Work Text:
I used to think I was special
And only I have proved me wrong
I thought I could change
The world with a song
But I have ended up in India
With no lamp to guide me home.
The strangest place I think
I have ever been
And all this time
I thought that we were friends
My stubborn will is learning to bend.
--Kendall Payne, "Scratch"
*****
It's late and they've been working on Libya for days. The whole staff has been at work more than they aren't but tonight it's down to him and Mac because he's sent everybody home because of the hurricane--everybody he can send home, anyway, since Jim and Neal are camping in the office overnight in case everything goes to hell and they need to do a show tomorrow. He tried to get them to clear out but they weren't having it so he saves the arguments for Mac, who's being fucking stubborn and it's pissing him off.
"Look," he tells her. "Just come stay at my place. The roads are going to be total shit in the morning, what if the subway shuts down, there's big news and you can't get here? Stay with me and Lonny will get us both here tomorrow if we have to be." It's partly selfish because he can't get the show out without Mac on top of things, but that's not all of it.
"It's going to be fine," Mac says. "It won't be much of anything and I'm certain I can just take a cab in the morning or have ACN send a car if I'm feeling particularly entitled."
"Mac, come on." He gets his coat and his briefcase and holds his office door for her. "Lonny's going to be downstairs and you're getting in the car. I'm not kidding." He'd manhandle her in the car if he thought they could get away with it without the tabloids pitching a fit. They don't have TMI to worry about anymore, but there are other vultures scrambling in the wake of its demise and Will can't seem to keep his face out of them anymore.
"Lonny likes me," Mac says airily, waving a hand. "Besides, if it's really that much of a concern, I can just stay here with Jim and Neal. It won't be the first time I've roughed it with Jim, it'll be like old times and everything. But if it will keep you from making a completely unnecessary scene, I suppose I could come with you. All in the interest of keeping you happy, of course."
"I like knowing I'm going to have an EP tomorrow if I need one," he says, ignoring her sarcasm. He's trying and she's being stubborn and maybe he deserves it but he doesn't want her to get washed away or what the fuck ever. He's allowed to do that much, he thinks, even if he still keeps saying things to her that really aren't called for.
The weather's already horrible, pouring down enough that it only takes the time to walk from the door to the sidewalk soaks his shoes and through his jacket, and Mac doesn't seem to fare much better. Lonny's downstairs with the car, and he goes to open the passenger door for Will but stops when he sees Mac and opens the rear door without comment.
"I suppose I should bring a few days' worth of things, then?" she says, after asking Lonny to turn up the heat. "It looks a bit worse than I anticipated." Understatement, perhaps, but she can be a pragmatist. Starting right now, she can be a pragmatist, yes?
Will peels off his dripping jacket but it doesn't help much since basically everything he's wearing is wet. Mac is still shivering and Will reaches for the heating vent on his side to nudge it her way now that the heat's on full blast. "The storm probably won't last long now that's it's this far north, but who knows about power and public transportation." He's not sure about private transportation right now either; Lonny is accomplishing some kind of goddamn miracle driving in this rain.
At Mac's apartment, Lonny suggests that Will wait in the car because he hasn't secured Mac's place and they'll be out of the weather faster if he doesn't have to. This annoys Will, so he plays with the vents and the rear speaker volume and anything else he can get his hands on to annoy Lonny in return while they wait.
"She's something else," Lonny says, apropros of nothing.
Will scowls. "I know."
"You could treat her a little better than you do, McAvoy." It's the same tone Lonny uses when he's telling Will he's a pain in the ass (which is often).
"I'm working on it," Will says. There's this thing that he does when someone talks shit about Mac to him where he gets pissed off and defends her, except Lonny's not talking shit about Mac, he's defending her, so Will doesn't get to and that, too, annoys him. He reaches for a cigarette but the pack is soaked and maybe that's a good thing because if Mac smells smoke when she gets back she'll give him that look and if he's going to be cooped up with her overnight maybe it's best not to bait her. "Maybe you should do less talking and more protecting. I'm a wanted man, you know."
Lonny laughs but he doesn't say anything else about Mac and Will's even more annoyed when Mac comes back down, teetering on her heels in the wind like the bag over her shoulder is the only thing that keeps her from blowing away, and Lonny beats him to opening the door for her.
Showoff.
*****
Lonny drives a luxury tank, essentially, and Mac suspects that's why he's had little to no trouble navigating the streets. Still, it's not a place she wants to be much longer and when they pull up to her building, there's already water ponding on the roads. It's a bit lower elevation here than it is where Will lives and Mac thinks, again, perhaps he was smart to have her come stay with him. She's not going to admit to it because she's really not in the mood for his smugness today and that’s like giving Will a license to be a pompous ass.
