#flaurel fic

YES YOU WOULD!!!!!!

Someoneeeeeeeee get a fic going! I know I’ve asked for recommendations 387 times and I never end up getting to read, but guys!!!! Guyssssss!!!!!!

Indeed, the door was open, offering no resistance when Frank pushed it, stumbling inside. The gust of cold air announced how late it was. Laurel jumped up from the loveseat, crossing her arms around her stomach. The first things to fall were old magazines from the top of the table as his hands slid through it, the surface too slippery for him to be able to grab on anything. Then a chair tumbled as he tried to prop himself up; the noise of the metal scratching the bare floor gave Laurel goosebumps. He sat on the ground, resting his arms and face on the legs of the chair. Inside, Laurel calmly walked towards him, then she noticed Lorraine outside, also walking in his direction, both women meeting face to face as he lay in the middle.

To Laurel’s surprise, she could actually see embarrassment, but not in Frank’s eyes. Lorraine’s look was enough to stop her from wanting to engage in any sort of confrontation. Instead, she kneeled and signaled to Lorraine for help with getting him up, each woman wrapping one of his arms on their shoulders, dividing the weight equally. They slowly laid him down on the bed.

- Help me roll him on his side, please.

Lorraine obeyed.

Laurel left the room to get water and advil. Lorraine watched as she forced Frank to swallow the medicine and made him drink the whole glass. Then, she finished peeling off the bandage on his hand--it had started to peel off probably a result from him falling down--and went on to check the others: knees, arm, legs.

- He got into a fight at the bar a couple of days ago. Cracked open a beer bottle. That’s how he hurt his hand.

Laurel just shook her head, complete disapproval in her eyes. Lorraine continued as Laurel taped up the new bandage.

- I’m guessing the knees must have been trying to get firewood….drunk. I remember him pulling out splinters with a fishing plier.

Laurel nodded.

- Pass me the antiseptic, please. - She asked.

Lorraine handed her the bottle, kept staring at Laurel as she spread it on Frank’s knees as he involuntarily flinched and mumbled something. Lorraine stayed another minute, waiting from any interaction from Laurel other than a command, but it didn’t take her long to realize she wasn’t going to get much, Laurel barely making eye contact.

- I...didn’t...uh, I...should go.

Laurel rubbed her hands together as she came up from the bed, rolling the bits of tape glue off of her finger. She walked behind Lorraine towards the door.

- He got really mad at me when I tried to stop serving him tonight.... I...you can ask everyone, I tried to stop, but he just…

- Thank you for driving him back. - Laurel interrupted, uninterested in her excuses.

Lorraine didn’t miss the cue, turned around and left. The weight had always been on Laurel only.

For the next three days and three nights, the exact same scene happened over and over. Laurel felt like she was in one of those movies in which the protagonist wakes up and realizes he’s living the same damn day. Lorraine drove him back every night, and every night she had less to say. She pulled over, they supported him on the way to the bed, and she left, a lingering look on Laurel. On the third night, one of the men from the bar came along, carried Frank inside as this time he wasn’t even awake to be able to sustain himself. The two women wouldn’t have been able to help him by themselves. Laurel walked the guy to the front, a way to say thank you and overheard Lorraine say before she had a chance to close the door:

- I don’t know how she fucking does it.  

After she turned the lock, Laurel leaned against the door, looking back into the other end of the shed where he slept. For a few minutes, she let herself go, slid down and cried a heavy, painful cry, until the tears dried and she stood, wiped her eyes on her sleeve and went on to the bedroom.

Throughout the day, when he wasn’t at the bar, he fished, stayed out in the woods, walked in to shower and left, mid afternoon, to drink. If not at the bar, then God knows where. Laurel read briefs, washed sheets and towels, went through pages of cases she had saved on her laptop, made her way to the beach she had wanted to see. In the evening, she made him a meal for the middle of the night, when he came home drunk. In brief moments of sobriety, the only words he used were variations of sentences that told her she should leave.

She didn’t.

Through all of it, she didn’t say a word.

Around two o’clock on the fourth day, she put her bathing suit back on, and could swear she caught him looking when she changed into it. She drove the car to the end of the driveway, closer to the lake, and turned the volume up so she could hear the music while she dared the frigid water and went swimming. The days had been lonely, quiet. She needed to feel alive somehow.

This time, Frank watched. “Maybe it’s the music,” she thought, noticing that he didn’t get up to go shower as he had on the other days. As she splashed into the water, he scared her by yelling:

- You’re going to scare the fucking fish!! Get out of the water!

Laurel dove under one more time, so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on her face, and quickly emerged, swimming toward the edge. Frank watched as she calmly walked out and picked up her towel from a tree branch. He kept following her with his eyes as she walked back to the car and lowered the music volume, then went around to spread the towel on top of the hood of the car, laying on it and letting the warmth of the sun burn away her need to cry. A few tears still managed to escape as she grabbed the ends of the towel, forcing herself to stop shaking.

Frank regret the words the minute they left his mouth. When she lay on the hood of the car, he could see her struggle not to cry, could see her body shivering as she tried to even her breath. An unendurable pain rose in his chest.

From the corner of her eye she saw him throw the fishing rod on the grass and rush inside. “To go to the bar earlier today,” she assumed. She lost herself in the songs that came and went on the radio.

A few minutes into the country melodies, she felt his presence by the car.

                                                                ***

Frank kicked open the back door, wiping the sweat of his face as he paced back and forth, struggling to maintain regular breaths. The pulsing on his temples announced the incoming headache. He plopped himself down on the loveseat she had been sleeping on, and a whiff of her perfume immediately reached his nostrils, calming him down as he breathed her in. None of the idiotic and cruel things he had been doing these past days had even made her look different, let alone act differently. She wasn’t leaving, she was going nowhere. He knew it was a basic, teenagish trick, to act like a prick to force her to reach her limits and leave. Of course it hadn’t worked. This was Laurel. Determined to do good, idealistic Laurel who wanted to save everyone, even those people like him, that couldn’t, or shouldn’t be saved.

But maybe he hadn’t really wanted her to leave. Maybe he actually hoped she could save him.

There it was, the thought he’d been repressing. He knew better than to hope; it always led to misery.

When that thought reached his mind, when it made its way through all the layers he wore, he needed to get out. When hope awoke from where it had been buried, when he dared to imagine what it would be like if she actually left, he wanted to drink. When he allowed himself to think of a life with her, he wished to die.

Impulsively, he grabbed his guitar and went outside to find her.

                                                             ***

Laurel sat up, resting on one elbow as she slightly twisted her body toward him. She furrowed her eyebrows trying to figure him out, unsure of what step to take, what to think, as he turned off the radio. He hadn’t approached her for four days, not sober at least, hadn’t even...looked at her in the eye, like he just did. They locked gazes for a second, half a minute, until she tried to swallow the lump on her throat. He reached for her hand, and joined her on the hood of the car.

Frank rehearsed a stroke on the D chord, then another on the E, feeling the tone, repeating it.

- What are you doing? - She somehow managed to say without crying.

- Bear with me...

- Frank...

- I heard you singing this song the other day.  -  he said as he glanced at her and back at strings, the guitar being the only thing that separated them. - Not sure if I know all the lyrics but I was hoping you could help me with that.

- I can’t sing... - she whispered, holding her tears.

- That’s not true. I heard you before.

His hoarse voice started singing and Laurel was happy she was sitting.

