October 11th 2001
He didn't believe her at first. She had cried wolf so many times before, gone to great lengths for her own amusement so much so that it got to the point where it became tedious to even take her call. But then the FBI agents came, and it was spreading over local news outlets like an uncontrollable wildfire. And he knew that Karen had nowhere else to turn. "Stan's been arrested." He should have taken her seriously when she said that. But he had to hear it from some nameless, pompous news reporter broadcasting it to the greater part of New York City.
Will went with her to her home while they searched for evidence. He had his eyes on Karen the entire time, watching her reactions, or lack thereof, to these strangers tearing apart her home, tearing apart all she had built with Stan. She stood there like stone, stoic and seemingly calm. That was Karen for you; she could be on the verge of self-destruction on the inside, but she wouldn't let anyone know about it. Will was always intrigued by that, intrigued by her presence in general. He could tell that she was upset, he always could; Karen Walker may be hard on the surface, but when you delve deeper, you must be careful around the fragility. He put an arm around her, slowly, just to let her know that he was there, that he could be depended on. And when he did that, he was shocked.
She didn't flinch.
Once the intruders left—he could tell that that was what Karen thought of them—Will watched as she walked around the living room, taking in the damage. If he looked closely, he could swear that he just saw a tear rolling down her cheek. Karen took a moment to compose herself and turned to face him. "The kids are with their mother right now. I…I don't want to be here," she started, meekly. "I can't sleep here tonight."
There were probably a million different options she could have had. If he were to leave her alone right now, she would most likely be able to find her way. But the look in her eyes made him hate himself for even considering it. He walked over to her, put a hand against the small of her back and started to lead her to the staircase. "Grab some clothes," he told her. "You can stay with me tonight. Grace is probably asleep, so she won't notice anything. You can sleep in my bed, and I'll take the couch."
She looked at him with a skeptical gaze. "You would do that for me?"
"You shouldn't be alone tonight. Not after all of this."
Karen stared at him for a moment, as if she were wary of accepting such a generous offer from him. She would have jumped at the opportunity if it didn't make her look desperate. Will was aware of her vulnerability, she knew that now, but that didn't mean she had to destroy the image she built up entirely in one fell swoop. Slowly, she made her way up to the closet while Will stayed at the bottom of the stairs. She didn't take much—something to sleep in, a couple changes of clothes in case he offered his place for more than an evening—and went back downstairs to meet him.
Will held the front door open for her, and although her back was turned to him, he could hear the faintest "Thank you" escape her lips. He didn't know why she was so reluctant to believe that he would do this for her. Sure, they've had their arguments and flung petty insults in one another's direction, but he hadn't been that horrible to her.
Had he?
The ride to Riverside Drive was silent and felt eternal. Karen was looking out the window, watching the speeding cabs and laughing New Yorkers—how can they be enjoying themselves when everything has been turned upside down? Will was looking at Karen, watching this awkward and slightly unbelievable transformation—he knew she would be affected by this, it was her husband after all, but he never expected her to let it show so much.
Past the front doors, up the elevator, to the apartment. Will turned the light on to brighten the pitch black of the living room; he was sure that Grace was asleep and wouldn't hear anything. He led Karen to his bedroom. "Here you go," he said. "Let me just grab my pajamas, and I'll leave you here to change." He grabbed his clothes and left as she closed the door behind her.
He couldn't put his finger on why—Karen had been in certain predicaments before—but for some reason, all he was concerned about at that moment was making her feel like she wasn't alone in the world. All he wanted to do was to make sure that she would be okay. He didn't understand it, but he wanted to be the one she depended on.
After a few minutes, he poured two glasses of wine; he knew he wouldn't be able to get to sleep right now, and he didn't think he would anytime soon. He grabbed one of them and walked towards his bedroom, knocked on the door softly. She didn't answer. Will was about to turn back when he finally heard a faint "Come in."
When he opened the door, he found her in a silk nightgown, her knees drawn to her chest, pensive. He wondered if she even absorbed the shock yet, or if she was replaying the events in her mind so she would be able to get a better understanding of it all. Will moved closer to the bed and said, "Hi."
Karen simply looked in his direction.
He held the glass of wine out to her. "Thought you might like some."
She took the glass from his hand. "Thank you. You didn't have to bring me anything."
"Don't worry about it. Sleep well." Will was at the doorway when he heard her speak.
"Why are you doing this?"
He turned around to face her. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
Will took a seat at the edge of the bed. "Well, for one thing, you're actually letting me," he said, which made her smile, the first one from her he's seen all day, "and for another…I don't know, I wanted to. I just felt like you needed someone to be there for you, and I'm more than happy to be that someone."
"I thought you hated me," she said. God, maybe he had been that horrible to her.
"Karen, I don't hate you. I say those things, but I never mean them. But that's all we know. That's how we handle each other, and I guess we've never been given an opportunity to change that. Until now, that is. I know what I've said to you is petty and cheap, and if I could take them back, now that I know how that affected you, I would. I truly am sorry."
He stood up and looked at her for a moment. She didn't respond to what he had said; he didn't really expect her to. "If you need to talk," he said, "I'm right out there. I'll probably be up for a little while longer." He walked out and closed the door behind him.
If she had to be honest, there was no one else she'd rather have look after her tonight. She always felt some sort of attraction to him, but she always dismissed it as a fluke, or some kind of admiration and respect. She drew her knees to her chest again as she sipped the wine. She wanted him to come back. She wanted him to keep her company. She wanted him to listen. She stared at the closed door, as if doing this would force him to come back in, losing track of time. But when she realized it wouldn't work without action, she decided to get up. He was sitting on the couch, his back turned towards her. She needed to talk. She needed him.
"This was the final straw with him," she said.
And his head turned.