When she packs, it's haphazard at best and she tries to find things that remotely match and ends up with quite a lot of underwear and not a lot of much else. It's only a few days, though, and on a lark she grabs her makeup case as well. Who knows. She might end up having to go into the office (even though it’s a Saturday, a hurricane is a rare enough occurrence that something newsworthy might come of it) and she really doesn't want to look bedraggled when she does.
She winces when she steps back out into the street and a passing car sends water flying up over the curb and soaks her again in spite of her careful navigation with bags and umbrella. Lonny braves the weather to open the door or her and Will glowers a bit; Mac isn’t quite sure what that exchange is about and decides early on that she really doesn’t want to know. Male posturing at its best.
"That's it. I'll never be warm and dry again."
"I have a fireplace," Will says, "With a real fire and everything." His tone is strange, faraway, and Mac isn’t entirely sure what to do about that. She’s also not entirely sure what to do with things like, 'I have a fireplace,' because it's what feels like a blatant come-on and she doesn't get come-ons from Will McAvoy. She wants them, certainly, and if he were making a genuine offer she was most certainly accept it (even if she felt like an ass later, which is very well likely) but it's not within the realm of possibility. She's hurt him too much for him to ever consider that with her again and besides, he's got his whole queue of women with perfect breasts and asses and everything else that defies gravity much better than Mac's mere mortal body.
"Perhaps we can light it, then," she says softly and it falls flat and feels awkward. She tries to catch Lonny's eyes in the mirror and ask for help but it appears her mental cries of anguish fall on deaf ears because he doesn't say or do anything and just lets her flounder. It's times like these that Mac really wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. They can find a new EP.
"If...I'm still cold."
When they get to Will’s apartment, Lonny says he'll be back to get them in the morning at the usual time. He doesn't qualify this with "if the weather lets up" or "if the roads are clear," he just says he'll be there at the usual time and Mac feels like she’s missing something between the lines. If there’s more to it than that, Will doesn’t let on, and he gets her bags. Will’s always been a consummate gentleman, bad temper notwithstanding, and Mac has always gotten a little giddy about the way he treats her like a lady even though she’s been a ball-busting journalist for over a decade.
The elevator ride is quiet and awkward and Mac focuses on the row of little buttons that light up as they stop on each floor to pick up passengers and luckily, nobody joins them. Most everyone is in for the day and trying to avoid the weather, not going out in it, and she and Will are some of the last straggling in. She shivers a bit in the hall when Will unlocks the door and as soon as she gets inside, she toes off her miserably-wet shoes and gives Will her best attempt at a pitiful look. She imagines it's pretty successful; she is feeling pitiful right now.
"I need a shower and something dry. My bags got wet earlier and I'll need to dry everything all over again."
Mac is convinced there is no god because, if there were, he would not put her in this situation with Will fucking McAvoy.
*****
She looks soggy and miserable, like a little bird that got blown away in a storm (literally) and there's a part of Will that wants to hug her--but he doesn't, both because he's just as soaked so it wouldn't help, and also because he's paralyzed into inaction by the realization that he fucking loves her. Not that this is a flash of brand-new insight, because he's admitted as much out loud--albeit when higher than the goddamn International Space Station, a message which thankfully she never actually heard, although someone did, probably several someones--but it's one of those moments that's so painfully crystal clear that all he can do is just stand there dripping on his floor and stare at her. He loves her despite the betrayal, despite the fact that he can't forgive her, and he has no idea what the fuck he's going to do about it. Or if he's going to do anything about it.
He starts to speak and nothing comes out; he clears his throat and tries again. "Take whatever you want of mine," he says, a little gruffly, like he's not supposed to care (but he does, oh, he does). "Extra towels are in the bathroom."
Mac looks a little wounded at that, and she's still shivering. "I'll try to make it quick in case you have another girl on the way. Might as well make a party of it, right?" As soon as she says it, she looks like she regrets it, but she turns and scurries off for the bathroom before she or Will can say anything else.
"There's no other girl!" he yells after her fleeing back, but there's not a lot of heat to it because well, he deserves it. He dated all those women to hurt her, basically, and okay, he hasn't been on a date in months but that probably doesn't make it hurt any less. If she wants to throw it in his face, there's not much he can say about it because there really is no defense.
Will really hates it when he has no defense.
There's a small ocean forming beneath his feet and that finally gets his ass moving. Mac is already in the bathroom, door firmly shut, by the time he gets back to his bedroom; he pulls dry clothes from closets and drawers, dries off and changes in the guest bath (he's not sitting around in wet clothes until Mac is done), lights the fireplace, and deals with the trails of water he and Mac have left all over the house. The rain pounds at the windows and ruins what is usually a stunning view of the city. For all he can see, he might as well be underground.
He flips open his laptop and skims the weather reports.
