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Alicia opens her car door, leaning inside to place her coat and bag in the passenger seat. When she withdraws, she takes a look back at Lockhart & Gardner, allowing herself the prickle of satisfaction that only winning against Louis Canning seems to give her.
It was close, like it always is with him. But that’s what makes it so…
She catches a short figure with an uneven gait on the pathway outside the courtyard of the building, recognizable immediately as Mr Canning. Against her own better judgement, she swings the car door shut, pocketing the keys after the locks click and begins walking briskly towards him.
“Mr Canning,” she calls out, still catching up to him.
He stops and turns. She smiles at him, pleased and a little smug.
“Mrs Florrick, this is a surprise.” He appears a little confused but comes towards her, meeting her halfway.
She wonders if it is a surprise. Canning does have a habit of visiting her after hours, in the settling dust of a case. A gust of cool night air blows a strand of hair in her face and she tucks it back. “I hope you’re not feeling too sore after today’s loss.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” he says with a touch of sarcasm, his free hand searching for his pocket.
Alicia presses her lips together, holding back a laugh. She reminds herself not to let the conceit of holding a victory over him get out of hand, tamping it down with the knowledge that it’s backfired on her before.
“Actually, I had hoped to bump into you tonight, to offer you my gratitude,” he tells her.
“Gratitude?”
“If it weren’t for your persistence I wouldn’t have made a connection with my new client.”
“Oh, and which client would that be?” A few faces come to mind, but none of them seem right.
“That would be on a need to know basis.”
She almost wants to push him further, sceptical that this isn’t just some ploy to crush any kind of gratification she’s feeling. Instead, she rolls her eyes at the half smile passing his face.
“Hey, it’s your loss if you don’t believe me.” His shoulders pull in as a kind of shrug, one hand still in his pocket and the other holding his briefcase.
Canning turns away from her to the road, scanning it with a squint. The traffic has already slowed down by this hour, the occasional car passes by with a lazy whoosh as he searches— his expression only tightening the longer he looks.
“Your ride late?” she asks.
He glances briefly back at her before returning his gaze to the road. “You know, he’s probably just caught up in all this traffic.”
Just as she's about to offer him a ride, a loud voice startles them from behind.
“You little fucker!”
Alicia turns to find the source of the voice, Canning turning away from the empty road to take a place by her side.
“Mr Lenier?” he asks, and she can sense him tensing up.
She knew she could recognise the voice, and though the threat was directed at Canning, his client has all the more reason to hold a grudge against her.
Lenier storms up to the both of them, his face red and neck corded and tense. “I knew it, you and this bitch are in it together, you lost my case on purpose and took all my fucking money.”
“Excuse you, Mr Lenier, but that is not true at all,” she says coolly.
“I-it’s exactly as Mrs Florrick says,” Canning adds. He takes a step forward, holding his arm up placatingly.
Lenier bats Canning’s arm away easily, causing him to momentarily lose his balance.
“You’re a filthy, lying, untrustworthy son of a bitch.” He prods at Canning’s chest again and again, pushing him back a step each time.
Alicia can no longer take it. She steps in between the two, one hand held out towards Lenier, the other searching for the keys in her pocket. “You are way out of line. Please leave before we are forced to call the police.” She tries to keep her voice sturdy, hoping that he’d buy it without needing to see a phone in her hand, even if it’s just long enough for her to find her damn keys in pockets that seemed to have gotten larger since this confrontation. She feels a flicker of fear as the seconds trip past and Mr Lenier veers closer because god what if she’s put them in the other pocket and she’s got nothing to defend herself with.
Just as the jagged edge of the key scrapes against her finger, Lenier pushes her forcefully against the chest with one broad hand, and she stumbles back— bumping against Canning just behind her, whose hand she feels grip convulsively onto the fabric of her shirt, the unexpected weight almost pulling her down on top of him.
Her car is too far away. Lenier keeps advancing on the two of them, breathing heavily, and with Canning clinging precariously onto her just behind, she has nowhere left to back into.
