A/N: I wrote this story right after 6x20 aired but I never really finished it. But after the shameful pointlessness that was the season finale, I decided to turn it into a sort of fix-it. Reworked and finished the first chapter that I am posting now and currently working on the second (and probably final) one.

I can still hear the bustle, intensifying with each step I walked down the hallway. I can still hear the camera shutters clicking relentlessly, see the flash lamps, feel them go fiercely at me before I even had the chance to set foot into the hall. I remember shivering inside, then pressing my hand against the back of Peter's, searching for the familiar, comforting smoothness of his ring, until I found myself to cover those last few steps to the podium. Alone. I remember fighting the urge to look behind me, as I mustered up courage and started my speech. But the few words I spoke, though learned by heart, are blurry now, forgotten like in a post-exam stress. My mind seems to have cancelled that moment with a saving blackout, except for the burdensome effort I had to lay into trying to hold back the tears.

All I feel now, as the day is over, is a thick layer of stupor.

Standing in the kitchen, I lose myself in the reflection of my face in the island, as the events of the day keep flitting in front of me in a senseless order or logic.

Get some rest.

Because you betrayed us.

I think you should write a book.

So is this what made you want to become a lawyer?

You can come back from this.

I'm damaged goods.

This is home, Alicia.

I started that firm. Here. In my home.

My eyes shut tightly, maybe this way those images will disappear. Instead, in the darkness of my closed lids, they only get even more forceful.

What do I do now?

I'd lie to myself if I said that I didn't consider, even if just for an instant, Peter's suggestion that I write a book. I skimmed through the last years of my life like an album, with curiosity and unbiased eyes, but most of the memories who used to bring a smile to my lips now hurt like shards of glass. Would I really want to bring my deepest feelings, my darkest fears, all my weaknesses on the pages of something everyone can read? In this moment, I feel already vulnerable enough to cope with this idea, which is set aside without second thoughts.

I don't need to relive all the pain. I need a fresh start. I need a change. Professional? Personal? It's hard to say now. Both my mind and my wounded pride need time to perk up from a bitter list of fiascos and cheap shots. I'm about to drown its unpleasant feeling in a good-night glass of red when the ringing of the doorbell startles me from my considerations.

The wall clock marks ten o'clock and I have no idea who could possibly show up this late. When I open the door to Peter, part of me is surprised to see him here when I know he should already be in Springfield. But another part of me, the one who really knows him, simply smiles in acknowledgement and steps aside to let him in, again. And I start to think that he won't be able to be back to his routine until I'm back on my feet again.

But when with slow, musing steps he walks to the living room and sits at the table, it's clear that there's something swirling around in his head. I join him and take a seat across the table, waiting to hear the reason of this nightly visit.

His hands cross in front of him, he gazes down for a moment, then back at me. "I've been thinking."

I nod faintly at the obvious and fold my arms on my chest, expectantly. "About what?"

"Grace has only one last year of high school ahead of her," he starts.

"I know." With a smile, I take in how our kids have grown. So fast, too fast, I think. But we did a good job, didn't we?

"Meaning she will leave," he adds.

My brows knit, confused by his words and unsure of where this is all leading. "Did you come back to make me feel better or even worse?" I joke, because I'm sure that's not his intention to hurt me more than I already do, then lean forward to rest my arms on the table, reducing a bit the distance between us.

His soft, almost sheepish chuckle is the confirmation that my feeling was right. "Come with me."

Come with me?

"What?" I shrug, as confusion quickly turns into realization of what he might mean.

"Move with me in Springfield," he explains, with such a composure, a determination in his voice that leaves no doubt to the seriousness of his offer.

I don't think I spend on the idea more than an insignificant second. "How about no?" My chuckle comes out more derisive than disbelieving, though that's not my intention.

"Why not?"

"Because… because…" How do I even explain this to him, after he's the only person who stood by me in these last days? "Peter… I need to get my life back together. Alone."

I watch as he sits back, brings his thumb to his bottom lip, and it's clear that he doesn't like the sound of that word. "What do you mean with alone?" His letdown drops his voice down by a good octave.

"Only that I don't want to have to depend on you," I explain with softer phrasing.

My words make him sigh, as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. He doesn't venture to reach for my hands, but stops only a few inches away. "I don't want you to depend on me. I want you to rely on me."

"And in which way, Peter? Working for you? With Eli keeping an eagle eye on me more than he already does at a distance? Thanks, but no," I decline his offer, in the most polite, yet resolute tone.

"I don't want you to work for me. There are so many options, you would be a great prosecutor, for instance."

I chuckle, then shake my head with resignation and look away. "I don't think it would be a good idea," I persist, "plus my life is here, in Chicago, it's always been here."

Though, he has a point there… What's left for me here? I barely see my mother and Owen once a month, when they happen to remember I exist. I don't have a job or the chance of a career anymore, at least not in the nearest future. Let alone friends I can count on. The thought nearly brings me to my tears again.

This time, he reaches out to cover my hands with his. "You need a fresh start. I'm offering you a fresh start. You don't have to decide now. Grace still has one year of school, and as I said, all you need now is rest and distractions. But… please… promise me that at least you'll consider it," he almost whispers.

My eyes look straight into his, as I'm still trying to grasp the intent behind his unexpected proposal. He's alone. He feels alone. Exactly like me. And I wonder if, besides Eli, between political meetings and unavoidable social events monopolizing most of his life, he could make any friends there at all. I don't think I have even ever asked him. Actually, I don't think I ever wanted to know in the first place. But in this moment he's hanging upon words I haven't spoken yet. I heave a sigh, aware that my stance won't change anyway. And he's probably aware of it, too. "I will… I promise…"

When my front door closes between us, minutes later, I lean against it and peep around at my empty apartment. Its quietness is both enervating and comforting.