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abvjTitle: Running in Circles
Summary: They'll never learn - time is not on their side.
Rating: pg-13
Author's Notes: 2,503 words. Spoilers for everything to date. Knee jerk reaction to the preview for 2x23, Closing Arguments. What I need to happen in the finale. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
They finally have that long awaited dinner and drinks.
The jury comes back in their favor and after she allows the truth to fall deftly between them, her I left Peter soft and unplanned, not at all methodical. Alicia has always been excellent at keeping up appearances, but the aspect of it that she always seems to forget is how utterly exhausting it can be. She thinks, maybe, that is why she went to David so early on. There are the technical reasons, of course – Alicia likes plans and lists documenting the best route to get from point A to point B, but she also had an innate need to tell somebody. She needed to utter the words aloud and hear them echo in her ears, have them embed themselves under her skin. She needed to recognize the safely guarded secret as reality, to be able to hear the words separation and divorce without feeling the bitter taste of failure and regret on the tip of her tongue.
It takes him a moment, but eventually Will only nods, his okay gentle and not at all assuming. When the elevator doors slide open he allows her to go first, his fingers lingering at the small of back for a brief, fleeting moment. It’s over in the blink of an eye and while the loss of contact is minimal, Alicia feels it immediately.
“Dinner?” he murmurs softly. It’s only then that she glances at him, only then that she finds herself taking comfort in the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, in the way he glances at her with love and something akin to renewal.
Alicia nods in lieu of a reply, allows him to lead her through the garage and pull the door to the car open for her. Closes her eyes and listens to the solid movements of his body as he slides into the seat next to her, allows the hum of the engine to fill the silence between them after he flicks it on and for the first time in months she doesn’t feel so far away from him.
When she slides her eyes open he’s glancing at her the way he always has and Alicia almost remembers what it’s like to feel whole.
At the bar he never mumbles I’m sorry or if there’s anything I can do. She’s thankful. Trite overtures in the form of condolences have never been anything she’s appreciated, never anything she took stock in. Will knows this, of course. He’s always known her better than she ever gave him credit for.
“I lied,” he tells her instead. His fingers are tight around the tumbler in his right hand and Alicia watches as his grasp tightens and releases simultaneously, his knuckles perpetually turning white then red. It says everything about who they are that she doesn’t need any further explanation. That she knows what he’s referring to by those three words alone. Still, he clarifies, “the voicemail. I lied to you about what it said.”
“I know.” Her smile is soft, her tone even more so and he sort of laughs at that, the sound not at all bitter but void of any and all mirth.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Alicia offers him a half shrug, drags the damp napkin towards her and rubs the soft fabric between her thumb and forefinger. In that moment she tries not to think about how differently things would be for her now if it had been him and not Peter. She wonders if they would have made it, if happily ever could have been achieved with him by her side. The thought makes her feel guilty though, the feeling rising from her belly and upwards before coming to lodge permanently in the back of her throat. Most days she hates Peter more than she ever thought she was capable of, but then she thinks of Zach and Grace, of those good years buried in-between all the bad. She finds it so utterly exhausting to constantly hate the man responsible for so much hurt in her life and be thankful for all that he’s made possible in the same breath.
“The timing wasn’t right,” she answers after a long span of silence, the irony noted in the back of her mind and he laughs again. Will finishes his drink in a single swig and Alicia watches as he does so, notes the way his shoulders fall slightly after, his guard dropping almost completely.
Will doesn’t look at her when he asks, “What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for an hour?” and allows the implications to linger between them after.
There isn’t an appropriate answer to that, she thinks, so she says nothing. Allows her mind to rest as she stares at the fraying napkin between her fingers and gently entertains the quiet what if he’s suggesting. Wonders what it would feel like to be with him after all these years, to be with someone whose first touch didn’t elicit memories of betrayal and the urge to flee. Wonders if he still tastes the same way she remembers, if he still feels the same way after all this time.
Will reaches for her, and she lets him, the palm of his hand strong against hers in an effort to make her brave.
The wounds Peter inflicts upon her make her bolder, stronger afterwards.
