Gray Matter
by: raileht

Summary: A wife of a prominent businessman is accused of murder. For Will Gardner, it seemed easy enough. But then again, when was it ever really easy?
Disclaimer: the ones you know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T

Note: A big alternate universe where almost everything has been switched or changed. Except for the part where Will Gardner and Alicia Florrick are lawyers.

You know what Pilots are in television, right? Well, this is the pilot of this AU. I don't know if this will have a follow-up but it's been sitting in my files for a while now. Decided I might as well try and launch it here before I ultimately decide whether I throw this away or not. And yes, this means whether this goes on or not will be based entirely on feedback. And no, no beta. Expect typos...there're a lot of them, maybe.

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PART ONE:

"The Client"

"Will."

"Alicia."

Slender arms moved with precision towards slim hips in a stance that told him this was not to be a happy visit and yet he couldn't help but leer, even when he was fixed with a glare that made men quake. Make no mistake, those pretty dark eyes could stun, especially when the host is feeling quite unpleasant, but he couldn't help himslef. For him, it was a turn on.

"Tell me it isn't true."

"Depends," he smiled at her winningly, "Is what not true?"

"I've been hearing rumors," she began, trying to sound nonchalant but he could see the tension radiating from her body. "About a certain case. Oh, you know, dead husband, wife up and up as the main suspect...the usual game."

"Oh, that," he drawled out. "Yeah, it is," he answered absently as his eyes refused to stray from parts of her that he liked. He leers and she's used to it. And yes, he knows she liked it too.

"You're kidding, right?" that sarcastic smile made her all the more attractive, really.

A laugh escaped her lips, just as sarcastic as her smile. Her lips are painted in the kind of red that reminded him of a memorable bottle of Bordeaux today and he found that that it really suited her pale skin, dark hair and something that just made her Alicia. Like Snow White only with a law degree, two kids and a cherry red Jaguar she had pretended to be surprised by on her birthday.

"I'm not," he shook his head, sitting back on his favored soft brown leather chair. "I'm serious about this. Completely."

"But…it's insane," she sputtered in a way that wasn't really sputtering because she just looked adorable doing it. And no, he did not just call her adorable. Not really. Well, not that she knew right then. "She is insane…you can't take this case."

"Why not?" he grinned and really, this was his ego talking now. He wasn't sure he was going to, but he is now, just because she managed to slip a bit of doubt in that beautiful face of hers.

"She's insane, Will."

"I heard you the first time," he shrugged, "And if she is, then it's a clear win if I decide to go with an insanity plea."

"Not that kind of insane…" she rolled her eyes, stepping further into his office in long strides. Those eight-hundred dollar Louboutins were worth every penny, he decided. "She's insane, Will. You're good, but not even Cochran can save this one."

"Now that was just too easy," he smirked, "Couldn't you think of someone else? Cochran? Really?"

"If the shoe fits…" she stopped, towering over him as she stood by his coffee table. Though is it really his when he didn't even choose it? Not that he's complaining, of course.

He grinned, "I like my shoes fine, thanks. Johnnie can keep his."

"I'm talking about the female OJ you're thinking about taking in," she raised her chin in defiance. "This is a dead case. You'll waste your time."

"Innocent until proven guilty."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "What are you up to?"

"Pitching," he shrugged, "Think of it…the billable hours alone? Three million, at least and that's only the beginning."

"We don't need the money," she said, waving her hand absently, "We're doing really well this year."

"The publicity could be good."

"Or it could go bad and our clients bolt," she pointed out.

"The starting three million will make up for it," he retorted. "Why are you so against this?"

"Because she's insane," Alicia said simply, "And she'll eat you alive. I mean, god, Will. She smiled on the day he—"

"Smiled?" he pretended to furrow his brow with feigned confusion, "She smiled? I smile. A lot, actually, if you've noticed. Does that mean I'm guilty?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she gave him a look that told him to stop being a smartass, even though she'd been doing the same thing only a few sentences ago. "You know she did it, I know she did it, the police know it and, hell, the whole city knows it."

