination is always wearing a dress.
-o-
A summer dress.
He pushes himself out of the pool, brushing his sopping hair away from his eyes and that's when he sees her. Alone and away from the crowd, sitting on one of the far deck chairs, her legs curled beneath herself, wearing a summer dress. She is hunched forward, her nose inches away from a book, struggling to read in the moonlight and he smiles.
Reaching for a towel, he weaves his way through everyone and sits down in the deck chair opposite.
"Study, really?" he says lightly, grinning when she looks up, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.
"Um-"
"I'm Will," he continues, holding his hand out.
She gives a small smile in return, her cheeks still pink, and though they are scarce feet apart he barely catches her name.
"Alicia."
-o-
They make an odd pair.
He is out-going, gregarious while she is studious and quiet but – somehow – it works. She pulls him back down to earth, forces him into the library when exams come near while he occasionally has to prise her away from textbooks and take her down to the college bar for a well-earned beer.
Days, weeks, months go by in the blink of an eye and Will realises that at some point this slip of a woman has got hold of his heart and shows no sign of letting go.
-o-
A graduation dress.
Four years of study, four years of friendship, four years of falling deeper and deeper in love with Alicia Florrick and he is still floored when she walks through the door. Blue dress, long and fitting, hair falling to the middle of her back, he can't take his eyes off her (like most of their classmates) and she walks quickly to his side and sits down.
"You look-" he begins, but falters when Peter Florrick appears.
He can't bring himself to like Peter; he seems charming, and perhaps that's the point. Too charming and call him pessimistic but Will has always been of the belief that if something sounds too good to be true, it is too good to be true.
"Hi, Will," Peter says and Will forces himself to spit out a polite response, not wanting to hurt Alicia, though he would like nothing more than for Peter to leave the table, the state preferably.
"Has Alicia told you the news?" Peter continues, and Will's brow furrows, not liking where the conversation is heading.
"No."
"We're getting married."
It's Alicia who speaks, her voice soft and sweet, and Will feels his world fall apart a little.
"Oh," he says after a handful of moments that feel like millennia. "Congratulations."
Alicia smiles and Will's throat constricts.
"I have to-" he says, searching for an excuse.
In the end, he doesn't bother with one and leaves the table without a 'goodbye.'
-o-
He walks, round-and-round, up-and-down, but eventually finds himself in front of Alicia's apartment. Peter's car isn't on the street and Will knocks on the door and takes a step back. He can hear Alicia inside, and she opens the door and he watches as her eyes widen.
"Will, you... it's wet..."
He realises then that it's raining, cold water running over his skin, soaking into his tuxedo, but he can't bring himself to care.
"Don't marry him," he says instead. "Please, don't."
He feels warmth at the corners of his eyes and hopes that his tears get disguised with rain.
"Will..."
"Please."
Alicia takes a step back and holds the door open.
"Come in before you freeze," she says.
Will swallows but obeys and follows her inside the apartment. He is shivering. he realises, and Alicia wordlessly pushes his jacket over his shoulders and hangs it on a hook in the hallway. He can feel the cold now and struggles with his tie but his fingers are numb and Alicia pushes his hand away
"Let me."
Nimble hands have the knot undone in seconds and he catches her wrists when she goes to move away.
"Will, don't-" she begins, but he presses his lips against hers and she can't speak.
He doesn't bother with gentle, instead putting every ounce of emotion into the kiss and, to his surprise (and delight) she responds, only to pull away seconds later.
"No, Will," she says firmly. "No."
"I love you."
She looks down at the floor. "Will, don't."
"It's true..."
"Will. Don't."
This time there is no rain to hide the tears that fall down his face.
-o-
A wedding dress.
He thinks it looks like a straight jacket from the back, a mess of ribbon and knots all designed to keep her from escaping. He wishes that were all that was keeping her in place. He sips scotch as he watches the bride and groom in the centre of the dance floor, holding each other close, twin looks of adoration on their faces. She had to invite him, he thinks, and he had to accept.
Why, he isn't sure, maybe some far-fetched notion he could snatch her away.
The scotch burns his throat as he swallows the rest in one go, listening as the music ends, and Peter lets her go (fool, fool, fool) and opens his arms for his sister. Alicia glances up and their eyes meet, and through his alcohol faze he thinks he sees regret, or maybe it was pity. Either way, he works his way through the dancing couples and offers her his hand.
