A/N: I just want to say that I am SO SORRY this chapter wasn't posted sooner. I was very busy for a few days with schoolwork, and then ff was being finicky and wouldn't let me post, just kept saying "error". Long story short, this kind of length between updates will hopefully never happen again, if I can help it. I will not be asking for a certain number of reviews due to people complaining, but do know that reviews are my spirit food, and it really encourages me to write faster when I get more. Just saying. Thank you to all the reviewers on my last chapter, and any new readers of this story! *gives out cookies and hugs*
This is for Gabi.
.
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Frost does its killings. The leaves are dead and everything is barren, biting and gone, and some people can stand the cold, but it takes a searching soul to find beauty in the loss. January passes like the blood behind a bruise, pulsing in lurches; Julia sitting up by herself, and getting the call that Grace has had her first panic attack. February is bitter, no sweets. Chocolate stains on Julia's onesie don't mask the lynching he gets every time he turns on the television, everything grand romantic gestures and diamond advertisements.
The eve of Valentine's Day he dreams of Alicia in white, staring at him from across a rose adorned arch. He can feel the warmth of the blood rushing through her capillaries, dainty fingers entwined with his. Beautiful. Alive. He opens his mouth to say "I do" when he wakes to Julia screeching at the top of her lungs.
The truth is, that is not the first time Will had ever dreamed of giving that woman his last name.
Before, he didn't have to be asleep to think such things within reach.
Time has a nasty habit of taking the things he loves and making them as distant as stars, not all there, just bits and pieces projected too late to save. There are parts of him that are still unsure if what they had ever held any ground, despite the mass of unimaginably perfect cells that he rocks to sleep some nights.
There are still too many blanks and gaps, places where Alicia never said the real words but the echo of them still falls over him when he's least expecting it. She kept their baby. She wanted their baby. Yet the truth still rings out like a vibrating phone triggering a bomb blast that Alicia didn't tell him. She didn't tell him anything.
Shakes him to the core that she was planning on raising their little girl alone.
It also makes something within him lurch, burn bright with the fierceness of his love for her, with her stubborn pride, with her swell of independence. Alicia is the strongest person he's ever known, and even though it kills him he would have never known the sound of Julia's laughter, a part of Will would give it all up if Alicia could still be in the same world he lives in, breathing the same air. Alicia should be rocking Julia to sleep. If he wasn't in the picture, if he wasn't even aware, it's a sacrifice he'd be willing to make.
Will is trying to learn how to accept the fact he will never be given the chance.
He is trying to learn how to fall out of love with a ghost.
But times do change. Slowly, creeping up on cat's feet to tap him on the shoulder when he's all but given himself to the routine and drone. It passes and before he knows it bath times and giggles and changings give way to developments, the natural wane of the course. There is holiness in the resurrection of hope. How hesitantly, green begins to bud. New leaves grace the trees.
Central Park's reconcile is wildflowers gathering in faint bunches, and just as they start to bloom, Will goes back to work.
/
It smells like thrift store and chicken noodle soup. The warm waft of air that hits him as the door opens makes his nose wrinkle. Julia turns her head into his neck, burying her cold, button nose in the crook of his periwinkle dress shirt and tie. Faintly, he can hear the morning news in the background. "Tiffany Hart?" he asks, eyes narrowing.
"Mr. Gardner," the deep, Southern twang acknowledges simply. "You can call me Mimi."
Will swallows thickly, holding Julia's body only the slightest bit tighter. "May I…"
The sharp snort comes a second too soon, and the door is quickly pushed open further.
"Come on in, hon. This ain't no twenty four hour drop off. I expect to know you," Mimi murmurs gruffly, turning on her heel and buffing her white bob. Upon further inspection, the inside of the apartment isn't as homely as it smells. There's pictures of family on the walls, and the sofa is dated and pastel, but everything appears clean and well cared for. Still clutching Julia like a lifeline, Will stops a few feet in.
"I'm going to be late," he realizes suddenly, seeing the cat clock on the wall.
