Behind Closed Curtains
Summary: (Inspired by the ending scene in 1x04) The lipstick stains her lips and the mascara tints her lashes and maybe at one point she has become the role she plays.
Annalise wonders who she is once she takes the make up off.
Warning: Spoilers for the beginning of the series, especially episode four.
Annalise likes make up. A lot. Maybe it's vain and superficial but she doesn't care.
She isn't sure how this started, how old she was when she first put on mascara or whether the first shade of lipstick she put on was nude or scarlet. She does remember the feeling of seeing herself with make up on for the first time though.
It felt good, as if she had just met a pretty stranger on the street and even though she didn't know them the sight made her lips curve into a smile.
And she remembers the way others reacted to her make up, the weave and everything else she'd do changed so she could be closer to some imaginary ideal society has set up for her. They liked it, more than liked actually.
Apparently once you put make up on and play the role, everyone all of a sudden sees you in a different light, or better yet as a whole new person. You're the same of course, under the thick layer of concealer, foundation and rouge but they don't know that.
It's the same with the way you act – people don't bother getting to know you, oh no, they just settle for the show you put on before them and never wonder if what they see is a role you play or who you are.
Annalise's mother taught her to act well and never take the make up off until the curtains are closed and there is no one to see.
"Aren't there people who'd like to see you when you're not acting?" – she had asked many years ago when she was still a naïve girl with kinky hair who knew very little about the surrounding world.
Her mother had then shook her head with some peculiar look which back then she could only label as "sad".
"Oh, honey, people are always in just for the performance. Once it ends, they leave. Give you a round of applause if they are in the mood and that's it."
She remembers how harsh the words sounded in the hot and humid afternoon and how she had pouted and even stomped her leg like only little children can when they hear something they dislike.
"I'm going to find someone who doesn't just care about how I act, you'll see!" – she had responded, crossing her arms and speaking with such determination it seemed like no one could stop her even if they tried.
Her mother had laughed, stroking her cheek lovingly and then giving her another one of those sad, knowing looks grown –ups often tend to have.
As the years passed Annalise realized her mother was right. Mothers often have that bad habit – being right despite everything. People didn't like your naked face, didn't care about the actress behind the role. They liked seeing you with make up and pretty clothes – a woman's armor, when you are charming and persuasive, not when you're naked and unsure.
"Mommy, why don't men wear make up?" – she had asked another time, when she was even younger and her mother had relaxed her hair for the first time.
The older woman had laughed that time too, raising a thin eyebrow at the ridiculous question. Only a little girl could say something like this before society had taught her to keep silent about all the uncomfortable questions.
"That's just not the way it works, baby." – she had responded simply, shrugging it off and not spending even a second more to think about it.
"But…but that's stupid!" – Annalise had protested, being stubborn even as a young child.
"Ah, but it is the way it is. The man brings the money home and the woman puts make up on so she can be pretty for him."
"Pff, I'm not going to be like that." – she had proclaimed, looking at herself in the mirror and promising herself she wouldn't be.
Make up changes you. The way clothes and high heels do and the way putting on a weave makes you more accepted. She doesn't want to admit but it's true – it makes you feel stronger, as if with the right pair of shoes you can take over the world.
Only problem is, sooner or later she has to take them off and all of a sudden she's staring at her naked face in the mirror, wondering if the reflection really is her.
Is what she plays at court, with her husband and her few so called friends really a role or has it become her after all those years?
The lipstick stains your lips and the mascara tints your lashes and maybe at one point you become the person others see.
"Heartless."
Had often called her clients, enemies, friends and lovers. But she isn't, deep down behind the sardonic smile and the demanding voice she is only human, like everyone else.
And humans get their heart broken, so really being heartless wouldn't be that bad.
Her heart does break a little when Wes (that promising young boy who still has so much kindness in his heart that she is afraid for him), gives her the phone.
The pictures are there and she shouldn't be surprised even a little, because really – she knows her husband. He knew who he really was behind the sleek tie and the expensive cologne.
Still, she barely manages to suppress the small gasp she has the urge to make when she sees the photos.
Those dirty, immoral and plain wrong photos that the world may never shine any light over.
Her hands tremble at first but then she composes herself, she is Annalise Keating after all, she doesn't break.
She takes her makeup off though before she confronts him. She isn't sure why she does it – the make up and the expensive suit gives her courage and strength, and if anything she needs it right now when she confronts that stranger whom she sleeps next to (but never with) every night. Her husband.
She still takes it off, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because she doesn't know what else to do as she waits for him and needs to keep her hands busy.
There is that small voice, at the back of her mind, that small, low voice begging her to leave. Pack her stuff and run, never come back.
She silences it, that isn't Annalise talking. That is some small, poor woman whom she doesn't know.
She flashes herself a look in the mirror, taking in the tired expression.
Who is she really? She barely recognizes her own face when it isn't dolled up.
The realization is sudden and strong - she's beautiful.
She remembers it, like it's some long forgotten fact, something she's been told she should forget and her mind has but her heart hasn't, holding onto that knowledge for dear life.
She isn't who others think she is – she is no heartless machine, no perfect lawyer and no superwoman. In the end of the day, she is Annalise Keating, through and through and no make up, no job and no cheating, murderous husband can change that simple fact.
She hears his light footsteps, climbing up the stairs. He's in a good mood, she thinks absent mindedly. Well, she is about to change that and there is a small part of her, a tiny, distant one that feels glad about it.
One last moment of hesitation, whether she should confront him or run to safety. Then again, she's learnt in her world there is no safety. Not to mention, Annalise Keating doesn't run.
She doesn't need all the make up and the weave, the jewelry or the dresses, neither does she need the professor title or the lawyer before her name.
That's for them, for the world to see and to prove what she already knows and who she is.
She needs no proof before herself though, she plays no role. And she sure isn't going to run from anyone or anything.
"Why is your penis on a dead girl's phone?"
Author's Note: First fanfic for the fandom, I hope you liked it! I absolutely adored the ending scene (the acting was superb!) and couldn't help but write something about it. I think Annalise is a very complex character and tried to portray her as such, with all the emotions and thoughts going through her head.
Please review and tell me what you think about the story! Have a nice day!