*****
Mac takes as long as she can in the shower but when the hot water finally gives out, she reluctantly gets out and wraps one of Will's gigantic towels around her. She can almost manage to make it go twice around, if that's believable, and she creeps quietly from bathroom to bedroom to find something to wear. There's row after row of crisp, fresh and starched shirts in his closet and Mac decides she doesn't want one of those. Perhaps it's stupid, but she wants something he's worn that smells like him and not like fresh laundry.
There's one from yesterday laying on top of the hamper and she lifts it to her face and smells it before deciding she's a complete idiot and just putting it on. Her panties from earlier are only slightly damp now and she decides to slide them on as well before padding back out to the living room with wet hair. Will's set the fire, thank god.
"I feel something approaching human again, thank you."
She feels a little awkward and on display while wearing so little and wonders if it had really been wise to nick his shirt instead of wearing something more modest. Will is looking at her in a way that shakes her to the core. It’s not how a man drools at Maxim or looks at porn, it’s soulful and tender with just enough heat behind it that Mac knows, if given the chance, he would sleep with her. Mac is also reasonably sure she’d say yes a thousand times over if he asked. She’s always been a fool where Will McAvoy is concerned.
Slowly, he closes the laptop. "You look great," he says quietly.
"What? You're being ridiculous," Mac says, and she makes this little inane laugh that's high and thin just like her voice. Mac can handle when Will is cruel. He's cruel about a lot of things, mostly regarding her and her mistake, and she's grown used to that. She can handle Will when he's grumpy or when he's fired up by politics or anything but Will being charming and acting like he's forgiven her. Mac knows he won't forgive her. He hasn't in this long and he always lords it over her that she'd done something to wound him and so she's stopped expecting the forgiveness to come and, really, it's as much as she deserves.
"New Years, now that was a day I looked great. Hair done, makeup done, breasts lifted and taped and doing all sorts of defying the laws of gravity...then, I would have believed you. Right now I'm two steps from being an extra in Robinson Crusoe."
"You did look great then, and I told you so," Will reminds her and none of the heat has left his voice. If anything, it’s more evident, and Mac wonders if it’s just the intimacy of being stuck together because of the storm or if there’s something more to it. She wonders, not for the first time, if these are the first steps of Will finally forgiving her. "And I'm telling you now."
Mac flounders for a moment and fumbles for something to say and is rescued, oddly enough, by another non-sequitur from Will. It’s abrupt and a bit ridiculous but she’ll take any port in this particular storm. "You want a sandwich? I make a mean bacon, egg, and cheese."
It's a bit abrupt but Mac is grateful for the break and nods. It's not what she normally eats but she can make an exception just this once and it will give her a moment to get some peace and not have to deal with Will McAvoy complimenting her out of thin air.
Maybe he wants to sleep with her. Fucking doesn't necessarily have anything to do with love and, really, she knows that one firsthand. Maybe Will just wants to fuck her without forgiving her and that's why he's gone and made compliments and made her feel like she's drowning even though the maelstrom is outside and not in the middle of Will's hardwood floor.
"Absolutely. Show me what you've got, hmm?"
*****
Having something to do is an excellent way to keep from staring at Mac's legs and as he fries the bacon he almost manages to forget that she's standing there in one of his shirts. For about five seconds, anyway, and then he catches another look at her and her long, pale legs that seem to go on for miles and he's remembering how good it felt to have those long legs wrapped around him and.... shit. Shit. There is no good reason for her to be wearing his clothes except that she's trying to get to him and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair. He has no weapons against this.
Will's quiet as he cooks, draining the bacon on paper towels and starting on the eggs. He splits two rolls in half and butters each half, tossing them in the broiler for a minute while the eggs finish, and gets cheese from the fridge. He is quiet not because he's concentrating, because he makes this shit almost every night and it's a routine. He's quiet because if he says anything, he's going to say something about how he's trying to forgive her and how he's trying to get over this shit and how he wants to have, if not exactly what they had before, a chance to maybe try to have something new, and how despite how much he wants this he is not. quite. there yet. But while he finds plenty of words every night to rip into the latest Tea Party bullshit, there are no words that are quite good enough for Mac. She's quiet, too, as she watches him cook and occasionally hands him something when he reaches for it, fingers brushing in the exchange.
"Do you have anything to drink?" she asks when he's almost finished. "Might as well make a real party out of it and relax, right? Wine or something?"
Will thinks he has a few bottles of Stella Artois left in the fridge that he hasn't managed to drink. "There's beer in the fridge," he says, and though there's also liquor in the bar he thinks he's going to play it safe because Mac in that shirt is not a good combination with him getting plastered. Getting drunk off his ass is not going to make him want her any less.
