Apple Pie and Crack Pipes
by raile

Summary: She is the modern Apple Pie after all, or was it Betty Crocker?
Disclaimer: the ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T, to be safe

Note: Not my ship so don't expect much. Also, don't ask me where this came from. I don't know.

People seem to think it should be glamorous being her.

And they also tended to think that being glamorous also meant being happy and that it meant she was leading quite the exciting life. It could look that way to those outside and she was sure if she'd been on that side, she might think the same too if it had been someone else.

But from where she was, stuck in her glamorous little corner on the other side, well, on this particular night, it was hard to see what was so exciting about it.

Sure, she had the dress and she was made up, but she was also tired. Running a law firm, it turned out, was certainly a lot harder than she had imagined. She wasn't naïve, after all, and she had known it would take work but she was only now realizing just how much it would take.

And how much hatred and loathing it would garner among people she used to consider her colleagues. Apparently, being the boss guaranteed her the title of Head Bitch in Charge.

It used to bother her, but not anymore. By now, while she may not be a pro at it yet, she was getting pretty good at taking it all in stride.

Who knew having your husband get caught with his pants down sleeping with prostitutes and having your whole life being broadcasted by every single news station in the country and some parts of the world would make good training ground for a future name partner of a law firm?

Not that she would recommend this route to anyone else, but she wouldn't deny it wasn't true either. In retrospect, there were a lot of things that came out of that particularly painful time in their lives that lead to some of the best lessons and moments she's learned in her life. In fact, without it, she was sure she wouldn't be the way she was now and despite the hate, the tiredness, the endless battles and everything else in between? She still preferred herself the way she was now.

But that's not the main point.

Actually, she really cannot remember her point because at the moment, she was bored—

There it was.

Yes, now she remembered. Her glamorous, exciting life.

Dressed in a gown by an American designer as per Eli Gold's strategy—she is the modern Apple Pie after all, or was it Betty Crocker?—because the voters like it when you go American with all the reds, whites and blues. She was also made up with her raven hair up and her lips painted a very daring rouge that contrasted nicely with her pale skin and the wine red gown she wore. Or so says the stylist she worked with earlier that night—so it isn't hard to see why people seem to think Alicia Florrick was leading such a life.

She was sorely tempted to finish her glass of wine—a red something she couldn't even determine at the moment—and ask for another. But again, as per Eli's instructions, she can't take too much hit off the crack pipe at such events, not unless she wanted to be labeled as the other iconic Betty.

As in Ford—Betty Ford.

Sit back and try to imagine the look on Eli's face when she mentioned the whole crack pipe crack. In her humble opinion, you haven't lived until you've seen the man's face turn into that distinct shade of puce.

Quite the elusive color but once you go from being accused of being an alcoholic to asking if you can go for the drug addict route instead, it won't be so hard to get a personal demonstration from the man himself how to turn your cheeks into that obscure color.

Welcome to her exciting life where her main source of entertainment is nearly giving Eli Gold a coronary. It's fun but she won't deny it gets old sometimes. It seems now that she's the First Lady of Illinois, scaring Eli Gold into an aneurysm seemed to be getting less and less challenging. And that just takes the fun out of everything.

But tonight Eli wasn't around. Or at least, he wasn't in the vicinity.

Alicia then decided he was a bastard and proceeded to finish her glass, swallowing easily and setting the wine goblet back. And silently, she damned her husband for the night she was having.

She had agreed to accompany him to this godforsaken event. Alicia wasn't even sure what this was entirely about and that was a bad sign already. She usually had a better handle on things but at the moment, all she could decipher was that it was something for charity. But then, these days, when wasn't it about charity?

Alicia straightened her back, sitting more properly in the all too deceiving chair draped in white. From afar, it might look soft and comfortable due to the drapery, but get your butt on it and god, it was the most pain in the ass painful chair she'd ever sat in. And this is coming from a woman who processed hours and hours worth of recordings of tapped phones in a small, hot, cramped box with her butt planted on the ground.

She smiled a little, those were the days.

