A/N- Okay, I did the cliche of all cliches, and I can't even defend myself. Sorry, not sorry. Special thanks to Josie, because she helped me figure out some details that I would have otherwise struggled with. This is part one of three, and if I get enough reviews, I'll be driven to post the second installment by tomorrow.
I.
/
She flinches away as the blood seeps, focuses on the echo of her friends' voices; Marcus with his floppy hair, Amelia with her perfect eyeliner. Jess is filing her nails, and Stefanie is doing next hour's Gov homework. Claire is absent, so she's alone at the table. On her own.
"Are you going to pass out?" Marcus inserts with a snicker.
"No," Grace swallows hard, and snatches a paper towel off the onyx counter. She tries not to sway on her barstool, tries to focus on not vomiting, or crying, or doing something equally as mortifying. The crimson is stunning against the white, and she dabs quickly, looks away.
"Who's next?" she asks, hastily.
Grace keeps pressure on her finger as best she can as she writes down a few words on her lab report, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. Marcus snatches the object in front of her away, and Stefanie clears her throat. "Hey, what's the extra credit question?"
"Grant," Jess says, thoughtless. Grace looks up.
"Jeffrey Grant," she murmurs in answer, going a little pale.
"That's the dude who shot all those people a couple months ago, right?"
Grace looks at Marcus, with all his tactless words. "Yes. And if you'd done your extra credit for Government, maybe you'd actually know what you're-
"How's your mom?" Amelia cuts in, trying to ease the tension. "She doing any better?"
Grace Florrick visibly wilts, stares at her scrawling print glumly. Looks at it with the same distaste as she does her own blood. "Getting there," she whispers, meets Amelia's eyes.
"I bet you're kind of glad it wasn't your mom who actually got killed, though, right? I mean," Marcus lowers his voice, and Grace knows he's trying to be sincere. Marcus tries, at the very least. "It wouldn't make you an awful person to be relieved it was just her friend."
Grace looks at him and wants to tell him all about the nights she's listened to her mother cry herself to sleep, of the days when her mother looks like all she wants to do is swallow a bottle of pills, how everything is covered by Alicia's dull façade of useless reassurances and simple pleasantries. How her mother still shakes for no reason, sometimes, when she thinks Grace isn't looking.
But she ignores his words, ignores his pitiful ignorance. She ignores the fact that even if her mother isn't dead, there's a part of the woman that exists no more.
"It's been six months." Jess reaches out to rest a hand on Grace's arm. "Grief is a process."
Grace pulls her arm away slowly, offers up a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"I've never stopped praying for her," she admits, quietly.
/
Zach shoves a handful of Cheetos in his mouth, a pig with hair and opposable thumbs.
"Ugh," Grace makes a gagging sound, walking around the kitchen counter to grab a soda from the refrigerator. "We're ordering pizza," she reminds him.
"I'm hungry now, though," he grins boyishly at her, flicking her shoulder with his cheese stained fingers. His sister shies away, makes a noise of discontent.
"How was traffic on the expressway?" he asks her after a moment. Grace takes a sip of her drink, struggles not to roll her eyes. She's only officially been on the road for eight months, but that still doesn't stop anyone and everyone from coddling her, worrying for her.
Especially Mom. Mom's been all about the life is too short not to take every possible precaution thing, recently. Grace doesn't blame her, though. Grace doesn't blame her at all.
"Fine. Dad will be here in thirty, right?"
Zach frowns. "I had to pick up an extra shift at the campus book store, and forgot to pack an extra set of clothes. Do you think I could spend the night at Mom's-
"No. Zach, you know how it is now." Grace furrows her eyebrows deeply, sad. So sad. "Tonight's Dad's night with us."
"I'm nineteen, though," Zach responds in such a way, such a blank affair, that Grace knows he's trying to put on a show, trying to wear a mask like he doesn't care. But he does. She knows he does.
"You don't legally have to live by my rules," Grace tells him solemnly. "But it would be nice if you would."
Zach's mouth lifts at the edges, and he stares at her from across the counter, pops another chip in his mouth. Chews slowly. Grace scratches her nose, and for a long moment, they sit in the silence of the Governor's mansion, taking in the peace and quiet.
Until Grace moves, abrupt, finds her bag and plucks something from the side pocket.
