A/N: Here we go with another two-parter! The first part is from Peter's perspective. For timeframe reference, the last couple of chapters occurred in late November-December. Hope you all enjoy this 'lifting the hood' chapter. :)
And thanks to the the sweetest beta, LEArtemis. You're the best!
Week Eleven – Part I
January 2012
Peter sank further into the plush couch. His six foot one frame ached from the waist up as he adjusted his knees to be hip width apart, and tried to find a comfortable position for the next hour.
"How do you think we'll do today?"
Alicia grinned wide at him. "You make it sound like we're about to put on a show."
He peeped at her out of the corner of his eye seated beside him. Smartly dressed in a figure flattering long sleeve beige sheath dress, with hair and makeup understated yet enough to make a statement per usual, she was fit to play the part.
"We do," he said. "Our typical performance when we're here, right?"
"I think those days are behind us, don't—"
Ping! … Ping!
"Sorry." She bent forward to reach into her purse for her cell phone. "Thought I turned this off."
"Have you noticed when we're early, he's occupied?"
They arrived to Adam's office ten minutes ahead of their scheduled session time. Adam invited them into the room, instructed them to make themselves comfortable, and dashed back to reception.
"For a change, I'm early, so I won't comment," she said without pause. Her thumbs tapped in brisk strokes on the phone's keypad. "You sound a bit cranky."
"It's my back. Killing me."
He winced as he reached beneath his suit jacket and massaged a taut shoulder blade.
"You were restless last night. Everything alright?"
"Couldn't sleep" – he stretched in a modified spinal rotation – "or get comfortable." He craned his neck backward, forward and around, waiting to feel the sweet pop of release. "May be from this upcoming speech."
"What about it?" Her eyes remained glued to the phone. "Ohh. This is Mom. She's not feeling great today. Wants me to visit later."
"What's wrong? Thought you said her latest test results were promising."
"They were. We know it is not cancer, but she's not herself." She kept typing. "Once we leave here, I'll swing by before I come home. Won't be long."
"Want me to go with you?"
"No, I'll be okay." She silenced the phone and dropped it into her purse. "Back to you. What about your speech?"
He applied pressure to the side of his neck as he smiled – closed-lipped. "Humph."
"What?"
"Surprised you're asking."
A silhouette of confusion surfaced on her face. "Why is that a surpr –"
"Sorry for the delay," said Adam. "Administrative matters." He breezed into the room and straight to his desk. "I will be over in a second."
Alicia leaned in to Peter, her head lowered at a slight tilt.
A worm of dread moved through Peter's gut. Her slight tilt mixed with a veil of annoyance he detected shading her eyes meant they were about to open the curtains before the show started.
There went his optimism for their first session after a stretch.
"Why are you surprised?" she said.
"Do I need to say?"
"Why I asked."
Adam walked over and situated in the chair opposite them, saving Peter from answering and a potential argument. To his dismay, there were not enough saves to pull from the air and avoid poking the bear.
Then again, the bear was why he suggested they move their appointment to late afternoon when Alicia mentioned she wouldn't be able to make the mid-morning slot.
He paused rolling and prodding his stiff neck for them all to exchange pleasantries; and they segued into the session.
"A lot has happened since we were last here," said Peter, loosening his tie.
"I can imagine," said Adam. "We are in a new year."
He nodded. "We are."
"A month has passed since the last meeting." Adam glimpsed down to the open notebook in his lap and scanned bulleted notes. "That was a difficult session. How are your children?"
"They're good. I think time here helped us all. Thanks again."
"As I mentioned, family therapy is not my area of expertise. If you are interested in more of those type sessions, I can arrange an appointment with my colleague on the thirtieth floor."
"I'll keep that in my back pocket."
Peter watched him flip pages in his notebook, dually peeping at them on the couch.
"How have you two navigated the waters? Any progress to share?"
Alicia was settled in her usual nonchalant repose—legs crossed, back straight and mouth sealed shut. Peter chastised himself for being a bit thickheaded by thinking she would be more … relaxed.
If there was any indication his assumption was on par, his big mouth stiffed it within the last seven minutes.
Still though. Considering the obstacles they overcame thus far, was she going back to their ole he-does-all-the-talking-while-she-engages-only-when-triggered act?
"Uh …" Peter casually stretched out his free arm atop his leg, palm open. "I moved back in."
"Oh? That was a sensitive topic for a while. How is, living in one residence again?"
"Good. Real good."
He followed Adam's gaze to his mute wife. "I am pleased to hear a decision was made without my guidance and that the adjustment is going well."
"Guess we're getting used to the feelers of what it will be like for the day we won't need to come here anymore," said Peter.
"You think the two of you 'need' to come here?"
"No, no." Peter scratched his brow. "I, er … I think—" He brushed the cusp of Alicia's shoulder with his fingertips. A trace touch that said: please engage. "What do you think?"
Her gaze shuffled between he and Adam.
A thought check of any overlooked ill or petty moments she could voice and burst the remainder of the optimistic bubble he rode in on, flickered across his mind.
