A/N: Set 18 months after "End"

Alicia POV

I held it for a long time, several minutes after reading the last word.

I had the insane urge to go back to the beginning and start over.

Literally and figuratively.

Not that anything unveiled in the book was overly enlightening or earth shattering. Maybe more because it wasn't.

It made it feel all that much more real.

I set the book on my chest - still not yet ready to let go of it, to set it back on the nightstand where it has spent many nights – and then I closed my eyes.

"Damn you, Peter," I muttered softly.

Of course, I'm alone, so there's no response other than the distant ticking of a clock.

It's shortly before three in the morning, much too late for me to be awake on a work night, but I couldn't stop reading until I finished.

I'm not sure why, since I felt like I already knew the story, but what I learned was that I really didn't know, not nearly enough.

I only knew my version of it. Which, I'll admit now, was rather skewed.

I sighed heavily and ran my hands over the cover as I thought back over some of the words it contains.

If I'd known, when I started in politics, how the whole thing would turn out, I would've stayed out of the game entirely. It blinded me to what's important in life, things like family and love. Maybe it sounds trivial as an afterthought, I don't know, but if given a do-over, I would've gone straight into some small town practice as soon as I met her, something we could do together, and to hell with politics.

It's completely clichéd but it's true: sometimes we don't realize how blessed we truly are until it all falls apart, and by then it's often too late.

My phone buzzed, indicating a text message, stopping me from attempting to recite the entire manuscript in my head.

Probably work, I thought. Because there's no one else to text me.

Jason is long gone.

He had the decency to call me, that night eighteen months ago, the night of Peter's announcement. It was hours after I imagined seeing him in the hotel, and by that time, I convinced myself that he was going to leave without a word, but I was only half right.

He left, but not without a word.

"This isn't me," he said softly.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are."

"I'm coming in between something," he pushed, surprising me because I thought he was talking about his desire to pick up stakes and move on a moment's notice, and I'd been toying with the notion that I could be that kind of person, too.

"Coming in between…you mean me and Peter?" I asked in confusion.

"Of course you and Peter."

"Jason, I told you, we're getting divorced. There is no me and Peter anymore."

"A piece of paper stating your marriage is over doesn't change what's in your heart," he reasoned.

"Which is an even better argument for my point," I pressed. "We've been over for a long time."

"Says you," he said wryly in that coy way of his, and I could perfectly picture his smile in spite of the meaning behind his words.

Honestly, it just ticked me off.

"That's right, says me," I fired back. "And don't you think I know better than you, in this case? I'm telling you, I don't love him anymore. It's over, ancient history."

The silence that followed was long enough to make me replay my words, and then I became even more indignant.

"You don't believe me? You think I'm still in love with him?"

"I think…" he began cautiously, my warning that I wasn't going to like what he was about to say, and as I steeled myself for his words, he finished, stating, "That you wish you weren't. And being with me was an escape."

A strangled sound escaped my lips, shock over his assessment, and then he chuckled lightly and continued, "Don't get me wrong, being your escape was a lot of fun. A lot of fun. But it's time for me to move on."

"You're…you…where are you going?" I finally managed.

"I don't know yet."

"Will you call me when you get there?"

"I…uh…no."

And that was it.

At the time, I ran the gamut of emotions, from madder than hell to tearful devastation.

And then I got over it, because he was right.

Not about me being in love with Peter, but about him being an escape.

He was the perfect foray into what my life had never been. Unplanned and dangerous and reckless. Some of the things he and I did…I look back now, and I don't even recognize myself.

But I think maybe it was good for me, being that person for a little while.

Much better than the person I became over the next six months.

I don't even have an excuse for my behavior.

Work was…well, it was work.

After my falling out with Diane – over what I can only call a serious lapse in my morals and ethics and judgment and she was absolutely right to slap me – I left the firm and went to work with Louis Canning.

I know.

But it's turned out okay.

Mostly.

It did end my friendship with Lucca. Not at first, but eventually, because even though I asked Louis about bringing her with me, he didn't really want two more lawyers, and she didn't really want to leave the firm.