                                                         “Don't stray                                                   Don't ever go away                                     I should be much too smart for this

                                           You know it gets the better                                                     Of me sometimes                                                 When you and I collide                                            I fall into an ocean of you

Frank looked her in the eye, watched her warm tears run down her cheeks as he pleaded: 

                                                  “Pull me out in time

                                                    Don’t let me drown 

Laurel drove her hand to her mouth, unable to control her sob as he continued.

                                            “I say it’s all because of you                                                        and here I go                                                   Losing my control                                                I'm practicing your name                       So I can say it to your face, it doesn't seem right                                                 To look you in the eye                                       And let all the things you mean to me                                  Come tumbling out my mouth indeed its time”

She moved her hand and reached for his hair, combing it with her fingers.

Frank closed his eyes and kept playing, her touch bringing him to let out a deep, loud sigh as the tears took over. She swirled her hand as a signal for him to keep playing and sang the second verse.

                                           “And there's no cure                                           And no way to be sure                               Why everything's turned inside out                                          Instilling so much doubt                                             It makes me so tired                                               I feel so uninspired                                  My head is battling with my heart                                     My logic has been torn apart                                                     And now?

She raised her eyebrows, following the question of the song.

                                               Sway my way                                          Yeah I need to know                                               more about you

Putting the guitar aside, Frank bent down, laying on her legs and sobbed.

- I’m sorry, Laurel. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry...

- Shhhh, it’s okay. - She interrupted -  I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.

Laurel leaned over his head, kissing it.

a few days turned out to be four months... but it’s finished! 

“I applied for a transfer,” Laurel says one night, when they're tangled in sheets in Frank's trashy motel room. “To Harvard. And I got in.”

She can feel Frank taking a deep breath from where she's lying comfortably on his chest. She can't tell if that's because of her confession, or because of the fact that they're still both a little bit breathless after their 'previous activities'.

The first order of business was right there in New York City. John Brown walked in the precinct, flashed his ID at the front desk officer without stopping, not a single welcoming look in return from those around the room. He kept walking through the hallway amid pleas from the few unlucky men behind bars.

- Not today, boys... not today.

The interrogation room’s door barged open, causing the main detective to roll his eyes and exclaim through a sigh.

 - Oh for Christ’s sake!

Brown proceeded to speak after setting his briefcase on the table next to Wes.

 - From now one my client will not say another word and in observance of his state, please be advised that none of what he said can actually be considered. But you know that. In fact, let’s wrap it up, gentlemen, shall we?

Wes looked at him, confused.

 - Who the hell sent you, Brown? -  asked the youngest officer, crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair.

- He leaves with me now, unless you gentleman can prove actual grounds for this interrogation?

 - Brown. Good to see you again...I guess. Your client refused a lawyer, so nothing illegal here. - said the detective, a clear disdain in his words. - Plus, your ...uh...client’s mother used to work for the victim and was a witness in a case 10 years...

- Used to. - Brown interrupted. - Exactly. And she’s deceased. Ruled a suicide. The case is closed, has been closed for years. So, as I thought, no reasonable ground for interrogation. Let alone a future arrest.

- There is a clear connection here… - the officer continued, trying to save his case.

- Used to be. Again. There used to be a connection. - Brown interrupted once more, his voice presenting the lack of patience in dealing with the situation -  To be clear, detective, the situation is that it looks like my client is just a kid wanting to know about his mother. A kid searching for clues about his mother’s life. A kid who has stayed here for over 24 hours talking to you under extremely stressful circumstances, saying involuntary things because obviously he can’t make better choices. A kid who was recently at a psych ward for wanting to kill himself. Gentlemen, come on. This kid is a mess and it won't be difficult to motion to dismiss this conversation of yours. This is a kid who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. You’ve kept him for way longer than necessary, let’s face it. Not illegal but it won’t look good in court either, if you decide to pursue this and waste your time. These type A law students, they think they can see what you have by refusing to call a lawyer and thinking they actually talk to you. Think they know what investigation is and try to do their own. But he is clearly incapable of better judgement and he’s not in his right state of mind, so unless you formally charge him with murder for somehow shooting the victim even though he was standing right next to him, I believe we are done here.

Brown grinned widely at the end of his speech, watched the officers exchange concerned looks. But both remained silent, that being the cue he needed.

 - Excellent! Have a nice day gentlemen. Come on, Kid.  Let’s get outta here.

Wes pushed the chair back with his legs and moved towards the door. As they made their way out through the hallway, he watched how Brown held his hand up, parallel to the bars as if to shield himself from the shouting and took decisive steps towards the exit.

 - I...uh...I’m scrambling my thoughts here trying to figure out who had the money to hire the best lawyer in NYC for me...even though I didn’t need one. - Wes said, trying to catch up to the lawyer after stopping to retrieve his bag.

Brown kept walking quietly and once they stepped outside, Wes’s question was answered as he spotted Laurel smiling, one leg up as she leaned against the wall.

- That was fast. - she said as she walked closer to them.

- I told you it would be. And you, kid, you could have walked out at any time, they didn’t arrest you, you know that. What the hell do you think you’re gonna get by spending the night there? You think you can talk to these guys? - Brown said, directing his words to Wes. - You better not have said anything stupid.

- I didn’t. I...I was just trying to see what they had, waiting to see if they knew more about my mother’s case... - said Wes. - But you know that.

- Yeah, I do. Well, stay away. Try not to spend voluntary time in jail anymore.

Wes nodded, coming to his senses and realizing how unreasonable he had been. Brown's words in the interrogation room didn’t seem too far off the mark.

- Thank you uncle...I mean, thank you, John. I really appreciate it. - Laurel said.

- You’re way too grown up to call me uncle John. What you can do is call me when you change your mind about living here and working with me. I knew you’d be a great lawyer...can’t even think how many times teenage you relentlessly bothered me to sue Girl Scouts for exploiting children.

- Ha! Actually, I was 10. But I’ll let you know.

- I gotta get going. You have my number, if they bother again, don’t hesitate. Tell your dad I’m in Florida next week. It was a pleasure to see you again, Laurel.

- You too. Thanks again!

He kissed her cheek and walked away as Wes yelled an embarrassed “Thank you,” still trying to understand what had just happened. Brown just raised his right hand, without looking back, and yelled back “Thank her.”

- Hi. - she said, smiling.

- THE John Brown? Really?

- He’s my dad’s friend. Took one phone call.  Plus, I would need someone that good to come and convince you to leave.

Wes scoffed, couldn't believe her.

- You’re not going to yell at me for not walking out?

- Like you’d listen?

With a guilty smile on his face, he thanked her.

- You’re more than welcome. - she said as she hooked her arm on his. - Let’s go home.

Home would have to wait, since there were no trains available in the middle of the night. Wes protested at the idea of Laurel getting him his own hotel room, until she threatened to send him back to the precinct. She had told him how amazing the beds were in this hotel chain, enough to guarantee him a good night of sleep after all he’d been through. Laurel tapped the card to open her door, immediately heading to the bathroom, interested in seeing the size of the bathtub. Tonight, she didn’t care about taking advantage of her father’s credit card, didn’t mind the perks that came with it, not after putting herself on his radar again. She was now just as far in as she would ever be out. Her father was manageable; Annalise was uncontrollable.