"I think, we've been good."
"Yeah, good but …" Peter skated his eyes around the room for a second. "What else?"
"What do you mean?"
"We've had things to iron out. Couple arguments."
"Yes, as couples do. But we talked through the tough moments, and made sound decisions. We're fine."
He tugged at an ear, lips pinched.
"Peter, you seem to disagree with Alicia's statement."
"Oh, no. I, uh, I agree—we are good. The best we have been for a long time."
"But …? Are you hesitant this 'good' cannot be sustained?"
"It can." He overturned his hands in an air of resigned incredulity as if suffice to say. "We have our issues."
"Name one."
Peter removed his arm from the back of the chair and braced his elbows on his knees. He sorted through the changes of the past month, the highs and lows. Disguised in-betweens.
"Okay. To start, my run for governor."
"Oh, yes! I heard the announcement in the news a few weeks ago. Congratulations, and good luck."
"Thank you. Also, because of the campaign, we may not be able to keep up coming here regularly."
"Not a problem. The original schedule of weekly sessions can be drilled to monthly. Or to an as needed basis. Unless, you both want to terminate?"
"No." He looked at Alicia. "Do you think we need to?"
Adam yielded a hand. "Peter, I apologize. I phrased that wrong. I posed the question for you both to think about the state of your marriage today. The purpose you two sought counseling was to decide whether your separation could lead to divorce.
"From what I have seen and heard, and benchmarks unanimously met, I am safe to say your separation is null and void?"
"… Yes."
"Then it is fine to continue therapy, however often or little desired. Your marriage out of crisis mode does not mean maintenance stops." He smiled. "So what about your pursuit as governor has caused alarm?"
Peter sat up and slouched against the cushion, arm propped on the forearm of the chair. When he turned towards Alicia, she was looking at him like she was ready to pounce at the first wrong thing he said.
Great. She was irked.
Not giving a direct answer to "why are you surprised" had them about to plummet through the sliver of ice they had been skating on since the campaign kicked off. Until a week ago, he had not grasped her ticket on this train came with a list of stipulations that dwelled in her head alone.
So how much deeper should he burrow himself in this hole he inadvertently dug?
"I can't put my finger on it, but something is off."
"Peter," said Alicia, sighing. "We talked about this."
"We did, and you said you're on board. But are you?"
She looked sidelong at him.
"Where is this coming from?" He didn't respond. "Is this because I missed your speech last week? I had to work."
"That's not what I'm getting at."
Her eyebrows drew together as she chewed out the words, "Then what?"
The sudden inflection of her tone, acid singeing what, told him she was tired of beating this dead horse, which, between them, she was the sole one that laid it to rest.
"I'm aware you'd prefer not to attend certain events and Eli's leaving you out as much as possible. And the times you show up, I know you are supporting me." He eyed her. "But I glance over at you in the wings sometimes, and, I can see behind the smile."
She straightened against the seat, her torso pivoting towards him. He dipped his head back, eyes rolling upon recognition of the stance: geared up like a linebacker ready to charge.
"And what do you see, Peter?"
"Alicia, I didn't say that to fight with you. There's no need to be defensive."
"I'm not. Please. Share with me the insight from your x-ray vision."
Peter turned back to Adam, a crooked smile on his mouth. "This is why we need to come here."
"No, we don't Peter," Alicia fired back. "Say it."
In his head, he weaved through two probable ways this could play out. Giving thought to either way he gravitated seemed a waste, really. She was bound to retaliate. As she had the few times since he formally entered the race.
Against his judgment, he replied, "No matter what I say, you think I'll do what I did before. You say you're with me, standing by me on this, and on the whole, I feel you are. But—"
"Peter, I agreed. I'm aware of the fine print in this contract."
"Contract? You feel some type of obligation to support me during this campaign?"
She shook her head, eyes veered to a corner window. "I'm choosing to trust you on this and that our family, our kids, will be fine. As you promised."
Peter passed a hand over his mouth and half-shrugged at Adam, whom was watching them with the intensity of a principal monitoring two students in detention.
"Alicia, you have reservations about Peter running for governor?"
"How can I not?" She turned to Peter. "You want me to be, bursting at the seams with pride about this—"
"—I never said that—"
"—We were all there for the announcement. I stood on stage with you." She outstretched her palms to show she had no pre-loaded shots left in her cannon. "I support you, Peter."
He clamped his mouth shut. Then, "Okay."
"Before we table this, let us backtrack for a second," said Adam. "Alicia, you said, 'how can you not' have reservations. What did you mean?"
"When Peter's in office, our marriage starts on a decline. Twice it has happened."
"So, from this repeated outcome, you feel ...?"
She balked. "I feel, this pattern ... is overworn for me. It is a constant gamble with our family."
"Oh-oh-oh," Peter snorted. "I never gamble with our family."
"You say you don't. Yet the dice are inevitably rolled from whichever office you land."
Here we go.
