A/N: This one took longer than anticipated. If you like it, this is going to become a merge on some of the ideas I had for this season, starting from the end of 505. Surprise of all surprises, it's Will-centric, so if you're strongly Team Florrick/Agos, this is definitely NOT the story for you. I haven't tagged the characters because it would get crowded. In my head, this will include almost all the main characters. Also, I have to introduce my OC that represents my answer to that joke of a girlfriend that the writers have given Will. Ugh. As you can hopefully see in the photo, she's played by a grown-up Hilarie Burton. Enjoy!
The thing that galls her the most is that it's such a cliché.
Woman meets man in business school. His hand lingers in hers a couple of seconds more than the cursory meet-the-competition handshake, her smile is a little more genuine. They don't get randomly partnered up. Fate is not that obvious. But they are both the MVPs in their teams and they are smart enough to recognize each other's talent. Their hook-up is finals-induced and, worse than that, alcohol-induced. They are tired and flirting with drunkenness and the pent-up tension is just too much. Of course they agree that it was a mistake the day after, that they don't know where they will end up, that an MBA is too short a period to waste time in a serious relationship. Their resolutions last two weeks. They are spending the summer in the city, interning at different companies, and their casual dinner meeting turns out to be their first real date. The day the dean hands them their diplomas they both have a job and their relationship suddenly seems unshakeable. They don't live together because they need to maintain a sense of independence but the nights spent apart are rare. Their friends mingle, their families approve and they call tomorrow future but the path is already set today.
Until the merger.
She is tense. She has the facts about redundancy memorized and she is afraid she'll have to witness the biggest advertising conglomerate in the world from the outside rather than from the inside. He is there to reassure her. He is there to remind her of all the compliments she has been showered with, of how much she is valued by the company. And by him most of all. She smiles, adjusts in his embrace and revels in his confidence. The day arrives. Redundancy lists get compiled and she gets called in by the boss. She tries to keep her cool and she is genuinely surprised when she is handed a promotion instead of a dismissal. She calls him as soon as she can. That night they celebrate and she kisses him any time he goes for the "I told you so".
And because he had been so supportive, because he had loved her throughout it all, she doesn't see it. How he is suddenly very cross whenever she has a late night at the office, how he always feels the need to make a joke whenever they talk about her being the head of the Chicago branch, how he is more controlling in the bedroom. It all comes to a head when she brings up the fact that her yearly bonus could certainly cover the down-payment for the apartment they want. He shouts that she is flaunting her income and not anybody has the sheer luck of being in the right job at the right time. She is flummoxed. She doesn't know how to handle this version of him. Competition is second-nature to both of them. It's part of their foreplay and part of what keeps them coming back to each other but it never occurred to her that it would turn so real. That he would actually act like that. They try to patch things up. They have been dubbed the perfect couple for so long and the book on their shared life has already been written.
She throws the book away when he notices that she has been wearing the same outfit for two days and accuses her of sleeping with the boss from New York.
She finds herself alone at a bar after two consecutive days spent at the office because her boyfriend can't handle her success.
Such an infuriatingly-common story.
She doesn't have to be alone. She could call her support group of girlfriends. They would be there in minutes. She could vent and they would listen. She could cry and they would make a list of his flaws. She could start putting away his things and they would suggest tequila as an accelerant to burn all his photos.
She would Sex-And-The-City her breakup at one point or another but not tonight. Tonight she wants to forget without the headache in the morning. She wants to fall asleep pleasantly exhausted, limbs tired in all the right ways and for all the right reasons. She just needs to choose who the lucky man will be.
The bar is a convenient choice, the one across the gym. She has been there before and she likes the element of familiarity in a night in which she's being adventurous. She doesn't need to peruse her prospects. Her prospects are perusing her and she has the advantage of gauging them without even making an effort.