"Beer sounds wonderful," Mac says cheerfully. She pulls two beers from the refrigerator and sets them on the counter close to where Will is, opening one for her and opening the other and putting it on the counter near him. "I could use about six of them, if we're honest. The wind's not helping my nerves at all."
This is a woman who has been shot at in three different countries, but it's wind that makes her nervous. He takes the beer with a quiet thanks and assembles the sandwiches. "Do you really want the numbers on the rated strength of the materials in this building?" He's not being sarcastic, he's being serious. Mac likes facts. "Because I can tell you, if it helps." He slides his creations onto plates and nods toward the living room, where it's warmer because of the fireplace.
"No, I trust you. I'm just keyed up," she says, and settles on the couch with her long legs half-folded beneath her. She doesn't flash him, but it's an awful lot of leg, and he can't help drag his eyes up the long expanse of skin that eventually disappears under the cotton. Will gets an eyeful of Mac's legs nearly every day in her assortment of skinny skirts--black, grey, brown, perfectly professional neutrals that blend in to everything around her--but this is different. This is Mac the woman that he loves more than breathing, not Mac the EP that will bust his balls for stupid shit like slipping in some Sarah Palin bullshit in the C block without running it by her first.
"Forget the storm," he says. "It's going to be okay. We're not getting washed away here. A lot of the city is going to flood and the streets are going to be a wreck for a while, but right here, tonight, nothing is going to happen to you." He's not lecturing her or making an attempt to dismiss her anxieties or pick a fight with her, he's just stating what he knows. Right now, the last thing he wants is to pick a fight with her. He likes this kind of almost-normal thing they're doing where she feels comfortable enough with him to sit on his couch wearing nothing but one of his day-old shirts and though she's sort of folded herself onto the couch he can still see the curve of her hip through the fabric and it's driving him nuts.
They had a good thing, before. (Before she cheated on him, he reminds himself, something that's automatic and something he hates.) They were so good together and it really doesn't matter how many brain surgeons or cheerleaders or ESPN eye-candies he goes out with, the fact is that Mac was and is the one for him. Period. She's the one that lights a fire under his ass, she's the one who beats some sense to him when he's being a jackass, she's the one that makes him want to be a better man.
He can see five neatly-painted toes peeking out from beneath her folded leg. Jesus. He drains his beer and stands up. "I need another beer," he announces, heading for the kitchen.
"I could use another," Mac says as he walks away and when he returns with one for each of them, she reaches out for the beer and her fingers brush his slightly. Mac closes her eyes and exhales softly. "We should do something," she says. "Read a book or play chess or something so we're not sitting here fretting about the weather. Or, well, so I'm not sitting here fretting about the weather."
Will doesn't have any books he hasn't read fifteen times (or read once and hated) and he's not sure where his chess set is and he really, really doesn't want Mac freaking out about the damn weather. He has to distract her from that. And he has to distract himself from her legs and the fact that she's wearing his goddamn shirt.
He sits down beside her with his beer and immediately gets up again. Sitting beside her will not distract him from her. "I have a problem," he says. "And I'm not sure what to do about it."
This is possibly not an actual distraction.
*****
"You have a problem," Mac repeats, slowly and carefully the way one does a child because she honestly does. not. understand. what. he's. talking. about. Ever. She never understands him anymore and it's really sad considering they used to be in a relationship that worked incredibly well before she went and did what she did.
"Is your problem approximately 5'8" and brunette? Because, really, I think I can go back to the office if being here is that big an issue. I really can. The boys and I will be fine."
"No. Well--no. You, MacKenzie, yourself, you are not the problem." Will looks at her, curled up on his couch, and shakes his head. "I'm the problem--I have the problem. Because there's something that I want. Something that I want a lot, because I had it before and... it was good. It was really good and I think maybe it could be again." It’s not what she expected at all and Mac feels a little flabbergasted and completely stunned.
"Wait," Mac says, standing because she doesn't like sitting when Will's towering over her and she needs something to do with her arms and legs before she simply goes ballistic. She presses her lips together and tries to find the most neutral language she can to address this whatever the hell it is.
"You want...you want to date me? Because I refuse to be in your little parade of women and...and..." Her arms have started moving around in spite of her resolve not to make a scene and she feels utterly ridiculous.
"I won't make a fool of myself. I won't do this. I won't get my hopes up and get hurt by you, Will McAvoy, I won't. I won't..."
She feels her cheeks getting hot and tugs at the collar of her shirt to fan herself. She's such a fucking idiot.
"There's not a parade!" he says, abrupt and sharp and Mac feels like she’s made a grave mistake in making that dig at him."I'm just saying that--I'm not trying to hurt you or make a fool out of you or anything, I'm just trying to say that I--" He doesn’t finish the sentence and, instead, takes her face in his hands and kisses her.