She makes a split second decision, spinning around and taking hold of Canning’s elbow. At her first tug of his arm as she takes off down the sidewalk, he catches on, letting her drag him down the street at a pace he can’t quite keep up with.
Lenier’s still yelling at them, but she’s too focused on making sure neither of them trip that she can’t take a quick look behind to see if he’s following them. Canning is straining to keep up beside her, but she only tightens her grip on his arm— tugging him across the road, looking for help, or somewhere to hide, looking for anything.
Just across the road she spots an alley, narrow and blocked by a large dumpster and piles of trash.
“Come on.” She urges Louis.
“Your legs are a lot longer than mine.” He manages between short gasps.
A few cars pass disturbingly close just behind, which she hopes covers them just long enough to stop Lenier. She pulls at Louis’ arm as they reach the curb of the street, and her stomach lurches forwards as she anticipates a last moment trip— the last few steps like trying to run in a nightmare.
Finally, they reach the alley. She grimaces as she angles herself and Louis through the gap between the dumpster and the bags, which are sagging and clumped against the adjacent wall. It’s narrower than she’d hoped and it dead-ends almost immediately, but there’s a small space that she thinks she can back into.
Alicia’s back hits the wall and she takes a sharp breath in, loosening her grip on his elbow. It’s extremely tight, Louis stopping barely an inch away from her. She holds her breath, trying to listen for Lenier. But the sounds of Louis’ briefcase rattling against the dumpster as he shakes in front of her are deafeningly loud.
Each ringing clang is unbearable, and if Lenier found them because of it—
Making another snap decision, she wraps her arms around Louis, pressing his entire body against hers. One arm locking around his, the other slipped around his back, her hand pushing his head forcefully against her chest. Immediately, the clamouring of the case against the dumpster stops, its hard edge instead occasionally brushing high against her thigh as it continues shaking in his unsteady hand.
The cold of the brick wall seeps in through the fabric of her shirt, the hard edges of uneven bricks uncomfortable against her shoulder blades. Despite it all, she finds herself worrying about the fabric tearing or staining.
She pulls Louis in tighter still against her. He fits so neatly in her arms, the warmth and give of his body a welcome distraction. His hair, unkempt from the rush, is brushing up against her neck, and the weight of his head presses against her chest. Her own hand keeps him there, encouraging him in closer. Alicia glances down at him. He’s tense and frowning, almost as if he’s concentrating on being held. Eyes closed and face tucked in, cheeks pink from exertion.
They’re both breathing hard, aware of the rise and fall of the other’s chest. She swallows, trying to listen out for any sound, unsure when it’ll be safe to assume he’s gone.
Louis pulls in a deep steadying breath, altogether relaxing into her. Absent-mindedly, she rubs her hand down and then back up his forearm. Comforting— she doesn’t know who she’s comforting here. But then he sighs against her, a strangely intimate and sweet sound. Alicia flexes her fingers deeper against his head, threading through the soft hairs. And again he makes another intimate sound, a low, throaty hum.
She becomes increasingly aware of how his body is pressing flush against hers, one of his thighs jammed between hers, his hips just below her own and his face against her breasts— the thin material of her blouse almost like nothing between them.
Unnerved, she listens for Lenier again, but all she hears is the odd car passing by, no footsteps, no yelling or cursing. Nothing.
“I think it’s safe now,” she whispers, stretching her neck in an attempt to get a view past the overfilled dumpster. She looks down at Louis again. This time his eyes are open and focused on her, and he starts gently squirming against her.
“Uh, Alicia. You can let me go now,” he says, muffled and quiet.
Slightly embarrassed, Alicia feels her face heat up, and she does as he asks, releasing him. Immediately she misses the shared warmth between them, the phantom press of his body still there. He awkwardly walks through the gap and onto the sidewalk, and Alicia follows him, quickly scanning the street for any signs of Lenier. He’s nowhere to be seen.
Louis messily combs through his hair. “I wonder. How long does it take for a damsel in distress to become hostage to her own helplessness?”
Alicia lets out a shaky laugh, surprised by how cavalier he seems. “Do you need a ride?”