"Then late you'll be," Mimi tells him, and if he perks his ears he knows there's just a hair of mock there, and something like rebuke. Will thinks she reminds him a lot of how his grandmother was, makes a part of him want to blush like a child at her reprimand. Will shakes his head at the irrational thought, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"I was referred to you by Tim Humphries," Will clears his throat, handling it like business. That's the only thing he can think to do, in his discomfort. He needs someone to help watch Julia during the days when he works, doesn't know the protocol for vetting potential babysitters, doesn't know the code for how to spend more than three hours away from his daughter. The truth is, he has absolutely no idea what he's doing.
"Timothy is an exceptional man," Mimi notes, her eyes crinkling. "Those were the first babies I watched officially, his babies. He and his wife were having problems and, well, I watched them from nine months until they were school age. I take jobs like this from time to time, you see," she motions to a box of toys in the corner. "I did have one thing I wanted to go over with you before you left the little one here, though."
Julia is almost half asleep against him, drool forming at the corners of her puckered mouth. Her curls smell like Johnson's shampoo, and Will's ignoring his instincts to forget it all, go back home and tuck her into her crib. It's the silliest thing he's ever struggled with, and he can step outside his own head and acknowledge that. Still, it's strange to know this is how mothers feel, how other new parents battle the aspect of going back to work. He can understand why Alicia gave the law up in favor of being at home.
But reality is reality, and he's got to resume life sometime soon.
"Your salary," Will guesses, inhaling sharply. "Like I said on the phone the other day, I can pay you on the-
"No," Mimi tells him severely, in such a way that he wants to scramble backward, over his words, but she continues. "That's the last thing on my list, son. I just need to tell you that I have one rule, and then you can be on your way, 'cause I reckon you'd like to not be much tardier."
She pauses, almost for dramatic effect. "Unless you have court, you will be by to pick up that baby no later than seven."
He nods, hadn't expected to stay at the office any later than five, really. He'd take home as much as he could, that's what he'd been doing, and when sessions ran over he imagines he'll figure it out as he goes. "Mimi," he assures her, "I won't just leave her here all the time. I know you have a life too, and-
The woman actually rolls her eyes, full on. "Putting words in my mouth, darlin'. That's a habit we gon' have to break. My reasoning is not personal, although I do fancy a game of dice on Tuesday nights."
Mimi steps forward, and even though he had rebelled against letting Julia leave his arms, it's natural that she takes the baby from him, gently. Mimi's arms are far different than her speech. She holds Julia in a way that spells confidence, but there's a laced undertone, too, something like affection. Julia's a light sleeper, but by some miracle, she doesn't wake. The lady looks up at him pointedly. "I expect you to spend time with your baby, is all. She needs your presence in her little life. I'm not a parental figure, Mr. Gardner. I'm just her Mimi."
"That won't be a problem," he breathes, a weight off his shoulders inch by inch. "I'll," he focuses on Julia, distracted for a moment in his own running thoughts. "I'll be here to pick her up by five."
Mimi grins, a thousand creases forming on her face. "Now that's what I like to hear."
She looks down at Julia, fondness in her gaze. "That's a pretty head of curls."
His eyes flit to the clock, but he stops himself. It's his damn firm, anyway. He can afford to be a little late back to the office on his first day back. The meeting can stall.
"She does," he says, something stronger in his conviction. "Her name is Julia."
Mimi smirks. "I know that, Mr. Gardner. You told me on the phone. I remembered."
"She's been teething," he mentions mildly. "You had said you had the formula on the phone, that I didn't need to bring-
"I have everything," she reassures him, walks over to put Julia down as lightly as possible, in a pink cot he hadn't noticed before. Mimi turns back to him.
"Go on now," Mimi makes a motion with her hands. "It'll be harder for you if you don't make a clean break."
/
The law is painful.
Being absent of it, of the suits and the smell of a courtroom, the wood of the chairs, it's all different than when he was suspended, what feels like a lifetime ago. He'd missed it, then, missed having the regular schedule and missed the passion. But there's some odd ache to it, now.
Alicia was a phenomenal lawyer. He wishes he would have told her that more often.
Regardless, the day crawls by, and by the time he's done his hands are shaking to find his car keys. He loves the law, always has. It's natural and good, and he'd never want to give it up. But for right now he doesn't like it much at all. Doesn't like what it signifies. He let Alicia go because of his firm. He's sitting at his cluttered desk a quarter to four when he remembers, shockingly vividly, wiping her desk. Recalls the exact words. "You're awful."