"I don't know anything, but even if she did—and this is purely theoretical," the corners of his mouth curled up in an almost sardonic grin, "How to prove it?"

"Evidence."

"If they had it," he shrugged, "And what they have? At best? A dead body, cause of death and nothing else. Not even the murder weapon." He chuckled, "She wasn't even there when it happened and yes, time stamps prove she wasn't in the house."

"You're too gleeful about this," she frowned, "A man is dead."

"A bad man is dead," he pointed out as he pointed his finger at her. He's not wrong and he doesn't mind that he's so obviously not sorry about it either.

"Doesn't make her good," she says simply, "Or make murder acceptable."

"I'm not saying it does, but whoever did it did the town a favor," he said casually. He really isn't sorry the man is dead and he can't even imagine who would be, except maybe for the leeches who were making money off him.

"Does that include you? That why you want this?"

"No," he shrugged, "I want this because…I want this. It's a case. A big one."

"You think you can get her out," realization dawned. She's always been the smarter one.

He gave the briefest of pauses, "Maybe."

"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked dubiously, crossing an arm over her stomach and he wondered if she really was concerned about him and taking this case.

"I'm defending a woman accused of killing her husband," he said carefully. He appreciated that she cared, of course he did, but he's a big boy, isn't he? "Doesn't get any straight-forward than that."

She stared at him before shaking her head, "Two days."

He smirked, "I only need one."

"Wow," she widened her eyes and looks around his office, the smartass Alicia back and the concerned one gone yet again. "I think your office just got smaller…wait, that's your ego."

He beamed childishly at her, "I'm larger than life, baby."

She rolled her eyes, but that didn't stop her from saying, "Dinner tonight?"

"I'll be there," he smiles angelically.

She shook her head at him again because they both know all too well he is anything but angelic, "You're lucky you own the firm…the partners would kick you out."

"Not for the billable hours I'll be bringing in," he gloated, "As long as I bring in the money, they'll be singing me praises."

"Stern brought in the money," she pointed out, "Didn't stop him from getting his name dropped off the letterhead."

"They kicked out Stern because he was a liability and he was already pulling out," Will said, "But who knows? They might wanna do the same to me. You never know."

It was her turn to smirk, "Not while I'm around."

"Oh, I feel protected," he placed a hand over his own heart.

"Don't," she turned her back on him and waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder, "I can still kick you out. And don't think I won't…taking this case is absurd in itself. Not to mention a waste of time."

"She'll pay, we both know that."

"Like that's what matters here," she snorted, stopping at the doors and turned to face him, cocky grin in place.

"I'll win this."

She gave him a sardonic smile, "I'll believe it when I see it."

He watched her go and eyed her until she's no longer in his line of vision, sauntering away from him saucily as she basically strutted her way across the space between his office and hers, passing their assistants and a few people as she went. Damn woman, was all he could think for a moment as he watched her go.

Associates of Cavanaugh/Gardner nearly cross her path but they either jump out of the way or simply go the opposite direction when they spot her. He had to smile at that. She's not mean or anything, they just know not to test boundaries with the female partner of the firm whenever she starts walking away from his office like that. They know it meant that whatever discussion may have taken place, it couldn't have been entirely pleasant. Alicia on a warpath was never a good thing to thoughtlessly get into with.

Will wondered if he should be concerned that they seem to fear her more than him, but he doesn't particularly mind, at least, not seriously.

God knows he knew firsthand just how terrifying she could be when she chose to be, not that he would admit that to anyone. Man's gotta have his pride, after all.

Smiling more to himself, he grabbed his favorite old lucky baseball tossed it once into the air before catching it with an experienced hand then chuckled, as if the perfect catch confirmed his prediction concerning his new case. He's not overtly superstitious but in all his years, both in his career and personal life, never had the ball failed him. Call it coincidence or luck, he'll believe what he believes.

