Annalise barely has time for anything other than her cases. Not for Nate, or all of his feelings, or Frank and his bullshit. Not for Laurel, or for being disbarred in the middle of saving a young boy's life from getting even worse over a few thousand dollars and a good heart. That boy, he can have her time. He deserves her time. He fought for his child and a future that would make a difference in someone's life. And what's she doing?

She's knocking back a glass of vodka just hours after telling everyone she's an alcoholic. Because that's her life now. She's got an empty house that everyone's got a key too, bottles that never quite seem to disappear, and a long line of people who've loved her briefly then gone on to better things.

Or tried to, at least.

All the people who've benefited from having her around. People who've gone on to cushy lives without jail time, or found new jobs that give them more than what they ever could've had if she hadn't spent the time nurturing them. Now she's not looking for thank you's, or even some way to pay her back. She's just….

For all she's done, it'd be nice to have more than the reflection in her glass for company. It'd be nice if—

Buzz. Buzz.

Her cup stills at her lips. If she could get some peace every once in a while.

She gives her phone that side eye she's saving for the next time Nate comes around. But it isn't him. It's Michaela. Probably drunk again, not that Annalise should really judge the girl's coping habits.

Annalise grabs the phone and swipes it open with the hand not currently occupied. A rush of music hits her. The quick kind that settles into the hips and lifts a girl up on her toes before she even has a chance to deny the rhythm. Then come the words.

Michaela's drunken words. "I just want to know what she's doing. I can call her without it being a big deal." The direction of the words is off, so she can't be talking to Annalise.

Annalise holds her tongue. Actually takes that sip she'd been about to before the call came in.

Asher's voice carries through next. He says, "Yeah, babe, sure, but Annalise is a little busy right now. And you're drunk."

Michaela says, "It wouldn't be the first time she's seen me like this. She bailed me out before."

"Bailed you out?"

Annalise swallows a snort. So they're in each other's pants but not in each other's business? Maybe Michaela's more like her than she'd given credit for.

"Yes, she— oh, she's here! Hi." Michaela must pull the phone closer. "Hi, Annalise. Professor — Annalise — don't worry, I'm not driving tonight. I'm at a party. It's Wes' party. For his birthday!"

Annalise sips again. Wes hid his birthday from all of them last year, stifled it and did his best to to keep anyone from actually acknowledging it. None of them seemed the type then to do something, but it makes sense that they'd get around to it. They've all bonded. Between killing Sam and hating her, her little projects have formed their own little family. Apparently sans Annalise.

"Tell him congratulations," Annalise says. "After the year he's had, it's a milestone."

Michaela laughs. "Millstone. God, he's rubbing off on me." She groans before recovering. "Oh my gosh, you've got to tell him. Wes, not Asher. He's so happy. You're gonna tell him. Just let me get him."

"Michaela—" Annalise starts at the same time as Asher does on the other side of the line. But the music gets louder, and Michaela keeps blabbering on about how Wes would love to hear it from Annalise, how he really appreciates her, how they all do even if they don't always show it, how they'll totally be there if they can after this whole slapping thing clears up.

Thankfully, Wes takes the phone once Michaela gets up to him.

"Hello?" He sounds amused for once, not something Annalise hears in her direction too often.

Michaela comes through once more. "Did she say it? Annalise, you have to say it!"

Wes asks, "Say what?" Then his voice gets more focused, like he's pulled the phone tighter to his lips. "Is something wrong? Is it…?"

How he can go from amused to worried so quickly never ceases to amaze Annalise. It's understandable given how he grew up and the field he's in, but still, the boy never really relaxes.

Annalise shakes her head even if he can't see it. "It's not. I'm fine." The liquor cabinet's well stocked, and Nate probably won't pop back up for another day or two. "Michaela called me, wanted to make sure that I told you happy birthday myself. So, happy birthday."

"Oh." He swallows a little too hard; the gulp goes through the line. "Thank you. I, uh, hadn't been expecting that. From you. Or anyone really. Let me just move somewhere quieter for a second."

The line gets muffled. He says something about needing to take this, and the music starts to fade. Annalise takes the time to reach for the bottle and get a refill. A door clicks, so he should be out of the apartment by now. Maybe heading closer to the stairwell so no one can listen in from the doorway.

"You still there?"

She hums before she speaks. "I am." Sadly. No, not sadly, that's too… sad. She blinks it away. "You didn't have to leave the party."

He makes this sound she can't quite place. Like, somewhere between a huff and a breath that lodges in that hiding place for unwanted feelings. "No, I wanted to. It's… a lot in there. Don't get me wrong, it's nice, no one's ever cared enough to do something like that before."

Not since his mom.

He adds, "Not since my mom."

Annalise's grip tightens on her glass. She goes for something lighter. "Laurel's doing?"

"Meggy, actually."

She bites down on the urge to question it. Sure Meggy used to seem like a fling, but it's been months and a successful birthday party — the girl might actually be staying around.

"She's a keeper," Annalise says.

This time, Wes huffs. "She's something." His tone's a little less awestruck than it probably should be. Trouble in paradise? "She called Laurel to help set this whole thing up. And I've spent the last few days wondering why Laurel was acting so weird. At first, I thought it was about, you know, but I guess this was it."