_
“How is it you always end up in my car?” Some of the shakiness has worn off, but she’s still alert, tensed up as if Lenier might start banging on her car window any second. Louis buckles himself in the passenger seat, placing his briefcase on his legs.
He twists around to face her, the belt cutting against the soft skin of his neck. “Littlewood’s law.”
“I’m not familiar with that one.” She’s slightly puzzled at his short response.
“Littlewood’s law states that the average person can expect to experience about one miracle per month.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean Murphy’s law? Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.”
“We’re in one piece, aren’t we?” Louis gives her a wide-eyed look, before shifting back into his seat. He fiddles with his belt, and she notices that there's a long brown hair stuck on his vest. The strand obviously belongs to her. She realises it might look odd taking him back to his wife with her hair on him.
“You've got—” she clears her throat, “a strand of my hair is on your vest.”
Louis takes an exaggerated glance down at his vest before looking back at her, “So there is.” He makes no move to brush it off.
God Alicia. What are you thinking? That his wife might see it and think that the two of them were having an affair?
She tries not to feel self-conscious, like she might be making a big deal out of nothing. He can explain it to his wife if he wants to. She has no clue what the state of their marriage is like aside from Louis’ claim to great compartmentalisation. Since when had she cared about his personal life, let alone his marital problems?
_
Alicia parks her car in front of Canning’s house. The ride had been quiet, neither of them having made a move to fill in the weird and protracted silence— like they were in a tense bubble that even Louis and his predilection for unwarranted comments wasn’t eager to pop.
She looks over at Louis sitting in her car, not understanding how he can appear so calm. The only sign that he’s been affected by Lenier’s threats seems to be in the way he’s hugging his briefcase close to his body, fingers digging into the polished brown leather.
He blinks hard while turning towards her, breaking her out of her reverie. “Would you like a drink? Think of it as a token of my appreciation.” He says it fast, stumbling over the words like he’s eager to get them out.
Alicia smiles, admittedly warmed by his offer. “You want to pay off the debt immediately, huh?”
“I think it’s best we keep a level playing field, wouldn’t you agree, Alicia?”
“Come on, you take every advantage you can get.”
Louis doesn’t answer, just looks up at her expectantly, his features obscured and soft in the dim yellow light.
Alicia sighs, relaxing her posture in her seat. And as she stretches her fingers off the wheel, she realises they’re trembling and stiff from how tightly she’d been gripping it for the entire drive. “I think I could use a drink actually.”
_
Louis leads her in. Following him in as he turns the light on, she closes the door behind her. His house is airy and vintage, the ceiling lights, shaped like old lamps, shine warmly against the wooden staircase. But something about it seems distinctly empty and quiet.
She loses sight of Louis for a moment as he turns the corner into a room. She follows him, stopping by the doorway, watching him as he dumps his briefcase on the desk. “The mysterious Mrs Canning has yet to make an appearance.”
“Mysterious though she may be, Mrs Canning she is not. We separated recently,” he says, a little too offhandedly.
She can't help herself— maybe it’s the remaining nerves, the absurdity of finding herself in his home, or the way they always seem to be on par with each other— but she laughs at him.
After laying his jacket atop his briefcase, Louis turns around to face her, shoving his hands into his pockets and tilting his head. “Amusing, is it, Mrs Florrick?”
“It is, actually.” She enjoys seeing him lost for words, it’s like he’s searching for them in his pockets— a tell that she’s got him feeling defensive.
“And why would that be? I hadn’t pinned you for the sadistic type.”
“It seems as if dissolved marriages are going around. Peter and I are separated too.”
Louis brings his shoulders in, it makes him look even smaller, especially without his jacket. “This is news to me; you're not worried I’ll leak it to the press?”
“I would think that's below you.”
“Maybe you think too highly of me.”
“I doubt that.”
Louis takes longer to reply, pausing for a moment to sweep his eyes over the room. “A lawyer who gossips might not look good for my reputation. I doubt future clients would consider me entirely trustworthy.”
“I’m not your client, it wouldn't be a breach in attorney-client privilege.”