As she slowly immersed herself in hot water, she felt that every muscle on her body reflected the tension of the conversation with her dad, the stress of the past few days. She stretched her arm to reach her phone, held it parallel to the tub to avoid getting it wet. On her recent calls, she pressed on Bonnie’s name, and left her a voicemail, “It’s Laurel, hi. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up but I guess you...do sleep. I got John Brown to get Wes out. We’re spending the night at a hotel and we’ll try to be back early tomorrow. Annalise should be calmer now. Everything went as planned with my father. Hope you get this. Bye.”

The bed looked immaculate, the silky smooth satin white sheets and the puffy comforter forced her to crawl in as if she were on a state of hypnosis, her wet hair damping the pillowcase. With plenty of space on both sides, she tossed and turned, trying to find the best position, a nest that could hold her warm and comfortable through the whole night: Laurel hugged the biggest pillow, tucked part of the bed spread between her legs, pulled the covers up to her neck, then down to her breasts. She breathed heavily and shook her head, frustration taking control. Her phone screen blinked and she grabbed it as fast as she could, without thinking, only hoping, longing for contact. A notification from an app, that was all.

Laurel tapped the messages app, looked for his name, not long ago always on top of the list of texts. Now, he was under so many spots, after Bonnie, Connor, Vanessa, Wes, even after a freaking spam text. Under. Past. She touched his name on the screen, scrolled up a few weeks back. She knew exactly what she was looking for. There it was. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Her lip trembled. Deep breath.

She let her arm fall heavily on the mattress, phone slipping from her hand. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in bed with her and this wasn’t his bed, it didn’t smell like him either. The bed she had grown so used to that even sleeping on it alone felt better than the extra large hotel mattress. Once the thoughts took over, silently, she felt the tears roll down and pressed the pillow against her chest. “I love you, too,” she thought.

They caught a train back to Philly in the morning. As they sat side by side, she kept waiting for the appropriate moment to tell Wes everything that had happened since he had left. Kept searching for the right words to say, hoping her fear would evaporate. None of the sentences she played in her head seemed good enough. Amid an exchange of caring smiles, it was more relevant, for now at least, to explain that she had overheard Bonnie and Annalise talking about him being held in the precinct and then had called her father for a favor.

- You’re a good friend, Laurel. I know I haven’t been easy to be around but you...you’ve been there for me. Thank you.

- You’re welcome. I’m glad I get to bring you home.

- Frank is a lucky guy...was a lucky guy...hey, what did happen between you two?

- I..he...I’ll tell you another day.

- Really? Just tell me.

- I don’t feel like talking about it. In fact, you, sir, you have a lot to tell me.

- Fine. I’ll ask him when we get there. Or I’ll ask the others. - Wes said, teasing her.

Laurel playfully nudged him while expecting the conversation to die, distracted Wes by asking for exactly what the cops had said. Instead of giving him the truth about Frank, she let him talk, lent him her shoulder, paid fully attention to every complicated twist of his life. Not a word about hers, not yet. It wasn’t the right moment, the best place, not an inviting situation either.

Laurel made it to New York that same night. Still sitting at Penn Station, she made the phone call she dreaded the most.

-Aló! -Dad, hi. It’s Laurel. -Yo sé, mija. How are you? -Fine. I’m in New York. Nessa told me you were here. -She did, huh? Indeed, I am. What brings you here? -Work. Think we can meet for lunch? -Maybe. I’m running on a tight schedule here, Mija. -By lunch I mean I need to talk to you. Urgently. - She could hear her father’s breathing pace change, could hear him clearing his throat. -Of course. Where are you? -Penn Station. - I’ll send a car to pick you up. Back entrance.

Laurel stood there in the middle of the Amtrak trains waiting area, looking at everyone and at no one specifically. Feet stuck to the ground, she felt a cold chill run all over her body. People mumbled “excuse-mes” and “thank yous” as they passed by, barely missing her, bags and briefcases brushing against her clothes. She felt her heart flutter, followed by a hollow feeling in her stomach. All of these feelings were too familiar, they had kept her from moving several times before. “ Basta!”   she thought, trying not to panic. “ Enough!” Since Frank’s disappearance, she realized she had to remind herself to breathe far too many times. She knew she hadn’t thought about every possible outcome of her plan, but only one result was interesting enough to be considered and it would have to work. She knew how omnipotent her last name was and that’s why she was so afraid to move forward with her plan, but it was her time to act like a member of the family after all. “ Second guessing every step of this plan...how about you take actual steps? ” she actually told herself. Her hands started sweating and the dizziness threw her off balance. Breathe in, breathe out. Laurel stood there, frozen, attempting to swallow her tears.

Her phone vibrated, distracting her for a second as she stirred her hand in her bag to dig it out. It was a text from Bonnie that read “Necklace signal last picked up in Sorrento, Maine.” Laurel couldn’t control a nervous laugh. “Fishtown and Italy, amore mio”, she smiled, biting her lip. While she was still smiling at her phone, to her surprise, it vibrated again with a text from Connor, “Good luck...I guess.” She widened her smiled, satisfaction stamped on her face, and walked towards the 8th Ave exit.

The lincoln pulled over next to her, all black with dark tinted windows. “Castillo?”, she heard the driver say as one window came down. Laurel got in the back seat, noticing the partition between the front and the back was closed. They drove downtown. New York was incredible, she thought, promising herself to consider living there. No, not live. At least to try to take day trips more often then. Philadelphia wasn’t that far after all, but she believed all the historical sites, brick buildings on quiet roads and the suburban neighborhoods from Pennsylvania were the reasons why she preferred it there. “And him,” she thought. He belonged there, and so did she.  

She was now ready to admit that he had made a difference in her life. She had never wanted to be one of those girls who stayed at a place just because of a guy, no, that wasn’t her. Or that hadn’t been her. Now? Maybe. Probably. “Isn’t it all just the way people look at things?” she thought.“Isn’t it idyllic when a guy stays at a place for his girl but stupid when is the other way around? Isn’t it incredibly romantic when a guy drops everything to save his relationship, but remarkably idiotic when a girl even considers doing the same?” she scoffed and laid her head back on the car seat, staring at the mirrors on the facade of every building, her thoughts drifting back to him. She would definitely make fun of him for ending up in a town named after an italian city. “ So predictable, Frank, it’s like you wanted me to find you.” she rehearsed telling him. There was no point in denying how he had been influencing her life since she started working for Annalise. How she had always defended him, and she knew he defended her as well. How she had fought against falling in love with him, which probably made every kiss so much more passionate. How she unconsciously went to get a word of endorsement from him every single time she had an idea about a case. How he gave her courage by comforting her and supporting her, even when she said she didn’t want him to. Yes, he had lied to her... to protect her. He had also lied for her and given her all of his truth.

She fixed herself on the seat right when the car stopped in front of a building on West Street.

- The Ritz-Carlton... - she mocked, looking out the window to try to see the top. - ...better than a Trump hotel, I guess.” - “10th floor” - said the driver, handing her a key through the now opened partition - “Close the door, please.”

She looked at the card, room 1013 and walked in. Laurel swiped the card on the elevator and touched the number 10 on the panel. A blue light lit up on the little square and she once again felt stuck to the ground as the elevator rose. This time, she hoped it was only gravity pressuring her body down. As soon as the doors opened, she stepped out and followed the signs for the grand executive suite. She had the card, but would never open without knocking. After a deep breath and three knocks, she faced him.

- Dad. You look well.

- So do you, darling. Long time no see. Come in.

She took a step towards her father and smiled, as he softened his look and leaned in, kissing her cheek. She had to play this well.