It’s why her hands don’t shake as Will reaches to touch her face, his thumb drawing a line from the curve of her jaw to the corner of her mouth. In the moment that comes before every kiss, she recounts the past months, remembers the line he placed between them that boldly stated do not venture here again and can’t help but think that this is probably a very bad idea. Will’s lips apart around the vowels and consonants of her name though, right when she’s about to refute him, right when she is about to pull away and put some much needed distance between them. Her will fades almost completely in response. Alicia’s shoulders fall, her sigh full of resignation as she does. He leans in until his face is just a breath away from hers, his thumb coaxing her chin upwards, his eyes on hers the entire time.
Alicia does not look away, does not refuse herself this moment, the feeling that settles in her belly and warms every last part of her.
Finally, Will kisses her. It’s soft and tentative. His mouth is warm and solid beneath hers and it doesn’t take long before she loses herself in him. She kisses him back fully and openly, opens herself to him completely as he pushes her backwards, her back coming in contact with the wall of the elevator as he presses himself into her, his hands gentle but sure around the curve of her face. Will kisses her like he used to and he tastes like scotch and mint, like the man she gave a part of her heart to all those years ago, the man she very probably would have promised forever to if he just would have gotten around to asking. It’s familiar and foreign all at once and Alicia forgets where they are, who they are, and everything that has brought them to this point.
The forgetting is just as lovely as the way he kisses her, almost as lovely the way he mumbles her name into her mouth, the way he allows her to swallow his moans and sighs selfishly, the way he allows her to take every part of him he offers and then some. Alicia makes a memory of this moment, of the absolute weightlessness she feels as he pours everything he is, everything he wants them to be into his kiss with his body pressed so tightly against hers, with one of his hands tangled in her hair and the other tightly intertwined with hers.
When he finally pulls away he’s breathless, but the look of love and adoration cannot go unnoticed as it flickers across his face. There is a moment afterward where they look at each for a beat too long, where they each give the other an opportunity to back out, to take a step backwards and reevaluate the situation.
Neither move to take it.
The silence unhinges Alicia almost completely and she finds herself reaching for him, fingers fisting in the fabric of his jacket as she drags him forward and closer to her.
Take me home, she mumbles against his mouth before they can change their minds, before the moment passes completely. Alicia doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop kissing him, doesn’t allow her mind to catch up with her heart.
She can feel the corners of his mouth curling against her own when he kisses her back.
At his apartment she pushes him against the door and takes control. Alicia is needy, brutal in the way she kisses him, in the way she draws his sighs from his mouth, the way she pushes herself against him until she can feel the beat of his heart against her own ribcage. She kisses Will with an anger he doesn’t deserve and he takes it until he doesn’t, until he tries to slow her down, tries to coax her into taking a much needed breath. He pulls away from her mouth and buries his face into her neck, his lips pressing into her soft skin, skimming the line of her collarbone, nipping at the dip where shoulder meets neck.
Alicia closes her eyes and tries to give herself over to the moment, tries to convince herself that she’s earned this, that she needs this, but it feels wrong.
She wishes it were this easy, she wishes with everything in her that she could just fall back into him for this short amount of time, take that final, deciding step over the line they’ve been toeing for years and use his unwavering strength and presence in her life to forget how badly time has treated her. She needs it to be this easy, but it’s not. It never will be. Alicia knows this deep in her bones and it’s why she pulls her mouth away from his, why she pulls him to her, her head cradled in the crook of his neck as she mumbles a harsh I can’t into the warm skin under her mouth. It’s why she starts to cry softly when he holds her instead of pulling way in anger or rejection.
Alicia pulls away shortly after, rests the back of her head against the coolness of the door behind her. She tastes salt and wetness when he reaches up to cup her face, his smile sad and resigned.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, her own smile small at the corner of her mouth. “I just…” she looks around his apartment and sees tiny, insignificant things that appear out of place. She thinks of Tammy, of all the people who would be affected by this. Of all the people this could hurt. Her stomach turns. “You’re with Tammy,” she explains and Will’s hand drops from her face to his side swiftly before finding home deep in the pocket of his pants. “And I’m still… I’m still married,” she pauses, her voice cracking around the words. “And I can’t… I can’t be that woman. I won’t be that woman,” she looks away and wipes at the tears on her face. “And I can’t do that to you.”
“I don’t care –” he starts, but she cuts him off. Alicia shakes her head and reaches for him. Her palm feels cold against his cheek. She shudders.