She whispers his name and it sounds harsh on her tongue, like a wound. "I was hoping you would come," she says, placing her hand on his shoulder as he rests his at her waist.
"I was hoping you wouldn't," he retorts, and she glares.
"Will," she snaps, and falls silent when he shakes his head.
"Sorry."
He doesn't mean it, thinks that she knows he doesn't, but she takes it in the spirit it was meant and gives a small nod.
"You look handsome," she says, "Black tie suits you."
Will smiles faintly. "You look-"
… like a porcelain doll, something to be admired from a distance. In his head, he sees them both sitting at a table, books strewn between them.
They look so painfully young.
"Beautiful," he finishes eventually, and it's true, he just wishes she didn't look so polished.
Polished, pretty and perfect.
His true hatred of Peter Florrick starts there.
-o-
A grey dress.
Years have passed when she calls him and they meet for coffee. She is a silhouette against the glass when she walks inside, the harsh fluorescent light turning her hair a dull shade, no longer bright and vibrant. Her posture is stiff, her shoulders sharp edges beneath the grey material. Peter's infidelities are splashed in the headlines and he watches as several people look their way, their eyes alight with recognition and ill-disguised pity. Alicia pretends not to notice she she sits down but gives Will a grateful smile when he shifts his chair so she is blocked from view.
"It's been a long time," she says, fiddling with a napkin.
Years, he thinks, but says nothing.
He reaches forward and places his hand over hers. "Alicia, what is it?"
"I need help, Will," she says, and her voice falters. "I just... I need help."
Her body shakes and Will curses Peter, would happily have punched the man if he were able.
He squeezes her fingers. "Whatever you need."
In his mind, danger danger! pulses in neon lights.
She's as brilliant in the courtroom as he remembers, using words as weapons, able to entrap lying witness, cajole anxious clients, ease the truth out of liars. It's a skill that not many have but which Alicia has in excess.
-o-
"You did good."
"I did, didn't I?"
A grin, a true smile, and he sees the girl from college all those years ago. Then, the smile fades and she becomes 'Peter Florrick's wife' again– off-limits and untouchable.
-o-
"I played with that kid's life."
"You did everything, I know you did."
The office is dark, somehow different in the late hour, and maybe that's why he kisses her. To hell with Peter, to hell with their jobs, at this very moment it's the two of them: Alicia and Will.
(The romantic in him adds 'how it was always meant to be.')
His kiss is gentle, fleeting and he pulls back suddenly as his senses return. Alicia looks up, eyes unreadable, and she is the one who reaches out and grips his shirt, pulling him to her. She kisses him hard, cupping her hand at the back of his neck as he loops his arm around her back.
Then she comes to her senses and runs away.
-o-
He finds her scarf in his office the next day, draped over the back of a chair. The white material slides through his fingers, soft and smooth, and he twists it until it becomes taunt only to let it slacken a moment later.
The faint scent of expensive perfume fills the air, and he wonders if she does this to haunt him.
He dismisses that thought immediately; Alicia is too kind to do anything so cruel.
-o-
"If it had been differently. At Georgetown, if it had been us and not Peter and me. We would have lasted a week."
"No, we wouldn't."
Of that, Will is absolutely sure. He doesn't do anything by halves, least of all fall in love, and Alicia still holds his heart in her hand whether she realises that or not.
"It's romantic because it didn't happen."
Will closes his eyes as these lies (to his ears in any case) spill from her lips.
"I was in love with you then, and now-"
"Will, don't say that, please-"
He is taken back to that fateful night after graduation, where she'd told him of her engagement to Peter.
"All I'm doing is speaking the truth," he says.
She hangs up at his words and he feels empty.
-o-
"The plan is that I love you."
The grand declaration and he wishes he could say it to her in person and not over a phone line.
But, with expensive wine coursing through his veins, comes a burst of courage and he lays everything out on the table.
Only to put it back in when his message is ignored.
-o-
They fall back into place. Too close to be called friends, not close enough to be something more.
-o-
A red dress.
She hasn't straightened her hair.
That entirely ridiculous thought hits Will first when he sees Alicia weaving her way through the tables. More natural thoughts follow a second later; she looks wonderful, she looks amazing, but the curly hair... (he is taken back to college, to late-night study sessions.)
"Wow, we're really up front, aren't we?"
"Table three. You look good."
"You too, grown-up clothes."