"I'm just settling in," she told me. "There've been so many changes this past year, and it finally feels like I have something solid again, you know?"

"But…"

"It won't change us," she said soothingly. "We're still friends."

And we were for a little while, but as often happens in life, lack of proximity turned into lack of communication and the longer we went between calls, the more stilted our conversations became, especially since she turned into Diane's new golden girl and seemed to be uncomfortable talking about it, until eventually we stopped talking altogether.

I miss her. Or rather, I miss having a friend.

But as I was saying, the work has been pretty good.

I feel like I've been able to rebuild my principles a little. It seems I got lost for a little while, but I'm back on track for where I want to be: doing good. And helping people. It's not always about winning at any cost.

But even though I feel like I'm there now, I was still floundering for a while in the beginning, and one night, six months after my break-up with Jason, I was feeling especially sentimental and a bit morose, so I went to the bar where I used to have drinks with Kalinda a lifetime ago.

And I bumped into Cary.

"Well, look at you," he said in that slow, easy manner of his, almost smiling but not quite, and I honestly had no idea if he was happy to see me or about to throw a drink in my face.

"It's been a long time," I replied evenly.

"Sit," he said, tipping his head towards the empty stool next to him. "You can buy me a drink."

I still couldn't gauge his mood, although he would have every right to hate me, and I suddenly found myself hating me. For what I turned into, and for how I treated Cary, especially during that time of Jason and all-female partner law firms, and constant jockeying for power position.

"I should probably buy you more than one," I acknowledged as I sat down.

"Good, because I feel like drinking more than one."

And then he finally smiled. A little.

It made me feel even more guilty for going behind his back to make deals with Diane. For taking his friendship and loyalty for granted.

So we drank tequila.

A lot of it.

And I paid.

"Kalinda wants me to move to…well, to where she is, " he told me as together we walked unsteadily out onto the sidewalk.

"She does?"

"Uh huh," he said, and for the first time, he smiled fully. Genuinely.

God, he's in love with her, even now, after so much time, I thought.

"Are you going?"

"I don't know," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugged with uncertainty.

"Yes, you do," I replied with wonder. "You're going."

"You act like you're going to miss me. Come on, Alicia, until tonight, I haven't seen you in six months."

And that's when I did what I can't explain, what I equate to hitting rock bottom.

I kissed him.

I mean, I grabbed onto him with both hands and I kissed him hard, with everything I had. In deference to the tequila, I'm going to pretend I don't remember tugging on his shirt a little, like I was going to undress him right there on the sidewalk.

Of course, he put a stop to it. Quickly.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked sharply.

"I just…I thought…I don't know."

"I tell you Kalinda wants me, and suddenly you…God, Alicia, what happened to you?"

"Cary, I'm sorry."

"It was almost nice catching up with you, Alicia," he said dismissively as he turned away. "Take care of yourself."

And he walked away.

I haven't seen him since, and this town isn't that big, so I imagine he and Kalinda are together somewhere, living their happily ever after.

I hate that memory, hate that I put that kind of dirty spin on such an important friendship, but there's nothing I can do about it now. It happened, and now it's over.

Except that it makes me think about Peter sometimes, and I wonder if he hated himself after cheating.

I know that's not the same, because I'm single, but still…I knew Cary wasn't and yet I did it anyway. Or tried to, at least. Who knows what might've happened if he'd let it?

Oh, who am I kidding…I know exactly what would've happened.

But it's been a year since then.

And my phone buzzed in the middle of the night, and since I have no lover and no real friends, it must be work, but when I reached to look at it, I saw my son's name on the display.

He forgets the time difference, sometimes. It's morning in Paris.

I'm getting married this weekend.

That's all the message said.

Tears filled my eyes as I read the words a few more times, and I was flooded with a little bit of self-loathing, for letting my relationship with Zach get to the this point.

The last time he said he was getting married, he at least had the decency to come home, to tell me in person.

This time, I get a text.