She waltzes up to her brother, casually finds his left hand, and-
"Shi-shiz," Zach howls, and Grace nearly laughs at him. Zach's whole face contorts, and he jerks his finger away. "That freaking hurt, Grace."
"If you're going to swear, swear," Grace snorts. "It's for a school project, okay?"
"Screw you," Zach throws out. "And making me bleed? Are you kidding me?"
Grace scratches her nose, tossing her sun kissed tresses over one shoulder. "It's for science, Zach. Tell me you've never done something for science."
Zach makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Stop. Just stop. Aren't you a Christian? What has gotten into you? No, wait. Don't answer that."
/
They drive back to the apartment that evening, after dinner. Peter tells them it's okay, tells them it's not a big deal, and Grace almost believes her father's words. Calls her mother three times to inform her of their arrival, but Mom won't answer, and the second they get within city limits, Zach turns to her. The windows are rolled down and September's breeze makes her hair blow.
"I lied," he informs her, only a bare hint of regret in his eyes. "I only wanted to get back home because there's this party, and-
"I'm not going," her eyes widen, like he's just told her he's taking them to the circus, and-
"I know. I thought I'd drop you off at home before I went."
He does, and she watches the car go, asks God to keep him safe, to keep him out of trouble. Sometimes, Zach reminds her a lot of Dad. She'll never tell her brother this, knows it would just hurt him. Living in a shadow of a ruined man is hard enough, but being told you're his ghost would be even more shaking, and-
Grace opens the door with her key, creeps in because half the lights are out. "Mom?" she whispers into the silence.
Her mother is curled up on the couch, still in her suit. Black heels are strewn next to the coffee table, and there's folders everywhere. Grace remembers five years ago like it was yesterday, how her mother had thrown herself into cases like this, how every client had been a test. Since her mother and Cary merged with Diane, it's been like this. Constant working, even more than it was before. Grace takes in the way her mother looks like she's aged ten years, even in sleep.
The way her body is strung tight, no sign of relaxation. No sign of peacekeeping.
There's a lump in her throat, and Grace reaches down to pat her mother's on the head, wake her with soothing circles in her hair, almost a scalp massage, and-
"Will," Alicia whimpers, in her sleep.
Grace pulls back like she's been burned.
Wants to cry.
"Mom," she says, voice risen. "Mom, I'm home."
Alicia nearly falls off the sofa, with how her body seizes. "Grace?" she wonders, sleep and fear all in one timbre. "Grace, you're home. You're supposed to be-
"We worked it out so that we could come home. It's okay. Zach's in bed, and you need to go to bed too, so you don't get a crick in your neck. Okay?"
There's a wine glass on the table, empty.
Alicia hums painfully, hand moving to soothe her muscles with the pads of her fingers. Which reminds Grace, and-
"Actually, Mom- wait."
Alicia looks up at her daughter, still half asleep, goes to stand to go to her bedroom.
Grace is at her side in no longer than another ten seconds, fumbles for her mother's finger in the gentlest manner. "I'm going to take your blood, okay? It's just a little prick."
Another split moment, and Alicia gasps, grunts. Grace watches her mother stick her finger in her mouth, her whole body strumming tight with tension. "Ow," Alicia says around the digit.
"Sorry," Grace apologizes promptly, turning on her heel. "Bio project, yeah? Night, Mom."
/
It's twelve minutes past midnight by the time she gets to it.
Her eyes are already burning, and she studies the word document in front of her, comprehends the facts in short spurts. Goes to write down the analysis for her mother, and moves onto the section titled 'Results', begins to interpret, form her-
Grace stops in her tracks.
By the third times she's checking her work, her hands are trembling.
The seventh, her lip begins to wobble, and by the ninth, she can smell the salt permeating her nostrils, can feel her body begin to heave with the mere implication. She's in shock. She can't believe it, but every time she goes to check it's the same outcome, and she doesn't understand how it's possible, wonders if she may have contaminated the collection, might have-
But she knows she didn't. She knows she didn't because she took two samples from each person. From herself. From Zach. From her mother. From her…
From Dad.
Grace physically flings the paper across the room, listens to it rebound off her computer desk with a satisfying thump. Turns out her light, falls back into her bed, and pulls the covers over her head. Pulls her knees up to her chest like a child.