“That’s too bad. I wouldn’t mind obtaining the discretion of the sterling Mrs Alicia Florrick.”
Alicia snorts. “Maybe you think too highly of me, Mr Canning.”
“I doubt that,” he repeats, straight faced—the hand that still wears his wedding ring fidgeting at his collar. She watches as he slips a finger in the knot of his tie, untying it and pulling it out from under his vest, then dropping it where he’d laid his jacket.
She holds her arms against her body, warding off the strange intimacy of watching him undress.
“Is that what fear does to you?” Louis walks up closer to her, he makes a general gesture towards her. “Makes you congenial.”
She pauses, eyes straying to his vest again, noticing the strand of hair still attached to him. She quickly averts her gaze. “Does my usual demeanour not seem congenial enough to you?”
“Quite the contrary.”
She ducks her head. “Call it a temporary recess to our usual rivalry.”
“But we’re still arguing, aren't we?” Louis is smiling brightly at her, almost charming.
“I suppose we are, at that.”
“It must be in our nature to. It’s not often we find our perfect match.”
Alicia makes a motion to disagree, but Louis quickly waves her away as if he’s already heard all of her objections.
“You can’t tell me you don’t have fun when I'm your opposition.”
She winces. “You don’t think looking at it like that might cloud our judgement?”
“The opposite, actually. It makes us more creative. Me, anyway.”
Alicia hums, considering, and is drawn by the hair on his vest again. Without thinking, she pinches the fabric, pulling it, plucking her hair off. She lets it fall onto the floor.
When she looks at Louis, he’s staring at her, bewildered.
“It was distracting,” she shrugs.
He quickly recovers. “I’ll keep that in mind for our next date in court.”
Louis sidles through the doorway, his arm brushing hers as he passes. By force of habit, she turns off his study light before following him into his kitchen. He turns both the kitchen and living room lights on before finding his way behind the counter.
Louis brings two wine glasses out of the cupboard and places them on the counter. He takes longer in another cupboard, deliberating on the wine before he eventually chooses one. While he’s busy, she picks up the glasses.
He holds the bottle against his body, showing off its label like he’s asking for her approval. “You seem like a woman who likes her red.”
“Fifty, fifty that you’d guess my colour,” she teases, turning around to flash him a smile as she walks into his living room with the two wine glasses.
She places the glasses beside each other on the coffee table, then takes a seat on his couch, crossing her legs. Louis sits beside her, leaving a small gap between them.
He uncaps the wine, carefully pouring one glass, then the other. When he’s done, he picks up one glass and brings it in towards her, hand trembling slightly— the wine shifting side to side in the glass. Alicia takes the offered wine, her fingers briefly overlapping his.
“Shaken, not stirred,” he says.
“How many times have you used that one?”
“About as many times as you've rolled your eyes while I disclose the nature of my disability in court.”
“That was rude of me, I’m sorry.”
“And I appreciate your apology.”
She lifts her glass. “To happy clients.”
“Very funny.”
Alicia smiles into the glass before taking a swallow, enjoying the way it washes away some of the nerves. Louis chose a good one, it’s sweet and full and before she knows it, the glass is empty with only a ring of red at the bottom to show for it.
When she looks back to Louis, he’s holding his glass in both his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. “You wounded me Alicia.”
“I wounded you?” She quickly sweeps her eyes over his body, her grip on his arm wasn’t that tight, was it..?
“Yep.” He drinks the rest of his wine, refusing to elaborate.
Oh, right. “This is about me staying with my firm.”
“Leveraging Lockhart & Gardner’s pay from my firm's offer.”
Why bring up his grievance now? He would’ve been expecting her to decline. “I get that it might seem that way to you but I was genuinely considering your offer.”
“Why am I having a hard time believing you?” he says, quietly, looking deep into his empty glass.
Alicia places her own glass on the table. “It’s just business, Mr Canning.”
“Playing one of my cards now?”
“I wasn’t aware that it was your card. I hope you didn’t patent it, I wouldn’t want to be liable for a suit.”
He smiles a little at that, tipping his head to the side.