- How are you, Mija? - Fine. I, uh, I’m sorry about Easter. My boss took this big case and we had to prepare for the trial. No spring break either. You might have heard of the case, Hapstall siblings, accused of killing their parents. - I did. Didn’t foresee the way it ended, though. Did the brother really do it? - He did. I didn’t foresee it either. She did, though. Mrs. Keating. Annalise, that is. - Seems like she’s good at what she does, then. Sure she must have had your help, though...since you have been working so much. I take things are well, then? School? Life? - Yup, yea. Things are...coming along well. - Well, I’m glad to hear that. Coffee?

Laurel nodded. She watched the machine brew a fresh chocolate nutmeg cup of coffee, and didn’t miss her dad discreetly adding a shot of tequila and a hint of cinnamon. He then started brewing her the same. She walked over to the cart and opened the whiskey bottle, could feel her father’s eyes watching her.

- Whiskey? Where did you pick up on that habit? - Philly...people. How’s mom? - She’s fine. I’m sure she would like to see you...or hear from you, at least. - Yea, I...soon.

Her dad frowned, took a long sip of his coffee, his eyes kept following her every move. She knew then he wasn't going to buy her good rapport for that much longer.

- Dad, I need to tell you why I’m here .

She gripped the handle of her mug tightly. It was her turn to gulp her coffee, the warmth of it almost burning her throat, running down her chest, the whiskey slowly soothing her nerves.

- Does it have to do with the necklace? - he asked, intrigued. - It does, actually...in some ways. - Just tell me, Laurel, ándale. - Dad, I’m in trouble. I need help...it’s her. My boss. - ¿Qué? ¿Qué pasa?

Laurel took her voice up a notch, made sure she spoke faster, too. She ran her hands through her hair to look more preoccupied, and took a very deep breath.  

- My boss, Annalise. She’s been threatening me. Threatening people I love. She knows too much about our family, about you. - What does she know? - You know I wouldn’t come to you for help but I’m desperate.

She could see him averting her eyes, looking down, like he always did when she had a fair point, but didn’t enjoy it.

- She involved me in something really bad, and now she is holding that against me. Against my friends. I can handle it, I’ve handled it so far, but now… now she is after my boyfriend, after you.

- Keep going. - She knows things about you, dad...and about Mahoney. - Knows what about Mahoney? That he’s passed? - Her dad asked in response.

The muscles on his mouth and eyes looked relaxed, not even a frown mark between the eyebrows. He sat back on the chair, slowly crossed his legs. Laurel read every lack of signal and knew it was time to appeal. In a split second, she laid her mug on the counter, picked up her bag, sniffling, pretended to wipe tears off of her face.

- Dios Mio, What am I doing? I shouldn’t have come, I wasn’t thinking... I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, papá! I’ll go.

She hurried towards the door, but stopped once she heard her father’s low voice call her name. Laurel discreetly smiled with relief and turned back.

- Calm down, Mija. Tell me everything.

She dumped her bag on the floor and walked back, standing within inches of him. Laurel held her dad’s empty hand.

- My friend is in jail, dad. He’s being questioned for Mahoney’s murder. - Who? - he asked. - His name is Wes. And I need to get him out.

Laurel knew the idea was not to ask her dad for the truth, it was to pound the truth on him relentlessly, but carefully.

- The police need to get their hands on who is guilty for killing Mahoney. - What are you insinuating Laurel? - Not what you think I’m insinuating, dad.

He pulled his hand free from hers. Laurel watched her father stand up and step back, turn around to not face her. Thought she heard him curse something in Spanish. He put his hands in his pockets and stood, staring at the floor.

- So the kid is your friend? The one they have at the precinct? - Yes. - she responded, softly, giving herself time to think. “Of course he knows someone is in jail for it already.” - Laurel… - Dad, listen. That’s not why I’m here. You don’t have to worry about me...I’m...I’m your daughter. My boss, on the other hand…. - So you’re not here to say you’re going to attempt to sell me out to the cops to save your friend? Assuming I’m guilty of anything? Isn’t that what your boss is telling you to do? Is that what she’s blackmailing you with? - Yes. It is. It’s part of it. She sent me here to question you, to get the truth out from you.

Laurel looked down, putting her own hands in her pockets, mirroring his position, creating identity.  

- I can’t do what she’s asking me. Dad, look at me! I think that you and I both know that finding someone who COULD be guilty for Mahoney’s murder will be far more interesting than finding out who did it. We will both benefit more from it.

She saw his expression soften, eyelids drooping a bit. It gave her the strength to continue on her role.

- I see… - he said, watching his daughter grin. - She worked in a case against Mahoney a long time ago, dad. My friend’s mother was a key witness on the trial of Mahoney’s son. - Rose. - said her father.

Laurel lost her train of thought. He knew her. Her father knew about Rose. His connection to Mahoney was deeper than she had imagined. This, she realized, actually helped her case. She needed to focus again, needed to keep the pace of her words flowing to be able to convince him. She couldn’t lose his attention now. She swallowed ...nothing, air, this dry feeling in her throat and kept talking.

- Annalise was his defense attorney. The night Mahoney died, Wes was here, looking for him, to know more about the case and about his mother because Annalise refuses to tell him. Refuses to tell us. It’s irrelevant now. So when we heard Mahoney died, she started to feel threatened. She thinks there’s a chance she’ll go down for his murder if the cops keep pressing Wes and he talks. She thinks Wes can even talk about other case, give the cops what they want to hear to issue a warrant. So she said she could easily blame Wes, blame you, because of...you know...your connection with him, how much of your money he lost…about how you would do anything to protect your assets, to protect our family... - Nonsense! You can’t possibly think she’s right, Mija. - Of course not, Dad! - Laurel said, hoping her high pitched voice didn’t sound as forced to him as it did to her. - But it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what she is capable of making a jury believe. Find a new suspect, that’s what she’s doing. She taught us that! She said people would much rather have you go down for this than her, since you’re more ...powerful. Your connection is stronger, current...and face it, dad, our family has more to lose. She sent me here, to try to get the truth, a confession, evidence, anything. - There’s no proof against me, Laurel. - She said she had friends in NY, lawyers, her boyfriend is actually from the Philly police, so she said the easiest thing was to fabricate evidence. We’ve spent this past year being trained to do just about everything she said she would do to you. I know her. I know she would. She said she would throw me in jail, too. So I left as soon as I could, yelled at her, I said that you were actually here in NY to check on his family, obviously...that you might not be one hundred percent good but that you were not a murderer…

He raised his hand in a signal for her to stop talking. Laurel froze, felt a cold drop of sweat down her spine.

- What does the necklace have to do with anything, Mija?

Laurel laughed nervously, making her hand tremble, looking from the corner of her eyes to guarantee he saw her.

- Frank. My boyfriend. He’s been protecting me from her. This is going to sound really crazy, I know, but you have to believe me...you have to! - she said while getting closer to him, placing both hands on his shoulders - he did bad things too, but because she told him to! Annalise told him her plan to ruin our family and he...he said he wouldn’t be a part of it, denied her for the first time, said he wouldn’t do it. So she threatened to put him in jail, have him killed off like some worthless piece of shit if he didn’t do as told. So he ran away, but he took my necklace with him, and now...I just need to find him, before she does. - So you’re tracking him, using the necklace. - Yes...the tags you had them add, to track us, picked up a signal.