He had tossed it in the air back in Georgetown, while deciding if he should ask Alicia Cavanaugh out. It had resulted in a personal dare: catch the ball perfectly seventeen times, ask her out. Fail, give up and move on. There were other girls out there and he would try and forget the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty with the wicked grin to match.

But then it happened.

The moment the then new-leather landed in his hand with a satisfying slap for the seventeenth time, he'd sprinted down to the phone down the hall from his room, dodging a couple of first-years aside and dialed her sorority house. Five rings, two giggling 'sisters' and seven agonizing minutes later—as well as a few other admittedly awkward word-finding and a bit of stuttering—Will found himself silently jumping up and down on the other end as Alicia Cavanaugh confirmed that yes, she would love to go out with him.

Life was good and he was more than sure, despite his partner's less than stellar faith in this particular case, he could bag this one easily.

Tossing the ball upwards once more before depositing it next to a picture frame, he grinned at the photo before grabbing his things. Two dark eyed boys were smiling happily at him from the photo and he made a note to set his phone on alarm to make sure he wouldn't be coming home late. He had promised those two dark-eyed monsters he would come home for dinner that night and maybe play Angry Birds before bed.

But life was about to get better because this new case was going to be incredible, he just knew it. Will was going to show his wife so maybe next time, she'll be a little less hesitant in questioning his abilities and motives.

Will Gardner tossed the ball high up in the air again, catching it with his left hand flawlessly then smiled even wider.

Yes, this was a victory he was going to savor.

On his way in, he was met with a familiar face and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Hell, no.

Familiar, but not necessarily welcomed.

Gripping the handle of his briefcase just a little bit tighter and clenching his jaw as subtly as he can without actually damaging his teeth—they're real and not caps, he'd like to keep them that way—he managed to appear completely composed and continued walking. As if he hadn't noticed him first, as if he wasn't bothered.

The figure approached closer he realized then that the other man was too preoccupied with the screen of his phone to notice his presence in the elegantly decorated hallway of the most expensive and exclusive hotel in the city.

Will straightened his back and shook his free arm a little to make sure there were no creases in his suit. He's known for his impeccable appearance, he wouldn't be caught dead being less than that in the presence of this man.

After all, he'd made it through two separate toddler years playing Daddy without coming to work or to court without a single baby related stain on his shirt. That was an achievement he was proud of and set his bar up that high when it came to presentation. He had helped burp and feed his boys in the mornings—that ought to count for something.

Without thinking, his steps became lighter and his shoulders loosened. It was his body's way of appearing nonchalant and relaxed and he needn't even prompt it. He'd been so sure he was bagging this one, what the hell was he doing here? He grit his teeth, caps be damned. Some things just could not be helped.

Besides, if Will's been beat, he won't come down easy or even show he'd been beaten. No way. That wasn't even in his repertoire.

For a moment, he thinks they'll pass each other without fuss, but of course, the other man looked up just in time for them to meet in the middle. His steps falter but only for a moment then he stares and Will can see the instant hardening in the other man's dark eyes. So, he stopped, as was expected and gave the man the slightest of nods.

Will's eyes darkened just the same though he tried not to harden them too much. He liked to appear relaxed, unbothered, be the epitome of cool if possible. But it's harder, especially with this particular rival because as far back as he can remember, they've never quite been anywhere near friendly. Civil, yes, but never friendly and they've known each other since law school, though somehow they just never clicked.

Pissing contests and veiled jabs were as far as they were ever able to go together. He's not sure why but he's long chalked it up to the man having that particular talent of just bringing out the worst in him. So he returns the favor, each and every time because he's that kind of guy.

"Will."

"Peter."

"You coming in for…"

Will waited for the gloating to begin. He'd missed his chance and the client's already hired this circus performer. Peter Florrick was the everyday garden-variety grandstanding fucker Will had always known him to be. He shouldn't have been surprised he'd had this one in his radar the moment it had begun. He wouldn't even stop short of imagining he'd taken up residence in the same hotel the moment he knew the widow was there, just to make sure he got the first ticket in.

