Chapter 1 - Missing the Mark

They had been going at it hammer-and-tongs for minutes now, and the eyes of the staff around the conference table followed the argument with the same see-sawing pendulum movement they would employed to follow a match at Wimbledon.

"Just last month the U.S. House of Representatives voted 240 to 184 against a resolution that merely suggested climate change could be associated with human activities—"

Fifteen-love, MacKenzie.

"I don't see why this has to be exploited for a political angle. Two hundred people are dead in Joplin, how 'bout we focus on them?" Will threaded his way through chairs to reach the ubiquitous white board and ticked off the points she'd printed out. "Russian heat wave, drought in the Plains, record floods in Queensland, the Arctic is melting—" he couldn't help a withering roll of the eyes, "—and I have to ask, what any of this has to do with the familiar tragedy of a tornado in the American mid-west."

Fifteen-all.

"Well, let's not forget how important it is not to disrupt the record profits of the fossil fuel industry—"

"How can you play connect-the-dots on a series of isolated, unpredictable—"

"Acts of god?"

"I was going to say, climatological events," he finished, tersely. "The jury is still out on exact causation."

Thirty-fifteen, Will.

But Mac lobbed back, "Greenhouse gases are not a new phenomenon. Respected scientists are in accord that there is a pattern—"

He shook his head theatrically.

She raised her voice at his gesture. "There is a pattern, and it is more important to the nation than $4.00 a gallon petrol—"

"Gasoline," he corrected.

"Whatever! Should the president have just opened new territories to coal mining, knowing what we know about emissions from coal-fired electric plants?"

Thirty-all.

Sensing weakness, she pressed forward. " And the pipeline carrying oil squeezed from Canadian tar sands—"

"Your point being—?"

"Maybe we should get back to tonight's show," Kendra offered mildly, seeking to defuse further fireworks. The others around the table looked slightly disappointed, her call to reason having potential to deprive them of watching Will and Mac debate further.

"If the bloody EPA can declare global warming, why the hell can't Congress?"

Game point, MacKenzie.

Turning, Will flung out his arms in an aggravated, expansive gesture.

At the precise moment MacKenzie came near.

Later, no one would be able to say with certitude what had happened first. Whether Will had punched his hand into the air or whether Mac had walked into his loose fist.

The back of his hand collided with her face with an audible thwack. The wide eyes of staffers ringing the conference table darted up and conversation instantly stilled.

Mac fell back a step, stunned, her face averted. Will dropped his hands, then – acutely aware of the spectators at the table – warned, "That wasn't deliberate." He shifted to face the staff, who in unison now dropped their eyes in mortification. "That was accidental—I didn't know she was there—"

Jim, who had been talking to Joey outside the conference room, suddenly swung through the door and took charge. "Okay, people, let's clear the room and get to work." He kept one hand on the door and rested the other on his hip. "Now."

Eight staffers exited in unusual silence.

"Mac?"

Without directly looking at him, she held up a hand. "It's okay, Jim."

"If you need—if I can get you—"

"I just need a minute. I'll catch up to you in Control, 'kay?"

She still wasn't looking up, hadn't looked at anyone since it happened.

Jim felt his anger flare but knew better than to prolong the scene. "Yeah." He exchanged a belligerent glare with Will as he departed the room.

"You know I didn't mean that," Will muttered, persisting in his attempt to mitigate culpability. "I was just making my point, you know, and you—"

She finally lifted her face and met his gaze. Her right cheek was visibly reddened.

"Come on, Mac. You know that was just an accident, that I would never—"

She still just looked at him.

"Are you hurt?"

"I can deal with a slap, Will. I've had worse. But you make it impossible for me to be an authority figure—"

"I said it wasn't deliberate," he protested again.

"It doesn't matter—"

"Of course it matters—"

"You're not hearing me." She exhaled heavily. "In any event, we are not going to have this conversation now, in this room. There's been too much of a public display already." She checked the wall clock above the door. "One hour fifteen minutes to show."

"Hold on, hold on–can we just hit the reset button, Mac?"

She stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before grabbing her folio and striding out.

Will twisted his mouth in frustration. Fuck. Well, he wouldn't chase her. It was an accident, it was unfortunate, and sooner or later she was bound to come around. He had no blame here.

And as if things could get any worse for Will at this particular moment, Charlie Skinner eased into the conference room, having been tipped off by an anonymous staffer.

Will sighed in defeat. "How did you—?"

"I'm all-seeing. All-knowing. Omnivorous."

Will harrumphed and threw up both hands. "Don't start, because I don't want to hear this," he began as he made for the door.

"No, but I'm going to tell it to you anyway."

Will continued out the door, and Charlie followed him, across the bullpen and into Will's office.

"Will, you can't pretend this didn't happen. People saw it, practically the whole fucking newsroom saw it, so now it's an HR issue—on top of everything else—and it's on my desk. You're going to have to apologize—"

"I didn't do anything!"

"I beg to differ." Charlie pulled his head back, preparing to issue his edict. "You need to apologize to MacKenzie, and you've got to apologize to the staff for letting them witness you lose your temper."