He smiled a light smile, not willing to give too much away.  She did the same. “At least this part is true, ” thought Laurel. She did need to find Frank before Annalise discovered a way to do so. Her father walked towards the bedroom’s large window. The view was spectacular, she had also noticed. Battery park rested largely just across the street, packed with people taking advantage of the warm spring weather to board the ferry to watch the beautiful landscaping of downtown Manhattan, before they made it to the Statue of Liberty.

- So you want me to threaten her back. - said her father.

She nodded. Nothing more needed to be said. Laurel stood right next to him, both staring at the green monument. She had played all possible cards on her closing arguments, now all she could do was wait.

- Well, she sure has been teaching you well. I guess we need a plan, then . - said her dad, smiling. - I’m very, very pleased you are taking care of our family like me.

“Fuck you,” Laurel felt like saying. “I’m not like you.” She grinned, kept staring out the window.

Connor opened the door for Laurel, and at the sight of Bonnie next to her, his mind wandered to many different situations he wouldn’t approve of. He tilted his head and stared at them.

- What is SHE doing here? - he said,  eyes narrowing at Laurel, wanting to pick up any hint of a lie.

- Can we come in? I need help. - Laurel said, ignoring him.

Connor didn't move. Before he could answer, they all heard Oliver’s voice coming from inside, asking who was by the door, and realized he was approaching them.

- Oh hey, look who it is, my favorite K5 membeeer… - the excitement in his voice increased once he saw Bonnie .  - Uh-oh...this is going to be good! Come in ladies! Sorry about mr. grouch here not inviting you in immediately.

Laurel walked in first, shoulder brushing against Connor’s, forcing him to step back. Bonnie followed her.

- What can we do for you? - said Oliver, rubbing his palms together. He shrugged and smiled.

Laurel knew she had to address Connor’s concerns before he got the chance to complain.

- Before I even say what we need, I want you to believe me that I’m aiming for this to be different. Or at least to bring some change, for the future.

Connor sneered at her, looking down and shaking his head.

- Oh Laurel, there was a time when I would have ACTUALLY believed you.

She shook her head, this was going to be harder than it seemed. Bonnie gave her an “I told you so” glance, but Laurel had no choice but to keep going.

- Just let me finish before you veto this, alright, Connor?!  - She took a deep breath. - We need help finding Frank. He’s not in a very good place right now. He might need help, and that’s why I’m here. He, uh, has something that belongs to me, a necklace, and I need you, Oliver, to maybe track it for me?

- He stole something from you? - Connor asked, indignant. - Classy.

She hadn’t considered it, that he could have taken her necklace to sell, pawn it, and the thought of it completely threw her off. She was forced to stop talking, caught in the middle of her logic, a twist in the series of events that she hadn’t imagined. Bonnie intervened, continued to explain, noticing how rattled Laurel was.

- He might have stolen it, but I don’t believe so. It would’ve been smart, sure, but he wouldn't do that. He’s not smart about... her. He just took it, to keep.

-  Oh my gosh, of course. I’d love to do whatever I can if it means to, you know, help you two be... flaurel again. - said Oliver shyly, walking over to Laurel, touching her arm.     - Tell me what to do.

Laurel smiled, shyly, wondered how Oliver could be so positive all the time, but now she needed to be.

-  The necklace has a tag that’s trackable. I thought you could try to hack into the company’s website, see where the tag has been under wifi….maybe train stations? Bus stations? - she said, pulling herself together.

Oliver raised his eyebrows to Laurel, smile spread across his face.

- That's actually...wow...very possible...yea, I think I can do it. - he said, sitting down quickly and opening his laptop.

- Here. - she handed him her phone. -  That's the password and the tag number.

Connor’s hand pressed down on the laptop’s screen to close it, almost catching oliver’s fingers. He kept holding it shut.

- Let me just understand what’s going on here. - he said, making Laurel sigh.

And there it was, the interruption she was waiting for, the brooding face he always showed. “Demasiado bueno para ser cierto”   she thought. Connor was always suspicious, full of assumptions of the worst. He had reached his limit sometime the past year, she wasn’t sure when, but then again so had she. She was aware he wasn’t so easy to convince anymore, it would take a great deal to get him to cooperate. She’d have to be very appealing.

- What’s the deal? The two of you are, what, teaming up to find Frank? That’s lovely, really, but why? That’s what I ask myself.  I mean, the dude suddenly left, without any explanation, which makes no sense because he’s been so loyal to Annalise all this time. Obviously more loyal to Annalise than to you, Laurel. So spill it, tell me what’s making a princess like you go for a ...pauper like Frank?  

Bonnie stared at Connor, finding it amazing how easily he attacked people, fought everything with sarcastic accusations, turned people’s weaknesses against them. “Please,” she thought. This might work with Laurel, but it wasn’t even close to working with her. So she slowly said in a low tone of voice, knowing one sentence was all she needed to get him to stop.

-  Do you really want her to spill everything right now, right here Walsh?

Laurel knew she had to think fast. Bonnie and Connor were about to engage in a dangerous exchange of insults and that never ended well. She looked back at Oliver, who was smiling awkwardly at the rest of them, and suddenly realized who she had to convince. She turned her look to Bonnie, hoping she would pick up on the strategy she was about to use.

- I should have listened to you, Bonnie. I should have. I should have had a plan, a lie to convince Connor to actually help me.

She purposely bit her lip, brought her hands to cover her mouth and nose. Bonnie caught on.

- And I should have known these two were going to be of no help. Let’s go.

Bonnie started walking to the door while Laurel brought out her best skills. She discretely pinched the edge of her nose, causing her eyes to water. She started talking, managing to sound distressed, to which Bonnie pretended to attend, approaching her for “comfort.”

- You’re right, Connor. You’re right, okay? Yes, Frank left me. But I’m trying to get over it because we...we’re afraid that he’ll do something stupid, like… - she let out an even more dramatic cry - like hurt himself, and I can’t bear that. Bonnie is here because she knows Frank and came to warn me that he’s capable of that. You know we broke up, but he...he said he loved me, and I didn’t say it back. So I need to try, I need to say it back. I need him.

Connor could have laughed at the whole act, he really could have, but he knew he had to accept it or Bonnie would could spill the whole truth. They were probably afraid the ‘something stupid’ Frank was going to do was to turn himself in, bring them all down. Oliver was surely touched. Indeed moved by the scene, he walked to Laurel, to offer her a hug. With her head over Oliver’s shoulder, she stared at Connor, her eyes warning him to let go, to trust her, to work with her. “ Everything will be over ” she mouthed. Connor looked, slightly shaking his head, and as his hands reached for his waist, he gave in.

- Fine. Let’s find him.

Oliver smiled at the sound of Connor’s voice, released Laurel from the hug and walked back to kiss his cheek. He sat down and opened his laptop once again, moved on to isolate the necklace’s tag ID number on the company’s website and searched the surrounding wifi. Nothing came up. He then hacked into the tag manufacturer’s system and increased the wifi range for the specific company, unblocked any privacy protection. Laurel and Bonnie just stood there, feeling incredibly powerless, not even following his thoughts and steps as he walked them through it. He then tried the insurance website used by the company, in case of stolen jewelry; still nothing. “Police property recovery system, I’ll try that, they use it once they recoverer merchandise that has been lost, pawned, sold, etcetera” , he said, as he clicked enter and mocked the PPD’s technological security with some IT metaphor no one understood. Search came up empty, causing Laurel to let out a loud sigh of relief. It would hurt too much to pick up a signal of her necklace anywhere if not with him.