It's not, but at least Laurel's learning to listen rather than spilling everything to Wes instantly. Wes tends to make problems worse before he makes them better. Helps solve a murder but causes another along the way, and all that jazz.

"That's probably it. We haven't had any sign of Frank for a while now."

Wes doesn't say anything right away, but there's a creak. Like he's leaning back against the walls that scream to be torn down in that building of his. He really should move. They all should. Fresh starts in places where people don't die so often and so horribly.

"He wouldn't hurt you though, right? Not really." Another creak on his end. "Frank respects you too much. He's like…"

"A dog?" she says. A pit bull so used to lashing out that it keeps running into the walls and biting the bannisters. "The thing about dogs is that some of the wild ones never fully get over it. They remember what it's like to live in cages and live off scraps of affection. They know owners can turn on them."

"But you wouldn't. Not like that."

She wouldn't. It's why she didn't tell the hit man to kill Frank, why he had the time to get the upper hand and add another body to his count list. He might've killed… he might've killed her son, but she wouldn't be pulled down to his level. Not for anything.

Still, she asks, "If a dog acts out enough, wouldn't you fight back?"

She can almost hear the tick of his head to the side. "We're talking about you."

"It's your birthday," she says.

"Then think of it as a gift to me. Talk to me about something, anything."

Frank killed her son. She'd been pregnant, unsure if she even really wanted to be in charge of a child, but Frank raged and made a decision that cost her that future. Cost her a chance to start over and be a better person, be a mother.

She tips back what's left in her glass. Must make a sound because Wes clicks his tongue on the other end.

He asks, "Are you drinking?"

She deflects, "I thought I was the one talking." Her reflection's looking up at her, and she pushes the glass out of reach.

"Then talk."

Not about Frank. "Eve came to town. She spent the last few days hearing me out while I dealt with this witch hunt at the school." She supported Annalise, held her while she cried, and barely batted an eye after Annalise explained why she needed to find Frank. "Now she's off to San Francisco." With someone else. Someone who'll love her right and completely, the way someone like Eve deserves to be loved.

Wes clears his throat. "Nate should be happy."

Annalise snorts. "I have no idea what Nate is." He won't hit her the way Sam did, but there's got to be something that's keeping her from committing to him. It's not just the alcohol, or the fact that he's a cop. It's… "I don't know." She eyes the glass. "Things used to be simpler around here, and now it's like everything's off."

"Like one leg of a stool's a little too short."

She grins. "Exactly."

"You could find some tape. Some people put part of a tennis ball." She can definitely hear his smile at this point. "These things can be fixed, Annalise. They have to be."

This positivity has to be Meggy's doing.

It sounds good on him.

He's got a party happening just for him, and a happy (black, not that it matters) girlfriend, and she destroys everything she so much as thinks about. She's a cancer.

"How about you let me fix it and you—" She reaches for the bottle again. "Go back to your party."

"I could stay on the line a little longer," he says.

"It's fine. Bonnie's coming soon anyway. We'll debrief."

Bonnie came an hour ago, but he doesn't have to know that. He doesn't have to be ruined like everyone else.

"Alright." The wall creaks when he shifts off of it. "Thanks for the call."

"Thank Michaela."

"I will."

She splashes vodka into the glass, not quite halfway, so it's a light one. "Happy birthday, again."

"Thanks. Um, good night."

"Night." She clicks off the line. Keeps the phone in her hand. Imagines what happens next.

He'll linger out there for a few, then he'll head back in to the cheers of his friends and classmates. His girlfriend'll swoop over to pull him to the probably homemade birthday cake while Michaela takes her phone back to check if Wes scrolled through anything in that time. He'll blow out the candles and worry just a little longer before giving over to the energy around him. He'll forget.

And Annalise will drink until she does too. In her empty home that everyone has access to but no one actually wants to be in. Not even her.

She knocks the glass against the desk a few times. Maybe she should move. A city could be nice. It certainly couldn't be worse. Without work, honestly, all she has here is time.

Buzz.

She looks back to her phone.

Wes Gibbins (11:14p) / I'll bring you some cake tomorrow.

(11:15p) / that's not a question. I know Nate took away all your junk food.

Correction: all she has here is time and Wes.

Annalise Keating (11:15p) / Make sure there's frosting on it.

Wes Gibbins (11:16p) / What's a cake without frosting?

Annalise Keating (11:16p) / A metaphor probably.

She'll think about it tomorrow, once she's hungover and she can actually start to process all that's happened in the last few days. And go grocery shopping.

That's why she's an alcoholic; nothing here but booze and vegetables. At least the booze has flavor.

Wes Gibbins (11:17p) / Want anything else? We've got pizza

Annalise Keating (11:18p) / Stop taking care of me. Go have fun.

Wes Gibbins (11:19p) / Who says I can't do both?

Annalise Keating (11:19p) / I'm ignoring you now. Cutting you off.

Wes Gibbins (11:20p) / so that's a no on the pizza?

(11:20p) / I'll bring some anyway

Good boy.