Mac is really, really confused now because the last thing she expected out of Will in this moment was for him to grab and kiss her like this like nothing ever went wrong. They'd always fought, of course, but it hadn't been the hateful and hurtful things that dominated their relationship after she made her mistake. It'd always been over things that didn't affect the integrity of their relationship and this, the part where he kisses her and makes love to her, this has always worked incredibly well.
Her hands are trapped between them and she manages to slide them up to rest against his chest and she can feel that his heart's beating as fast as hers. It's enough of a tell that she knows it's sincere and she relaxes slightly, parts her mouth beneath his and starts really enjoying herself when she hears something pop and everything goes dark.
"Will?"
*****
Her voice is small and thin and it makes Will feel stupidly protective, not unlike the way he feels when some jackass from the RNC bitches about not wanting her to produce the debate or TMI acts like Mac's trying to boost her boyfriend's (ex-boyfriend, he thinks, and rejoices) political cred. "It's okay," he says immediately, and he slides his hands to her shoulders. The lack of light skews his perspective and she seems smaller, somehow. More delicate. "It's just the power, it'll probably come back on in a minute. Stay here, okay?"
Will feels his way across the apartment to the kitchen--stubbing his toe on furniture twice along the way because his eyes haven't adjusted to the dark yet--and finds a flashlight in one drawer and some candles in another. The flashlight gets him back to Mac without breaking his neck and he puts a few of the candles on the coffee table, lighting them with his lighter. It's enough light to keep from falling over anything, at least. "I'm sure it won't stay out for long," he says, trying to be reassuring.
"It's incredibly romantic," Mac says, laughing a little. "Well, at least it would be if we pretended we'd done this on purpose instead of the power going out because of the stupid weather."
"MacKenzie--"
Kissing her felt good. Really good. A reminder of all the things that were good about them and for a moment it actually made him forget about the cheating. Reminding him--not that he needed the reminder, because he's been thinking about it since they stepped out of the elevator and honestly, since she got back--how much he loves her. How much he has always loved her and has never stopped loving her. But now he's not sure if he should have done it, because she's giving him that wounded-bird look and he thinks he's hurt her again.
He's getting too good at that.
"What? I mean, candlelight is romantic, isn't it? All women like that. Did you know they had a hurricane party during Hurricane Camille and a bunch of people died because they were too drunk to get out of a flood? Or something like that? Actually, now that I mention it, I really don't know if that's accurate. Or relevant, since this isn't a hurricane like that one and we're not where it can flood, really, and..."
She pauses, takes a deep breath, and shakes out her shoulders before looking at him again. "Billy? What in the hell are we doing?"
"I don't know." He reaches out, touches her shoulder, rubs his thumb against her collarbone. He hates when she calls him Billy because it sounds like a nickname for a fucking five-year-old, but he loves it, too, because of the way Mac's voice sounds when she says it. And she's the only person who's ever called him that. "I just really needed to kiss you."
"What did the message say?" she asks quietly. "I never got it, but it seems like it's something I should have heard."
The fucking message. Will sighs and traces his finger along the shoulder seam of the shirt (which on Mac, goes halfway to her elbow). He can do this. He can tell her what the message said. Because it's something he needs to say, something she needs to hear, and he needs to come out with it so they can both move the fuck on with whatever they will or will not do together.
"It said, 'Hi, this is me, Will. Listen, I'm not saying this because I'm high. If the answer is no, then just do me a favor and don't call me back or bring it up or anything. But I have to tell you--'"
He can't tell her. The words are right there, in his brain: I have to tell you— I mean, after tonight, I really want to tell you— that I’ve never stopped loving you.
They were so easy to say when he was high and wasn't thinking about the consequences. It was so easy to just tell her what he felt and now it's so. fucking. hard. He drops his hand from her shoulder, looks at his beer on the coffee table, shakes his head, and walks over to the bar and pours himself a generous measure of bourbon.
"You shouldn't be drinking that with your ulcer," Mac says, but it's a little absent, like a reflex, because what she's really on is the message. "Finish it? What did the message say, Will? I think...I think I need to know. If we're, whatever we're doing."
Will tips back the glass and drains it. His eyes cross a little when he puts the glass down and he regrets that slightly except the faint tingle of impending drunkenness is helping with the feeling of what-the-fuck-do-I-say-to-that. "It said," he begins, and as soon as he says it, he knows that no amount of alcohol is going to pry these words out of his mouth. "Damn it, Mac, I can't tell you what it said. I remember exactly word for word what I said that night and I meant every word I said but I was high and that made it... easier to say."
"If you're drinking, I'm drinking too," Mac decides. "Because I'm not going to be an idiot by myself and I've already been an idiot once today, there's a high likelihood it's going to happen again." She busies herself with heading to the bar herself and getting a glass for her own bourbon.