She turns to face him fully; if they’re going to discuss this, she might as well try to get some answers from him. “Why do you want me so much?”
Something flickers behind his eyes. “Because you’re a good lawyer.”
“There are plenty of good lawyers, some even at Lockhart & Gardner— why not them?”
“Are you suggesting I should be poaching one of your coworkers?” He’s being frustratingly evasive, not even the wine can dampen her annoyance.
“Not at all, I'm just wondering what makes me so special.”
“I like you,” he answers finally, with an indecipherable expression.
Alicia frowns. It still doesn’t explain the lengths he goes to. “Why?”
Louis looks away, shifting like he’s uncomfortable. A long pause stretching out as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. She watches his chest rise and fall as the silence continues, wishing suddenly she’d poured herself another glass— to wash away the lingering thoughts of the solidness of his body against hers, the feeling of his breathing against her chest.
He’s still looking away from her when he finally answers. “You're familiar with The Frog Prince?”
“Was that a question?”
He still seems uncomfortable, but turns to face her again, secure now that he's found an analogy to sidestep her question. “There's a beautiful and lonely princess—“
“I’m not this princess, am I?” she says with a smirk, unsure whether she should feel flattered or condescended to.
“—Who tosses her ball into a murky pond, which is where she meets the frog—“
“Which would be you.”
“Speculation.” He jokes, before continuing. “And he asks her why she hasn’t fetched her ball from the depths of the pond.”
“She doesn't want to ruin her dress. Mr Canning, I’ve read this story to my children hundreds of times.”
His whole face is flushed, the tips of his ears tinged pink. And he looks down to his lap, smiling shyly. “Alicia, I know you have a certain standard in your professional and private life that you adhere to. You don't want to get dirty.”
Alicia scoffs.
“What I’m trying to say is if you join me, my firm, I’ll be doing the dirty work— you don’t have to worry about your dress.”
“Louis,” she starts sweetly, “I think you’ve forgotten something.”
He gives her an innocent look, which she doesn’t buy for one second.
“The frog only dove into the pond in the first place because the princess promised him a kiss. He’s only in it for himself.”
“In the grand scheme of things a kiss isn’t so bad. And, you never know, your frog might just turn into a handsome prince. It’s all about taking a leap of faith.”
Alicia presses her lips together, deliberating. She leans closer to him, taking the glass from his hands and placing it on the table. He looks up at her, confusion dawning on his face.
Then, sitting back, closer to him this time— so that the sides of their bodies are pressing together— she places her hands on the sides of his face. Gently, deliberately, she guides him towards her, leaning closer, closer into him. She pauses for a moment, their mouths so close that she can feel his breath on her face, enjoying how pliable he is, how drunk on her he seems. His eyes drop to her mouth, anticipating a kiss but not quite believing it.
And then she kisses him.
It’s soft. Sweet. Both their lips already moist from the wine, his mouth relaxed against hers. She gently nudges her lips up against his, kissing him again. He reciprocates this time, tentative and unsure, and she can feel him leaning his body against hers— his thigh bumping against hers.
She breaks it off. And he lets out a tender sigh as they part, punctuating the ending of the kiss— shared saliva breaking between them. She glances down at his open mouth, glossy and pink, the faint red print of her lipstick not escaping her notice.
Alicia brushes a thumb along Louis’ cheek, waiting intently for him to open his eyes… she’d never noticed the faint dusting of freckles before. Cute.
When he finally looks up at her, hazy and half-lidded— she smiles, satisfied. “Nope. No prince.”
Alicia lets go of his face and stands up. Departing from him with a sense of loss for the second time this night. “If this were court, I’d call that a win,” she says, reassuring herself. This is why she did it, why she kissed him. She hopes it convinces him too.
She watches him look away, squirming uncomfortably. And it gives her just enough time to feel regret pooling in her stomach at yet another impulsive and reckless decision. She knew why she’d made them with Will. But Louis? The uncertainty leaves her unsteady, confused.
When he finally recovers, blinking a few times, he fixes her with a stare. And this time she thinks she can see through his look of smugness and self-satisfaction. “Does it look like I lost?”