A/N 1: I lost count of the times I wrote/deleted/recovered from the trashcan icon the first chapters of this story. If you are reading this on the pages of a fanfiction site it's thanks to Steffi, Josie and Mary who, in their own different ways, kicked my ass to write it and post it. So enjoy. And please don't do the math of Alicia's age. First it's impossible, second it's only a fanfiction ;)

A/N 2: Dear Kings, I beg you for once to NOT look here or Kiki will kill me!

Set somewhere in the second half of season 5.

Friday, March 21st

The clock on my nightstand marks 1:07 a.m. It's an unrequired reminder that I've been tossing restlessly in my bed for the last two hours. I have shut my eyes, counted sheep, tried to lullaby myself with that mellifluous song that's been playing on repeat on the radio for the last two weeks. Nothing. I just can't get any sleep. But at the same time, I'm too physically exhausted to stand up and make myself a relaxing infusion, or a warm bath. I should stop rewinding the day. I know that's what keeps me awake but I don't have the strength to put the brakes on my thoughts.

This morning we met in court for the closing arguments. I dig deep into my memory and I can't recall any of our face-offs ever being so glacial. Edgy and highly charged? Always. Rancorous? Most of the times. Enraged? Quite often. But today it was all of that mixed with some burning discomfort that I'm still trying to interpret. I struggled to not lose focus on my client's rights but Will's stone gaze made my job all but easy. I might have compromised the whole trial and I can't forgive myself. I can't concentrate, I feel tired and unsettled, and I perfectly know why. It's been a couple of weeks since that accident.

Accident. I can't really come up with a better way to call it in this moment. A professional fight – only on the surface - had become the umpteenth excuse to blame each other for everything that went wrong between us. We should have learned by now. We should be used to how we are seemingly unable to separate personal from professional. And yet, there we fell, back into that downwards spiral again. I don't know how it happened. I never do. And probably neither does Will. It just happens. Rationality loses out to feelings and we end up saying and doing things that we unfailingly regret later.

But this time… I shake my head and roll on my side, searching from some comfort in the cold pillow. This time I really thought it was different. When I woke up in his bed the morning after, we – or I? - thought we were starting things over, or at least trying to. Never had I been more off track. Maybe it was just me. Maybe we just misunderstood each other's signals for the millionth time. All I'm sure of is that it can't get worse than this. It's like he's always expecting me to do or say something but doesn't dare to openly ask. I would give everything up in a heartbeat if he asked me; but he never does. He never did, not once in his life; and I'm always left wondering what I really mean to him.

I end up being the one unable to give him what he wants. Partially it's true. Something holds me back. Am I afraid? Undecided? I know I love him, at least I did. No. I still do. That's what pains me most. I know I still do. But the damage we inflicted to our relationship can't be repaired in any way. Whenever we try to fix it, we end up cracking it even further. It can't just end like this. It just can't.

Somehow I manage to fall asleep, for when I open my eyes a faint sunlight is already peeking in through the window. I'm still tired and feeling a bit dizzy. I'm tempted to take the day off but I have way too many commitments, so it's easier said than done. I drag myself out of the bed and into the kitchen. Grace is already up and ready to leave. "Morning," I mutter, still drowsy.

"Hey, mom," she greets me with a wide smile and I offer her my cheek for a quick kiss. "I'm leaving but I prepared breakfast for you too." I return her smile with a soft, grateful one. Since Zach went off to college and Peter became the Governor, we spend most of the time alone, the two of us. I thought it would be a complete disaster. I thought that my inability to communicate with my own daughter would turn our time together into a nightmare. Much to my surprise, something in our mother/daughter relationship broke through and I find myself enjoying our moments together like never before.

"You got up early," I observe, a bit inquisitive, as I glance quickly at the wall clock. It's barely 7 o'clock.

"You forgot the school trip, didn't you?" she reproaches me, lightly.

The Smithsonian. She's going to be away for the whole weekend. I'm a horrible mother sometime. I don't even try to deny. "Yes, I did. Sorry," I shake my head in apology. In my defense, I have way too many things to remember lately. I leave her with the usual long list of cautions. I know she doesn't need them but my role of mom requires that I do it nevertheless. When the door closes behind her, I'm alone.

