A/N: I've welcomed aboard two amazing betas, Mike and Brii. These two are real professionals and I just want to thank them for putting up with me thus far.
The song in the dance club is called Remain Nameless by the brilliant Florence and the Machine. Ceremonials(Deluxe edition album). It's what I was listening too when I wrote the club scene, but I didn't want to turn this into a song fic like last time. Let me know if that works. Enjoy!
The Fine Art Of Falling Apart
The cab left him near a legit looking nightclub, called Cream 2. This was good. It sure looked better than the image of an abandoned warehouse that dominated his mind on the ride over. The building resembled a warehouse turned upscale, just like many of the other developments along the pier. Two bouncers barred the entrance, flanking a tall no nonsense manager who kept one hand on his headset while scribbling on a clipboard with the other.
Will approached, ignoring the dirty looks that the wannabe clubbers aimed his way as he stopped before the three men.
The manager looked Will up and down, taking in his expensive power suit and silk tie, settling on Will's immaculate Italian shoes before a smile wider than the sun appeared.
The man attached to the headset had to only survey his power suit and tie before a smile wider than the sun appeared. Looks were everything in this city and power conveyed that. Oh how he'd missed that. Returning the grin, Will flashed the black embossed business card before the man's eyes.
"I was told the second floor?" Will said, looking between the trio.
"Yes, right this way." The manager motioned to his left hand man. The bouncer complied by stepping aside and holding the VIP door open. "She'll be waiting in 102. Who referred you?"
"Mr. Turelli."
The manager's eyes lit up with so much glee Will wondered if he said the right thing, then remembered Dom's words and kept quiet.
Guess there's incentive for referrals around here, he thought cynically.
"Very good, sir."
From the outside the club looked respectable, but the inside it was another world. Instead of strobe lights and obnoxious effects, this place took a more intimate direction. Hypnotic blues splashed the walls, both calming and fuelling the bodies that danced to the beat, beats so loud they reverberated through his heart. The singer hit a keynote, striking the same pitch of Alicia's voice during their...no, forget that. He smiled; this place was a lament to his skirt chasing days.
This club wasn't for wall flowers. There was no place to just lounge and stalk people; here you were either a participant or on your way out. Boundaries and personal space were clearly foreign concepts here. The notes called out to Will, tempting him to let loose and join in, but Will managed enough self control to hold back. Pulling away from the song's call, he continued up the stairs, bringing him onto the catwalk above. 102 was across a sea of dancers, lost in the beat.
Will made his way past them, ducking inside 102. He didn't bother knocking— it was too loud to hear it anyway— so he walked in, surprised when his eyes met a dimly lit cave. The door closed behind him, taking all traces of sound with it.
The doors must be sound proof, Will thought with an inward sigh. great. What the hell did you get me into, Dom?
As his eyes adjusted to the low light, they fell upon an average looking woman with nothing on but an apron, delicately balanced on a plush cushion before him.
"Hello Mr. Gardner." She said, her soft voice laced with a posh British accent while hinting at another he couldn't quite place.
Jaw clenched and eyes closed, Will stood rigid, cursing himself for being stupid enough to get into this.
"Hi. Look, I think I'm at the wrong place." He said, eyes trained on hers and nowhere else.
He felt like he was up on display when her green eyes made their assessment, seemingly seeing right through him. It was unsettling.
"I think you're right where you need to be, please sit." She motioned to the couch across from her with slim perfectly manicured fingers. A measured smile spread over her as she waited for him to comply.
Will hesitated, entertaining the thought of walking out. It was one in the morning, he was too buzzed from drinking to sleep and this beat sitting alone in his apartment. Deciding to play along, he sat down. "Thank you."
"You seem new at this so let me explain the ground rules. I listen, offer advice and can be anyone you need me to be for the next hour." She wound a dial on her watch, which projected what was unmistakably a hologram right before her. Good PR, Dominic. "Everything you say is confidential and stays with me. Anything you do is without consequence." She set a one hour countdown before dissolving the hologram. "I am at your mercy." Her eyes darted to what looked like a cross between a bad BDSM movie and a butcher shop. Knives, bondage chains and strings sat mounted on the walls just within his reach.
Will shuffled back, repulsed. "Woah, hold on. I didn't come here for this," he said, gesturing slightly nervously towards the wall. "I don't need it."
"Then don't use it," She said, sinking into her chair, crossing her legs a little too slowly. "You'd be surprised at how few actually use it."
"This is illegal," Will said, tone serious and detached, bringing the lawyer out from within.
But she only rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Please, Mr. Gardner, right now you're not a lawyer and I'm not your client. Stay. Relax. Tell me what is bothering you."