His eyes water, and he thinks no, no, no.
When he finally gets in his car sometime later, he leans his head against the wheel and lets out a long, dragging whimper. Something like a howl in the back of his throat.
/
Three days later, he's lounging on the couch, reading through some paperwork.
Hears Julia garble something, and he turns his head right as she rolls over. He's watched it enough, but every time it leaves the faint trace of a grin on his face, some pride he can't convey properly without sounding like a parent blogger. It strikes him at odd times that he is a Daddy. If you'd have told him he would be two, three years ago, he probably would have laughed.
But all in the same, he watches her and tilts his head. "Jules," he regards softly. "What are you doing?"
She babbles out another chain of unidentifiable syllables, her limbs shifting beneath her.
And then she crawls for the first time.
/
He starts running again.
He works it into his schedule so that during his lunch breaks he can take a mile or two through Central Park. Out of shape, so the burn in his calves brings a grimace to his face, but still. The feeling of running so hard his chest burns was missed. It's a kind of nostalgia that makes him remember taking three in the morning runs at Georgetown.
That's where he realizes what he has to do.
He comes up with an idea, some sweet haven, and he goes with it.
For that bout of stretch, usually so mindless, he dedicates the time to letting himself think about Alicia. When the tears threaten, he pushes himself harder, exerts himself until the pain withers. He thinks about her smile as the spring breeze rocks against him. Thinks about all her little quirks, the way she'd hold a pen between her teeth, the way she had a habit of clicking her heels against a chair's leg when she was bored. He thinks about the first time he saw her and he thinks about the first time he took her to bed.
And somehow, it gets better. The thoughts still strike him, anyway. But the weeks pass and suddenly it's easier to think of it once. Set aside time. If he's struck by how much Julia looks like Alicia when she discovers the texture of a peach, then he'll mark it off as something to think about on his next run. He copes like this.
It works for roughly a month and a half.
/
It's sprinkling when he gets out of the car and enters Mimi's building, and by the time he reaches her door he can hear the full downpour. Worry is all over his face.
"Is she okay?" he asks immediately, tersely. Julia is sobbing, and it makes something in him drive to a halt, because he hasn't heard her like this since the first time she was administered a shot at the doctor's office. Mimi frowns, but bobs her head.
"She's alright, William," she says cautiously, handing her over. "Had the pediatrician down two doors take a look, and he said it's prolly just a cold. Don't worry, hon. The fever isn't too high, and look at that, that's the most she's quieted down all day."
Will presses a kiss to Julia's warm forehead even as she twists in his arms. "Thank you, Mimi. Thank you so much for taking care of her. She seemed a little tired this morning, but I hadn't thought…" he trails off, words marred by guilt.
Mimi scoffs. "Babies get sick, William."
/
She won't sleep. She just screams.
He Googles all he can, takes her temperature and half convinces himself to take her to emergency room until he comprehends they won't be able to do much other than give her more of the same pain medication he has. Tylenol isn't much, but it's all she can have. Julia sobs until her entire face is a solid cherry, sniffling until she coughs and chokes.
"Shh," he soothes, but it's not enough, and after a moment she continues, burying her face in his chest. He hates that she's in pain. He's halfway to tears himself, and he wants help. He wants to call Mimi, call his sisters. But a part of him knows it won't matter. This is something he has to bare through on his own. It just is.
Will gives up on putting her in her crib around two in the morning. The lightning flashes outside his window, thunder rolling loud and deep in the belly of the storm. It's all offset by an eight month old crying through hiccups, the shrieking piercing his ears. He's exhausted, lying in his bed, Julia on his stomach. She tries to put a thumb in her mouth around her still moving mouth and Will sighs, half traumatized.
And suddenly, he remembers.
Quick.
Sharp.
The memory is hazy around the edges from years of wear, but it's there.
He looks back down at Julia, in her state, makes a decision. It's a long shot, but he just, he has to do something. He has to try. Will distorts his voice. "Hey, I've got a song for my main girl, the only and only, Julia Gardner."