Bastard though he could admit he'd thought about doing the same thing and backed off because, really, he wasn't desperate, for god's sake.

Though he can't help but feel just a little bit resentful. This was supposed to be his and he wondered if he'd been crazy to think there should have been a grace period for such circumstances. Damn, he thought bitterly, he must be losing his touch.

Fuck.

Unacceptable.

He shifts his briefcase in his hand—ever nonchalant, ever cool, "Meeting."

"Oh…?" and he knew that actually was who the fuck do you think you're kidding?

Will shrugged—as long as Peter doesn't go out and say the exact words playing in his head, why should he give a rat's ass what's in there? He'd never understood why the other man always felt compelled to screw with him, but he can't find it in himself to care either.

"Yeah, work and all, you know how it is."

"Fine," Peter nodded, "Good. But since you have a meeting, I can tell you this…she's seen Nyholm and Crozier."

They don't need a banner to clear up just who the she in this particular conversation was but this intrigued Will anyway. Was he actually offering information? He's immediately wary. What world did he just step into? Peter fucking Florrick never talked business with him unless it was to shove something in his face. What alternate universe did he just step into?

A flash of Harry Potter comes to mind but he shoved that away—bedtime would do this, even to the most hardened lawyers. That and persuasive little boys.

He can't help the smirk on his face, "She's using Nyholm and Crozier?"

An arrogant smile passes along Peter's GQ-worthy features as he rolled his eyes slightly, "Yeah, right. You think she'd want Baby-Maker and Career Girl Barbie for her defense? Not a chance."

"Ah," he nods, "Going with you then…?"

Peter looks almost as if he's about to say yes, but he shakes his head at the last second, "Nah. She thinks I smile too much…and she knew my father."

"Who didn't?" he quipped and they shared a grin. For a moment, it was almost as if they liked each other. God forbid. Forget Harry Potter, this was the fucking Twilight Zone. Nothing wrong with the classics if they applied, after all.

"She thought he was a bastard," he shrugs, "Guess they met…wouldn't even let me sweet talk her. Complete Ice Queen...she's cold enough to make you lose a finger to frost bite."

Will nodded and simply took this as Peter's way of saying she wasa complete and utter bitch but they're both too good at what they do to resort to that kind of blatant stupidity—still, Will knows a pissed off reject when he sees one and Peter Florrick is every bit that from his stiff posture and twitching hand that might want to punch something badly.

For a moment, he wondered what exactly the woman had said to set the unflappable machete-wielding Peter Florrick into such a silent frenzy.

"So you're really going in?" Peter asks after a moment, smirking.

"Yeah," he nodded since there really is no use for lying at that point, "Might as well try."

"Beat you here," Peter smirked and he knows he's just salvaging whatever empty victory he can get now, "Losing your touch, Gardner."

"Yeah, keep dreaming, Florrick."

If Peter Florrick's gotten himself into a tizzle with this particular money-bag, then he's pretty sure this just got sweeter. He's more determined to get this one now—nothing like handing Peter his own ass in primetime because he was sure this was where this case was going.

"Wear earmuffs," the taller man muttered before sauntering away, head held high and that usual air of importance trailing after him and that cologne he wears that just reeks expensive as hell in his wake. Automatically the word schmuck echoes in his mind as Will smirked to himself.

First his wife then Peter Florrick—his reasons for winning were just climbing by the minute.

And damn it, he was going to win even if it killed him.

The room cost more than a months' salary.

And while he's no stranger to living in extravagance, he wondered belatedly if perhaps the choice to be in this particular room in this particular hotel was more due to the fact she was sticking it to her recently deceased husband rather than the actual desire to be there. He's met her before, even spoken with her, and she always struck him as sensible and engaging.