At least it's not Hannah. She and Zach only lasted two months after moving to Paris. But he loved it there, so he stayed, and a couple of months after the breakup, he met Michelle, and it was apparently love at first sight.

I haven't met her, but he sent me a picture once.

Once.

In all this time, of the woman he plans to marry.

Apparently this weekend, I added with bitterness.

And yet I have no one to blame but myself. I got so focused on my career and my love life – or rather my sex life – that I made little or no effort to keep in touch with my son. And really, Grace and I only stayed closer because she was here, at least longer than Zach. She's in her second year at Berkley now, and I only saw her briefly over the summer, and we talk maybe once every few weeks.

Suffice it to say, I barely know my kids anymore.

What happened to me?

I turned into the exact person I've always hated. The person I blamed Peter for becoming. Cool, distant, self-absorbed, obsessed with work…and where did it get me?

Alone. And hearing about my son's impending nuptials via text message.

My phone buzzed again, and I almost didn't look at it, because I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself, but since it's still in my hand, I reluctantly held it up.

A text from Peter.

I hesitated before opening it, and instead just thought about my ex-husband and what he wrote in his book.

Alicia was the love of my life. Is the love of my life. The fact that I'm not hers doesn't change how I feel, except to make me regret the pain I've caused her. I hate that I disappointed her.

The ironic thing about his statement is that I don't feel disappointed by him. I mean, sure, I did for a while. Probably more so than I had a right, because he's human and I'm certainly living proof that sometimes people get lost and become someone else, someone they don't like or even understand. So the irony is that I actually feel the opposite about him.

I'm impressed with him. And amazed by how he's turned his life around.

He stepped down as governor in a whirlwind of rumors and scandal, and spent a year on probation, during which time our divorce was finalized. If anyone had the right to be depressed, it's him.

Instead, he wrote a book. With a ghost writer, of course, but still…my point is that he got his life together.

He moved out of the city, buying a home in Wonder Lake, and he joined a small firm, working three or four days a week.

I haven't seen him in months, but I talk to him regularly. Or at least, text with him regularly.

Although not usually at three in the morning, I thought with a smirk, so I think I know what this one's about because he always passes along whatever tidbits he gets from the kids, especially since these days, they talk to him more than me.

Did you get a message from Zach?

I smiled fully after reading the words, appreciating how he didn't just drop the bombshell on me, in case I didn't get a message.

And then I thought back over the multitude of messages he's sent me over the past eighteen months, the first one of which coming only a few days after his announcement.

Grace told me about Jason. I'm sorry.

I remember reading that message at least a dozen times, wondering if there was any sincerity in it, or possibly some kind of ulterior motive, but that's all he said about the matter, so I decided that it was genuine empathy without any maneuvering.

In fact, it was weeks before I heard from him again.

I hired someone to help me write a book. I don't want you worrying about anything I might say, though. I'll let you read it before it goes to the publisher.

Thoughtfulness.

Typical Peter, as much as I pretend he's not a thoughtful man.

Then a few weeks after that:

Zach and Hannah broke up.

The message was followed up with a second text, one that contained something Peter doesn't use.

A smiley face emoticon.

Seeing that on my phone made me laugh out loud, both because I was feeling the same way over the news, and because I could perfectly imagine him displaying a real-life impish grin.

I responded in kind, and I think that broke the ice, because after that, he texted roughly once a week, sometimes with news and sometimes for no reason.

Zach is staying in Paris. He applied to Tufts. Don't worry about the tuition, I'll take care of it.

And then…

How are you?

Later,

Grace met a guy. Sounds serious. I'm thinking about buying a shotgun.

That one was followed with a smiley face, too.

Then he sent:

I was going through pictures to use for the book, and wanted to share. You can veto, if you want.

Attached was a picture of the two of us. Peter had his arms around me, and I was looking at the camera, with a big smile on my face. And he was looking at me with this expression of…I don't know. Complete adoration.

And it wasn't from the beginning, or even from the middle.

