Author's note: Hello everyone! This is my first Alicia/Will fic so please bear with me. I hope I did somewhat of an okay job. I got the idea for this while re-watching season three; this takes place somewhere after 3x10. English is not my native language so I hope that I didn't make too many mistakes – my apologies if I did. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! – hannahorgrace

Chapter 1

He doesn't leave the office until everyone else is gone. He hasn't been working on anything specific for a few hours, but staying there keeps him occupied, makes him feel like he has a place where he belongs and where people might actually need him. All the lights in the other offices are off, at least on this floor, except for the lobby and the corridors. The only sounds he can hear are coming from the outside.

He sips on the last of the scotch he has, and the lingering feeling of her in his arms, saying goodbye, ending this thing between them, is haunting him like it has been haunting him all day. He's never felt pain like this before. It's not physical pain by definition, because it's all in his head — or in his heart, even if he refuses to admit it to himself — but it's hurting in places that are very physical and he's never had this happen to him. He's never had his own feelings create this thing in his throat, in his stomach, in his lungs, this painful emptiness, like the ghost of something that used to be. Something that was right, something that made him feel like life was balanced, that everything would eventually settle and come into place and that there actually was a reason to all of this.

He forces himself to get up, to grab his coat and put it on, but when he turns off the lights and steps out of his office, the feeling remains with him. He doesn't get in his car and instead, starts walking away, leaving the building behind; maybe alcohol will help him regain his senses. He never used to think about the balance of life, or that equilibrium was something that people needed to move forward. He never thought of himself as the kind of person who ever needed anything, or anyone, to move forward.

He's not that surprised, when he enters the bar, to see Kalinda talking to another woman, in what seems like a fight for power in the game of seduction. He sits next to her and orders a drink. Kalinda looks at him, her eyes probably lingering on his even though he's looking directly into the bottom of his glass. She looks back at the woman and he doesn't hear what she says but judging by the woman's reaction, it's some sort of quick dismissal à la Kalinda.

"You look terrible," she says, and signals to the waiter to bring her a glass as well.

"Thanks," he answers. "That's precisely what I was aiming for." His tone is somber, matching his sentiment.

They drink in silence for a few minutes and when they're both done, he orders another round for the two of them. Kalinda leans in a little closer.

"Alicia?" she asks. He doesn't know if he has her name written all over his face or if Kalinda's insightfulness is just as sharp as he'd expect it to be, but he doesn't answer, and the lack of answer is probably an answer of its own. She sighs and waits to see if he'll go on before she attempts any kind of unsolicited advice giving. She's not sure if she can even offer any at this time.

The waiter comes back with their drinks. Will takes a long sip before putting his glass down, and raises his head. He looks straight ahead and starts a long, miserable session of contemplating into the nothingness that is dancing before his eyes.

"She ended it," he says, his tone even darker than it was before.

Kalinda frowns. "What did she end?"

Will breathes in heavily. The last thing he wants is to explain how he got dumped by someone he wasn't even technically with, in the proper sense of being with someone. Whatever that meant, it wasn't really what they had, and yet Alicia had managed to break things off with him.

"Our thing" he starts. "Our thing, that we had… she ended it."

He takes another sip of his drink.

"What thing did you have?" she continues, feigning ignorance.

"Okay," he says, finally turning his body to her and looking in her general direction. "Are you trying to make me feel worse?"

"I'm not," she answers, "you seem to be doing that very well on your own."

He rolls his eyes and wonders if he shouldn't just go. He doesn't need anyone to help him feel miserable; he can very well do that on his own, in his apartment, alone.

She doesn't say anymore, just lets him figure out what he's thinking and organize his thoughts and feelings before attempting to give him any advice. Honestly at this point, she doesn't even know what to tell him.

After a few minutes, he voices his conclusion. "Maybe it is better like this, actually."

Kalinda laughs an uncomfortable, questionable laugh. "Yeah, that's probably true," she ironizes. "There's plenty of women just like Alicia out there. That kind of feeling is always just around the corner."

Will thinks maybe he wants to hit her. But he's not so sober now, and for some reason he's not sure he would win so easily in a fight against Kalinda.

"Then what do you suggest I do?!" he asks, and he has a little difficulty in shutting down his feelings now that the alcohol is racing through his blood. "I can't give her—" Kalinda's eyes widen and he realizes he's being loud. "I can't give her what she wants, okay?" he mutters. "I don't even know what she wants."

He plays with the olive and the toothpick that have been abandoned at the bottom of a martini glass and it takes a few minutes for him to realize that it's not his olive, and it's not his toothpick, and it's not his martini, because he didn't order a martini, and he's playing with an olive that's in somebody else's glass, and a toothpick that's probably been in somebody else's mouth. He smirks and suddenly, his brain comes up with this metaphor of Alicia being an olive and he's playing with the olive but in the end the olive isn't his to play with. His brows knit at the worse metaphor anyone could possibly have ever thought of and he tells himself he shouldn't think of metaphors when he's been drinking. And he shouldn't think of Alicia when he's been drinking. He probably shouldn't think of her at all.

"You're a coward, Will," Kalinda blurts, out of nowhere.

He scowls. "What?"

She continues. "It's like everything has always been handed out to you on a little silver plate and all you have to do is to just be there and collect it."

Will frowns. He has no idea what she's talking about.

"I don't get it," she explains, "because you're usually so eager to accept a challenge and put on a fight for something when you really want it—"

"I have!" he interrupts her, "I've tried to tell her that I care, but K, I don't think she wants to hear it."

Kalinda says. "That's your problem, Will. You've tried."

He sighs. "She's putting up a wall."

"Of course she is. She's hurt. She's probably telling herself that if she doesn't have to deal with her feelings then she doesn't risk getting hurt again. She's seen her family broken down and been exposed for everyone to see. Her feelings, her pain and humiliation were just scattered around for weeks on national television, Will. How do you think she feels about sharing what she feels now?"

Kalinda sighs and Will resumes his contemplation of the bottom of his half-empty glass.

"It's one thing being rejected by someone after you've spilled it to them. But did you ever actually tell her how you feel?" Her voice softens as he seems to understand what she's telling him. "Trying is worthless in this situation." Kalinda takes a sip of her drink and he mechanically imitates her gesture. "Do you remember two years ago when she didn't get a message that you'd left her?" Will gulps the last of his drink. "When she asked you what was on the message and you lied about it being nothing, was that part of you trying to make her understand?"

He sighs. "I don't think she'll listen to me." The melancholy in his voice is almost palpable.

"Then make her."

Will stares at her. Maybe Kalinda's right. Maybe he hasn't made it clear enough, because he is a coward, and his pride and something else — something that he can't quite put his finger on — are preventing him from speaking his mind. Why, though? He is suddenly very aware of the feeling of painful emptiness that has been bothering him all day, to say the least, but now it seems to be accompanied by a feeling of empowerment, as if the hopelessness of the situation could actually be challenged.

He frowns, looking straight ahead, eyes hesitant.

Or maybe it's just the alcohol.

"She's ignoring her feelings, Will. She's never going to address them if you don't give her a reason to."

She finishes her drink and gets up, leaving a bill on the counter. "Not now though because you're not making a lot of sense," she says, pointing at his glass, "and you're not looking that good." He frowns, but then smiles awkwardly. "But if you want this… thing, with Alicia," she stresses, using his own words, "figure out how you feel about her, because the last thing she needs right now is uncertainty."

Kalinda gets up, nods in his direction, slips out and vanishes into the crowd.