She will not find sleep for a very long time.
/
At half past six her alarm goes off, but she turns it off and curls back around herself.
Things are still hazy, and she lays there and tries to find dreamland again, squeezes her eyes shut as tight as she can to will reality away. Some pigmented truth, because all she can think of is how it's not possible, how they would have told her by now if it held any ground. Grace lays there until her mother knocks on her door worriedly. Alicia hasn't had to get Grace up for anything in a few years at the least, and the hinges swing open.
And Grace doesn't move.
"Sweetie, are you sick? Grace? Grace?"
Grace thinks she just won't move, until she realizes the vision of her lying there, unresponsive, it must make her mother think-
"I'm sick," Grace strains to say, chest tight. "I'm really sick."
Alicia is at her daughter's bedside in an instant, smells like expensive perfume and Mom. She rubs Grace's back through the comforter, and Grace wants to scream. She wants to scream and she wants to ask questions, and she wants to go to sleep and never wake up. But then her mother stops, pulls away. "Alright," Alicia mutters, worry still searing through her every movement. "I'll call the school. Do you want me to take off work to take you to the doc-
"It's fine," Grace grimaces. "Really. Please."
Alicia stands, runs a hand through her hair, and sighs mournfully. "The exhaustion is finally getting to you, huh? Rest. You need rest."
/
Her mother leaves and Grace finally moves around eleven, moves like she's in slow motion. Goes to her computer, looks over the results one more time. Staggers back to her bed, buries her face in a pillow.
Begins to sob.
/
She takes a hot shower around two, one that leaves her skin in blotches, and after she gets out, Grace leans into the mirror and studies her reflection. Compares and contrasts. Thinks of the color of her hair, the curve of her mouth. Remembers how blonde her curls had been as a little girl, how everybody always went on about where did that come from? And she feels like she can't breathe, or think straight, or understand. She can't understand.
She doesn't want to understand.
At three, she feels such a fire in her gut, such a hum in her veins- that she strides into the kitchen, rips open the cabinet door. It resounds with a thump, and Grace thinks about how she's a good girl, a sweet girl. Thinks about all of the stupid titles, all of the expectations.
But she doesn't know who she is anymore, and she pours herself a glass of wine because she can. She can and she will and her mother isn't going to stop her and her father isn't even-
Grace takes a sip of the red liquid, and has to spit it out in the sink.
She smacks her lips, face contorting in the unpleasant aftertaste.
After a moment, she grows uncomfortable in her own skin, washes the glass until it's as spotless as it was before she did anything to it. Puts it back where it came from, and prays that nobody will ever know she had such a weak, pathetically rebellious moment.
/
Alicia's heels clack when she walks in at five, and finds Grace on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. Grace's hair is in ringlets, face free of makeup, and Alicia has missed her daughter like this. She's missed how Grace looked before she went through the ultimate makeover of teenage desire, before she started wearing mascara and using a straightener on a daily basis.
Right now, Grace looks like any other sixteen year old, with her innocent aura, with her pink, fuzzy slippers. But then she meets Grace's eyes, sees the expression on her daughter's face.
"Grace," Alicia's nostrils flare, her green eyes narrowing. "Are you okay, sweetie? Are you feeling any better? I got off work early to make sure you were okay, picked you up some medicine at the CVS in case you wanted to see if-"
"You didn't need to do that," Grace says bleakly. Her voice is wild, desperate, and she's trying to rein it in, but it's hard. It's so hard.
"Grace, what's wrong?" Alicia asks, point blank. She drops her purse and sits down next to Grace, stomach pitting when her daughter proceeds to shift on the couch, move as far away as possible, won't even let Alicia touch her ankle to comfort her.
"Nothing."
It's strange, Grace thinks, for her mother to be so enraptured by the way Grace looks, wrecked on the couch. Alicia has looked like this for a good portion of the past few months, but when Alicia takes it in, it's a shockwave. It's focusing her attentions on someone who matters, someone important, just one more person who has an irrevocable piece of Alicia's heart, and-
She's Grace's mother. There are only so many things that would have Grace shaken up like this, and Alicia throws her shoulders back, even if the answer is more terrifying than the question. "Grace," she addresses, sharp. "Grace…"
"Are you pregnant?"