Alicia felt a hand brush the one bare shoulder her dress allowed and she moved slightly, turning towards her husband. He didn't look at her, but she could see the slight curling of the corner of his lips, his eyes on the pompous blowhard speaking at the pulpit, looking like the dashing governor he was in his tuxedo.

Alicia then tore the title away from Eli Gold and tossed it onto her husband, narrowing her eyes at him slightly. Bastard.

She knew that look, knew that even while he was keeping up a good show with his attention being on the speaker, he was just as bored out of his mind as she was. Alicia was sure she was just more bitter about it though. He'd had some idea of how decidedly deadening this portion of the night was going to be while she had been left in the dark.

Come with me, he said, let's have a night out, get a room and some quality time. You need it after the last few months. You're tired. You need a night out.

And she had agreed because he had been right. She needed the night off after working cases back to back, playing boss bitch and trying to make sure they don't get any more chunks taken out of them courtesy of Lockhart/Gardner—the current bane of her existence, though she kept this particular fact between herself and Cary Agos.

They'd known their departure and coup wouldn't go unnoticed and it wouldn't be easy, but they hadn't been thoroughly prepared for the onslaught of the campaign that was being led by Will Gardner and Kalinda Sharma. And while Alicia knew she was keeping up a good appearance, she had a feeling Diane Lockhart had a hand in it too. She was still Peter's candidate and often enough when their paths crossed, the older woman always had a smile for her.

But Alicia knew better.

Diane was still Diane Lockhart and she was still the woman who had stood with Will Gardner at the head of the table. Alicia wouldn't even bother trying to prove her participation in the string of successes in Will and Kalinda's expeditions, but she knew.

And though she honestly truly wished the woman well and hoped she would win the seat, a part of Alicia wished for her victory more for the fact that she did not want to have her back on the field. If Diane lost the election, that would mean her full return to the firm. Alicia didn't doubt for one second Will would take her back and she knew that would only mean an even bigger problem.

Will and Kalinda were bad enough, add Diane back into the fray and Alicia was sure she was never going to see a night like this or anything better again for a long time.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say and while Alicia hadn't outright scorned both women to such a degree, she knew they were tied enough with Will to feel scorn on his behalf.

Shaking her head slightly, Alicia turned to her husband again. He had no idea what was going on in her head, but she knew he felt his eyes on her. The corner of his lips had curled up even more and his eyes were just dancing. Oh, well, she thought, he did promise her a good night.

And she decided to have it.

It was true Alicia Florrick could not make the problems in her firm go away, could not stop Will and Kalinda's acts of retribution, nor could she prove Diane Lockhart was out to get her. She couldn't do magic, didn't have a genie to fulfill her every wish and she couldn't turn the hands of time.

But she did have her husband. And this exciting life.

And he looked quite dashing in that suit.

But he was a bastard, a grinning bastard and she had him right next to her, in front of all the people in the banquet for a good cause. Her decision wasn't a hard one but she was sure something else was going to be hard if she played her cards right.

And so slowly, she reached over and pressed her right hand down on his thigh, right through the luxurious material of his designer black suit. She kept one elbow on the table and vanquished the boredom from her dark eyes made darker by the smoky eyeshadow, resting her chin delicately on her fingers and made a show of just how fascinated she was with the speaker.

Curling her fingers and her nails into flesh, she began to knead on the part she'd had her hand clamped over like a cat, flexing and unflexing into his thigh.

"Are you alright, Governor?" she heard someone whisper right after she felt him shift somewhere behind her, nudging the table by accident which he tried and failed to cover up by clearing his throat.

This time, it was her lips that had the corners curling.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said just as she turned, keeping an all too innocent look on her face.

"Peter?" her eyes were unusually widened and she furrowed her brow slightly for effect, "Are you okay?"

"I'm alright," he said to her, raising an eyebrow at her and gave her sly grin.

She smirked, her lips curling even more as she took the message for what it was—he liked it.