In fact, she was one of the few people he had interacted with in their social circles that he would have almost labeled as 'sane'—discounting the fact that she was married to one of the most unbelievable bastards Will Gardner had ever met before. And he was a lawyer, for god's sake. They weren't exactly short of bastards of any and all variety in their profession.

The dead man took the cake though, as far as Will knew. Good riddance.

He doesn't easily reach the door—there's a couple of large men standing and vetting everyone who comes through the single hallway leading to the doors—but he managed to get through nonetheless. He was not sure if these men are loyal to her or if they'd been hired recently, but he doesn't really care. He's come for business and they know that.

If he was aiming to kill their employer then he wouldn't really come through the front, right?

For a moment, he wondered why having bouncers at her door was even her idea. He couldn't quite imagine, but then again, her husband did just get his brains blown out in their Highland Park home. People think she did it, but some also think she didn't and therefore, being the widow, some think she could be next. Protection was necessary, right?

Not that he can say for sure. He really didn't know her.

Then again, with her last name, her dead husband's interesting history and business ventures as well as her own history, when was protection not a concern? A gilded cage flashed in his mind but he stored that away and mentally straightened himself up, prepping for what he sure was going to be an eventful first business meet.

Will identified himself, gets confirmed and is allowed into the main foyer of the massive top-floor suite. Everything bled of taste, extravagance, elegance and just money. He was impressed as well as he should be as he was led to a small dining area of the room.

Briefly he wondered just how many, beyond Peter and the two lawyers he'd mentioned, had caught the wind and sat there before him. He really thought he'd gotten in first. Damn. So much for being decent—he silently blamed his wife for that—for making him keep a conscience he knows he shouldn't have in his profession. She had that way about her that just made him decent, made him stay human. Sometimes it was annoying though he loved her to death, truly.

"She'll be right with you."

He looked up, nodding at the woman who had spoken—most likely the assistant of sorts—and straightened his spine as if someone had shoved a steel bar within it to keep it in place. All those years being told to sit up by his mother was paying off, that much was obvious.

He contemplated that, distracting himself with lessons learned from his boyhood, though he wasn't left waiting long. She wasn't announced, there was no drama, no fanfare or anything. She simply walked in but he noticed her right away nevertheless.

She was dressed in a black cashmere turtleneck, black slacks and a pair of sleek boots, the whole outfit most likely costing more than his—coat, socks and shoes included. If she was trying to appear as the appropriate widow then the look was perfect without seeming overdone.

Her blonde hair was smooth and golden against the light, neat with not a hair out of place, cut just below her chin. It's an effortless look though he knows women enough to know that it was likely that look had been studied and decided to look as it did. Her lips were shaded in a pale pink for a more natural look, an altogether different shade to the red he was so accustomed to seeing her in during the few times they'd met. Her cheeks have a slight pink applied on her high cheekbones, enough to make her appear healthy as while maintaining the effortlessness she exuded.

She's playing a widow, but not necessarily a mourning one.

He's well aware she is older than him, but he doesn't fail to notice that she certainly is beautiful and he's heard of the stories in the town. She was born from a powerful family, achieved her own version of success though she never did quite have a job of her own. She met her husband young and married him, thinking along with everyone else he was Prince Charming and for a while, they were the toast of the town until things changed.

But that was the barest basics of the whole affair, barely scratching the surface that had been buried by one event after another. There was more, so much more.

Not that it mattered, not at the moment.

He stood, because he's a gentleman, because his mother taught him manners as well as a slew of other elders and teachers and because this woman could just be his next client. He bullshits with the best of them for a reason.

"Mr. Gardner."

Her voice is smooth as silk and almost warm though he could also detect the frost laced into her words. She knows what he does, knows what lawyers are and what they do and she most likely has an opinion of them he'd rather not hear. So he simply follows when she motioned for him to sit, watching her as she folds herself elegantly into an antique chair with champagne-gold tones and he can't help but notice a woman of her grace and stature fit perfectly in that seat, as if it had been made for her.