"I'm sorry I asked. I shouldn't have."
Will doesn't stop her. If she's drinking she can't nag him about his own drinking and he really, really needs to be doing something that isn't touching Mac. Or kissing her. Or whatever. "You're not an idiot," he says, pouring himself another drink. "And don't be sorry."
"All right, so I'm not sorry." She sips her drink before speaking again. "I want to kiss you again. Should I be sorry about that?"
"No," he says. He drains his glass again and puts it down. "Don't ever be sorry about that." Will wants, very much, to kiss her again, but this time he's going to leave it up to her. If he can't give her the words she wants, he doesn't have any right to take what he wants from her. So he steps as close to her as he dares, but he doesn't touch her even though he has to curl his fingers into his palms to keep from acting on the impulse to pull her into his arms.
*****
"I want you to know that this isn't who I am," Mac reminds him. "I don't do this. I'm not someone who just does this casually." She guesses her protests aren't really very convincing since she is the kind of woman who will cheat on her wonderful boyfriend with an ex who wasn't so wonderful and let it go on for months and months without saying anything but that's beside the point. That's an aberration, a special circumstance, and her life whenever Will McAvoy is in it is always some sort of extreme event.
There has to be some sort of pass for doing ridiculous things during this kind of weather and it's with that in mind that she steps a little closer and chances sliding her arms around him.
"This isn't casual," Will says, pressing his mouth to hers, and his hands slide across the cotton shirt to her hips, sneaking around to her lower back to hold her close.
It better not be, Mac thinks, her own fingers toying with the collar of his shirt and working some of the buttons loose. It's mostly something to do with her fingers but also, more than a little, she wants to feel herself pressed up against him again and pretend that the Thing never happened. She never made a mistake. She and Will were together and none of that ever happened, even if just for a little while.
She slants her mouth against his and deepens the kiss, relaxing even though the storm outside sounds worse than it did earlier. He works open the buttons of her shirt and slides his hands against her skin and she feels her heart beating a rapid staccato against his palm.
We should talk.
It's right in the front of her mind but Mac can't seem to get her tongue and her lips to do much of anything other than kiss him, over and over, and she hopes that he knows they really, really have to talk after this because there's entirely too much happening to let certain things go unsaid. There's the fact that she loves him and never stopped, for one, but she's fairly sure he's aware of that since he twists that knife in her back every chance he gets. Maybe she should just enjoy herself. Enjoying herself can't come to cross purposes, can it?
In the interest of that very thing, she shrugs her shoulders back just enough to let the shirt slip down and off and, that done, crushes her mouth to his for another kiss. Talking, she guesses, is just going to have to happen later.
*****
If Will had any doubts as to how Mac feels about this abrupt turn of events, he doesn't have them anymore, not after she sheds the shirt and he finds he was mostly right about her not having anything on beneath it. He wants to take a good long look at her but he can't stop kissing her long enough to manage it so he lets his hands do the looking instead, skimming over her body, learning her all over again. God, he loves her so much, and if he could just tell her... He nudges her in the direction of his bedroom, though once they're away from the candles it's really fucking dark and he has boxes all over the place. "Careful," he says, before she can trip over them, but it's the only word he manages because even now he can't stop fucking kissing her, like he's spent the last four years drowning without her and he needs her like he needs air.
Mac backs into one of the boxes just as he warns her and laughs lightly, an embarrassed little sound. Somehow they manage to get back to his room without breaking their necks, and she slides her hands up to cup his cheeks lightly.
"Are you sure, Will?"
"Yeah," Will says, and it's not enough, he knows; there's a whole avalanche of words behind those that he wants to say and can't, and it makes him feel a little sick inside, but she's touching his face in that way she does (used to do) and he wants her, so much. He slides his hands down her back and his fingers push beneath the thin material of her panties and over her ass as he presses her against him, and even through the clothes he's still wearing, the pressure and warmth of her body against his cock makes him want to scream.
Usually when Will's around MacKenzie, the thing that happened is somewhere near the front of his mind, even if he's not actively thinking about it. It's always there, just loud enough not to be ignored. But right now, he's not thinking about that; he's not thinking of much of anything, really, except how good this feels and how good they are together.
Will traces his fingers up her spine, breathes in the clean scent of her hair; she's kissing his neck in the way that that fucking drives him crazy and he feels like he's losing his mind. He yanks off his shirt, fumbles with his jeans, and they're on the bed in a tangle of legs that feel mostly like Mac's because hers just keep going, long and slender in a way that looks fragile but really isn't.
*****
Mac is pretty sure this is up there on the list of stupid and reckless things she's done in her life but she doesn't really give a damn when she's tangled up with Will the way she's wanted to be for the better part of the last four years. She rolls them so she's on top because at least, this way, she's in control of her own mistakes. And this is definitely a mistake, though Mac hopes she ends up getting something good out of it instead of just plain heartache. There's no way that sleeping with Will McAvoy is going to end up being anything approaching easy or simple.