Pulling back on his natural instinct to get out of there and call the cavalry, he sat down, eying the serrated blades with caution. "This is bothering me."
"Ignore it," She advised, smiling. "Tell me, what else is bothering you? What brought you here today?"
"Your card says Kate Miller," Will began, trying to get his mind off the bizarre situation. "That's not your real name."
"It's not." She replied, looking as if he just asked about the weather. "But names are not important here."
"They are when you know mine." He said, eyes hardening for a fleeing moment.
"I'm not here to hurt you." She said, smiling benignly. "I'm a keeper of secrets and they're paying me well. But we're not here for me, we're here for you. What's bothering you?"
Will thought long and hard. Maybe if he got her talking, got her relaxed enough, he could pry his own facts from her. "I think I'm addicted." He said slowly.
Curiosity rose in those forest green eyes of hers. "To what?" she asked, just as slowly.
"I don't know."
"Well it's not sex, so we can write off the list." She said jokingly, pulling a sweater from behind the cushion and donning it around her shoulders.
"How do you figure?" he asked, raising a brow in confusion.
"We would've had it by now. You're one of the few who hasn't jumped my bones right after walking through the door." She buttoned the garment with all the confidence of a woman who was well experienced with this strange scenario.
He smiled. "Does that offend you?"
"It fascinates me." She replied, her eyes clouded with a cross between interest and wonder. "It's not a chemical you're addicted to, either. If that were the case, this time of night would be happy hour." She said, continuing to study him as if he were an interesting science project. "What makes you think you have an addiction?"
Will shrugged, playing his part perfectly. "I have all the classic symptoms," he said dryly. "Can't sleep, work or think about anything without going back to... what I want."
She leaned forward so slightly he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been studying her. "What do you want?"
"I don't know," He said, trying to convince himself he was playing it safe, but knowing it was more truthful than he was willing to admit. "How many men cut you?" he asked, eyeing the jagged knives.
"None, if you must know. But don't get off the subject, Mr. Gardner." She reprimanded in a cool tone, drawing back.
She's lying. He knew it, felt it, but couldn't prove it. Will wished he got a closer look while her skin was bare, because he had the inkling feeling that sweater hid the evidence. "Yet you give them the option?" he asked.
"The option gives them control, makes them feel powerful." She said, cocking her head to the side. "You like power Mr. Gardner, you like to win. But power doesn't become you, it's merely a means to an end."
"What end would that be?"
"Whatever end the situation requires." Her eyes narrowed as he loosened his tie, "Why do you hesitate?"
In all his active years, no one has put this much assessment into his actions, let alone a stranger. It was unsettling to think she could see this much and it scared him to think what else she might dig up within the hour. "I'm not used to being scrutinized."
"Lies," she said, voiced with disappointment and boredom. "You're scrutinized before a judge, jury and an opinionated audience every day of every week."
"Okay," he said, holding his hands up in defence. "So maybe I'm not used to being scrutinized one-on-one in such intimate settings."
The hint of understanding softened her eyes. "Yes, you're used to being in control, leading the exchange and demanding pleasure from your partners." She said, connecting the dots.
Her use of the plural wasn't lost on him. This woman talked a big game, like she knew more than anyone gave her credit for, but truth was they just met and he didn't enjoy being judged like this. "I'm not some controlling sex crazed maniac if that's the picture you're trying to paint." He said hotly. "I'm capable of commitment."
Her curiosity returned. "Who is it that you're committed to?"
He chuckled, trying tip her off her game while putting distance between him and this topic. To Will's surprise, her curious expression continued to demand an answer. "I'd think someone who scrutinizes me through national media would know the answer to that?" he said scathingly.
"And yet you don't," She said simply, no trace of snarkiness or retort, just the same sickening sense of pity. He hated pity.
Feeling like an idiot for falling into that little trick he closed his mouth and backtracked.
"I was told that good things come to those who wait." He said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I waited years and nothing good came out of that. And now, I'm done waiting but I can't move forward. It's like I'm stuck."
Kate's eyes narrowed, her head tilted in curiosity while he tried to school his features.
"It sounds to me, like there is only one way out." She said softly.
"How's that?" He asked tightly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
"You mentioned that you can't move forward, but maybe stepping back and confronting the blockage is what needs to be done." She pinned him with those green eyes again. "You can't move on from your problems until they stop being problems."
"Problems imply a solution." He mumbled dryly, humour falling flat as his thoughts drifted back to that second voicemail. He confronted the problem with the only solution that sounded right at the time, honesty. She wanted a plan, he gave her an answer. She called it poetry, but it was more than that, at least to him. It was the possibility of moving forward. Was that really too scary a thought for her?