- Well, at least he was smart enough to not get rid of your jewelry around here. - Connor teased.

Laurel rolled her eyes. Oliver went on to try the Greyhound terminal for any signal corresponding to the necklace.

- Luckily all of these stations have open wifi for customers, makes our lives so much easier in cases like these. - he said, trying to sound cool, as if he had always done this type of work.

No trace of the necklace appeared under that network.

- Try 30th street station . - Bonnie said. - Frank hates buses, thinks they’re too dirty, too slow and people are prone to making conversations. He also wanted to get out of here fast.

While Oliver listened to the instructions, Laurel attempted to smile. Her heartbeat was going faster by the minute and she tried to discreetly take deep breaths. She opened and closed her hands, trying to pump her own blood and keep her hands from shaking at the same time. Oliver linked the station’s network signal from the day Frank had left to the manufacturer’s range for the specific tag and clicked enter. A matrix of numbers appeared on the screen as the computer scanned through hundreds of thousands of IP addresses, serial numbers, until a red blinking light flashed on the combination of letters and numbers that matched the tag.

- Bingo. - he said, smiling at Laurel.

- Where to? - asked Bonnie.

- Acela trains terminal. Hold on. This should be easy.  - Oliver grinned, and quickly figured out the trajectory of the train at that specific terminal. -Train goes to Portland, Maine.

- You can leave fishtown but fishtown never leaves you. - Bonnie scoffed, incredulous.

Laurel held her breath, her thoughts connecting so fast she couldn’t talk. She raised her right hand to prevent everyone else from talking and finally spoke, a mix of anger and laughter could be sensed on her voice.

- You’re damn right it doesn’t. Maine. Fucking Maine. Why didn’t I think of this?

- Thought of what? - asked Bonnie.

- We were in bed one day, I was bitching about how cold it was outside, and he said something like “ Let’s go to a deserted beach, you spend your days relaxing, I can fish for a living.” Of course I just laughed at him, didn’t pay much attention to it...God, I can’t believe it!

She didn’t even notice the tear rolling down her left cheek, this time there was no game being played. It was a genuine tear. She squeezed Oliver’s cheek with her palms and gave his lips a peck.

- You’re an angel! -  she said. - And I’m going to pay you back for this, I promise.

Oliver blushed and smiled.

- Let’s go , said Bonnie, as she walked towards the door. - Oliver, keep trying to track around the train stations in Portland, see if he left the state again, although I doubt it. She’s right, he loves the beach and Maine is empty enough.

- Sure! Will do! I’ll try resorts, hotels, restaurants...anything with any wifi range should pick up traces of the necklace, then we can have a better location within a few hours.

- Go as close to the coast as possible. Try fishing gear stores. We have to go, we can’t waste time. - Laurel said, grabbing her bag and following Bonnie.

Oliver pulled his chair closer to the table, losing himself in numbers. Connor walked after Laurel, pulling the strap of her bag on the hallway, causing her to face him.

- You better tell me what the fuck is going on, Laurel!

-  Let go! Let go of my bag!

- Or what? Just tell me what is happening!! - he whispered as he looked back, afraid Oliver would hear them.

Laurel tried to pull her bag, but Connor’s grip was tight.

- Do you want to know what’s happening? I’m getting us out of situations like this, alright? I’m getting us out. - Laurel answered, her voice muffled by the sound of her breath. - We both want the same things, Connor. We all do. I know what you’re afraid of, I know what you have to lose, who...shit...I just lost what I had to lose...I won’t involve you anymore, or him.

-  And if it doesn’t work? What’s going to happen to us, huh? Annalise will..kill us, Laurel.

-  No! She will kill me, Connor. Me! And if it works, you’ll walk away. Please. So let me try. Let me go.

If she hadn’t spent her entire life training to tame her feelings, a bit more excitement would have made her call her dad in a heartbeat. It wasn’t enough, though, nothing was ever that easy if it involved the Castillo last name. Laurel held the phone, staring at her father’s name on her contacts list. “Call. Get over it. Just call,” she actually repeated out loud, against words of caution echoing on her mind. Something about how easily she had spoken these three words, “get over it”, had gotten her to just pause. She looked up and caught a glimpse of herself, her reflection on the TV screen in the living room, a slight smile on her face that she watched fade, gradually, as she thought of the reasons behind everything. “The reasons, always the freaking reasons.” she said to herself as she had hundreds of times before, and hated it just as much. She hadn’t done it, hadn’t gotten over it, risen above. “Can I? Do I want to?” Laurel put herself on the stand, witness of her own trial, and now she had to chose which side of her was to walk free.

The corners of her mouth slowly bent down, her shoulders slowly curved and she walked to stand next to the tv, to the wall, “this damn wall “, She smiled, and blushed with the memory of the day he pinned her there, teased her til she couldn’t pretend to be uninterested, couldn’t resist. She ran her fingers on it, heard his voice begging her to get to know him, and let her forehead rest, her image no longer in sight on the tv. Then, as sand in an hourglass, it all came tumbling down. “Get over it”, she heard her own command, again, louder than ever, and scoffed at herself. Truly getting over it was one thing she was not good at. As much as she didn’t want to, looking at herself was inevitable.

Standing still, she turned her head, looked at the apartment door, thought of how hard she had slapped his face on that first night, how angry she had been when she had heard the truth about Rebecca from Annalise and immediately assumed he did it. Hadn’t even considered to not believe Annalise, to not blame him. She had pushed him, pressed hard, grilled him, until he had let it out, had betrayed Bonnie. He had chosen her.

On another seemingly innocent night, she had once again gone to his apartment determined to dig for more. Confused, exhausted, she had let her manipulative self seize control of the situation once again, provoked by her past memories, and they drove her mad, took over. Again, she had pressed him for the truth, cried, begged him to tell her, threatened to break up. “I used what I knew I had,” she thought, thinking of the “I love you” messages on her phone after she walked out. “I used it against him.” She slid down the damn wall and continued to relive the night he had turned her down, told her to get to know him... “Lord did I take that advice to the extreme?!” she thought as she folded her arms on top of her knees and let herself cry.

She kept dwelling on it, had to. Blamed her damn sixth sense that had woken up far before hearing about Rebecca. This relentless doubt that had been fed by their previous conversations beat in her brain over and over, warned her there was something more to him, and her world shook at his confession about Lila. He had done what she wanted, once more. She had gotten her biggest reveal. She had broken through him and even broken, he had chosen her.

She rested her head on her arms and flashed back to how she had felt that night. It was all over, immediately, no pros and cons romance list, nothing.  It had been the end. After days, weeks of ignoring him, she had returned a look and a text message, because she hadn’t been able to let go...let go of her need to for the truth. The end of them hadn’t been the end of her questions, her obsession with being right, for having the final word, with making the best arguments, her need to make sense of other people’s pain. The need to reason through her own pain. Even then, he had managed to say he’d missed her. She thought of how far he had let her in. How patient and loyal he had always been. How selfless. Like train cars on a track, one revelation had brought the next and she heard more about him, heard it all. On the third night that she had convinced him to talk, his memories had become words as he spoke in fast streams of emotions. She had understood him, had cried some more, til her cheeks and eyes hurt and she felt so numb she couldn’t tell if the tears had run dry. By the end of night number 3, Frank had still hoped for them. For the third time, he had chosen her.