He shifts so that her tiny ear is pressed up against his ribcage, and she can feel the vibration of the noises he makes. "Rise up this mornin'," he sings, some half lazy expression on his face when Julia begins to quiet. It's a process, but it happens right as he ends that first verse.
"Singin, don't worry. About a thing. 'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright."
Julia falls asleep to the sound. Will doesn't stop singing until the song is done.
After, he stares up at the ceiling.
And he does not cry.
Will listens to the smack of the rain, the rasp of Julia's breathing, feather light. Somehow, he isn't one bit sad when he remembers the way he and Alicia had stayed up twenty years ago, the way the rain had pounded on the roof then too, listening to Bob Marley and singing along. Drunk off tequila, trying to find themselves. He's not sad at all.
"Your mother loved that song too," he whispers to his daughter.
/
At the end of May, Will takes Julia to the place of her birth for the first time since two weeks after. Grace is graduating, and her mother isn't going to see it. Will's heart hurts for her, twinges. But Grace is excited on the phone, at the very least, thrilled at the prospect of seeing her little sister. Will regrets not being able to have Julia around the family more. Hopes it's something that can develop more over the course of the next few years.
The flight out isn't bad, and Julia is quiet for the most part. A trooper, with her little yellow dress, with her expressive eyes. Mimi swears up and down Julia is the most responsive baby she's ever seen. Says she's got old eyes. Knowing eyes. But Will knows having lawyers for both parents is too much a double whammy for any other product. Will knows this is just the first indication of how much of a smart ass she's going to be when she's older.
The flight attendant flirts with him, eyes his baby bag slung over one shoulder and makes her move. He honestly doesn't realize she's expecting a reaction until he recognizes the disappointment on her face when he barely blinks. Feels kind of bad, but not really.
/
He spends an entire afternoon in the offices of Lockhart and Gardner, mostly to close the deal that Diane called him with three weeks ago. Grace's graduating was the reason for the visit, and it's only fate that the things works well enough to coincide.
Lockhart and Gardner is becoming Lockhart, Gardner, and Agos.
It's the least they could do, with the economy the way it is, still struggling. And Cary will be a good third partner. Cary's changed a lot, or so Diane said to him on the phone. Diane had persuaded him like a pro, explained the situation with Cary having too much on his plate, but still enough to offer. The logistics are good, and there's a part of Will that gives into the emotion of it, lets it appeal to him. He wants to help Cary. It's the right thing to do, considering the ties that bind.
But Cary has changed. There's a deep set in his eyes from financial stress, and he looks older, nothing like the pup Will first hired on as a junior associate. They discuss cases from the noon until three in Diane's office, places to go, where they want to expand. They decide a game plan for Los Angeles, decide on a fixed offer to make at the next partner's meeting. It's professional. If Cary does look at him every once in a while like he's got something to ask, he doesn't.
Will respects him for that.
Of course, he's not expecting Veronica to march across the hallway near the thick windows, right into his vision, cutting off whatever words were leaving his mouth. Julia bouncing along in her arms.
Will shoots up and strides across, opening the door and catching her attention. "Veronica, what are you doing?"
"Just changed a diaper," she responds cheekily.
"I thought you said you were going to watch her for the day," he splutters, brow furrowing.
"I am," Veronica sounds innocent, pursing her lips. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to show off my granddaughter to my boyfriend."
Will glances on down the hallway, where David Lee is perched outside the door, smiling small, genuine. "She'll be a handful in a few years," David warns, winking, before going back into his office.
Julia chooses that moment to coo, reaching for him. Will holds his arms out and Veronica passes the baby off with a grateful sigh. "She's getting heavy."
Will turns back into Diane's office, where Cary and Diane had watched the exchange quietly.
"Will," Diane starts, eyes only for Julia. "David Lee got to meet your daughter before I did."
"Sorry," he apologizes with a quirk of his mouth, rocking Julia a little. She's grasping his tie, the pattern of it entertaining. Diane regards him for a moment.
"Baby on your hip," Diane swiftly mutters. "All I need is you barefoot in the kitchen. It's a feminist's wet dream."
"I've missed you too, Diane," Will snarks back, moving forward. "Would you like to hold her?"
