A/N- I'm still recovering from last night's episode, but I'm also hard pressed for some AW angsty loving, and even if I'm not entirely pleased with how this piece turned out, it's the best I could do. I forewarn, there are some sexy parts, but y'all can skip over them and go to the next line break if you'd prefer not read that stuff. The writers of The Good Wife are really because the characters are so well written that even my fanfic feels too AU and OOC. Anyway, enjoy, lovelies!
/
"Alicia," her father murmured, and only the steepening of his octave made her catch on. "I need to tell you something important." There had been the half empty bottle of wine on the table, too.
This is the only time Alicia Cavanaugh ever sees her father drunk. What she didn't observe from him, her mother made up for in kind. But no parent is perfect, and even if Owen says she places Dad on a pedestal, she does know her father had his failings, had his weaknesses. It was the third night Mom was gone. The first time she left. The kitchen lighting was yellow on Alicia's hands as she studied them. It all felt like some dream state, even then.
She had been two months away from sixteen. Going on thirty.
"Yeah, Dad?" Cautiously, she'd sat down in the chair across from him, casted a wayward glance toward the stairs, hoping Owen was already in bed. The bills were laid out on the table, and her stomach had clenched. She could add two and two together, knew that two minus one leaves only half.
Mom paid the other half of the rent, and Mom was gone.
Indefinitely.
(And when she sees her mother pull up four days later, she doesn't run to hug her like Owen because as she misses her mother she also hates, hates the fact that stupid, irresponsible woman could uproot Owen's life and her life, could ruin it all. Just to go on an adventure.)
"Alicia," and then he stopped. Licked his lips to get his thoughts in order. "I know sex is the only thing on kids' minds at your age-
"Dad," Alicia had squeaked, brushing her curls behind her ears, mortified.
"No, no. You listen. Lust and passion have their place." Her father had looked down at his ring finger, at the band, and Alicia had closed her mouth because she knew this wasn't some run of the mill, uncomfortable parental talk. "But when you find the right man, someday, it's not going to be about that. Intimacy is the cake, and sex is the icing, Alicia. When you find the right man," her father had gone on, and then blushed, himself. "Or woman-
"Dad-
"Touching hands will be an explosion," he'd cut her off, again, finishing his wine with a smile.
.
.
.
So here they are, poised with an atom bomb in her throat, singe of alcohol on her breath. He's eating a sandwich like they aren't talking about how his heart has been broken and she's not just some other associate, but she is, they used to pass beers back and forth and talk in hypos, once, long ago, a lifetime ago. They once made love under the stars like soulmates. Once were children who knew nothing of scandals or betrayals, who only knew of midnight pool parties and the way her hair had looked wild and everywhere. So here they are, pretending none of it all was ever real.
Sweeping it under a rug, no, kicking it with the spike of her heel, and the problem isn't that they aren't talking, that they're storming away and stomping feet. No, it's not that they aren't talking, not that Alicia is too timid to ask questions, because at this point she is resigned to whatever fate the Gods or whatever deity is planning. May Nelson Dubeck rest her soul, no.
/
What neither of them realize is that she's not asking the right questions.
Experimental error: change "you'd be just as angry" to "you'd be just as hurt" and the stars would have different coordinates, his mouth would have drawn a taught line and he would have stuffed all those feelings down into a locked chest that they beat up against, and she would have read his face enough to see his answer of no.
Instead of yes, he would've been saying,
"I wouldn't be as hurt with any other associate because I know that you like to be kissed awake and I know your shampoo smells like vanilla and honey and when you smile I lose my mind a little bit so."
And anyway. Could've, should've, would've. Will Gardner was born angry, enough tension in his bones to set his jaw and swing a bat. Rage is of no consequence. Generally. (When Diane is by his side.)
/
So here they are, and the bomb keeps tick, tick, tick tocking, and every barb is so subtle at this point because the steam is starting to let live, the noose giving, and maybe it isn't flirting so much as strategically placed, passive aggressive, verbal bitch slaps.
So here they are, and it's something.
It's something that despite the three hundred some off people who decided against giving her their time, this stubborn, migraine of a man- a man who repeatedly leaves her life a hurricane, leaves her struggling for the ground beneath her feet- this man is still here.
Will is here, and she is here, and that's something.