“You will. I know you will. And if we’re ever going to try to get this right later we can’t do this now.” Will doesn’t say anything, just looks at her, his eyes soft and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looks older than she remembers, his edges starting to ebb and it worries her. “We both know that, Will,” she tells him softly after a moment, her thumb following the outline of the corner of his mouth. Alicia listens as his breath catches, watches as his eyes fall closed at her touch.
She can’t continue to take these things from him, these moments, so she lets her hand fall to her side, gives him the space they both need.
“I should go,” she murmurs softly and Will only nods as the silence fills the distance between them again.
After a moment he steps forward, hands still and strong against her cheeks, his lips smooth against the skin of her forehead in his quiet version of it’s okay. Alicia’s eyes fall closed against the tears threatening to fall, her throat constricting as she leans into his touch, as she tries to draw some of his strength and courage and make it her own.
He understands, she thinks. He always does.
At home she kicks off her shoes and slides off her jacket slowly. She comes to rest on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as she finally allows herself to breathe.
She remembers their beginning more than she used to. With little effort she can close her eyes and recall the smell of chlorine and beer and Will the way he was then with absolute clarity. She remembers the way his hand had slid so easily into hers as they stood beside the pool that very first night at Georgetown. She can remember how warm and gentle his palm was against her own, how his smile was small but wide as he murmured a soft nice to meet you. She remembers the after too – the natural progression from nothing to friends, from friends to something more. Nights spent fumbling into something neither one of them was ready for, months spent falling in love with each other, but not knowing how to make it worthwhile, not knowing how to make it last.
They were so young then, so horribly idealistic. They made the mistake most people do when they’re twenty-three and have nothing but bright futures in front of them – they foolishly thought time was on their side.
Their pragmatism set in shortly after.
(It’s hard to believe, she knows, but their edges were soft once upon a time.)
From the kitchen Grace calls her name, but Alicia cannot hear. She only flips the pages of the magazine until they reveal his handsome face. She counts the slight wrinkles at the edge of his eyes, notes the way his mouth quirks to form a perpetual smirk. She traces the subtle outline of his face, the curves and edges still the same after all these years. Alicia closes her eyes and allows the memory of his lips against hers put her at ease, lets his touch fully embed itself into her skin and bones.
She tries so very hard not to think about how time makes fools of us all.
Summary: They'll never learn - time is not on their side.
Rating: pg-13
Author's Notes: 2,503 words. Spoilers for everything to date. Knee jerk reaction to the preview for 2x23, Closing Arguments. What I need to happen in the finale. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
They finally have that long awaited dinner and drinks.
The jury comes back in their favor and after she allows the truth to fall deftly between them, her I left Peter soft and unplanned, not at all methodical. Alicia has always been excellent at keeping up appearances, but the aspect of it that she always seems to forget is how utterly exhausting it can be. She thinks, maybe, that is why she went to David so early on. There are the technical reasons, of course – Alicia likes plans and lists documenting the best route to get from point A to point B, but she also had an innate need to tell somebody. She needed to utter the words aloud and hear them echo in her ears, have them embed themselves under her skin. She needed to recognize the safely guarded secret as reality, to be able to hear the words separation and divorce without feeling the bitter taste of failure and regret on the tip of her tongue.
It takes him a moment, but eventually Will only nods, his okay gentle and not at all assuming. When the elevator doors slide open he allows her to go first, his fingers lingering at the small of back for a brief, fleeting moment. It’s over in the blink of an eye and while the loss of contact is minimal, Alicia feels it immediately.
“Dinner?” he murmurs softly. It’s only then that she glances at him, only then that she finds herself taking comfort in the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, in the way he glances at her with love and something akin to renewal.
Alicia nods in lieu of a reply, allows him to lead her through the garage and pull the door to the car open for her. Closes her eyes and listens to the solid movements of his body as he slides into the seat next to her, allows the hum of the engine to fill the silence between them after he flicks it on and for the first time in months she doesn’t feel so far away from him.
When she slides her eyes open he’s glancing at her the way he always has and Alicia almost remembers what it’s like to feel whole.
At the bar he never mumbles I’m sorry or if there’s anything I can do. She’s thankful. Trite overtures in the form of condolences have never been anything she’s appreciated, never anything she took stock in. Will knows this, of course. He’s always known her better than she ever gave him credit for.
