A/N: When screen writers give you lemons, you make lemonade.
Disclaimer: I don't own TGW.
Chapter 1. Asked and Delivered
I could feel all my face burning and the annoying light blinding me didn't help either. The first thing coming through my mind was Kalinda's terrified look.
"What the hell just happened?" I mutter mostly for myself.
"You're dead," responds a familiar voice.
"And what, you're supposed to lead me to hell?" I asked sarcastically. From all the people in the world, he was the last one I expected to see when I die.
"Not to hell, just to your new life," he said ignoring my sarcasm.
My eyes were now completely adjusted. I was lying on a hospital bed, with monitors and beeping stuff all around me. I could barely move my arms and legs, but the most painful area was still my face. As I touch it I realized it was all full of bandages.
"Don't worry; it will look great when it will heal."
I stared at Damian like he was a green flamingo. Before I could find anything to say he continued.
"Your name is now James Peterson and, lucky for you, you're still a lawyer. Of course, your resume isn't as shiny, but at least you can practice. I have a nice law firm where I can get you in."
He winked at the last part.
"What are you talking about?"
I was starting to wonder which of us hit his head worse.
"Oh, you're right! You don't even know where you are!"
"Do you think so?"
Where did I find this guy?
"When you were shut I saw the opportunity and I take it. I called my people and they called their people. The ambulance that transport you got you stable, injected you with that stuff that lowers down your pulse and put on some make-up so that you looked dead at the hospital. You were declared deceased by our guy and sent here for the rest of the operation..."
"The rest of the operation?"
"Oh, yeah, your face. My guys did some plastic surgery, they are artists, not even a face recognition program could find you. Your papers will be here tomorrow. It will cost you some, but I doubt you will mind. You can thank me later."
One of us needs immediately a CAT-scan!
"Am I high?" I asked in a last desperate attempt to make any sense out of this.
"Well, you do have a pretty good dose of morphine, but I wouldn't call it high. I tell you something, if you'll feel better I'll take you to your funeral tomorrow night!"
A funeral means people, people I left behind, people I'll never get to talk to, things that I'll never get to say... No, this is not happening!
"Come on Will, I know you're in a bad shape, but you can't be that slow!"
"So, you framed my death?"
"Alleluia! I was starting to worry they touched..."
"When the hell did I asked you to declare me deceased?" I burst.
"You said you're facing 10 years federal prison and you asked me if I can make that go away in 35 hours. As I said, asked and delivered."
"I wasn't being serious!"
God, where's my baseball bat when I need it?
"Hey, don't worry, is normal to freak out in the beginning, but you'll see it differently soon. After all it is a second chance." he tried to calm me as he pushed the morphine button.
"Relax, get some sleep and if your face will be less puffy, we'll put on some make-up and I'll take you to your funeral. Trust me, we'll have a blast."
And so, he turned around and left me sinking in the sweet numbness of the morphine. My thoughts were too far away for me to understand so I just let it go for now.
Tomorrow I'll go to my funeral. Great start for a second chance, right?
A/N: This is my way of dealing with Will's death and mostly the only way I can still watch the show. Don't judge, don't look for science explanations, just enjoy it.