/
When he touches her hand, she remembers how he touched her the first time they kissed, how he brushed branding irons over her jaw and how they'd felt so foreign, so alien, because Peter was the only man that had touched her for seventeen years, and then suddenly-
And then suddenly, it ends. It's over, and the thing about explosions is that people rarely ever know they've even happened until they feel the shockwave after. The piercing of the sound barrier.
In the aftermath, there's a ringing phone, relaxation of inebriation making her roll her neck and give him one last look, some semblance of a smile. She looks at him and all she can think is I know you, Will Gardner. God, I know you.
"May the best man win," she tells him, a settling in her chest. Resignation she's never felt before tingles in her veins, and it might be the few she's had, or it might be looking at William Paul Gardner.
Looking at him and knowing that this path has a beaten end.
.
.
.
Cary and Mr. Hayden are staying behind to schmooze with the few potential clients she didn't tank with her speech, but she wants to get to bed as soon as she can. Sluggishly, she brings herself to get up from the couch and find the elevator, hits the button and lets her vision linger on the pretty pattern of the marble flooring. The door opens, and she steps inside without a thought, goes to press her floor before-
"Hold that-
Alicia just about flies out of her skin, head snapping up to realize that Will is standing in the elevator, as far away as he can possibly get in such a small space, pressed up against the wall like a frightened mouse. "Will, what-
"Damn it," he sighs in defeat, as the door to his escape has already shut.
He drops his head as if in prayer.
"Hey," she whispers throatily, throat tightening. Too tired to fight against the bite of knowing he can't even stand to be in an elevator next to her. "Chill. At least some kid didn't push all the buttons."
Will looks up at her sharply, mouth slackening like it had in the café, that same look in his eyes that he used to get when she'd explain the finite of Con Law back at Georgetown, same as he'd get two years ago, when she'd be brushing out her hair at his apartment and-
But then the spell is broken, and he's looking ahead, again. Anywhere but her.
"At least we're not on the same floor," he replies, blinking. "It still amazes me that you can switch back and forth like that."
"What?" Alicia's confusion makes her eyebrows expressive, dark against her pale skin. Will swallows.
"You talk about it like it was-
Will stops himself, and the look he gets on his face makes Alicia feel like pulling her hair out, eating her tongue. Like a little boy. Jesus, Will Gardner has the puppy face perfected. Alicia sways, leaning back further against the other wall and making a desperate sound.
"Will," she half whines, unhappy. "Like it was-
"Like it meant something," he finishes for her, harsh. He grows darker with every word, and she watches his jaw pulse, heart in her throat.
Alicia's mouth parts in shock, and when her hazy mind catches up with the meaning, her eyes glaze. "Like it meant something," she echoes his words weakly.
"Forget it, Alicia," Will adds all the venom, taps his foot, and Alicia realizes they only have eight more floors to go, and she's half a mind of fall to her knees, to make a scene.
"No," she presses, shaking her head furiously. "Will-
"We banged, Alicia, right? We-
"Stop it," her voice cracks, hysterical. "You're linking two things together-
"You said-
"I don't care what I said," she shrieks, all the blood gone from her face, and Will looks at her, and Alicia looks at herself, realizes that in the span of eight floors she's somehow managed to back him into the corner, her breasts heaving against his chest, and for all the sallow shame and faults-
The elevator doors open for her floor.
Neither of them move. "I don't care what I said," Alicia repeats, barely audible, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears, because if it meant saving the President of the United States, Alicia wouldn't cry in front of him, if she could help it. But she can't, and her chin is wobbling, and she feels so pathetic, so weak, but something will die inside her if he doesn't know. "I didn't mean it."
She brings her hands up to his face and reaches out to touch the line of his jaw, one she'd traced in bed a time or two. Memorized. He doesn't flinch away, and that's what gives her the courage to lean in, even as he still looks at her like a sad little boy, even if he's looking at her like he doesn't like her and is trying not to love the ghost of a woman she was when she'd been twenty three, some driving force to hire her, and-
"Will," she cries softly, and presses her mouth against his.
In the background, she recognizes they're going to his floor, to his room, but she doesn't care, doesn't know much besides his hands sunk into her back like seashells fading into an ocean floor, washed away by the tide of him, him kissing her back. She doesn't know why he's kissing her back, but he is, and there's the taste of salt in her mouth from the tears that come and come.
And the taste of Will, and nothing else.