She recognized there had been plenty of idle time to think about every thread of truth he had told, what it all meant, how it had affected them and how she felt. But she hadn’t done that, no. Now she saw it, how she had pulled her best trick, the one that had pushed every prep school boyfriend away, that had turned every best friend into someone she had scarred. She had dug stuff up to jeopardize everything good in her life as if to justify her feeling that a broken and grey girl like her didn’t deserve someone who loved her in spite of herself, her past, her family. Pain was addictive. She understood every bit of her guilt, where it came from, why it stopped her, and why it was pushing her forward.

On the next night, he was gone. He had disappeared and had given her no ‘then’, no day after. He had taken that from her, because she was as relentless as his guilt. “Excellent job, Laurel.” she thought to herself. “Use your argumentative bullshit to make people feel bad and build an immense amount of guilt until they disappear from your life and you get to sit here alone, you and your righteous self, entitled to your misery, the one you fought so hard for. Bravo.” She let out a sigh. She understood his guilt, God it was so much worse than hers, “How could I add even more to it?” She felt her chest tighten, felt like she could scream, her lips trembling as she squeezed her own hands, her sharp nails hurting her palms.

Now she had had countless nights by herself. Her next chapter, her now, was about finding him. He had finally chosen himself, and she wanted nothing more than to find him, to choose him for the first time. She needed no more reasoning, no more winning. She needed to lose.

A knock on the door brought her thoughts back to the living room. She quickly wiped her face, straightened her clothes, and opened the door for Bonnie.

- Did you call your dad? - Not yet. 

Bonnie rolled her eyes and let out a sigh.

- God I don’t have patience for this...look, I know you have your daddy issues... - I don’t have daddy issues!  - Laurel said, realizing how stupid she sounded - It’s ...it’s much more complicated than that. - I don’t even blame you but… - Maybe my sister can help, this way I don’t have to talk to him. 

Bonnie chuckled, but didn’t engage in the argument, since Laurel was already waiting for her sister to pick up the phone. - Well I haven’t heard from you in a while. What happened? - said Vanessa. - God, why can’t people answer the phone by saying hello anymore? - Because people usually talk to their sisters more often than every 4 months. But fine. Hello, Laurel. - Hi, Vanessa. How are you? - Fine. You? - I’m fine. How are the kids? - They’re good. There. Happy? Now what’s going on, Laurel? Laurel hesitated, 30 seconds on the phone with her sister and she was already annoyed. But did she have the right to be? She hadn’t showed up at Easter after the Christmas fiasco. Never called to hear about the kids. She quickly shook off the guilt, it’s not like she had a normal life or time for it right now. - Alright, Nessa, you’re right. We could spend another hour on the phone and I’d explain everything to you, but you’re right. Look, remember that necklace dad gave me on my quinceñera? The one with a heart shaped diamond? You probably have one too. - Yea, I do, why? - I, uh, I’ve been travelling a lot, and I lost it. Don’t remember where I left it exactly, in which hotel that is. It has a tracking tag, right? - Yea. All of our jewelry does. You wanna track it? It doesn’t reach that far, Laurel. - Right, I know, but you see, I think I know which hotel I left it in, and I think they’re lying to me about it. I..I have a friend in IT, he can, uh, maybe help me. - Oh. Wow. That could work. If he can reach their wifi and see if it is there. You need the tag number, though, so you can go on the tracking company’s website and then see where it it. Type our password too. Just insert the tag number there and if it is under wifi, the location will show up. 

Laurel fell onto the couch, free hand covering her eyes and nose and let out a loud sigh.

- Hello? Lor? - Yea...I...I didn’t know we, uh... - her voice suddenly caught on her throat and she had to take a deep breath not to cry - had to have the tag number… - Okay, Jesus, I didn’t know you cared that much about a gift from dad. I have copies of all the tags’ numbers filed somewhere. Just give a couple of minutes and I’ll text it to you.

This time she held her breath.

- Vanessa, are you serious? You have that?

- Uh, no. Oh God bless your OCD.

- Yes. Relax. I’ll text you soon. Do you know the password?

- Uh, no. Oh God bless your OCD.

-You’re welcome. You’re lucky you didn’t have to call dad about this, he’s been so out of himself ...

- Wait...Why? What happened? - You didn’t hear about his friend? - Which friend? - Laurel asked, confused. - His funds manager. Mahoney. Dead. Apparently got shot ...

Laurel’s skin went pale, she felt the blood rushing through her veins, her sister’s voice fading. 

.- ..he’s in New York, went to see if he could help...Anyway, ugh,I hear one of the kids screaming. Gotta go see where the nannies are this time that are not watching them. Pay them a fortune to spend time on their phones rather than watching my kids. Text you soon. Don’t disappear. - I won’t. Thanks, Nessa. -  She barely managed to say. 

Bonnie stared at her, seeing her visibly shaken. 

- So? Speak! - Bonnie said, impatient. 

Laurel couldn’t. Instead, she just raised her hand to Bonnie, asking for a minute, and walked to the liquor cart. “Of fucking course!” she thought, every inch of her body sure about her dad’s connections to Mahoney. She knew the name had sounded familiar when she’d first heard it. The she thought of Wes. “Wes, God, no” she grew darker, realizing she had just been given a secret she’d hide for the rest of her life, if she wanted to preserve her friendship. 

Laurel! - Bonnie raised her voice.

How innocent her sister was, or pretended to be. “...Went to see if he could help...”  Vanessa’s words played in her mind and she laughed. “Good God, Nessa. Dad? Help? Ha!” she immediately figured it out. Laurel had never understood why her father’s lifestyle had impacted her the most. But she couldn’t really know that for sure. “You can’t measure other people’s pain,” her nanny had always told her. The past year around Annalise had given her the certainty and confidence she needed to turn things around, how damn helpful Middleton had been, teaching her about lying, deceiving, blackmailing, covering it up. She knew how to do all that, had watched Annalise master all of it. This time it would be different. This time it was her turn. It was her chance, finally her chance to do something positive with a secret. For Wes, for herself. 

Bonnie watched Laurel swallow the whiskey. She couldn’t tell what she had just heard that had made her look even more shady, bleak. 

Laurel looked at Bonnie, at her pleading face, staring at her, and she then realized she was Bonnie’s chance as well. She drank, way, way too early for it, but to hell with it, it did help her collect herself. For Frank. She finally spoke. 

Laurel And Bonnie deliberated, for hours, over a few drinks until dark circles of exhaustion appeared under their eyes, both taken by guilt’s merciless power. Guilt. It either paralyzed you or pushed you forward. Consumed you or fired you up. Frustration built up as they saw the sun rise with no plan, no path to follow, no guidance. Later that morning, Laurel made it to the office first, followed by Bonnie a couple of minutes after. She had done a better job than Laurel at recomposing her image; better make up, cleaner suit, straighter face. So firm and collected. “I thought I could pull myself together” Laurel thought, and almost had to laugh. It had been strange, uncomfortable, to see Bonnie emotional, to recognize vulnerability when she thought none existed. “ What hasn't been strange lately?”, she reflected. The more stories unfolded, the more entwined to each other all of their lives were. Unplanned and unwanted like fate’s most daring games. Those no one wanted to play.

Bonnie had barely put down her briefcase on her chair when Annalise showed up at her office door, clearly shaken, struggling not to scream and get anyone's attention. Laurel pretended not to notice, went through some papers of the new case without lifting her gaze.

- Where the hell have you been? - she questioned Bonnie, looking angry and worried.