It was from the campaign trail, when he was running for governor. Back when I agreed to marry him again, to love him for the rest of our lives.

I hadn't seen that particular photo before, but even if I had, I'm not sure I would've had the same reaction as I did when he sent it to me.

I cried.

It just made me so damn sad.

Anyway, that's how it's been.

Peter texts, and I reply, but I'm not sure if I ever initiated the contact.

No, actually I did once. On my birthday.

I came home from work to find flowers and a bottle of wine waiting by the door.

The card read: The years only make you more beautiful. Always, Peter.

Sweet.

Another trait of Peter's.

I sent him a text to say thank you, smiling the entire time I typed the message, because not another soul had remembered my birthday. Well, other than Owen. My brother left me a voicemail earlier, offering to come over for the evening, so that I wouldn't have to be alone.

While I appreciated the gesture, it was more depressing thinking my brother was the only one who wants to spend any time with me than just being alone, so I declined.

But after I thanked Peter, I felt a flash of spontaneity and I sent him another text.

Want to come help me drink the wine?

His response was fairly quick.

I'll be there in half an hour.

And he was.

It's the new Peter. He means what he says, and he follows through. Or maybe he's always been like that, and I never gave him the credit. Regardless, it was a really nice evening. We spent our time in the kitchen, each on opposite sides of the island, just talking and drinking the wine. In fact, we drank two bottles between the two of us.

"Thanks for coming over," I told him later, as I walked him to the door.

"Thanks for inviting me," he responded.

And isn't that kind of how it's been with him over the past several years? He waits to see what I'll give of myself. He doesn't push, he doesn't even ask, he's just there…waiting.

"You look really good. The private sector agrees with you," I said.

"You'd like it, too."

I looked at him quizzically, since I'm not in politics anymore either, but he clarified, saying, "Wonder Lake. It's nice. Quiet."

"Maybe I'll come up sometime."

"I hope so," he answered, and then he leaned down and pressed his lips against my cheek in a lingering kiss before saying softly, "Happy Birthday, Alicia."

And then he was gone.

I haven't gone to Wonder Lake.

And I haven't seen him again since then, either.

I think it's because that night, I heard my last conversation with Jason again, in my head, him telling me how I wish I weren't in love with Peter anymore, and me vehemently denying the existence of any feelings at all.

But maybe I was wrong.

And I didn't want to be wrong.

I divorced Peter for a reason.

Although now, at three a.m., still holding the phone in my hand, I can't remember exactly what my reason was.

Because he cheated on me?

No. Otherwise, I would've done it a whole lot sooner. And I wouldn't have agreed to renew our vows.

Because he was embroiled in another scandal?

No. A political figure is always subjected to speculation and rumor, and considering Peter's run as State's Attorney, he had a bigger target on his back than most.

Besides, the charges ultimately proved false. He didn't rig a mistrial to help a contributor.

And on a smaller scale to the justice system, but very important to me, he also didn't sleep with Geneva Pine. That was orchestrated to make Peter look bad, to make him look like the same old crook who went to prison.

But he's not the same man.

So no, none of those things were part of my reasoning for pursuing a divorce.

I think it was because of Jason. Not specifically, but what he represented. Freedom to lead a different life.

And yet look at me now, eighteen months later.

I haven't dated. I haven't slept with anyone.

In fact, the only action I've gotten at all is the colossally stupid kiss I laid on Cary Agos a year ago.

And truth be told, I miss Peter.

Not because of our sexual compatibility, but just him in general. I miss the intimacy of being with someone. And not just someone, but someone who knows me. The real me.

So even though we haven't lived as husband and wife in a very long time, we still spent a lot of time together. Before, I mean. But now we don't, and his moving away coinciding with our divorce has really left a hole in my life.

So instead of texting him back, I called him.

"Alicia? Are you okay?" he answered, sounding concerned.

"I figured it was safe to call, since you just texted," I answered. "I mean, I knew you were awake."

"I am. So did you get a text from Zach?"

"He's marrying Michelle," I said on a sigh. "This weekend."