Peter gritted his teeth. Vibrations surged through his limbs. He wanted to let loose what he held back on the night he told her about the offer. It took a great deal of restrain to not suit up and go to war with her on this now.
Would she ever get past, the past?
"Alicia, if you feel this way, why did you agree to support Peter entering a campaign for governor?"
She shrugged. "Isn't this where you're supposed to give me a textbook definition on compromise in marriage?"
Peter shot a look to Adam. Oh boy. Even he was taken aback by her quick retort. Come to think of it, she had been a tad on edge since they walked in the room, which he made worse by stating surprise at her interest in the subject matter she danced around for weeks.
"Is that what you want to hear?" Adam squinted as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, head slanted. "You want me to confirm your, compromise, on this decision was the optimal choice?"
She pawed a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, Dr. Lewis. Before I came here, I had a rough afternoon in court."
Ah.
Peter rubbed his forehead, plotting an ideal way around her defense to not add to her agitation.
"You want me to drop out? Is that what you're not saying?"
"I'm saying …" She turned her wedding band, round and round, eyes bricked to her lap. "We've come a long way. And, I like us. I like how we are now. I don't know if I have the strength to build us from the ground again."
"This is what you couldn't say the night we talked about this—what you're scared of. Another hit and we're finished?"
They traded a look.
"I support you, Peter. It may not be how you want, but, I support you."
"Alicia, I am curious. If Peter were in another career, do you think you would feel this way?"
"That would be almost impossible," she said, a derisive laugh tumbling out. "Not racing down a political track is not who he is."
"Hmm." Adam braced his elbows on the arms of the chair. "In regard to you two at a draw on this matter—what I heard is, Alicia, you support Peter's run for governor but harbor reservations given the after effects from past events."
She nodded.
"And Peter, what I heard from you, is you are frustrated on how to reassure Alicia that during this campaign and if you take this office, you will hold your family's interest primary. There are no ulterior motives or backdoor dealings."
"Right."
Adam rubbed his upper lip while he studied them for a moment.
"Do you trust each other?" They stared at him as if he cursed. What kind of question was that? "Today, right now, can you both say you trust one another?"
Peter glanced her way. Trust, their crucible. Always lurking behind petty arguments, which circled back to three years ago. He apologized tenfold and walked down a new path in a born again swagger by the blessing of her forgiveness.
She forgave him, but didn't trust him – in fidelity. Not like she did before. It went without saying, and the not-quite-trusting-him-wholly issue was like a domino to other issues when trust was in question.
Adam sensed it. Peter knew it.
"I do. I trust her."
His attention, plus Adam's, fell upon her. Part of him half-expected her to say no. The mild exasperation she tossed his way from the scrutiny of their gazes, flipped half-expected, to expected in a blink.
"I'm trying," she eventually answered.
"In past sessions, you mentioned that is a challenging thing for you to do, which is understandable. The instant trust is lost, it is taxing to rebuild. You two will need to meet each other in the middle, placate the frustrations and reservations. Quell the need for reassurance.
"Try that now," continued Adam. "Acknowledging and reassuring. Peter, you go first."
"Alright." He licked his lips and clasped his hands, facing her at a partial angle. "I understand, you think I will hurt you again. That I'll put our family in an impossible position. But I just want to be a good governor, and make a difference in this state.
"… That won't change my commitment to you. I have been tied up with the campaign as of late, and getting in later than usual. I know how you feel about that. So, I will try to be home at a decent hour every night. Help with the dishes—the kids. Just be there and listen to you tell me about your day."
If she received his words, he couldn't tell. The masked expression she wore was impenetrable.
"You are growing tired and impatient of reassuring me," she said.
His mouth parted, ready to dispute.
"Don't say you're not, Peter. You are. You never say it outright, but I know. And you're hurt I have not given my full support because of my … reservations.
"But I believe in you, and I respect you, and I … will make more of an effort to … be present in this campaign. I have not made myself as available lately, and I'm sorry."
Weeks he suspected she was distant, intentionally distant; no more than a small shell of her offered whenever campaign talk arose. He drew in a breath – gratitude twined with confirmation – and exhaled.
"I heard you," she said. "I'm going to try better."
He nodded. "And I will be patient for as long as you need to try."
He slid an inch closer, closing the small gap dividing them, and floated his arm back behind her.
"That was excellent," said Adam. "Remember in these times to take a step back, assess and communicate. Hear and listen to each other." He scribbled a note. "So today, on this matter, Alicia you support Peter's pursuit for governor and Peter, you will stay in the race, albeit mindful of her concerns?"
"Yes," they said in unison.
Adam nodded and marked a final note on the open page. "What are other issues which have you at odds?"
Peter moved a languid rub down the back of his neck and glazed eyes over her.
When she brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder, a gleam from the necklace—the one he and Zach picked out—around her neck caught his eye. He jutted his neck forward in a tortoise like manner and broke into a small smile.
"You're wearing it."
Her gaze swept down her body then back to him. "Wearing what?"
He sketched an index finger along his collarbone.
She looked down again, and flashed him a soft smile.