Lost in his thoughts, Kate's voice brought him sharply back to earth. "Red looks good on you."
He looked down at the red tie in irritation; had he really worn her color? "Thanks..." he mumbled softly, loosening the tie even further.
"Will, sitting here thinking about what you want to do isn't going to make it happen." Her using his first name sounded weird to his ears but he didn't say a word. "You need a solid yes or no, but first she needs an option. Have you presented her with any options?" she asked as her eyes continued their free reign over him.
Will thought back to the days of their office escapades. Back then, there were no choices; just actions. Actions with consequence, but not much thought. He shook his head. "She doesn't want options," he said heavily. "She wants a plan."
"Then give her one," she suggested lightly, her eyes challenging him. "You make plans everyday in the courtroom."
"That's different." He said, not really sure how it was. "It's not just her life or our future that's at stake here."
"No?" She asked, raising an inquisitive brow.
"No," he muttered. "Two innocent people are stuck in between."
"They're not part of your future?" She inquired.
His mind went to Zack and Grace. Good kids, well good being that they were taking their family's crisis really well. He word family stopped him dead, it seemed right but wrong at the same time. Like something taunting him, dancing just out of reach.
"I think you know what you want, Will." she said, eyes painting the floor before settling back on him. "She can either be a part of it or stand aside from it, but regardless of how she decides, you need a solid answer. Otherwise you'll be running on a treadmill for the rest of your life, getting nowhere." She leaned in closer. "I think we both know you're tiring of it."
Will considered her words before rising. She rose with him, stepping into his personal space, sliding his tie back into place before he could utter a word, making it snug against his neck. Her scent invited his attention, so feminine. She seemed to linger a few moments longer than needed.
"We all deserve answers," she said, her eyes focused on some distant point in the past. "I'm sure you'll get yours in time, Mr. Gardner."
"It's Will." He smiled as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. "And thanks."
"My pleasure, Will," she smiled back.
"Do I..." he hesitated, not quite sure how this little arrangement worked.
Kate shook her head, "Mr. Turelli took care of tonight's payments. He phoned ahead."
"Right." He mumbled, bidding her goodbye before exiting.
The music caught him off guard, blaring through his body as the door opened into the club. To his amazement, a line twenty people long was already at her door and he was only halfway out when another man pushed past him and five more seemed to take his place.
He would've squeezed past and disappeared into the streets if a curious sight hadn't caught his eye.
Two girls claimed the corner nearest to the door. One was clearly bedazzled and out of her element, blinded with the lights and sounds she stood with arms tight around herself. Keeping some pretty feeble watch as her friend hawked a guttural sound before leaning away from the garbage can.
Will approached carefully; they were clearly underage and clearly drunk. When did I become Mr. Responsible?
Recognizing the light brown locks of Alicia's daughter he stopped short before them. Grace's friend stepped away, eyes widened and scared, but otherwise sober.
"Are you alright, Grace?" Will asked, glancing back at the girl who was now clutching the garbage can as if it were a life preserver.
"We were just leaving, we didn't do anything I swear!" The other girl started.
"Hey, no it's okay. I work with her mom," he motioned to Grace, kneeling down to survey the damage. The putrid smell of rotten eggs and sour beer wafted from the garbage can. Recoiling slightly, he pried Grace away from it. "Let's get you guys home."
"No...No, no, no." The friend freaked, looking panicked. "I'm not supposed to be here. Oh my god, dad's gonna kill me!"
Keeping Grace from falling to the floor while trying to console her friend was proving difficult, so he scooped Alicia's daughter into his arms and stood before addressing the other girl again. "What's your name?"
"Shannon," the girl looked ready to cry but thankfully held on. "I didn't want to come here, I...And Grace had too much...we're so dead!"
"Shannon, it's okay. Grace will be okay, I'll get you home just follow me. Alright?"
A shaky nod was all he got but it was better than nothing. Re-adjusting a half lidded Grace in his arms, he began moving through the crowd with Shannon close behind.
"Where..." Grace moaned, "Who are you?"
"I'm taking you home to your mom, Grace." He said, sounding more concerned than authoritative.
She only shivered in response, contracting as they navigated around the dance floor. A few stares and ews came their way but a sharp glare from Will put an end to that.
Thankfully Grace was light, which was nice because he doubted he could carry a woman in the state he was in. The crowd was decent enough to part for him as he carried the party pooper out.
"Shannon, do you have a phone?" Will asked, as they stood waiting for an empty taxi.
The girl seemed to ponder her answer, likely wondering what wave of punishment he would toss them into. "Yeah..."
"I need you to call Peter Florrick."