-o-
The third candidate is announced and Peter leaves Alicia at the table (again, Will thinks fool, fool, fool) to speak to one of the many reporters roaming around the room.
"Will came home from college, told her it was over and that he'd fallen in love with somebody else."
Dark eyes observe him shrewdly and he wonders just how easily Alicia sees through him.
-o-
Alicia comes back from the elevator, her body screaming 'defeat' and enters his office.
"She's not going through with it?"
It's Derek who speaks and Alicia nods, just once.
"To think I was gunning for a fight with Joe Kent..."
"He assaults women, Diane, we should be fighting with him."
Alicia's voice is sharp and her words cut through the air like a scalpel. It's uncharacteristic, and Derek's eyes fill with new-found respect while Diane looks abashed, colour rising in her cheeks.
"We should head back," Derek says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, his gaze still on Alicia.
"Yes," Will agrees, getting to his feet.
His mouth stings and he winces. It's barely perceptible, but Alicia is at his side in a moment. She reaches for the box of tissues in the centre of the coffee table and dabs at his mouth, her touch light but sure. The tissue comes away damp, blood-spotted, and she 'tsks' beneath her breath though he can see her faint smile. Behind them both, Derek and Diane leave for the gala, and they find themselves alone.
"I'm sorry," he says softly, "I know how badly you wanted this case..."
"Yes."
Silence falls, which Will breaks.
"You look beautiful tonight, Alicia."
Her eyes fill with something but she doesn't say a word, instead giving a small nod as she pushes the tissue into his hand.
Neither acknowledge just how much hidden meaning is laced within his words.
-o-
A black dress.
He watches her from afar and hopes that he imagining things when she begins to fall apart. It's not obvious (Alicia has never been one to draw attention to herself) but when she drops files on the ground for the third time in a week, he goes into her office and pulls the door shut.
"Talk to me," he says simply, sitting down and leaning forward.
She turns her head away and he traces the long column on her neck, thinking at the moment that she looks beautiful. Too beautiful for this office, this job...
"The press," she responds eventually, "Childs put a tracker onto Grace and the clip has gone viral."
He raises his eyebrows, not knowing what a 'tracker' is or what 'viral' means but her tone is heavy and he knows it can't be anything good.
"And it's..."
Her phone rings and she reaches out and answers. He watches as her eyes widen and a combination of worry, panic and anger etches its way into her features.
"Grace, honey, stay there and I'll come and get you."
She gets to her feet and grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.
"Problem?" he asks, moving out of the way.
"Her classmates have found the clip; they're playing it in the computer lab."
He nods as she turns on her heel and hurries toward the elevator.
-o-
Childs has been busy, Will thinks, as he picks up a paper one morning and finds both his face and Alicia's staring up at him.
'Florrick's Wife in Latest Scandal!'
She looks impossibly tired, her skin stretched tight over her cheekbones, and he sees that she has lost weight, which she couldn't afford to do in the first place. The shot the press have used was taken outside the courthouse and he and Alicia are leaning in close, their strides long and determined. They look familiar, too familiar which, Will realises, is exactly the point.
Frowning, he walks back to his office and locks himself inside.
-o-
The rumours start again in earnest (though he doubts they ever truly went away) and he observes from a distance as Alicia retreats further and further into herself.
-o-
"Dammit!"
He turns, alarmed, at the sound of Alicia's voice, and a moment later she slams her office door shut with enough force that he is surprised the glass didn't fall from the panes. Quickly, he walks across the room and steps inside, closing the door (much more gently) behind him. Alicia sits at her desk, propped up on one elbow, her fingers tangled in her hair.
"Alicia?" he says quietly, "what-"
"I am not just 'Peter Florrick's Wife'," she interrupts, "I am more than that-"
"I know," he agrees.
"You seem to be the only one," she says with a bitter laugh. "You know Derek just took me off the Chester and Lambert case? He doesn't want this to be a 'political case.'"
"Alicia, if we win this case then it is your win-" he tries to placate.
"I just won't be there when the verdict is read out," she says harshly.
"Do you want me to talk with Derek?" Will asks.
She shakes her head. "No, but thank you."
Will waves a dismissive hand. "Not at all."
-o-
Another insurance case, another failed class action suit, and this time it is Will who finds Alicia alone in her office. She leans against her desk, arms folded, eyes closed, and he watches her from the doorway.
"It wasn't our fault," he says, crossing the room to stand at her side. "You know that, right?"