She spots Isabel, the yoga coach that subbed for Elle, in one of the booths. She doesn't move to say hello. They are barely acquaintances but the man that is sitting next to her catches her attention. Handsome and with an impeccable suit-and-tie combo. She likes men that have a sense of aesthetic. But she is not swayed merely by the right color mix.
There is something about his eyes. In her job, first impressions matter and she wouldn't survive long without being able to rapidly form an opinion of the person in front of her. She can tell that the man is not your run-of-the-mill loaded professional looking to show off his power with a new woman in his bed every night. He laughs too ecstatically at Isabel's jokes to be real. There is something wounded about him. She knows that she should discard him exactly for that reason. She wants fun and easy and he seems desperate and complicated and yet she is already plotting how to get him away from Isabel. She doesn't know him but he seems to deserve better than a woman who prattles about tattoos even while instructing yoga.
She sits at the counter, fishes up her phone from her bag, ignores Tom's messages, orders her drink, and then nurses her dirty martini in wait. Surely enough, not long after, he comes to refresh the drinks for himself and Isabel. While he waits for the bartender, she speaks:
"You know, women in their twenties are like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get."
He turns to her, vaguely amused, his lip slightly turned up.
"Using Forrest Gump as a pick-up line is original, I'll grant you that."
"It wasn't a pick-up line."
"Really? And what was it?"
"A friendly advice."
His entire complexion darkens and, for a second or two, he loses himself in unpleasant thoughts. Then, bitterly, a reply.
"I don't trust those anymore. Friendship is all false advertising."
That was an interesting tidbit of information. He probably wasn't caught up in a cliché like she was. He was getting more and more fascinating by the moment.
"Love is false advertising and I would know."
She knows she shouldn't have shared that with a complete stranger. It undermines her confidence, the image she wants to project of a stringless woman but it slips from her lips as a reflex.
"That, we can agree on."
"Is it the only thing we can agree on?"
He smiles sheepishly, with a hint of regret, while getting the glasses for him and his companion.
"Probably not but..."
"You have a part-time yoga-instructor who is planning your next 5 tattoos to go back to, I understand."
That seemed to stall him. He re-poses the glasses on the counter.
"Do you know her?"
"She has subbed for my usual yoga instructor when Elle was in maternity leave. She is adequately flexible but inadequately crazy."
His response is a smirk but laughter is clearly distinguishable just behind his veil of fake-outrage.
"What about you?"
She is glad that her below-the-belt comment has engaged him again in conversation. She strangely feels at ease, talking to a man whose name she doesn't even know.
"I'm more than adequately flexible and anything but crazy."
She bats her eyelashes just a bit at that last comment. She is aware of the effect she can have on men but it's not a power she likes to use frequently. Tonight marks a clear exception.
"And me?"
She is convinced that the question was supposed to be a throwaway comment but it has come out more loaded than he had intended. Together with his statement about friendship, it isn't difficult to guess that his self-confidence must have taken a hit recently, maybe even that same day.
"Well, I can't speak for your flexibility but I think you're not crazy at all. You just want to be. For a night."
Just like her. That's why she is so adamant with him. She needs the mute understanding that only a twin soul can provide.
"You two-time as a shrink?"
Not normally, she doesn't. But her years in advertising have got to her. She has started to see the world as made up of customers desiring something and it's her job to figure out just what their yearning is.
"No, but my job depends on me being able to judge a book from his or her cover."
"Mine too, most of the time and I have been doing it for what seems like an entire life. I still fail at it. Spectacularly."
Definitely a breach of trust there. A severe one.
"Maybe I'm just better at it than you are."
"Probably."
A joking delivery but with still an inkling of self-deprecation. The man was definitely playing a part. She notices because she knows the signs. She has been an actress too. A proficient one at that.
"I'm not a nurse..."
She deliberately stops her sentence in the middle and then looks at him pointedly, hoping he'll reveal his name.
"Will"
Victory.
"I'm not a nurse, Will. I'm not here to cater to your wounds. You have your problems, I have mine. I'm not looking for a late-night chat on how the world doesn't understand me and from the look of it, you aren't either. And there is one more thing we have in common. We need a break. So if you prefer, you can take your gamble with Isabel but it would be a mistake."