"Talk afterward," she reminds him softly, leaning down to kiss him again. Now is the time for action, not words, but she'll have her damned words afterward if she has to feed him another ten cookies all by herself.
She wants, more than anything, for him to let loose on the tight rein he keeps on himself and just say what he feels. Mac has a suspicion it’s more than just fondness or a willingness to fuck and if he still has feelings for her, is willing to risk his heart for her, she wants to hear that more than anything before she takes this plunge. He’s quiet though and the only sounds in the room are their heavy breathing and the whistle of the wind outside. Nothing that tells her anything.
"Condom's in the drawer,' he says, gruff, and Mac nods. The last thing she wants is to complicate things further by being a fucking imbecile about protection and she murmurs a quick thanks before leaning over and snagging the condom. She opens it and waffles for a moment before deciding she'll just put it on herself instead of wasting words and precious minutes to ask Will to do it. That done, she leans down and kisses him again as she takes him in and the little cry she makes is more out of relief than anything else. It's just a relief to be with him and not have him punishing her for once.
"Oh. my. God. Been too long."
"Too long," he echoes, and he slides his hands over her breasts, her hips, her back. His fingers brush against her skin and drive her insane, especially when he slides one hand down between them and works his fingers against her clit. She’s soaked, already, and it’s a testament to how good they are and how much she wants this. And oh, she does want it, even if it’s stupid. So stupid.
Mac can't seem to find it in herself to actually stop. Instead, she goes at it full force and is passionate and free in ways she really hasn't let herself be around Will in ages. Too easy to get hurt if she wears all her emotions on her sleeve, after all, and it's easier to let him see anger and bitterness than the love she has for him or the admiration or any of the other tender feelings she really, really ought not to have after he's punished her for so long.
His fingers find a steady rhythm and she tips her head back, eyes shut, and her breath is ragged as she tries to just keep it together for a little bit longer. Just a little longer, then she can let go and hopefully they can talk about this thing for once.
*****
God, he loves when she lets go; she's not quite there yet but Will knows she will be soon and he wants to be the one to get her there. He needs to know that he can still do it for her (she sure as hell still does it for him, he's so close to coming he feels like if he doesn't, soon, he's going to have a goddamn heart attack), needs to know that they still work and not just as EP and anchor. "Mac," he says, and it sounds pretty close to begging because that's what he's been reduced to at this point.
She's almost there; her breath hitches and a sigh becomes a choked-off sob and then he can feel her coming apart all around him. Mac's orgasm is all it takes to do him in and he comes hard and fast and he thinks he might never actually breathe again because every nerve in his body is screaming with pleasure.
"Kiss me," she whispers and there's no real question to it. It's a demand, more than a request, and he's not so far gone that he misses it. He kisses her hard, sinking his hands into her hair to hold her close, and it's a good kiss, a long kiss that neither of them seem to want to end.
When they finally break apart, Will kisses her hair and gets up to deal with the condom. In theory, that gives him a few moments to think about what to say and how to say it, but it doesn't help, so when he comes back and curls up with her again, he doesn't immediately say anything.
This would be when a normal guy who is not Will McAvoy says something like I love you or let's try to make this work or anything else that remotely acknowledges human feelings and the weight of what they just did, but somehow he is fundamentally incapable of managing it. He loves her. There's no doubt about that. But admitting to himself that he loves her, and admitting to Mac that he loves her, are two different things, even if she's lying there with her head on his chest and he's sliding his fingers through the ends of her hair.
*****
"You probably think this was a mistake, don't you?"
It's unfair, really, to put her own thoughts into Will's mouth but Mac can't see where this is a good thing. Oh, they're good together and in bed they've never fought the way they do otherwise but there's too much bad blood between them from before to assume everything is just fine because they've gone and slept together. On the contrary, it might actually be worse than it had been.
But Mac can't help herself. She can't help herself around him anyway but certainly not now after the article and his hospitalization and maybe that's why she's willing to be a little more reckless even if it puts herself out there to get hurt. She misses him, misses having all of him, and it feels like she has a little of that back when they're together like this.
"Jesus, Mac." He sounds stunned and perhaps he is. Perhaps he thought everything would be all right now that they’d slept together again because Mac had the same thoughts herself before she went and did it and confused herself. She’s confused, more than hurt, and she hopes it’s something the two of them are able to clear up easily enough. She doubts it will be; she and Will are complicated at the best of times and this is far from ideal.
He takes a deep breath and it’s clear he’s searching for the right thing to say. Will can be precise with his words when he wants to be, for good or for ill."I think that... maybe it isn't the wisest thing we could have done," he says carefully. "But I'm not going to call it a mistake."