His voice plunged to above a whisper. "Have we overcome that issue?"
He watched her inhale a deep breath and ball hands into fists in her lap. A sign she didn't want to explore the uncharted territory of whether they have or not.
"What issue are you referencing, Peter?" asked Adam.
He smoothed a hand down his jaws and neck. For now, a calvary of peace occupied the battlefront. Should he or shouldn't he take the risk and respond? As much as he wanted to sidestep a disturbance of the levitating lull, they would never have true peace on this issue until one of them talked.
"Alicia's miscarriages. We never—we don't, talk about it." He paused for a long minute. "It is a pain I'm at a loss on how to help her heal."
Adam shifted in his seat. "That is a main crux in your marriage. Conversations around that have been onerous to hold in this room. I imagine not much leeway is made outside these walls."
Alicia was looking the other way, her hands wrought.
"Are you mad I said that?"
She floated her gaze to his. "No."
"… Do you, want to talk about it?"
"No."
Peter mouthed 'Okay' and joined her stance of silence.
This was the end of their session, he thought. An unexpected early end, but when this was brought up, the conversation always ended before it began.
About to thank Adam for his time, Peter was caught off guard once he saw him close his notebook, set it on the coffee table and postured upright in the chair, hands bridged as he honed in on her.
"Alicia, can you foresee yourself reaching a juncture in which you are able to talk about your grief?"
She crossed her arms. "We discussed it here. Months ago. What more is there to say? It happened, we suffered, but we survived."
"Interesting choice of words. 'We survived'. When you say, 'we', do you mean, you survived?"
She stilled.
Peter skimmed the back of his middle and index fingers against his mouth, sailing a studious look of scrutiny between the two of them.
Adam had hit the bullseye. If she wanted to discuss it or not, his frank approach did not create a space to debate the option. Or for her to run.
"Is that what pains you?" Adam pressed on. "You survived and your unborn children did not?"
Their gaze held, for what Peter counted nearly two minutes before he noticed the thin film of water line her lower lids.
"It's not fair," she whispered after a moment, dropping her head.
"What is unfair?" asked Adam.
She plucked a tissue from the box in the center of the coffee table and dabbed the corners of her eyes.
Before she responded, she drifted her focus to him beside her.
The utter love he had for her and their kids was what he hoped his eyes conveyed. On this, his love was all he knew how to give. Whether she accepted it or not.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek.
"This year," she began, her voice shaky, "They would have turned four, or five. Zach and Grace are teenagers. Adding a four or five year old into the mix sounds—" She rapidly blinked. "Absurd. It would be chaos. But unfair neither … neither is here so I can see what that's like."
Peter reached for her hand, certain she would pull away.
She didn't.
"Either one would probably have us both gray by now," he said lightly.
Though bleary-eyed, she managed a smile.
"Running all over the apartment. We would be sleep deprived. Remember? Grace slept in our bed until she was four."
Peter looked to Adam—watching them intently—then down at their hands. He wove their fingers together.
"That was the most you said about them, like they were more than, unfortunate circumstances."
She blotted her eyes. "I wasn't ready. We weren't ready."
A simple truth that carried more weight than they could bear at a time, for the pits of their despair housed more than her miscarriages.
"We are now?"
She continued blotting her eyes, voice hoarse when she spoke. "What do you want to say?"
He grazed a thumb across the back of her hand, staring blankly at her soft skin.
"Sometimes, I'll look at you," he mumbled. "You could be, working on the computer, cooking, with one of the kids. In the way you move or, just are, I can see you're happy." He met her gaze. "I think back to those years of uncertainty. How you were, how we were. A few months before you lost the first baby … I knew you weren't completely happy. We both weren't."
"You weren't?"
"Not like now."
She sat on his words, looking from him to Adam, then back. He puzzled over what she was thinking while in the same hoping she didn't push him away and shut down.
"I was happy, Peter. I was not …" She shrugged. "Fulfilled."
"Not fulfilled how?"
"The kids were older. You were at work a lot. Some afternoons I would sit in our old house and … While I was grateful for our life then, I wondered if there was more to life that I was missing."
He tightened his grip. "I think you tried to tell me at one point. I didn't listen. Not like you needed me to." He sighed. "We struggled to communicate our happiness, or lack thereof. Well, without fighting. We didn't fight much before that year, did we?"
She shook her head.
It was true. Over the top, screaming matches did not apply to them. He could count on one hand how many times they raised their voices during a disagreement.
Two thousand seven still ranked first as their year of unprecedented affliction.
That year, the way they argued changed.
And everything thereafter.
"Looking back now, I would say we entered a stage we tried hard to avoid."
"What stage was that?" said Adam.
"I guess … Being with someone for a period of time, you forget how to work at it. We took comfort in the comfort. Don't get me wrong. We spoke up when things were off—undeniably off. But something was misplaced."
Adam pushed his glasses down an inch, peering at them over the brim.
"A failure to communicate is a pin to most of your issues. You mentioned that in earlier sessions—this lack of communication."