Will wondered for a moment if anyone ever thought that an accused murderer would ever occupy that particular piece of art disguised as furniture. Not just any murderer, an accused cold-hearted murdering woman who shot her husband point-blank on the head, face to face.

"Mrs. Osmond—"

She raised a hand almost daintily, "Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we?"

"Of course," he nodded, his face a mask of understanding.

"And please…I reverted to my maiden name," she said, almost an afterthought and he's smart enough not to comment on the fact that her husband hadn't even been buried yet and she's already shaken him off quite obviously from her life. He's not even sure if the autopsy has been finished and closed at this point, considering the attention this murder was getting.

He tried to imagine her coming into the large bedroom she shared with her husband of twenty-six years, dressed in lighter colored clothes, raising that .45 caliber pistol and shooting him dead right on the spot. He had read the reports and it had been determined he was standing up, facing his shooter when he'd been killed. There were no defensive wounds, nothing suggesting he had tried to fend off his killer which, according to theory, could mean he had no idea he was about to die.

That he had known his killer, trusted them enough to get that close and shoot him with no preamble.

So of course, that left a few people—her husband was a bastard, but he was smart and he trusted only a select number in his life—and even fewer that he would let into the bedroom he shared with his wife. Naturally, apart from being an instant suspect just for being married to him, that further helped keep his widow stuck in the top spot.

Will tried to imagine her standing in front of the man, raising a silenced gun and firing a straight shot into the middle of his forehead, keeping it intact while leaving the back of his head with a hole that was not supposed to be there, sending a messy splatter of blood, brain matter and bone into the pristine walls of their bedroom.

He couldn't.

And he wasn't entirely sure and maybe that was why he was so intent on getting this particular case, of defending this woman when she really doesn't need him. He was sure she had an army of lawyers already on retainer through her husband and their life. She didn't need him or Peter, but they would come and try anyway. Why she entertained them, he wasn't sure, but he was taking the chance while he was there.

It's not really about the money, despite what people would say and are most likely saying. They know Will Gardner, know his game and normally, that would be close to the truth, but on this one? This was different. Hell, it's not even the publicity.

He just can't see it.

Can't see her aiming the gun, can't see her walking into their bedroom and killing him. Surely there were other options? A divorce would merit some ugliness, but she was well-off enough to survive it relatively intact. And if she aimed to kill him, there had to be other ways too, like hiring someone else, doing it differently, doing it in a way that would make sure she wasn't going to end up where she was now.

But most of all, Will just could not see her aiming a gun at him and killing him. Call it a gut feeling, instinct or just plain naiveté, he couldn't see her doing it.

And the heavy hitters of the prosecution were already out for blood with Wendy Scott-Carr heading the investigation and reportedly being backed heavily by the State's Attorney, the equally-blood thirsty Victoria Adler. The two-women team of bitches that Will knew unfortunately well were already making noise and had started not even 24-hours after the death. They wanted this case, wanted to make an example to prove to the people that not even money can save the guilty—which was utter bullshit, of course.

"I met with Miss Nyholm and Miss Crozier," she began after a moment, taking him out of his thoughts and he caught her just as she was leaning back in her seat and he could swear she was relaxing a little. He wondered if it was his presence or maybe because she might recognize him from the few times they've encountered each other at parties on the town.

Or maybe she's just screwing with him. Or she's tired.

"I barely let them through the door and your…friend," a smirk ghosted over her patrician features and that told him enough that even she has heard of his long standing pissing-contest with Peter Florrick. "I'd just sent on his way…now, I know you, Mr. Gardner, but I have to admit…I see no reason why you should be here when I've turned those people down and as well as a few others from last night."

"Last night," he can't help but echo, unable to stop his eyebrows from lifting.

She smiled serenely but in the eeriest manner, the fascination he felt at seeing such an expression on her face was almost morbid, "Some of your…colleagues aren't as shy about seeming opportunistic as you are, it seems, Mr. Gardner."