She chooses honesty because as much she's enjoying speaking to him, she wants to be certain that he'll be going home with her later. That she won't have to spend the night without a distraction.
"Because she's inadequately crazy and you're anything but."
"Because she is simple and you're anything but."
And that is the complete truth. She doesn't like Isabel, the woman is borderline obsessive with tattoos and yoga and seems to talk about nothing else. But it's not just that. She has always found her cheerfulness unsettling. No complaints, no grievances, no hassles. Isabel, from what she knows, lives as if on perennial drugs, without concrete cognizance of the days passing, of things changing. To her, it's an unacceptably simple way of approaching life. For some reason, she wants to believe that Will is cut from her same cloth, not Isabel's.
"I want simple."
"I thought so too before entering this bar."
"So you wanted simple and now you want me."
Touché. But she isn't going to let him know that. His ego might be bruised but she has no intention of inflating it just yet.
"No, I wanted simple but then I remembered simple bores me."
Not a lie. Simple in her life is often synonym with banal and banal is her mortal enemy.
"Is there a third option between simple and complicated?"
"There is: consequence-free."
She has invented that on the spot, turning her advertising-lenses on herself. That's what she longs for. She hopes that it's the same for him.
"With a complicated person."
"Who plays the careless one for the night."
"And careless and simple are THAT different?"
"You know the answer to that question."
He smiles, eyes brightening and nods, conceding.
"Fine, you win."
"I often do."
"Not always?"
"Wouldn't want to appear too cocky."
"Weren't you playing careless tonight? Why would you care if you appear cocky?"
Will is exactly the kind of man she needs for the night. Handsome, fun and quick-witted and oh-so-good at bantering. Indeed, Will seems to be exactly her kind of man. Period. Isabel saves her from answering his question.
"What's taking so long?"
Her voice is whiny to her ears but she easily admits that it could be merely the fact that she is intruding in their tête-à-tête. Then Isabel turns to her and from the flash of recognition she surmises that she has been recognized.
"I know you."
"Yes, you do. From yoga class."
"You were in Elle's class. Emma with the ankle tattoo."
It doesn't exactly surprise her that she identifies people by her tattoos but it still makes her want to swat her away, like a disturbing fly.
"That would be me."
"So, do you two know each other?"
Her question is addressed to Will but she jumps in before he has the chance to answer.
"No, just met. I was trying to steal him away from you."
Will literally chokes on his drink but Isabel laughs, taking her comment as a joke. She reiterates.
"I'm serious. No offense, but I had a terrible day and I just need to relax."
This time she makes an effort and a frown or at least the peace-and-love version of it manifests on her face.
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing personal, Isabel but Will here is coming with me."
Isabel turns to Will and she hopes that he hasn't changed his mind. She's suddenly very set on Will being her partner for the night. She pays the bartender for all the drinks and waits for his decision.
"I'm sorry, Isabel. Maybe another time."
It takes a lot of restraint to hide her triumphal smile but she does it all the same. Then she stands up and moves towards the door. Will follows her and in two strides he is at her side, to whisper in her ear.
"That was cruel."
"It was but she'll find someone else in no time and forget all about you."
That was just who Isabel was. Although, probably, she has to at least consider changing gyms.
"I'm not that forgettable."
Which works out perfectly because neither is she.
"Prove it."
"You should know that I am always up for a challenge."
"That's what I was hoping for."
She hires a cab and gives the driver her address before the awkward talk on which apartment to choose.
"You're deciding everything tonight, aren't you?"
"I would say sorry but I'm not. I don't like commuting in the morning."
"You don't even know where I live."
"I made an educated guess. My apartment is literally two blocks away from my office. Can you compete with that?"
He shrugs, minimally and she wouldn't have noticed, hadn't she been shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
"Guess not. Is everything a competition with you?"