I glance at the pans with the breakfast waiting for me. Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Grace cooked for a whole regiment. That light sense of dizziness hits me again. I'm not hungry, actually all that food kind of makes me feel sick. I give up eating and stand up. I have to get ready for work, like it or not. I check the calendar. It's the 21st of March. First day of spring, I notice with a light smile. My eyes fall back unconsciously two rows up, making me frown. The smile is gone and forgotten. I shake my head and turn to leave. I vacillate a bit, my legs failing to prop me. I should eat but I can't ignore the strong signs my stomach is giving me. I know I wouldn't hold anything down anyway. I steal one last look at the calendar as I leave the kitchen; I freeze.

Two weeks.

I feel my cheeks turn red, burning from panic.

No.

It can't be.

It's just a stupid coincidence.

I force myself to close off the thought. Of all the twists that fate could reserve for me, this would absolutely be the worst and meanest.

It's just a stupid coincidence. It's just a stupid coincidence.

I repeat it to infinity until I eventually calm down, at least in appearance. I walk into the bathroom and start to get ready, overindulging with face powder and blusher to cover the paleness of my face.

Monday, March 24th

Flu. That's how I decided to confine this growing sickness in the end. It's springtime. Weather starts to oscillate between cold and warm and people get sick. It's all fine. Like it's fine being four days late. Stress does that, doesn't it? I work too much, think too much, stress too much over anything. It's all fine. I just need to slow down and get some rest, maybe take a few days off. My bad habit of taking work home during the weekend does not help me in any way, but I have no choice now if I don't want to see my firm sink under the relentless attacks of Will's little armada.

Grace is in the kitchen on the phone with a friend. I overhear part of their conversation as I crouch down on the couch with a client's folder in my hands. I skim through the first page but my mind can't store a single word I read. My gaze falls on the glass of wine I poured myself half an hour before. It's still untouched. I don't even know why I poured it in the first place. It's a habit, an automatic gesture like taking off your shoes when you enter home, but right now I don't feel the need for it. I suspect it's my subconscious that tells me that but I take it in as my own will – or lack of it. I close the damn folder and peeped discretely towards the kitchen, exhaling in resignation. Then I take the glass and for a moment I just stare at the garnet-red liquid. I bring the glass to my mouth but barely dampen my lips.

"Mom…"

Grace's voice, soft as it can be, startles me from my contemplation. "Yes?"

"Can I sleep at Claire's Wednesday night?" she asks.

I'm lost. My mind is still wandering somewhere between the wine and the client. Then I notice she's still on the phone, covering the microphone with one hand.

Claire? Oh, right. Claire.

I catch the light concern in her eyes but do my best to dissipate it with a sweet smile. "Sure, if Claire's mom is fine with it, too."

I follow her with my gaze as she disappears back into the kitchen. I put the glass down on the coffee table and sink back onto the couch, resting my back against the cushion as my hands play restlessly with the buttons of my pajamas.

Tuesday, March 25th

I have to meet Will again on Wednesday morning. Another debilitating trial session. It's like fate decided to constantly put us against each other. It's not even remotely close to funny, especially when every hit I manage to strike is returned doubled. If only he knew… I shut my eyes and shake my head. No, there is nothing to know.

I met a new client at lunch, I spent the weekend stressing over the fact that we can't afford to lose this one. The intense smell of food that hit me as I walked into the restaurant still makes my stomach turn. I cringed and tried to breathe through my mouth in the hope it would make it a bit more bearable but nope, it didn't work. I'm still grateful that it took me only twenty minutes and a harmless salad to convince him that we are worth his trust.

Eventually, I bought a pregnancy test on my way home tonight; I don't know why, just for peace of mind I guess. It's in my bedroom, locked in a closet, hidden under a thick pile of underwear. It's there so in case my anxiety becomes obsession it only takes me 3 minutes to know the truth. But it's only a case of bad flu, it will be gone in a few days. I have nothing to worry about.

I hear Grace's barefoot steps nearing and look back to follow her figure as she sits and curls up against me for our movie night. I declined decidedly on her suggestion for some movie about babies with a vague not-in-the-mood excuse so we ended up with a Russell Crowe's cheesy one; it's not much better but at least it distracts me for a couple of hours. When later that night I go to sleep, I stare for a while at the closet. I'm tempted to give in to the urge of knowing. It lasts a moment. Do I really wanna know? I close my eyes, the agitation still accompanies me but somehow I fall asleep.

Wednesday, March 26th

"Objection Your Honor!"