He moved his hand from the table—the same one he had touched her with—and moved it back to the back of her chair but not before letting his fingers trail over the bare skin that had been tastefully left exposed along her back. She closed her eyes as they rolled to the back of her head, tilting her head slightly and turned her face away from him and back towards the front of the room.

Someone was kind enough to refill her glass and she was sure she had her dear husband to thank for that and decided both of them were damning Eli Gold's voice from their minds. She smiled in thanks and turned towards her husband once more, reaching for her glass and tracing the rim with the tip of her finger and gave him a dark smile before bringing the goblet to her lips.

The smear of her lipstick on the glass left its generous red mark as she tipped it towards her lips gracefully, keeping her eyes on him as her hand below the table began to move. Gently, but with a firm grasp, her skin slid easily against the fabric of his pants, higher and higher up, warm and insistent under the table.

She would have gone on had his other hand not gotten to her. The free one that wasn't resting against the back of her chair moved subtly under the table, grabbing her hand and laced their fingers together, trapping her smaller hand in his, his palm warm against hers.

He moved their hands back over his lap, well away from where she had left herself to wander and laid them at a safe distance closer to his knee. She didn't turn to face him, not even when he squeezed her hand gently and instead, shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other elegantly, making sure to choose the leg that was right next to him where the slit had been conveniently placed.

She flashed him a generous amount of leg and hid her victory in a secret smile as his hand grew warmer and she felt him squeeze her fingers a little tighter. She gave him the back of her head and the side of her leg, letting him take it all in and decided the night was indeed hers.

When the speech was over, Alicia untangled her fingers from her husband's, turning to face him with a smile as the crowd around them began to buzz once more. Music then began to play throughout the ballroom and around them, people began to rise.

She leaned close to her husband, her lips right next to his ear and her hand resting on his leg once more, "Would you like to dance?"

"No," she heard him mutter and felt him grab her wrist and place it unceremoniously higher up, taking her by surprise with his boldness.

Her delicate hand landed somewhere hard and pressing under the table, up in full salute and full explaining why a dance was out of the question.

"Oh!" her eyebrows shot up and her eyes were filled with mirth, "My, my, my, Mr. Governor, what do we have here?"

Peter removed her hand promptly, giving her a dark smile, "Something I think you're quite familiar with, I think, Mrs. Florrick."

Alicia leaned forward, decidedly bolder and definitely no longer wallowing in her boredom, pressed a hand on her husband's chest as she moved her lips close to his ear once more, "What's on your mind, Peter?"

"I think you know."

She let out a mischievously smile and proceeded to breathe against the shell of his ear, "Talk to me."

"That dress," he said, his already low voice and becoming deeper, heavier. "Your lips. Those hands…the backseat of that goddamned limo."

"So many things," she chuckled lightly, pulling back and took her goblet once more, "Aren't you a busy boy."

"You have no idea," she loved it best when his eyes became dark and dangerous. Some people would take that with fear, she took that for what it was when they were on her—arousal.

"I think I do," she smirked, taking a long sip and proceeded to grab his discarded napkin off the table and threw it over his lap. She gave him a wicked smile before turning towards the crowd once more, watching as the dance floor began to fill and leaned back.

She didn't have to ask as he cradled her body against his, shifting in his seat and draped his arm over her shoulder and down her front. He pressed his lips against her hair, careful not to dislodge it from it's intricate coif and breathed in her scent.

"You're wearing the perfume I gave you," he said quietly, "Before we got married."

She could feel his rapid heartbeat, brought on by her little game no doubt, against her back, "Yes, I am."

"I thought you finished that bottle already."

Alicia smiled, "It's called shopping, Peter, you should try it sometimes."

"You found a bottle? Here?"

They'd found that bottle together in a short trip to Europe—a gift from her mother and whoever had been her husband at the time.

She nodded, "Yes. I saw it, couldn't help myself. Do you still like it?"

"Yes," he finished with a hiss, chuckling lightly, "I liked the way it smelled, but it was only beautiful on your skin…remember that night in we spent in Mexico?"

"How could I forget?" she smiled, "We fought like maniacs and then we sat there and cried like two idiots…kept the place from closing and they almost had to beat us out of there."