“I lied,” he tells her instead. His fingers are tight around the tumbler in his right hand and Alicia watches as his grasp tightens and releases simultaneously, his knuckles perpetually turning white then red. It says everything about who they are that she doesn’t need any further explanation. That she knows what he’s referring to by those three words alone. Still, he clarifies, “the voicemail. I lied to you about what it said.”
“I know.” Her smile is soft, her tone even more so and he sort of laughs at that, the sound not at all bitter but void of any and all mirth.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Alicia offers him a half shrug, drags the damp napkin towards her and rubs the soft fabric between her thumb and forefinger. In that moment she tries not to think about how differently things would be for her now if it had been him and not Peter. She wonders if they would have made it, if happily ever could have been achieved with him by her side. The thought makes her feel guilty though, the feeling rising from her belly and upwards before coming to lodge permanently in the back of her throat. Most days she hates Peter more than she ever thought she was capable of, but then she thinks of Zach and Grace, of those good years buried in-between all the bad. She finds it so utterly exhausting to constantly hate the man responsible for so much hurt in her life and be thankful for all that he’s made possible in the same breath.
“The timing wasn’t right,” she answers after a long span of silence, the irony noted in the back of her mind and he laughs again. Will finishes his drink in a single swig and Alicia watches as he does so, notes the way his shoulders fall slightly after, his guard dropping almost completely.
Will doesn’t look at her when he asks, “What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for an hour?” and allows the implications to linger between them after.
There isn’t an appropriate answer to that, she thinks, so she says nothing. Allows her mind to rest as she stares at the fraying napkin between her fingers and gently entertains the quiet what if he’s suggesting. Wonders what it would feel like to be with him after all these years, to be with someone whose first touch didn’t elicit memories of betrayal and the urge to flee. Wonders if he still tastes the same way she remembers, if he still feels the same way after all this time.
Will reaches for her, and she lets him, the palm of his hand strong against hers in an effort to make her brave.
The wounds Peter inflicts upon her make her bolder, stronger afterwards.
It’s why her hands don’t shake as Will reaches to touch her face, his thumb drawing a line from the curve of her jaw to the corner of her mouth. In the moment that comes before every kiss, she recounts the past months, remembers the line he placed between them that boldly stated do not venture here again and can’t help but think that this is probably a very bad idea. Will’s lips apart around the vowels and consonants of her name though, right when she’s about to refute him, right when she is about to pull away and put some much needed distance between them. Her will fades almost completely in response. Alicia’s shoulders fall, her sigh full of resignation as she does. He leans in until his face is just a breath away from hers, his thumb coaxing her chin upwards, his eyes on hers the entire time.
Alicia does not look away, does not refuse herself this moment, the feeling that settles in her belly and warms every last part of her.
Finally, Will kisses her. It’s soft and tentative. His mouth is warm and solid beneath hers and it doesn’t take long before she loses herself in him. She kisses him back fully and openly, opens herself to him completely as he pushes her backwards, her back coming in contact with the wall of the elevator as he presses himself into her, his hands gentle but sure around the curve of her face. Will kisses her like he used to and he tastes like scotch and mint, like the man she gave a part of her heart to all those years ago, the man she very probably would have promised forever to if he just would have gotten around to asking. It’s familiar and foreign all at once and Alicia forgets where they are, who they are, and everything that has brought them to this point.
The forgetting is just as lovely as the way he kisses her, almost as lovely the way he mumbles her name into her mouth, the way he allows her to swallow his moans and sighs selfishly, the way he allows her to take every part of him he offers and then some. Alicia makes a memory of this moment, of the absolute weightlessness she feels as he pours everything he is, everything he wants them to be into his kiss with his body pressed so tightly against hers, with one of his hands tangled in her hair and the other tightly intertwined with hers.
When he finally pulls away he’s breathless, but the look of love and adoration cannot go unnoticed as it flickers across his face. There is a moment afterward where they look at each for a beat too long, where they each give the other an opportunity to back out, to take a step backwards and reevaluate the situation.
Neither move to take it.
The silence unhinges Alicia almost completely and she finds herself reaching for him, fingers fisting in the fabric of his jacket as she drags him forward and closer to her.
Take me home, she mumbles against his mouth before they can change their minds, before the moment passes completely. Alicia doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop kissing him, doesn’t allow her mind to catch up with her heart.
She can feel the corners of his mouth curling against her own when he kisses her back.