"Always what it comes back to. We … yeah. So we went through this—I'm not sure what to call it."
"Existing," said Alicia.
"Existing?" said Adam.
"Routines of life. The balance was off but not off enough to grind to a stop."
"So, there was awareness in this, stagnate state. Which was not addressed?"
"We tried," said Peter.
"How?"
"Talking more. A night out. Nothing grand. Little things. And I think it helped for a time." He looked to Alicia. "You agree?"
"Mm. Mostly."
He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "But not much changed. I thought we needed to get away. Just us. So I surprised her with an anniversary trip to Italy that year. To, reconnect."
"Did the time away help?"
"I'd say so." He looked at her, albeit saying respond.
Not speaking up enough and letting feelings be interpreted however they chose, was a large reason for them getting acquainted with this couch and office with sweeping views of the skyline last year.
"Yes, I agree," she said. "I think it did. In a different country, we were fine." She tipped her head to the side, gaze upward as she thought. "It was like we were newlyweds again. But, we came home, and fell back into those old routines."
Adam draped a leg over the other, rested his chin in palm.
"So this trip was an effort to seal a wound, and upon returning home to your 'old routines', ripped it open anew." He leaned to the other side of the chair, altering the balance of body mass and thought. "Did it ever cross either of your minds you were perfecting a ballet of avoidance? Intermissions of treading water in combination with peaks and valleys?"
"Yes—"
"—No."
Their eyes met.
"Your responses are not surprising. Indifference is common when marriages reach a certain plateau. I refer to it as a phase of what feels like no growth, but is growth.
"You two had been together for much of your adult lives by that year. People change. Communication wanes. Everything is on the line."
"How have you seen couples get past that?" said Peter.
"It is as simple as: they stick around. They take action. Like you did by seeking my help. It is a storm-like phase. There is a time of intense activity and right when it seems it will never end, the thunder fades. The rain stops. The sky clears. There is infinite clarity on the horizon."
Peter drummed his fingertips along the fabric for a minute, filing and unlocking thoughts.
"After we got back from Italy, I think our storm was just beginning." He fluttered a laugh and looked at Alicia. "Then you told me you were pregnant."
"A mystery in itself."
"Not entirely a mystery."
"Peter, we had stopped trying for a while by the time I found out."
He fell silent. He remembered following months of trying to no avail, they threw in the towel, and after one night, poof.
The inevitable grew tangible.
"Why did you want another child?" Neither responded. "I ask because although couples adopt many reasons for wanting to expand their families', your lives sounded fairly full at the time. A baby would have upended those routines, and liberty?"
Peter cast a brief look her way. One thing he never admitted, and she never said, was the answer to this question.
"I wanted another." Her tone was hollow, sadness echoing across the couch.
Adam perforated the glum cloud hovering above them when he said, "Was your solution to the 'storm' brewing between you two, a baby, Alicia?"
"I …" She curled her hair behind her ears and recrossed her legs. "No."
Peter's eyes grew wide. "It wasn't?"
"Not initially. I wanted … something." His lips twisted. "I wanted, to feel, wanted …?"
"You didn't think I wanted you?"
"That's not what I meant." Her stale response deepened his pool of confusion. He wrestled to stay afloat. "I sometimes wondered if the reason I lost the first is because I not only hoped a baby would fix us … but, me …"
"What do you mean, fix you? There was nothing wrong with you."
She unlinked their hands. "Peter, like I said before, by that time, the kids' days were full with school, their friends, activities. And you were at work a majority of the time. I spent a great deal of time home. Alone."
His facial muscles scrunched in a pulse, as if saying: What?
"You used to do things with the other wives—"
"When I was not out with friends, at a committee meeting, a function, or running errands, I was home."
A deep crease punctured the skin between his brows. From the moment Zach turned one, and Grace was born, she made it clear she wanted to stay home. To always be there for the kids, and him.
At times, she was hell-bent on being present, and not miss a thing.
In those hell-bent times, he admired and questioned the choice, to a degree. He knew it was driven in large by her not wanting to be a shadow of her mother. When cracks showed, he lumped them with another odd day.
Doubt never rang it stemmed from this.
Even if her happiness was not always top tier, he thought she was at least content with the life she chose.
"If you felt that way, why didn't you" —he swayed a hand through the air— "take up another hobby, or something? And you stopped coming to the city to have lunch with me. Why?"
They lunched frequent then. Invitations he thought assuaged the undefined hurdle they couldn't defeat.
"Peter. I told you."
A stupefied expression smeared on his face as she blew out a small breath. He was as clueless then as now, and her frustration was peaking.
"I stopped because we … you know why. And you were so busy with work. Grew too busy for anything else … for me …"
"Alicia, I was not—"
"Peter, spare me the denial. Please."
He puffed a drawn-out breath. Here we go, again.
"Before you thought, 'baby'," said Adam, "Alicia, how did you cope with your, emptiness? This time alone?"
"Wine." Her answer followed with a slow-build, plain smile.
Peter never knew, or realized, that was the first of many strained times she would turn to wine instead of him.