It's the third objection in the space of a few minutes. I glance in Will's direction, exasperated. I'm exhausted, my eyes plead with him against my will to stop this machine-gun fire. I should have asked Cary to take my place. I haven't eaten anything in two days and I don't have the strength to keep this up. My sight gets a bit blurry, a myriad of white small dots start dancing in front of me. I sit down and close my eyes before I faint. I cannot faint. I know I'm conscious, for I can distinguish clearly Will's and Robyn's voices calling my name but I can't talk. I feel something against my lips… a glass… Someone tells me to drink and I force myself to sip. Its taste is awful but I drink anyway. I know perfectly what's going on and I feel my heart start throbbing in panic. This is not the flu. I need to calm down. This is not the flu. Who am I trying to kid? After a while – a few minutes I guess? I can't say – I manage to get my eyes open again. I hear the judge bang his gavel declaring the session suspended. "I'm fine," I murmur to nobody in particular.

Robyn contests that I'm not and it's pointless to disagree. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Will's frightened look. If I know him a little, he's certainly drowning in his sense of guilt. For a split second I consider reassuring him that it's not his fault but I don't want to deal with his objections. I had enough of them already during the trial. When I regain enough balance to stand up I beg Robyn to drive me home.

I'm thankful that she doesn't ask questions I wouldn't want to answer. It's one of the reasons why I like working with her; she never mixes private with personal. She offers to accompany me through the elevator ride, up to my apartment, but I decline politely. When I finally step into the stillness of my apartment, I walk straight into my bedroom and drop on my bed, exhausted. I remember in this moment that Grace is not coming home tonight. I'm alone again. I close my eyes and fall into an instant, heavy sleep.

I wake up disoriented three hours later. It's already dark outside. It takes me a moment to recollect what happened. I prop on my elbows to sit up and stare at the closet with hesitancy. Six days. I've never been six days late in my entire life. I can't keep postponing this. I can't keep ignoring the signs that my body sends me and that get stronger by the day. And Grace being away makes it the perfect moment. Maybe perfect is not the right word under the circumstances. I breathe in as deep as I can to give myself courage. I open the closet and pull the small box out. My hands are trembling as I walk into the bathroom and follow the instructions meticulously.

3 minutes.

I force myself to not stare at the test as I catch the first shy pink line appear. One line. Okay. Breathe.

I close my eyes. I have to leave. I can't be staring at this stupid test for the next three minutes or I'll go crazy. I stand up from the tub's edge and as I turn to exit, it catches my attention.

I'm petrified.

It's light, barely visible in its subtlety, but I know it's there.

A second line.

I'm sure my heart is about to explode but I don't have the lucidity to regain control of my body's reactions. Actually, I think I lost that control roughly three weeks ago.

I gape unbelievably as the line becomes thicker until I know with no doubt that it's not a figment of my imagination.

I'm pregnant.

I can't be.

I just can't.

I close my eyes in the faint hope that when I reopen them the line is gone. But it's still there.

Two lines.

I'm pregnant.

I don't know what to do.

My legs go weak, I sit back on the edge of the tub before I fall down. I don't even have the strength to take the test in my hands. It's already more real than I can bear it. I just sit there for what feels like an eternity, my gaze lost blankly on the ceramic floor. My mind is numbed and completely incapable to form any kind of concrete thought. There is only that word that keeps on bouncing back and forth. Pregnant.

I repeat it – or rather it repeats itself – in my mind until finally it loses a bit of its shattering impact and I can start to grasp the news.

A baby. Will's baby.

To have lived with the suspicion for the last five days is not making it any easier to come to grips with its reality.

All the complications hit me like a brick full on in the face. Peter… the kids… the press… the pregnancy… How can I tell them? How can I tell Will? Do I even want them all to know?

It was never supposed to happen.

I can't… I can't have a baby, not at my age, not under these circumstances, not when I'm at odds with the father like never before in our lives. I can't go through a pregnancy knowing all the risks it can entail at my age. It's pure madness. I close my eyes again, this time in dejection. I feel tears start to spill and I can't hold them back, I don't even want to. They are my only way to let it all out.

I cry in despair because I don't know how to deal with it, I cry in fear because I'm scared for me and for that little life that is just starting, I cry because in the end it's Will's baby and if it were another moment in time, another situation, he would be here sitting with me and we would be sharing a whole different kind of tears.