"God, we were so young…" he chuckled warmly against her, his chest rumbling against her back, his arm tightening around her slightly.

"Yes, we were," she nodded, "Can't say I'd go back though."

"Really?"

"We didn't have the kids yet and we were, well, young," she breathed, closing her eyes as the music played around them, "We fought a lot for a while and we were a little volatile."

"You were volatile," he laughed, "You threw your bag at me."

"I did not," she rolled her eyes, "I was gesturing, it flew."

"Right at my head?"

"Yes," she smirked, "Sometimes you get lucky."

"Interesting choice of words," he hummed, "This little tease tonight…payback?"

"You started it."

"Did not."

"Did too, Peter," she pinched him on the leg slightly, feeling him squirm underneath her with a rumble of a laugh, "Admit it."

He shrugged, "Wear a dress like that, you should have expected I'd be touching you."

"Blame Eli," she quipped. "His fault."

"Eli decides what you wear now?"

"I think so," she sighed.

"I think we're going to need to have a talk about boundaries…"

"Yes, do that," she smiled, turning around to face him, "But I have something better in mind."

Peter smiled, "And what would that be?"

"That backseat you mentioned..." her eyes fluttered, dark lashes whispering against her cheek.

His eyebrows shot up, "Really?"

"I'm game if you are," she smirked, "Governor."

"Don't start something you can't finish, Alicia."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"This isn't just some ploy to get out of here?"

She shrugged one bare shoulder, "It is. Do you object?"

"Yes, if I'm being played!"

Alicia laughed, moving closer towards her husband until she was practically in his lap in the middle of a ballroom full of people and possibly camera phones. She pressed her hands on his shoulders and her cheek against his. She breathed against his ear and felt the inevitable shudder that rippled through his system.

She waited until his body calmed before whispering lowly against his ear, "Get me a good bottle of red and I promise I'll be generous."

No one needed to explain what she meant there. Her dark eyes were darkening by the millisecond and she was decidedly getting bolder and bolder. A dead man would know what her generosity implied.

"You promise," his hands circled her waist.

Alicia smiled, "You have my word, Mr. Florrick."

"A good hit off the crack pipe?"

Clearly he'd heard of her little bit with Eli. She laughed, nodding.

"A very good hit," she purred with a wicked smile, "A very good promise."

Peter groaned audibly before suddenly standing up, pulling her up with him, "Then come on."

It took work to maintain her grace to stay as Apple Pie as ever and avoid being Betty Ford as she stumbled slightly due to the suddenness, "Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

"There's an emergency," he grunted, "Something from home!"

Alicia Florrick couldn't resist laughing then as her husband all but pulled her through the grand ballroom. Her dress trailed after her, her hand clasped in his and she was sure if he pulled at her even more, then her hair was definitely not going to survive the night.

Not that she cared.

People seemed to think she lived a glamorous and exciting life. Alicia wasn't so sure. She knew the definition of glamorous, what it meant to have an exciting life. She didn't think she rated in that department. More people led more interesting lives than she did and she was sure with a lesser set of problems to work around, but she wouldn't trade any of it.

After all, if glamour and excitement meant having a husband—the same one who'd been caught with his pants down and led to the events that turned her into the head boss bitch she has become—who truly adored her and would gladly trade a ballroom full of blowhards for a promise from her, then she was pretty glad of whatever end of the deal she got. If this was glamour and excitement, she had it in spades.

She would take the occasional boredom and Eli Gold, even when it made her call her husband a bastard. It seemed a fair enough deal for her, at least. He wasn't entirely bad, after all, at least, not that night. He was getting her a good bottle of something delicious and they were sneaking out like a couple of kids escaping curfew and it was good to laugh again. That, and Alicia was feeling decidedly generous that night.

Everything else could wait—tomorrow will come as it always will.

And whether or not she was still glamorous or feeling exciting, she would enjoy tonight and whatever else it may bring.

Tonight, she was going to be Alicia and her husband was simply going to be Peter—in a backseat together.

And that was enough.