"'Wine'," said Adam, "and what else?"
She bunched her shoulders. "I guess, I also flirted with the idea of going back to work but … on the flip side, I liked being there when the kids came home after a rough day at school, or there for after-school activities when both of us couldn't because Peter worked late."
"You could have done both," Peter said gruffly. "You could have gone back to work and supported the kids, as you do now."
"Could I have, Peter? I would mention it to you and you would, brush it off."
"I didn't brush it off. I knew how it was to be a lawyer in Cook County. It's not like now. Even though I was State's Attorney at the time, I didn't want you going through the things I saw."
"I'm an adult. I can handle myself."
"Yes, and I'm your husband."
"And what?"
His brows rose as he held her gaze for a breath. "It is my job to protect you."
"Your job? I don't need a bodyguard."
A silent argument launched amidst them, faces contorting in an array of rich-emotion before she pivoted away and closed her eyes.
"You can't protect me from everything," she said, her tone dry.
"But I will try."
Silence canopied the room.
Now, he felt like an ass. A macho-barbaric ass.
He never wanted her to stay home. Not if she didn't want to. When she brought up going back to work, he honestly didn't think she was serious. His ample income supported their livelihood, and some.
Wrapping his head around why she wanted to subject herself to the late hours, traffic, stress, et cetera, was incomprehensible. They had a good life.
On the surface.
Too overwhelmed by work, perhaps he didn't recognize the sincerity in her thought. It was not just one of the things she said on a whim like: planting a garden, repainting their bedroom, a day at the spa, or the one rare time, a weekend in Georgetown with the kids.
See how the city changed and show them our past, she coaxed.
His ears perkedup at that mention.
How many, he thought, of the flitted hints she pitched, flew over his head? Reading between the lines was not his forte. The advantage of knowing her in and out, extended so far.
It boiled down to a basic fact.
Unbeknownst to him, she simply wanted more than juggling the crowns of Mom and Mrs. Peter Florrick.
He turned to her; ready to apologize and espouse an unequivocal stance on understanding her mindset then, when Adam interrupted.
"Alicia, why did you choose to stay home instead of pursuing a career again?"
"I don't know."
"You also said you wanted 'something'. You 'wanted to feel wanted'. Babies come with a list of needs. Is that why you leaned toward that 'solution' versus another?"
"No. No, I wouldn't say so."
Adam faltered for a beat. "Or, is it possible you were unsure of jumping back into a career, so a baby was a safer fill for a void in yourself, keeping your role as a mother relevant and possibly binding you and Peter again, so to speak?"
"When you put it like that, it sounds, trivial."
Adam folded his hands to lie on his waist, brows set low.
"What I mean is that as people, we settle and unsettle in roles throughout our lives. It is an expected cycle. And in your case, it sounds as if you held in a particular cycle, not ready to step into the next."
Peter's eyes narrowed as he repeated the words in his head ...
When they started trying the first time around, he thought this desire—whim—was because she was on a baby high post spending time with their former neighbor's new baby.
Classic baby-fever. He didn't see harm in trying when she drudged up the subject a few times.
Before trying, they used to talk about having a third at random, but for reasons to no reasons at all, the conversation never led to action. She never stopped her birth control and those talks mummed.
A new addition next door and Italy changed that.
"I never saw it from her point of view that way," said Peter. "A baby as a solution." He let the words marinate on his tongue. "A baby would have added another layer of difficulty."
"Is that how you felt then?" He grew tongue-tied. "We had talked about having another for a while and tried, together. Why are you making this sound like solely my choice?"
In hindsight, maybe this was why a part of him would never admit he was a smidge relieved when their trying led to nothing. He was happy with two. Three would have been fine, great even.
But he was happy with two.
"I wanted you to be happy, Alicia. I will do anything to make you happy, regardless of how I feel." She huffed out a breath. "If you thought your purpose meant filling your days by raising another of our kids, who was I to stop that?"
"Who were you?! You are my husband, Peter. You above all, had a say!"
"If I would have said I didn't want another baby, we would have grown even further apart than we did."
She shook her head.
"You thought a baby was going to make you happy?" His timbre was low, cool. "Happy enough to stay with me?"
"When did I ever say I was going to leave you?"
They commenced a staring match.
"A baby was supposed to make us both happy? I want to be clear on this."
She blinked, the solemn mien on her face steady. Her resolve was fading. He saw that. Every time 'baby' was uttered, she flittered.
"I didn't know you were unhappy, Peter."
Her admission was quiet; it struck a vein of remorse in him.
"I wasn't. It was, that year. And the year before. I think we were in a rut. We hit this wall, or as you said, Dr. Lewis, a storm. We couldn't see through it. We loved each other, but …" He looked at Adam, half-smiling. "Even now, I don't know. It's like all the answers evaporated that year—married for thirteen years and clueless."
Alicia cut in. "Why didn't you tell me you were unhappy?" A coat of red rimmed her eyes. "I would stay up until you came home so we could talk—"
"Alicia, how would you have taken that if I would have told you? Be honest. How would you have reacted?"