"Better her now, than Hannah a year ago," he replied. "At least this one believes that marriage is actually supposed to last."

"You've talked to her?"

"Um…yeah. You haven't?"

"Zach sent me a picture. A few months ago. But that's it."

"Oh."

"It's okay," I insisted, even though it does hurt my feelings that Peter's more in the know. "You like her?"

"From as much as I could tell from a few phone conversations, yeah. And Zach seems happy."

"Okay. Well, good."

We were both quiet for a moment, and I just listened to him breathe, and then I closed my eyes and imagined that he was next to me instead of miles and miles away.

"So how are you?" he said after another minute, and his voice is gravelly and low, like he's fighting sleep.

"I just finished your book."

"And?"

"It's really good. I mean it, Peter. I think it's great."

I heard him exhale heavily, like he thought maybe I was about to say otherwise, and then he confirmed my suspicion, saying, "I wasn't sure, since you didn't want to read it ahead of time. I thought maybe some of the stories I shared…"

"They were all perfect," I interrupted, and I found myself with tears in my eyes again. "And I'm sorry I didn't make it to your release signing."

"It's okay. I didn't expect you to come."

"You should have," I admonished. "And I should've come. This is a big deal for you."

"You're my ex-wife. You don't owe me anything," he reasoned smoothly.

It's strange, but I feel like I want him to be mad that I wasn't there. He should be disappointed in me. He should be upset.

The fact that he's…well, nothing, that really hurts.

He's moved on, my mind supplied. And then the snarky side of me said, of course he has. How many times did you yell at him to do just that?

"I haven't gotten used to that yet," I said, silencing my inner voice.

"To what?"

"I'm your ex."

"Really?" he asked on a chuckle.

"You signed the papers," I said in confusion.

"No, I mean, you really haven't gotten used to it? You wanted it a long time before you finally asked for it. I would've thought it would be a relief to finally be free of me."

"I thought it would be, too," I admitted thoughtfully.

"But?"

I paused for a moment, not sure if I'm ready for opening up, but then I decided, what the hell? It's the middle of the night, and I'm alone, on the phone with the man I promised my life to. Twice. Who else can I be honest with, if not him?

"I thought I would be happy without you. For so long, it was so…hard, you know?"

"Uh huh. I know."

"I guess I always thought that it was hard because of you."

"I'm sure it was," he asserted.

"Maybe, but not only because of you. It was me, too. And I think it was me even longer than it was you."

We talked for a few more minutes, and then I let him go, claiming a need for sleep, but the whole conversation left me feeling unsettled.

It also made me really want to see him in person.

Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night. Or the next night, either. I couldn't stop thinking about my life and where it's going. And Peter and how he might fit into it again.

Several times over the course of those long nights, I glanced over at the empty spot next to me in bed, half-expecting to see Will lying there, ready to offer more advice.

But I never saw him. Probably because I already know what I want to do, and I also know that Will would never suggest I attempt a reconciliation with Peter.

He was self-righteous, in that respect, never wanting to forgive Peter for his sins despite committing quite a few himself. And I suppose I've been self-righteous, too.

After three sleepless nights, I got up on Friday morning, with my mind made up. I did a little amateur investigating, and then I called in sick before driving to Rockford. It took me more than three hours, in rush hour traffic, but only twice did I consider turning around.

"This is crazy," I said aloud in the car.

It's been too long. And we've finally completely extricated ourselves from each other's lives.

I'm exactly where I thought I wanted to be.

Only now I don't want to be here, I mused. I want to be…well…I looked around as I pulled into a parking spot, and then I smiled victoriously and said, "Here. I want to be here."

As I walked towards the store, I had one last moment of panic, because what if this doesn't go as I hope? And what do I truly expect to have happen? And what if…

"You're Alicia Florrick," a voice said, breaking through my demoralizing thoughts. I glanced up to see a young woman standing on the sidewalk, and she's smiling so I smiled back.

"Yes," I answered.