There's a shadow that falls across her face, but before he can pick it apart, it's gone. "Yes," she nods, sure. Warmth in her gaze. "I do. Please."
Will is surprised at how Julia is responding to all the excitement, as she's hardly been around so many people before. She's comfortable, not shell shocked. He's always been like that. Eased into his own skin. Maybe she gets this from him. Julia settles into Diane's lap easily, and Diane lifts her up until her chubby legs are braced against Diane's thighs, nearly standing. Julia reaches for Diane's necklace, but doesn't pull. Will looks over at Cary, watching it all.
The younger man looks over at him, up from the baby.
Something unbelievably sad in his eyes.
And Will knows what Cary is thinking, what Cary is seeing.
Everybody sees it.
"She's beautiful," is all Cary says, his eyes flickering back over to Julia. Diane looks into Julia's green eyes, a lump in her throat.
"She is, Will," Diane adds mutedly.
"Looks like her mother," Will responds, for all of them, for the elephant in the room.
He doesn't have tears in his eyes, but Cary does.
Diane, too.
/
Will inhales the scent of freshly cut grass.
The morning dawns bright, and he laces up his sneakers, ready for exertion. The sight of Grace stops him, outside Veronica's front door. "Hey. What are you doing up this early?"
Grace shakes her head sullenly. "Insomnia. Nerves. The ceremony is tonight, and the house is cramped, and-it doesn't matter, really. I wanted to ask you something."
"Shoot," Will invites, leaning up against the countering wall.
Grace looks down at her feet, finding her words.
"I got into Georgetown," she says simply.
Will takes a deep breath, licks his lips. "I knew you'd applied," he recalls. "Do you want to go?"
"I'm the one with the question," she replies, but the joke falls flat. Grace runs a hand through her hair, and Will tries to put on his best understanding adult face. The prospect of Alicia's children always made him nervous, made him some struggling old person, unable to relate. Now, he just wants to offer the best advice. He wants to soothe them in the same sense he can soothe Julia. He wants to help.
"That's where I met your mother," Will offers, at best. The fact is plain, ungarnished by all the little details he could tell her, all the stories. All the other secret, undeniable truths.
"I know. My question is," Grace stops, and there's a weak, undignified hitch in her breathing. "Do you think she would've wanted me to go?"
"She would've wanted you to be happy," he says, without missing a beat. "She always wanted you to be happy."
"I know that, too," Grace laughs wetly, shaking her head. "She wouldn't be with you because she was afraid Zack and I couldn't handle it. I know."
"No," Will stops her sharply, makes her look at him fully. "Your mother and I weren't together because-
"It made her a fantastic mom," Grace cuts him off. "She's the best mom. Selfless. But it made her a really sad person, because she didn't understand that sometimes you have to put you first."
Grace wipes her eyes, looking out at the rising yellow and orange glittering on the pavement. Will lets her talk, doesn't interrupt. "Mom wanted you to be Julia's father. She did. I promise. I went to one of the ultrasounds, and the technician asked if I was 'filling in for Dad'. And you should've seen the look on Mom's face. She wanted- she wanted that. She wanted you and I'm so sorry that Zack and I screwed that up, I'm so sorry."
Grace's voice breaks, but she holds herself together by the arm wrapped around her body.
Will's at a loss, the knowledge freeing in his chest. But Grace is still reeling, so he comes back to the moment. Hardens himself.
"Grace, that might be true, but I left your mother. I walked away. And there are things that still need to be explained better, if you want to know. Alicia didn't- it wasn't all Alicia's fault. It was just-
"Fate?" Grace questions.
"Bad timing," he reiterates.
He thinks back, back. To a bar and tequila shots. To soft, new kisses.
"Alicia and I have had bad timing since Georgetown."
The words hang heavy.
"But you loved her," Grace mentions, not a question. It's a fact, and she knows it, and he knows it, and she doesn't even give him the benefit of the doubt. "That had to have made a difference. Made it worth it. And Julia. Julia wasn't bad timing."
"No," Will confirms, leaning his head back against the cobblestone and shifting his neck to look at the blue sky, such a rarity for Chicago. It looks like hope, like reprieve. "Julia was the best timing of all."