Her hands are freezing in comparison to the heat of his skin, but he doesn't seem to mind. Different from two years ago because cream has turned to black, two different people with the same souls. Worn bodies still capable of the same desire. She's the one with her palms going everywhere, in his hair, gripping his lapels, has him pressed against the wall as they go up another five levels.
They break apart when their destination pings, but her green eyes are stuck in his brown, and for a moment she thinks they might miss the floor, the door might close again, but Will fumbles for her hand without ever dropping his gaze, entwines his fingers awkwardly with her own. They run. Falling behind him like a rag doll, heels catching from the carpet and the leftover buzz and her heart is beating so fast she thinks it might put the towel in, might give up all together. They run like they might be caught.
When the stop at his door, he already has the key out, doesn't hesitate to slide it in the right way, and she wants to giggle, and she wants to cry- because it's all so different, and missing how they once were is like missing a shadow. It's always going to be there.
This isn't the Presidential Suite, and Will is angry, not smitten.
/
The second they get in the room, he slams her back up against the door so hard her head twinges in pain, and she reaches up to touch it as to make sure there isn't any blood or something, until he's clawing at her suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor. It's so unlike how it was, how he'd removed every piece of attire gently, nearly folded it for her.
Will is angry.
Leaves her gasping when he doesn't go for her mouth again, not when he finally has the line of her collarbone exposed, when he proceeds to find a spot that always drove her wild, finds it and sucks-
"Ah," Alicia croaks, trying not to rip his hair out when he begins to make the skin have its own heartbeat and it takes her a bit to realize he's giving her a hicky until he finally pulls off her with a smack of his lips, and no, it's not like it was during the days when they were careful to never, ever mark, and-
Will makes her skirt ride up around her hips, makes her shiver when he palms her through her delicate panties, when he doesn't even bother with the appraisal of dragging them down and crawling back up her legs with sweet kisses, just simply takes the between his thumb and forefinger. Rips.
Alicia moans and fumbles for his belt with shaking extremities, trying to open his salcks and pull down his boxers to watch him spring free, and oh, he's just as she'd remem-
They aren't even completely naked, and there isn't luxurious sheets, and the plastic of the emergency exit instructions are digging into her lower back when he grips her thighs and forcibly drags her legs around his waist. It's not gentle or subtle when she smacks her hands back, trying to brace herself in the small hallway, when she throws her head back as he aligns himself and pushes forward until she-
"Fu-u-
Alicia splutters at the way he stretches her, makes the hamstrings burn and even if she's aroused, wet and willing, he's still so- she makes a guttural sound in the back of her throat, and knocks at the nearest surface with her nails. Tosses her head and tries to keep her balance even though he stops, and.
He stops.
She tries to breathe in as deeply as she can when she presses her chin to her chest and looks down at him, at the way he's gauging her every response, and she realizes he's not moving at the same time he realizes she's watching him, waiting on him. She wonders if he has multiple personality disorder for a moment because he goes, "You okay?"
He whispers it, so open and outward and giving. Her eyes are wide and her stomach still clenched like a fist, but she looks at him looking at her like that, and she wants to sob.
Alicia bobs her head once, and instead of arching her back to get their lower bodies closer together, banging her hands against stranger surfaces to pay tribute to pleasure, Alicia stops, too.
He still hasn't moved when Alicia carefully, prodding, wraps her arms around his shoulders and allows her legs to drop lower. It's deeper, and she can feel him angled against her gspot, whimpers against it because she knows how sensitive he makes her, how-
"Shh," he murmurs, and leans in to drag his lips along the bruise he'd left, the skin that's purpling.
They are stuck in this messy embrace, stuck because it's a lot to take in, miles from where they were two years ago. In more ways, she thinks, than just distance.
He rocks his hips until she's left panting, trying to muffle whatever sounds she can against the curve of his clothed shoulder, and he is getting off on the way she looks, clinging to him and crying out every time he puts a little more pressure into his movements, jerks himself upward, balls deep. There aren't any fingers to bite, so when it finally happens for Alicia, it's quick. She's already over sensitized and liquid heat, but he knows how to end it, physically steps closer to the wall, so as there isn't even any space for him to move his hips-
He doesn't do anything except hold within her like that, pubic bone pressed up against her clit, massaging the skin of her thighs as best he can, biceps heaving and bulging. Will drags his thin lips along the love bite that's beginning to hurt, and turns his hips back and forth very, very precariously, enough friction that Alicia is trying to stay sane in the suspension, writhing even as she's holding him like a lover, like she won't ever let him go-
-before he sinks his teeth into her, hard enough to break the skin.