"You're going in? I mean, are you going to…" she trailed off and held up her hand, showing off the bag, and it finally hit me what she was asking, but before I could respond, she added quickly, "I don't mean here. I'll go back in and get back in line."

"There's a line?" I asked, a feeling of pride rushing through me.

"Oh my gosh, yes!" she said enthusiastically.

And I suddenly feel what I've wanted to feel for eighteen months.

Happy.

And not because this college student recognized me or wants my autograph, but because without a doubt, I know what I really want.

"Here," I said, holding out my hand. "I wouldn't want you to have to start over at the back of the line."

She handed me the book, and gave me her name, and I flipped to the title page, where Peter's signature and personal note was scrawled across the page. I added a quick note from me and signed my name, and then gave her back the book.

"Thank you so much. I already read it," she told me. "It's amazing, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Would you mind a picture? I'll be fast, I promise."

So we took a selfie, and then I headed into the bookstore, where as the girl mentioned, there was a line nearly out the door, and as I walked past, I could hear whispers, people saying my name, but I focused on the back of the store, where Peter was seated at a table.

I love that so many people are here to meet him, to have him sign their copy of his book.

And my breath is almost stolen by how handsome I find him. How it sends a fluttering feeling through me just to see him again. This man, whom I know almost better than myself, and yet is still a mystery to me. A wonderful, solid, exciting mystery.

I saw him pause mid-signature, as if he could sense my presence, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into a hurricane as he slowly brought his eyes up to meet mine.

Because I didn't tell him I was coming. I didn't even let on that I knew he'd be here. He's been doing two or three signings a week since the release a month ago, and I haven't been to a single one.

But I'm here now, and as his gaze locks on mine, my nervousness suddenly goes away.

Because he smiles at me.

Not the fake, politician smile, but the real one, the one I fell in love with more than two decades ago.

He stood up as I came around the table, and he leaned in to kiss my cheek, and then he whispered, "I can't believe you're here."

"You don't mind?" I asked him.

"Are you kidding me?" he responded, his grin growing broader, and then he looked back to an employee and said, "Can you bring another chair up?"

The request was fulfilled almost immediately, and soon the two of us were sitting side by side, chatting with fans, and signing books.

"I'm not sure why people want me," I said under my breath to him. "It's your book. I just came for moral support."

"Have you read it?" he asked wryly. "You're the heroine."

I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm not sure how. It must be a work of fiction."

He chuckled softly for a moment, and then said, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me, too."

We spent the next two hours greeting excited fans, and it was the most fun I've had since…well, since I don't know when.

Not since Jason, because that was a different kind of fun. And not since Will because that was different, too. Both of them were like exploring fantasies, without the realism of day to day life.

No, it felt more like the old days, when Peter and I were a team. When we raised kids together and spoke in short hand and knew every tic and quirk about one another.

"I want to thank everyone for coming, but my time's up," Peter announced. "I'll be back tomorrow, though, so if I didn't get to you, Stacy will be handing out tickets, and you can bring it with you tomorrow to get to the front of the line."

Everyone clapped, and some flashes went off, people taking pictures, and as I stood next to Peter, I realized how right it feels. Standing next to him.

And maybe I needed the time away from him to come to appreciate it, I don't know, but I know it now, and as he glanced over at me, I was reminded of that picture, the one where he's looking at me so adoringly, and it makes my heart skip a beat to realize that he's still looking at me like that.

There's hope, I decided. There's real hope for us.

And that makes me happy.

"Thank you," Peter concluded, and as he turned to leave, I slipped my hand into his.

He came to a full stop, looking down at our joined hands, and the symbolism isn't lost on either of us.

Eighteen months ago, I left him stranded, alone when he needed me.

Today, he doesn't need me at all, but I think he still wants me. And I know I still want him.

I held my breath as I waited to see what he would do in response to my action, and then I could see him visibly relax, and he gave me that look again, the one that I feel in my stomach, and then he squeezed my hand.

Yes, there's definitely hope for us.

I think Cary and Kalinda got their happily ever after.

Maybe Peter and I will, too.

The End