Her face was rigid, mouth thinned. "We'll never know."
He took a second to breathe and collect himself, and glanced at Adam. "I admit I worked longer hours to avoid having that conversation. This conversation. But after we knew a baby was on the way, none of that mattered. Things did change. Maybe she was right."
"What changed in the prospect of expecting a child?" said Adam.
"Peter was home more," said Alicia. "We talked. We talked more about ourselves and our goals rather than the kids or his work. We made time and spent time together."
"Your marriage and each other became a priority?"
"I'd say so," said Peter. "We saw each other again."
"Which, naturally fell to the wayside after the miscarriages, and more soon as the dust settled. Because you never dealt with the initial storm."
He half-heartedly shrugged, lips pursed. "We kept moving."
"A natural humane response. In consequences of doubt, we survive with what we are equipped. What we know."
"Looking back now, it is crazy to think we got through that. I never thought we would get past it." He glanced down. "There were many dark days."
"Days so dark that you still managed to screw other women," Alicia muttered.
Peter palmed a hand over his face and released a deep exhale.
"Were you happy with them? Did they make you happy?"
"Alicia. Don't."
"I want to know." He blinked, slow, as if she spoke to him in another language. "You said you—"
"Why are you doing this? Things are great between us now. Why do you want to revisit that?"
"To let it go, as you've wanted me to." He frowned. "I … I'm r-ready, to talk about it."
He raked a hand through his hair, and sighed.
When he delayed on an answer, she pushed. "You don't want to?"
No, he didn't.
A year ago, he was confident to discuss this. Mainly out of spite—to get it out of the way. A twinge of bitterness to heal.
"No," he said with a deep sigh. "They didn't make me happy. What I did, meant nothing. It was … sex. Just sex."
The sound of her sharp breath led him to look back at her again. She was turned the other way.
Peter sat upright. "Alicia, you said you want to know—"
"I do." Her head was still turned.
Distant hums of an airplane overhead narrated the fraught quiet for ten-seconds, an elephant pause left in its wake.
Peter looked at the clock, his eyes pained. He did not want to venture down this avenue for the thousandth time. Thirty minutes left in their time slot and they were about to be slit from stem to stern.
"I made poor choices while in office then, but, my cheating, was meaningless. It was an outlet. That's all it was."
He wrung his hands together as Adam picked up his notebook and flipped back a couple pages.
"Peter, you have said this before—your infidelity was an outlet. Is sex your preferred outlet?"
"No. I guess, when, I'm stressed? But before then I never sought to have sex with another woman."
"Why sex?" said Adam. "Why did you choose sex as an outlet and not another vice?"
"I enjoy the occasional drink, but I'm not much of a drinker. And in my position, there are, luxuries. I was offered many gifts for granting favors. Those gifts came in various forms."
"Some, women?"
"Yes." He glanced at Alicia. "Do you want me to stop?"
She stared straight ahead, cowed in silence. He saw the water budding her eyelids, tears she stubbornly kept at bay.
"So to get your mind off what was going on at home," said Adam, "sex was your mental escape."
"Basically. A hard week at work and harder week home … a chance encounter …" His shoulders bobbed then fell.
"I want to know something else, Peter." Her shrill voice broke the hushed stillness freighted with tension.
The hairs at the base of his neck stood.
"The second time." She looked down as she spoke. "In August of that year … When I found out I was pregnant again, you still went to them?"
Peter closed his eyes, neck falling forward.
This was like a trial by fire. And they were starting to burn.
Alicia sucked in a breath so loud he thought she fainted.
"Oh god …" She gripped the edge of the chair for support, her chest rising and falling.
"… Not while you were pregnant."
"Oh god …"
"Alicia, I didn't have sex with another woman and came home and had sex with you. It was not like that."
Her head spun to him, mouth open, eyes raw.
He turned to face her. This was not all one-sided.
"Prior to that one night, we hadn't been together in months. It was the first time you even acknowledged I was there. That you even," his voice dropped, "let me touch you. And you initiated it. What … you thought I was going to say no to you?"
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. "Okay." She refused to meet his eyes, and instead, met Adam's full on.
"Okay?" said Peter.
"I don't want to hear anymore."
"It's not like I wanted to do—"
"You were not forced to have sex with them Peter!"
The pain in her eyes ripped through him. In spite of how far he thought they had come, it ran deep through her like an endless river.
He slumped against the chair.
An unending current of guilt tumbled in rotation.
He promised, in the infancy days of their marriage, he would not, on any account, do to her what his father did to his mother.
I'll never betray you … I'm not my father.
A promise rendered empty, words delivered with a life expectancy trimmed from forever to thirteen years.
Does one ever outlive sins of their father?
"It was wrong. I admit that. But like I said, it was an outlet. I didn't know a better way to cope with all that happened."
Alicia shook her head, resounding in a chuckle that made his skin tauten.
"You believe sex helped you cope then?" asked Adam.