She nods, finally opening her eyes, and he thinks they are the darkest he has ever seen. No hint of warmth, just a curtained window.
"I do," she says, "but it doesn't make it any easier. That woman will die, Will. And we can't do a thing."
"Alicia-"
"I talked to Peter," she continues, ignoring him, "asked him to talk to Jonathon Dobbs again and he refused. It was 'too sensitive.' She spits out the last two words, as if they were poison.
"Alicia, don't blame yourself," he says softly.
She exhales deep, defeatist air running from her throat, deafening in the small space.
"Much easier said than done, Will," she says, and he hates that her voice starts to tremble and her body shakes.
Too soon tears are running down her face and he wonders if she is crying about this case or her life in general. Perhaps a bit of both. He places his hand on her shoulder and it feels awkward, out-of-place, but she turns and leans into him, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. Slowly, he wraps around his arms around her, holding her close, never wanting to let her go.
-o-
A blue dress.
Peter wins the election, by a narrow margin, and she and Will sit next to each other at the celebratory dinner. She looks tired, the smudges beneath her eyes not covered by make-up, and while she still retains the veneer of perfection, Will knows her too well to believe it.
This is a woman who has had enough.
He has drunk more than he should and perhaps that is why he poses the question that has been gnawing away at him for some months.
"I have to ask, Alicia," he says softly, not wanting others to overhear.
"Mm?"
"Why didn't we talk, after I left those messages?"
She turns to face him, eyebrows raised.
"You told me you wanted to drop it," she reminds him sharply.
"And then I said that we should sit down and make a plan."
Confusion fills her eyes and she frowns.
"The second message," he presses, "you know-?"
He doesn't finish his sentence as Alicia's head whips to the side and she fixes Eli Gold with a look that would send a chill up anyone's spine.
"No, I didn't know," she says through gritted teeth.
-o-
Days pass, and he wonders if he should go and speak with her, talk about what has become the infamous voice message. In the end, Alicia takes the decision from him, turning up on his doorstep. He covers his mouth as he yawns, the digital clock behind them both in the hall blinking the numbers 12:13. Alicia's face is pinched and drawn, her mouth tight with words she has yet to say. Will lets her walk across the living room and look out the window at the Chicago skyline before she turns towards him, arms folded and shoulders hunched. She is a pale ghost in the dim light, turned into shades of black-and-white.
"What did you say?" she asks, and it's not the question he expects.
He waits, not knowing what else to do, and she soon continues.
"I spoke with Eli. He gave me an edited version. And I-"
"I said I loved you," Will interrupts, his voice sharper than he likes.
She flinches, as if his words were a physical blow, and he sees the insecure girl on the lounge chair all those years ago. To his horror, tears fill her eyes and she wipes them away with the back of her hand. She stares at the ground and he knows she is trying to regain her equilibrium that allows her to keep her considerable composure.
He wishes more than anything that she'd just let it out.
"I'm sorry," he says softly as he moves across the room, standing back to give her room though close enough that he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the smudged mascara. She looks up and though she doesn't say a word, her voice rings in his ears. It settles into every available space his mind has to offer and, in this moment, he wishes she would relinquish the hold she has over him.
He wishes he truly meant that.
Alicia takes a step forward until they are barely a foot apart and his breath hitches as she reaches up and cups his face in both her hands.
"Alicia-" he begins, but she places a finger against his lips.
Slowly, she lets one hand fall, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close until he is pressed against her, while she snakes the other around the back of his neck. She's pleading with him now, though she doesn't say a word, and Will forgets everything and presses his lips hard against hers. Neither are gentle, she gives as good as she gets, and the only coherent thought that runs through his mind is her name.
-o-
"Will."
He opens his eyes at the sound of her voice and finds her leaning against the door frame. She wears only his shirt, holding it closed with her hand. It's too big for her, reaching mid-thigh, and he can't help but smile.
"What?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing," he says, knowing it would be difficult to explain the thought running around his mind.
How fitting that it looked like a dress.
-o-
disclaimer: 'The Good Wife' is the property of CBS. No copyright infringement is intended. Full credit goes to R.E.M for the story title, taken from the song 'Imitation of Life.' I also can't take credit for the idea of Alicia leaving her scarf in Will's office. I discovered that little gem in the commentary of the episode 'Doubt.' Some of the dialogue is lifted directly from the show through various episodes of both seasons 1 and 2.