"I didn't lose my—." He took a calming breath. "Charlie, this isn't a big deal. Mac is okay—she told me she wasn't hurt. How was I supposed to anticipate she was going to run into my—" He reconsidered finishing that thought. "Look, I didn't do it deliberately. No intent—no malice aforethought. Just a case of bad timing, and there's no way I should publicly shamed for—"

"Listen to me, you petulant pettifogger. We're in a business where appearances count. It's why you are at the desk and not some fat bald guy. And besides all that—there's a certain expectation of common courtesy in civilized society. You step on someone's toes in the elevator, you say you're sorry. Why is this so hard for you to understand?" He paused. "Is it because it's her?"

"Absolutely not. Mac and I are fine. She's my EP and trusted colleague. Ask anyone who was there, Charlie, we were just thrashing out a difference of opinion on a story. I moved and she failed to react in time. A little brush. No fault."

Charlie rocked back on his heels, now confident of the conclusion he'd reached. "You're in denial. Either owing to some uncomfortable associations in your past, or simply because it is MacKenzie, you aren't acknowledging—"

"Acknowledging what?" Will adopted a confrontational stance. Charlie bringing up personal history rankled. "It was an accident."

"Do you really think anyone here would ever believe otherwise? Or that MacKenzie herself would think that, even for a nanosecond?" Charlie brought a hand up to stroke his jaw, still thinking.

"—I don't know what you people expect from me, that I'm just going to mea culpa my way through every awkward office encounter." Will moved the papers on his desk. "Now, if you'll excuse me—if we've made mountain enough of this little molehill—I'm on air in an hour and I need to finish my script."

"This isn't over, Will," Charlie warned darkly as he left.

oooo

Later, following the show, Will loped to his office while yanking his tie off in one fluid motion. He was startled by a figure in the semi-darkness.

Charlie sat behind his desk, hands laced behind his head and feet propped on a partially extended bottom drawer. "I thought the show was a little… pallid… tonight."

"Yeah. Well, the final rundown meeting was a disaster. As you know." Will tossed his jacket at the hook and missed. "And I had junior varsity running Control tonight."

"I thought Harper did well until that unfortunate bit with the live feed."

"You mean the one where there was no audio for twenty seconds?" He didn't even try to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. "What makes you think that was a problem?"

Charlie nodded at the glass of bourbon opposite his own.

Will dropped into a chair and reached for the drink. "That's my desk, you know."

"I know."

"So what happened to my staff tonight?"

"I sent Mac home. I thought she ought to put something cold on her face—that is, apart from your peculiar attitude. She's going to have a shiner."

"Fuck."

"I told her to stay home tomorrow, too, and that we'd see her Tuesday, after the holiday. That allows three days for the damage to fade—"

"You're exaggerating now. It couldn't have been—"

"—And allow her to salvage some dignity. She runs the newsroom, Will. She's got a position here that's more than simply wet nurse to a neurotic anchor. Slugging your EP is neither conducive to her morale or to that of her subordinates."

There was a heavy sigh then a long pause. Then, softly, "Charlie, I can't seem to stop hurting MacKenzie."

"To which I must ask, how hard are you trying?"

Will looked miserable.

"Those people," Charlie gestured to the empty bullpen, "are waiting to see what happens next. It's an HR landmine. Hostile work environment. You're a fucking lawyer, you know the ramifications. As your boss, as the president of the news division, I have to insist you address this with your staff tomorrow."

Will nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay." Charlie kicked the drawer closed and stood. "Quittin' time."

"What about Mac? What do I do about that?"

"Figure it out." Charlie shrugged, waved a hand over his shoulder, and pushed through the door.

oooo

At the first run-down meeting the following day, Will set his jaw and opened with an apology to his staff. He used words like unprofessional—intemperate—inadvertent. He relied heavily on the last word, but finally choked out his realization of graceless conduct in the workplace.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Gary sidled up to Will. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but Nina Howard's holding for you on line 1."

"I continue to be troubled by your link with that woman."

"Seriously?" Gary didn't say it, but Aren't we forgetting who was hitting on her last New Year's Eve? was etched on his face.

"Take a message."

Gary dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Will, I think you should take the call. She's been tipped about what happened here yesterday and—"

Christ. Could this day get more humiliating?

oooo

News Night ended at 9:00. At 9:02, Will sent a text to MacKenzie.

Mind if I stop by for a bit?

By the time he had changed back to street clothes, he had a response.

Tonight's not good. I'm at the Met gala. How about tomorrow?

If she was making jokes, how bad could things be?

Fine. See you tomorrow morning.

oooo

"It's open" she called in answer to his knock, an obvious save to her having to answer the door and invite him in. No matter. He nudged the door with his hip, balancing a take-out coffee holder with two over-full cups and a paper bag, copies of the Times and Post tucked under his arm.

"I picked up coffee and bagels," he explained, evidently to thin air, as Mac wasn't within sight. He set down his burden. "Mac? Is this a bad time? I thought we were on for this morning."

"Everything's okay," she soothed, reentering the room. "I just wanted to run a brush through my hair before you—"

Oh Jesus.