That's better than she expected, honestly, even if it's not exactly the thing she wants to hear and Mac doesn't move from where she's pillowed her head on his chest. She's sick with guilt, again, and Will really hasn't done anything to make her feel that way. It's her own damned fault this time because this was so good and it just makes her remember all over again how she ruined it the first time. And, she thinks, that she'll ruin it again. She's not exactly an expert at interpersonal relations.
"Normally, I would leave so I could be ashamed all alone but it's very convenient that I'm stuck here until Lonny comes and gets us tomorrow." The power's still out so, really, she couldn't leave unless she felt like going down God only knew how many flights of stairs. It's not something she relishes, spending the rest of the night here, but maybe it will force her to face her issues and make him face his.
"I didn't exactly mean to sleep with you. I wanted to, no question, but I really just wanted to talk. I promise."
Will is quiet for a moment. "This wasn't... I didn't plan this," he says. "It's not why I wanted you to stay. If you're really uncomfortable, there's a hotel nearby, I can put you up for the night and have someone drive you and I swear to God I won't be offended. But I hope you'll stay," he adds quickly, and Mac finds herself nodding along. She wants to stay more than anything but she’s also afraid of opening up and letting her guard down where he’s concerned. She might have been the one to make first strike with cheating but Will’s dealt his own blows against her over the past few years.
"I just don't do this," Mac says and her voice gives everything away that she's been trying desperately to hide. "I'm not this kind of person, I'm not, and I don't know how to talk to you anymore. I don't know how to tell you what I'm feeling or why I'm feeling it and any time I get around you, I turn into some hysterical excuse for a woman and I should be happy right now because we're back together, aren't we? But I don't feel happy, I really just feel confused and I don't...this was such a bad idea. And I don't regret it, exactly, but I don't even know where to start."
*****
Shit. He's just gone and done the thing he knows he has to stop doing, is tired of doing, doesn't want to do anymore--hurt MacKenzie. And this is way worse than bringing dates to the office and flaunting them under her nose or giving up three million dollars of his salary and taking a noncompete clause to have the right to fire her at the end of every week or bringing in her ex to do a piece on the show or having his agent go to Tiffany and buy a goddamn engagement ring and let her think he's had it all along.
This has crossed a line.
He's been operating under the assumption, at least for the last several months, that she might want to get back together with him when he gets his shit together. But all this has done has seemed to make her miserable, and now he's re-thinking that assumption. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, and though he wants to hug her tightly and just really never let go, he doesn't, because he doesn't think it would help or really be welcome. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Mac. Not with this."
"You didn't hurt me," she says, and though he can't really read her expression, he can hear a hint of a smile in her voice. "I just thought we should have talked about this a little more before we did it but it's not like I was an unwilling participant. I could have said no if I wanted to and I didn't want to, so we don't have a problem there."
He feels her shift beside him, feels her prop up a little on her elbow before she speaks again. "I love you. But it's a lot more complicated than that, isn't it? Always has been with us."
That's a little bit of a relief, to hear her say that she loves him and that she wasn't an unwilling participant in what just happened, but Will still feels like an asshole. The fact that he can't give her an I love you in return--and it's not like he doesn't love her, is the thing, because he does, he's about to lose his goddamn mind over her with how much he loves her--makes him feel like an even bigger asshole.
"Yeah," he says. "It's complicated. " Jesus fuck, why can't he just tell her about the goddamn message? About how he fucking feels about her? Instead of hiding behind this I don't want to talk about it bullshit that doesn't accomplish anything except to hurt her and frustrate them both? "Look," he adds, "I'm not trying to fuck with you or get back at you or... any of the other bullshit I've been pulling this year. I'm done with that." It's not enough and he knows it. Saying "I love you" to someone and getting nothing in return but "I'm not fucking with you anymore" is really not okay. And it's bothering him, deeply, that somewhere along the way he's lost his ability to express any feelings that don't involve a fucking shouting match.
"I gathered," Mac murmurs. She slides her hand up to cup his cheek and watches him for a moment before kissing his forehead lightly. "I think we both need some sleep. It seems stupid to get up and go to another room when I've already fucked you but I thought I'd give you the option of kicking me out, if you wanted it? No hard feelings if that's what you want."
He's not used to hearing that kind of bluntness out of Mac except when it comes to work and it shocks him a little. Not that he doesn't deserve it, obviously, but it makes him think a minute before he opens his mouth again. "I don't want to kick you out," Will says, because its easier to say than I want you to stay.
"Then I'll stay for the moment," Mac says, kissing him again before curling up against him and laying her head against his shoulder. He slides his arms around her, kisses her hair, and wonders why this feels like a temporary truce.