"Fuck!" Alicia howls, spasms so intensely her eyes roll back into her head, all fireworks, and she can feel him groaning into her neck when he finally stops playing vampire. She's annoyed but isn't for long, because she's too lost in the euphoria, in the after wave of feeling him find that moment, feeling him sigh into her heavy breasts, feel every ounce of tension and anger release from him, even if for a moment. Even if some say it's a myth, she can swear she feels him gush inside her. Will pulls back from the wall with his pants still half around his thighs, supporting her with his arms, and-
He shuffles over to the bed in such a way that has her burying her nose in the crook of his jaw, muffling the giggles that are such an oddity she almost doesn't recognize the sounds coming from her mouth.
/
Contrary to then, there's something oddly humbling about undressing, this time.
They know one another's bodies, so instead of mapping out, it's taking inventory, remembering the skin of his upper thighs, remembering the freckle on her hip. She pushes his dress shirt off his shoulders and kisses the skin over his heart, feels it beat beneath her palm, steady, sure. Alicia traces the lines of his abdominal muscles and relishes in the way his breath hitches, tries not to sigh when he pushes her onto her back, both of them completely bare beneath cold covers-
Afterward, she curls into his sweaty chest and they hold hands like that, a strange bleating of peace, of normalcy, as if all these months haven't happened. Hours ago feels like years ago, and years ago are so recognizable she could point out the exact words on a map, know where they came from. Know where they're going. Will holds her hand in the dark, after he's already turned out the lights.
Reality is slow to sink back in, fading as her eyelashes flutter shut, but even if New York is their Paris, it's still real. Still leaps and bounds from a handshake, even with the devil at their door, even with all of the circus they've constructed with the competition and the firms-
It's good, and right, and real.
/
When she wakes up in the morning, she thinks he's not there for a fraction of a second.
Alicia inhales raggedly and twists in the sheets, aware of her nudity, panic in her every pore. "Will?"
"Hey," his voice reaches her, obviously still heavy with sleep. She wants to relish the sound, finding him with her bleary eyes, hindered by the morning light. The bed sinks as he crawls back into the cocoon of warmth with her, and she sniffs, tries to keep her expression neutral.
"Good morning," she tries again, resting her cheek against the pillow. He looks edible shirtless, but what's just as appealing is the way he holds out a piece of orange for her, the juices glistening on his fingertips. Alicia eats it right out of his hand, the burst of flavors on her tongue revitalizing, charging.
"Good morning to you too," he says goadingly, and she can detect that hint of puppy, but more a hint of man. "It's eight," he informs her, but he doesn't lean down to kiss her.
So here they are, and she has to come to him, has to take his face in her hands, give him citrus to taste.
"I have to go back to my hotel room soon," Alicia whispers, but still begins to crawl her hands down, to the trail of light hair just below-
"Fly out at five tonight," she continues. "Be at the airport by three at least, but-
"-we have time," he finishes for her. "We have a little bit of time."
/
"I got you to say it," Will says, sometime later, tracing patterns across her bare arm, nibbling at her ear. "I got you to say it."
"Cary's going to kill me," Alicia ignores him, staring at the ceiling. Will hums.
"Diane's going to kill me. But hey," he stops, shakes his head. "At least I won't have to play it like I'm being too hard on you, this time. We don't have to fake anything."
Alicia's teasing smile drops, her stomach rolling at the realization. "Right."
"You know," she says after a moment, when they've sat in silence for a moment, lying in each other's arms like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I had asked Cary if it was possible to be entitled and poor at the same time. Is it possible for you to not like me and like me at the same time?"
Will is serious, contemplating it, and she feels like everything has frozen waiting on his answer.
"Yes," he responds gravely, and Alicia wants to cry, wants to laugh, wants to erase every bad decision she's ever made, all the bad timing.
Alicia tries to smile, but manages to grimace instead.
/
Experimental error:
If she'd said, "Is it possible for you to not like the things I do but be deeply in love with me at the same time?" His answer still would have been, "Yes."
And anyway.
Could've, should've, would've.