- I had a plumbing issue - Bonnie quickly managed to say. - had to wait for the super...why? What’s going on? - She asked as she walked into Annalise’s office, door slamming behind her.

Laurel silently walked to try to listen to the conversation, feeling like her 12 year old self being nosy about her parents’ fights. It didn’t stop her.

- Wes is being held at the 5th precinct in New York. They think he might have something to do with Mahoney’s death. - said Annalise.

The thought of asking on what grounds he was being held came at the same time as the realization that he must know the truth. Bonnie narrowed her look towards Annalise.

- You told him? The truth about Mahoney and Rose?

- I had to tell him! - Annalise whispered. - He went to Ohio and found the police report, questioned me on his mother’s death, the case, everything.

- So he had motive.

- Plenty. And although the cops won't know Mahoney is his father, they know Rose was a key witness and died while the case was ongoing. But I can’t represent him, neither can you and neither can Eve. We were all involved in Mahoney’s case 10 years ago, and they know Wes works for me…

- ...so there’s conflict. He’s going to be assigned some young recent out of law school public defender.

-  Shit, he’s angry, Bonnie. He’s hurt. Reckless. Don't you see it?

- He won’t talk, if that’s what you’re implying.

- You don’t know that! I've been lying to him for a year now! He thinks Sam killed Lila, I convinced him to get rid of Sam’s body, he believes I killed Rebecca or had Frank do it, obviously he's already imagining I had someone kill Mahoney, too. And if he says any of it to the cops, how Eve and I were both in Ohio for the case, how I blame myself for his mother’s death and the whole case was built or irregularities… - Annalise stopped to catch her breath, resting her hands on her desk -... One word from him and I'm going down!

It was Bonnie's turn to hold her breath, sensing something dreadful was about to be laid out.

- Figure something out, Bonnie. Find a way to keep Wes quiet, find Frank and make him confess, I don't know. Your friend Frank killed Lila and started this whole damn domino effect so if I'm screwed, I'll drag all of this office down with me. And I'll have the whole FBI after Frank to make sure he becomes someone’s bitch in jail.

Annalise spit out her words like a rabid dog. Bonnie gathered strength to nod, feeling the floor give out under her. She stepped back to leave. On the other side of the door, Laurel moved away fast as she could once she heard Bonnie's steps approaching. Bonnie glanced at her as she walked out and saw her by frank’s desk.

-  I'm just..I, uh, looking for a book. I thought I left it on his desk.

But Bonnie ignored her, moving straight to the bathroom, to recompose herself for the second time in a few hours. Falling to pieces in front of Laurel once was enough.

Laurel felt the pressure on her temples and could even hear her heart quickly pumping her blood. She looked down at Frank’s desk, his supplies and papers meticulously organized, a bit of dust accumulating over the scratches on the wood. She fluttered her eyelashes as she slid her fingers, splitting the dirt, tracing a clean line. She sat on the chair as the voices around her faded into nothing, and surrendered to her feelings. She heard his voice, in her mind, and she could swear he must have sprayed cologne all over the damn chair, because nothing else would explain how perfectly she could smell his scent. Weeks ago, before it all went bad, before she had demanded the dreaded truth, she would have gone to him after hearing anything bad from Annalise, from Bonnie. She would have been happy because he would have touched her, his hand on hers, he would have said a comforting word, or just smiled. He would have teased her. She felt her eyes quickly fill with tears and shut them to make them go away. She allowed herself to admit that she needed that comfort now, his calm, low voice saying anything positive. She dared to think she would even appreciate him telling her to relax, which she usually hated, or screw it, even making a sex joke.She needed him telling her he had her back, that he would take care of it, of her. “Ecco,” he said in Italian, whenever she did something right, and she cared about his approval more than she knew.

She was interrupted by the noise of the other students walking back to the living room after a coffee break. Startled, she jumped up from the chair and could see everyone’s concerned looks towards her.

- Uh, there’s coffee in the kitchen, you look like you could use some...aaand there’s make up in my bag as well, you also look like you could use some….touch up. - said Michaela, as she signaled to Laurel to wipe away a bit of blurred mascara under her left eye.

-There’s also plenty of booze in Annalise’s office, if you dare to go in there. - said Connor, pointing to the closed doors.

- All very tempting, I’ll stick with coffee. Thanks.

Later that day, she went back to Frank’s apartment, alone.

Hours passed as she sat on his bed, surrounded by papers of the new case, books open for theory reinforcement, laptop for research, phone next to her for hope. It beeped with Bonnie’s name on the screen. “ Found your book? ” She read the text, and remembered her lame excuse of the morning. “ No.” she responded shortly, wanting to get back to work. “You heard everything.” Bonnie replied, causing Laurel to freeze, not sure of what to expect. She didn’t have the chance to type a reply before the phone beeped again. “Find him.” Laurel grew angry and her fingers acted almost faster than her brain “Is that a threat, Bonnie?” she wrote, hitting the send button. Her nostrils flared as she squeezed her lips together, waiting for an answer, Rebecca’s death rolling over her mind, she was ready to use it. “No. It’d be a favor”.

Laurel let out a sigh, resting her head on the headboard. She sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at nothing specifically. Taken over by too many feelings to enumerate, by reflex she proceeded to do something she hadn’t done since the beginning of law school: she prayed. Recited the rosary, over and over, repeated the prayers, quietly sang the choruses, as school had made her memorize all of it, said her own words of faith out loud, until her throat dried and she tired herself into a trance. When she blinked herself to a conscious state again, she stared at the screensavers’ slideshow of pictures on her laptop. Baby photos, horses, the beach, her quincenera, and as if God had just been waiting for her request to send guidance, she saw her necklace. Laurel jumped up, knees on the bed as she used one hand to open the picture on the computer, other hand feeling her empty neck. “I had it! I had it!” she thought. The memories flashed back to her clearly, fast, as she ran to the coffee table in the living room and stood there looking at the empty space. She searched for it under the table, lifted the couch pillows, for the sake of it, and laughed out loud as tears wet her cheeks. She called Bonnie, immediately, without even considering how late it was.

- Laurel.

- I know what to do. I know how to find him.

Bonnie tried to decipher if she was listening to her cry or laugh, Laurel’s excitement causing her voice to be louder than it seemed, she could even pick up a bit of the accent.

- He has my necklace!! He took it! - Laurel said without waiting for Bonnie to fully grasp what was happening.

- Necklace? What’s the plan? Send the cops after him for theft?

-  No, Bonnie, listen! The night Frank told me everything about what happened in Ohio, I took my necklaces off, two of them, and placed them on the coffee table. The next morning I didn’t think of putting them back on, but when I came back that night, the night he left, there was only one there, which I picked it up without thinking much of it. I was so groggy, I guess, I didn’t realize I was missing my favorite necklace, one with a diamond L that my dad gave me when I turned 15...you know I always wear a lot of accessories and how in Mexico we have this big celebration when girls turn…

- Laurel! Focus!

- ...I was too young to care for such expensive jewelry so my dad had them put a tag. it has a tag, Bonnie. A trackable tag. I’m not sure exactly how it works but I’m sure my dad knows. Frank took it, he knew it was my favorite, and he took it!

Bonnie could hear Laurel breathing heavily through the phone, her head quickly wrapped around everything she had just heard. She had never liked giving students too much credit, praises or even attention, but she wasn’t dealing with a student right now. She was dealing with an ally.