"To an extent. I had to keep things going, for our kids. Be there for her. So short-term, yes, it helped me deal. When Alicia was back to herself, I stopped. I never thought about sleeping with another woman."
Adam set his pen along the bind of the notebook. "Did you ever think the reason you chose sex as your coping mechanism, was because you were replacing Alicia?"
"No?"
Adam tented his hands, fingertips tapping, no doubt about to spiel a mind-bending perception that would not sink in until days later.
"She was consumed with her grief and unavailable to meet your needs nor able to provide the comfort of her presence and help with your grief. So you turned to a woman that was available."
Peter rocked his head from side to side. "Never crossed my mind. I never thought of her … during. I guess I blocked it out."
Adam slowly nodded. "I want you to think back – precisely when you made these, 'choices'. Was there any one thing that pressed on your mind, in the midst of all the stress, you felt you needed an outlet to quiet it?"
Peter leaned forward again and ran a hand down the back of his head.
"Wow. We're going deep today, huh?" he said, followed with an uneasy laugh.
Adam stared back at him, waiting, demeanor stoned.
Peter swallowed hard as he cracked his knuckles and tapped into his memory reservoir, pulling from a shelf of the annals what he labeled, 2007-2008: Dark.
"Peter, wake up! We need to go to the hospital." "Mr. Florrick, the umbilical cord is around the baby's neck, disrupting the flow of oxygen, and she's lost too much blood." "Peter, don't let them take our baby … please …" "Mr. Florrick if we don't act soon, she'll bleed to death."
The walls of his chest contracted.
"I made one of the hardest decisions I never thought I would be put in a position to make. It haunted me."
"What decision was that?" said Adam.
Peter blew out a long breath. He poked his tongue against his cheek as he sought the right words.
The constriction in his chest gained momentum. Ballooned. Traveled upward at jet speed.
He sniffed and cleared his throat.
"Alicia or the baby. That was the decision. It felt so anyway. By the time we got to the hospital, the miscarriage had progressed. The doctor advised of two options.
"Surgery to remove what was … Or she deliver. It was too much of a risk for her to deliver. She was barely conscious at that point."
He averted his eyes to the door for a minute, then back at the floor.
"I had to choose who got to live between my wife and unborn child. I was granted two minutes to make that choice. Either way, the baby was not going to make it but … it could have lived longer. Longer than a minute."
His voice grew thick, the words to follow marginally audible.
"I feel responsible for the death of our baby."
In more ways than one.
His head hung as he massaged his eyelids. Their session wasn't supposed to take this turn. Not for him.
The wetness lining his eyes wouldn't dissipate.
"That is a tremendous responsibility and guilt to carry," said Adam.
With a nod, Peter picked at his cuticles, sniffing.
"Alicia would tell me she'd feel this or that, from the baby, you know." The budding lump rose higher and higher in his throat. "And I could see her body change. I knew a life was growing inside of her.
"The sound of the heart beat. That's what it was for me. It made them real." He swiped at his left eye before a tear could fall. "I had the sound burned in my memory. I'll never forget it. The first, and last beat."
A heavy silence blanketed the room.
For years, he kept this stowed away. He convinced himself that his grief was not as significant as hers. He was sad, sure, but it lasted a few days.
So he thought.
Tucked away in the trenches, he too had a wound hemorrhaged from that loss.
And hurt.
A hurt compounded with the fear of almost losing her in a matter of hours. Four months after, whilst not as dire, they had to relive and lose afresh.
He considered himself a manly man – a model strong man. Seldom did he cry. In fact, he wouldn't be able to recall the last time he cried if someone were to ask him.
But this …
Speaking life into the melancholy he kept entombed broke his strength.
So, I 'll keep this as brief as possible lol … Quite a bit of ground covered in this chapter, I know! I attempted to bring some issues touched on throughout the story full circle and hope it tied in (as you read) with the progression of their journey thus far — in and out of therapy. (This two-part chapter is a deeper dive of previous bits in the fic (ie., chapters 8 & 21 [their talk on the swing]). If you reread, pardon the writing.) Again, these issues were touched on throughout, but an honest conversation where neither lashed out, shut down or stormed off has not been had. As Alicia said, they "weren't ready". :)
I've also primarily shared the fall out from the miscarriages from Alicia's experience and hinted of Peter's, but it affected him just as much! His character has SO many layers and this is me adding another.
Some of you also asked for more insight on their lives pre-show (in the context of this story), why Peter cheated, more discussions on the miscarriages, etc. This chapter (and the second part) was also my attempt to address some of your requests, and paint a better picture of their marriage overall while shedding a real light on them in the throes of healing.
Sweet, happy, and healing moments and family drama/good times are on the horizon as we see them more solid and their marriage on stronger grounds while in the midst of a campaign and life. Hoping my slow-burn take isn't boring ya!
But enough of my ramblings! Let me know if you all loved it, hated it or are just totally lost! Though I'll cross my fingers that after reading, you love this couple even more. :)
Up Next: Alicia's reaction and honest truths to admit from her perspective …