"I feel I should apologize," he said, carefully. The wrong move could have him picking up his ass off the pavement in mere seconds and he didn't want that, not while they're in the top floor of a very tall building. And those goons were right outside the doors.

"Whatever for? It wasn't your firm," she smiled sardonically this time and it's vicious, "Then again, is there proper etiquette for such situations? I am, after all, a wealthy woman with or without my husband's…assets. I'd make a very good client." A shoulder shrugged almost indifferently, "Not to mention headlines…publicity, exposure."

He leans back and smiles at her winningly. He's not about to feign being comforting when she so obviously doesn't quite need or want it, "I'm different."

"Oh?" and it's almost the same oh as Peter's from earlier.

"Mhm," he nodded, adjusting the lapel of his suit then smoothed down his front, tapping down non-existent creases as he went.

"Care to elaborate?" the quirking of the corners of her lips was enough to tell him she was amused and would like to be further amused and that's the only reason why she hasn't had him hauled out of her suite ass-first yet.

Basically, he's Scheherazade in this scenario and she's just waiting until it's time for dawn and have him beheaded.

"It's really simple," he went on, "Nothing earth-shattering, nothing outstanding."

"Would you like to share with the class?" she's smiling now though a little differently. This time, she appears less vicious and more and more amused as she tilts her head to the side and her hair moves, the soft golden locks falling smoothly though it does not diminish her beauty in any way.

Had this been another life, he thought he could have been friends with her, maybe. And in this life, had they traveled the same circles or at least accumulated the same range of zeroes in terms of the assets they had in the bank, they might have been more than just passing acquaintances in one charity dinner after another.

The few times they had spoken had produced some rather amusing and, dare he say, lively conversations and he knew for a fact she was incredibly intelligent with a lot to say and share with anyone she deigned worthy to have a conversation with that didn't last less than five minutes over hors d'oeuvres. That and he could vividly remember she actually said something about sports that didn't sound stupid or just girly, meaning she knew what the hell she was talking about when she contrasted Mickey Mantle and Babe Ruth.

"Sure," he smiled winningly, "I'm different because…"

He paused—he does have a bit of a flair for the dramatics, what good goddamned lawyer worth his salt didn't?

An eyebrow arched a little, a silent prompt from her to go on.

He makes sure the breath he takes in wasn't done visibly before he nonchalantly declared, "I don't think you did it."

There. Right there.

A spark lit her eyes and her lips parted a little in a smile and slowly, she bared her teeth in a grin that almost seemed playful. He was almost ready to chuckle but decided not to as he sat back, nodding slightly as if that would convince her. Internally, he reminded himself to be cool much the same way he did on his first date with his wife, all those years ago.

But more importantly, he maintained eye contact with her, his eyes darkening a little as he held her gaze, dark brown meeting an attractive grayish-blue. She's no open book, but he can see the wheels turning in that head of hers and he's willing to entertain the idea he might have a chance of pulling this off after all.

"You're not lying," she said simply after a moment, after watching him in what had to be the most unnerving minute of his professional life.

It was a toss between her being able to read minds or read people really well, either way, he doesn't care. He believes what he believes and if she believed him, then good.

"Why lie?" he quips, "The truth is right there."

"You don't think I did it," she echoed in that voice of hers, "You don't think I killed my husband."

"No, I do not."

A twitch in one corner of her lips and that was all he needed.

Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands meeting each other in the middle as he prepared himself. He's trying to appear as casual as possible, in hopes to get her even more comfortable. She doesn't move though her eyes never leave his as if locked in a silent communication where he's still learning how to decipher just what she's saying without words.

She was letting him stay and that made all the difference to him because the possibilities of them having a lengthy conversation just climbed. He wondered if Peter even got this close, or even Patti Nyholm or Nancy Crozier.

"So…" he began after a moment.

"So," she grinned, playful once again—definitely not the mourning wife.

"What do you say?" he asked with a smile, "Am I in or out, Miss Lockhart?"

I never said anything about anyone else being a lawyer, except for Alicia and Will.