Grace's mouth opens with an audible pop. She splutters, goes red in the face. "Mom, no. No."
Alicia has the hysteria running through her to laugh at her daughter's reaction, and a part of her is outwardly relieved. Alicia cocks her head, flashes a bit of teeth in a half smile.
"Then, what is it? I know something's wrong, Grace. You're not going to fool me, okay? You're my baby girl, and-
"Fool you," Grace whispers. Her expression has gone from aghast and embarrassed to dark, dark, dark, in an instant. "That's funny."
Not haha, more irony, more inner turmoil rattling Grace's chest, buzzing in her ears, and all the sixteen year old can do is bow her head and speak clearly, as clearly as she's capable, what with her vocal chords like steel rods she tiptoes across. Suspended in waiting, because what she's about to say could change her life forever.
Or it could all just be a bad dream.
(Like she knows her mother wishes the events six months ago were. Some terrible nightmare. A living nightmare.)
"I had a Bio assignment," she starts. "It was due today."
"You…didn't finish it?" Alicia implores, eyeing Grace like she's just grown a second head.
"I did," Grace murmurs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and tries not to cry. "I did, and that's the problem. It was blood typing, right? That's why I've been pricking everybody's fingers and testing the blood. And you're O plus and Zach is A negative, which makes sense because…because Dad is A plus. That makes sense. But I'm," Grace's entire form shudders, and she's trying not to cry, but she can't, she can't-
"I'm B negative, Mom," she half wails, muffles it by her hand.
Alicia stares at her like she's not comprehending, like her daughter is speaking a different language.
"Who's my Dad?" Grace demands brokenly, tears fresh on her cheeks. "Who's my Dad? Because it's not…Peter. It's not-
But Alicia won't answer her. Gradually, Alicia begins to move, and when she does, she pulls her knees to her chest in a similar stature as to what Grace had done last night, in her pristine pants suit and all. Alicia holds her knees to her chest, and begins to hyperventilate.
"Mom?" Grace tries to get her attention, rushed. "Mom? Mommy? Please, just tell me who-
And then Grace looks at her mother. Takes in the way she's falling apart at the seams, the way Alicia is crying silently, has the appearance of a woman who has just learned her whole life has been a lie, and-
"Will," Grace realizes, and she doesn't recognize her own voice. It's low. Lifeless.
"Will is my father."
Alicia reaches her daughter's eyes, finally, as if she's been pulled from a frozen lake, still choking on air. Hurting all over, bone deep, in a way she's been trying to block out for months. "I'm so sorry, Grace," she pleads. "We had- after Zach was born, we had, once- and I had never thought-
"He's dead!" Grace shrieks, voice going from lacking emotion to infinitesimally shaken, to Grace standing, stumbling, and biting down on her fist because she realizes the horrible truth. Alicia is startled by her daughter's yelling, taken aback, pain licking at her limbs.
"He's dead, and I won't even be able to- Oh my God."
Grace stops making a scene, all the blood draining from her face. She doesn't even fathom she's taken the Lord's name in vain, can't even see what's in front of her because of how her vision is blurred from the tears, and Alicia tries to get up off the couch, tries to touch her, but-
"No! No, you- he's dead, he's dead and I've never even met him, and-
"Grace," Alicia inhales gravely. "Grace, please."
Her voice is like gravel.
But Grace all but runs to her room, slams the door harshly and locks it behind her.
Doesn't open it for anything.
/
Grace finds his Wikipedia entry, that night.
He was a good lawyer, but she wouldn't have needed to find that out by reading about it online. He was a good lawyer, and he donated to local basketball and baseball organizations, and he never married, never had children. Which is a lie, but. But it doesn't matter.
Still, even if it doesn't matter much now, Grace says a prayer that night that wherever her father is, he knows. Because even if she never knew him, he deserves to know that she would have wanted to know him, and even if she's furious and stricken with her mother, she wants Will Gardner to know that he's missed like a limb, that all these months have been Hell. She's prayed before, but this is different. This is different because it's a thousand times more personal.
More real.
"Please, give me a sign, God. Anything. Anything. In Jesus name, I pray. Amen."
/
Grace cries herself to sleep, that night.
Like mother, like daughter.