At his apartment she pushes him against the door and takes control. Alicia is needy, brutal in the way she kisses him, in the way she draws his sighs from his mouth, the way she pushes herself against him until she can feel the beat of his heart against her own ribcage. She kisses Will with an anger he doesn’t deserve and he takes it until he doesn’t, until he tries to slow her down, tries to coax her into taking a much needed breath. He pulls away from her mouth and buries his face into her neck, his lips pressing into her soft skin, skimming the line of her collarbone, nipping at the dip where shoulder meets neck.
Alicia closes her eyes and tries to give herself over to the moment, tries to convince herself that she’s earned this, that she needs this, but it feels wrong.
She wishes it were this easy, she wishes with everything in her that she could just fall back into him for this short amount of time, take that final, deciding step over the line they’ve been toeing for years and use his unwavering strength and presence in her life to forget how badly time has treated her. She needs it to be this easy, but it’s not. It never will be. Alicia knows this deep in her bones and it’s why she pulls her mouth away from his, why she pulls him to her, her head cradled in the crook of his neck as she mumbles a harsh I can’t into the warm skin under her mouth. It’s why she starts to cry softly when he holds her instead of pulling way in anger or rejection.
Alicia pulls away shortly after, rests the back of her head against the coolness of the door behind her. She tastes salt and wetness when he reaches up to cup her face, his smile sad and resigned.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, her own smile small at the corner of her mouth. “I just…” she looks around his apartment and sees tiny, insignificant things that appear out of place. She thinks of Tammy, of all the people who would be affected by this. Of all the people this could hurt. Her stomach turns. “You’re with Tammy,” she explains and Will’s hand drops from her face to his side swiftly before finding home deep in the pocket of his pants. “And I’m still… I’m still married,” she pauses, her voice cracking around the words. “And I can’t… I can’t be that woman. I won’t be that woman,” she looks away and wipes at the tears on her face. “And I can’t do that to you.”
“I don’t care –” he starts, but she cuts him off. Alicia shakes her head and reaches for him. Her palm feels cold against his cheek. She shudders.
“You will. I know you will. And if we’re ever going to try to get this right later we can’t do this now.” Will doesn’t say anything, just looks at her, his eyes soft and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looks older than she remembers, his edges starting to ebb and it worries her. “We both know that, Will,” she tells him softly after a moment, her thumb following the outline of the corner of his mouth. Alicia listens as his breath catches, watches as his eyes fall closed at her touch.
She can’t continue to take these things from him, these moments, so she lets her hand fall to her side, gives him the space they both need.
“I should go,” she murmurs softly and Will only nods as the silence fills the distance between them again.
After a moment he steps forward, hands still and strong against her cheeks, his lips smooth against the skin of her forehead in his quiet version of it’s okay. Alicia’s eyes fall closed against the tears threatening to fall, her throat constricting as she leans into his touch, as she tries to draw some of his strength and courage and make it her own.
He understands, she thinks. He always does.
At home she kicks off her shoes and slides off her jacket slowly. She comes to rest on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as she finally allows herself to breathe.
She remembers their beginning more than she used to. With little effort she can close her eyes and recall the smell of chlorine and beer and Will the way he was then with absolute clarity. She remembers the way his hand had slid so easily into hers as they stood beside the pool that very first night at Georgetown. She can remember how warm and gentle his palm was against her own, how his smile was small but wide as he murmured a soft nice to meet you. She remembers the after too – the natural progression from nothing to friends, from friends to something more. Nights spent fumbling into something neither one of them was ready for, months spent falling in love with each other, but not knowing how to make it worthwhile, not knowing how to make it last.
They were so young then, so horribly idealistic. They made the mistake most people do when they’re twenty-three and have nothing but bright futures in front of them – they foolishly thought time was on their side.
Their pragmatism set in shortly after.
(It’s hard to believe, she knows, but their edges were soft once upon a time.)
From the kitchen Grace calls her name, but Alicia cannot hear. She only flips the pages of the magazine until they reveal his handsome face. She counts the slight wrinkles at the edge of his eyes, notes the way his mouth quirks to form a perpetual smirk. She traces the subtle outline of his face, the curves and edges still the same after all these years. Alicia closes her eyes and allows the memory of his lips against hers put her at ease, lets his touch fully embed itself into her skin and bones.
She tries so very hard not to think about how time makes fools of us all.