She noticed him noticing, so she abruptly turned her face to a profile view. "Bagels—good. I haven't eaten anything yet this morning."

"Let me see."

"It looks worse than it feels."

He closed the distance between them and backed her into the light. A purple semi-circle ringed the outer edge of her right eye. As he studied her, he began to feel a little sick. "Mac—Jesus, I didn't—I wouldn't have believed—I didn't mean—you know I didn't mean—"

"I know. But I'd still kind of like to hear—"

"I am so, so, so very sorry for this—"

"That's it. That makes everything better." She smiled wanly, and he knew there was no guile, that she wasn't being sarcastic or post-modern passive-aggressive. "I was too close and not really paying attention, perhaps even egging you on a bit because I was winning the argument—"

"Like hell you were."

"I knew, of course, that it was a silly accident, but there were people watching, Will, and it just would have been nice, would have taken away some of the sting, if you had—you know, said something. At the time." She shrugged.

"I should have," he admitted.

"Anyway, the swelling is mostly gone. I've been using cold and hot compresses to minimize the bruising, and eating pineapples—"

"Wha—pineapples?"

"Evidently they have enzymes that speed the healing process. Who knew? Something I found on WebMD. At this rate, it will just look like badly applied eye shadow by mid-week." She forced a smile. "Let's have the coffee before it cools. Did you bring cream cheese?"

She sat at the counter, patently mindful to put her left side, the unbruised eye, toward him. Taking the cup he handed her, she removed the plastic lid and sipped. "Mmm."

He dragged his chair around so that he sat facing her. It seemed vital to his purpose that he confront the injury in the most direct means possible.

"I talked to everyone yesterday. At the pitch meeting. I tried to smooth it over." The corner of his mouth hitched up in wry recognition at the way euphemism continued to creep into his words. "To be precise, I apologized for what they saw. For not having apologized at the time and for appearing—no, being so blasé about it. I told them you deserved better."

She pushed a bit of bagel into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "It always took you time, Will, to get where you were going. But it was always worth the wait. And I know there are other—considerations—for you in this scenario. So—thanks."

"Mac. I didn't do it deliberately—you know I would never—"

"I know." She squeezed his hand, then quickly let go, afraid to prolong contact and earn his ire. "There aren't any parallels here. We're okay. Let it go."

"I don't want to jeopardize—"

"You haven't."

"Will you stop being so fucking forbearing? I hit you, demeaned you—and then denied the injury before witnesses, all of whom work for you, by the way."

"Excellent brief, Counselor. When do we enter the punishment phase of the trial?"

"Dammit, Mac, this isn't funny."

"No, it absolutely isn't. But I hate living like Gloucester at the edge of the cliff, so we both need to just get on with things." At his puzzled expression, she added, "It's from Lear. Oh, never mind." She tore off another portion of bagel and reached for the cream cheese. "I watched the show last night."

"Only marginally better than Thursday night's. I've been missing key staff the last couple of nights."

She smiled at the implicit praise.

"Er, Mac—" Will began to stumbled over his words again. "I need to mention something else. Nina Howard called yesterday. Somehow, she got wind of what happened in the office on Thursday—"

She eyed the newspapers, still folded and laying on the counter opposite. "Did we make the news?"

"If so, I'm due a refund." He shrugged. "It doesn't take as much money as you might think to buy Nina's silence."

"Tell me you're joking?" She leaned across the table in sudden seriousness. "Will—you didn't? Why would you even listen to her?"

"I have no idea how she came by the information, but I was prepared to deny it. The staff would have backed me up—more for your sake than mine, undoubtedly. Whoever the tipster was, he would've had to stand alone, without corroboration. But, Mac—" he met her eyes directly, "Nina said something—she made a connection to something I hadn't known about—something that happened about four years ago."

Mac said nothing but pulled back.

"You know what I'm talking about."

She began clearing the counter. "You should do a better job of checking the reliability of your sources."

"Mac. Mac." His voice was a little loud the second time, betraying annoyance at her outright dismissal of what Nina may have revealed. "Sit. Please. I want to know—I want you to tell me—tell me what happened."

"Nina Howard is hardly a paragon of veracity, so perhaps—"

"She said that four years ago you were in the emergency room at GWU. She said you were treated for a broken nose—"

"Ty che, blyad." At his blank stare, she retreated from Russian vulgarity. "How would Nina—"

"She implied it was me—just trying to bait me into a response, I think, though." His eyes bore into hers. "What the fuck, Mac? We had already—you know, and I was back in New York by then. Who came after me that put you into the emergency room?"

She stood and smoothed her blouse. "I don't feel like being cross-examined based on something Nina Howard alleged. If you want to talk about something else, fine, we'll go in the other room and—"

"I'd rather discuss the pachyderm that's already here, frankly."

She walked into the other room and stood near the door, arms crossed defiantly. "Thanks for the coffee and bagels."

"That's it? I'm being dismissed?"

Her resoluteness faltered a smidge. "Thanks for the apology, too. I'll see you Tuesday."

"Yeah," he returned flatly, hearing the door close behind him.