"Not everything. But I won't deny I have a competitive spirit."
One that certainly does not include resenting the person she in love with for his success.
"Obviously."
"You do too."
If his fiery ability of conversation is any indication, he is a pro at competition.
"I do. And you're in luck because it has been recently re-awakened."
"That sounds promising."
And a morsel of information she stores away, a piece of the Will jigsaw puzzle.
"It should."
The glint in their eyes is visible even with the shaky light in the back of the cab.
The rest of the ride is spent in silence, a mischievous smile on both their faces. When they arrive to her building, he stops her from paying the cab with a hand on hers and a "you paid for drinks". Then, they both get out, maintaining a noteworthy distance. She takes the initiative to reduce it and takes his hand in hers before nudging him to follow her into the building. The doorman is surprised to see her with someone other than Tom and his usual "Goodnight Miss Bloom" is accompanied by an incredulous look.
"Your doorman is giving me the stink eye."
He breathes into her ear, while his hand abandons hers and lands on her other hip, so he can keep her close with a flick of the wrist. The vibration from his words reverberates throughout her body and leaves with an unrestrained desire for more of him. More of his words, more of the defiant look he is sporting when she turns to tell him to ignore the doorman. More of his fingers who are now gently and teasingly grazing her side to the rhythm of the elevator changing floors. When the doors open, she is the first one out and by the time she reaches her door, she has already found the keys in her bag. She opens it as swiftly as she can and they both enter.
Suddenly, she is nervous.
This is the apartment she moved into just after her MBA. She was already with Tom at the time. It dawns on her that she isn't anymore. That she is taking the first step to reduce the man she was going to marry to nothing more than a botched relationship. It's a step she needs to take. Marinating on past boyfriends is not her style. But this is her safe place. Nobody but Tom and her friends has been there. And Will, no matter how much she has pursued him, is still a stranger. A smart, well-dressed, handsome stranger. She skirts away from him, meticulously hangs their coats and moves towards her fridge.
"Do you want something to drink?"
She asks and tries to mask her ridiculous mood. She wants her night off without consequences nor repercussions. She deserves to shut the world off. Why won't her brain cooperate?
He studies her for a second or two, and then simultaneously starts laughing while maintaining a tender look in his eyes.
"You're really, really bad at this whole carefree act."
He is right. For all the brazen performance in the bar, in the cab and in the elevator, she still has her damn guard on. His laughter is rumbling and loud and contagious and she finds herself joining in, in a surreal scene of seduction that turns from sexy to comical.
"Do you want me to go?"
He asks when their fit of hilarity has subsided and she is sure of the answer.
"No."
She reaches him again, and her finger starts caressing his face while her other hand plays with his silk tie.
"But I guess I'm going to need some encouragement to truly be carefree."
She reveals, with just a grain of vulnerability and she hopes he proves worthy of her trust.
"I can do that."
His tone is lower, and she is mesmerized by the pull four mere words can have on her. He is on the brink of saying something else but she interrupts him by bringing their lips together. His surprise lasts a moment but then his hands are in her hair, following the ups and downs of some of her waves. Despite Will being an acquaintance of a couple hours or less, the next steps are all muscle-memory. The anxiety dissipates while the kiss that started gentle becomes frenzied, passionate. His hands make quick work of the zip on her dress but not as fast as she gets rid of his tie. They are both in their underwear when, with his help, she hooks her legs around his waist and he carries her around with seemingly no effort. She absentmindedly points to her bedroom while she is nibbling his ear.
"You work fast."
She teases, and her true meaning is probably lost on him. He does appear extremely proficient in removing unnecessary garments but that's not what she is talking about. She means that her head is peculiarly empty. No worries, no concerns, no memories.
And it feels gloriously liberating.
The last sound she acknowledges before peacefully drifting into oblivion is his murmured "You were right, Isabel would have been a mistake" and her consciousness lasts just the time of a passing thought: she is really adept at judging books by their cover.
Worth continuing?