He knocks softly on the door, afraid that he might ruin some ritual that brides on their wedding day would go through. He is heard, thankfully, and he sees Sloan's surprised face. "You can't come in here! It's bad luck!" she starts, but he hears giggling and distant cries of "Let him in, let him in... It's okay," He points, and while the economist still shows hesitation, she moves to the side and gestures that yes, you may indeed come in.
He sees a lovely vision draped in white, the sunlight bathing her in beauty he does not deserve.
"You look lovely," he starts.
"Thank you Will." she answers.
She senses that he wants to talk with her, alone, so she asks them if they could have a few moments. They leave quietly, without question or hesitation.
"So," he looks at her. He really could not take his eyes away.
"So." she says rather firmly.
He walks closer, takes the hand that does not yet wear a glove, strokes nervous circles on it.
She brings the hand to his cheek. He kisses the palm.
"You look lovely," he says again.
Sloan's scream was practically heard across the newsroom. A few worried looks, which completely disappeared when they saw the economist jumping and hugging their EP.
That particular news item didn't wait until the rundown meeting - everyone gathered around MacKenzie, offering congratulations, hugs and exclamations of "It's about fucking time!" She tried her best to answer their questions, and requests to inspect the ring further.
She caught Will's look from far away, the one that seemed to say, "It was bound to happen anyway."
Everyone's in their places, the wedding's about to start.
It's supposed to start 15 minutes ago, but Mr. and Mrs. McHale were nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, where are they?" MacKenzie asks, almost ready to tear out the flowers in the bouquet. Sloan tries to calm her friend, and then turns to Charlie and commands, "You sub for her dad."
"Me?" Charlie asks, aghast at the suggestion.
"Look at the priest Charlie, he's been looking at his watch at an alarming frequency. WE HAVE TO START!"
True enough, the wedding planner said that there was a baptism scheduled 30 minutes after the wedding. They had to start now.
MacKenzie trembles, and Charlie takes her shoulders and asks, "If it's okay with you, I'll walk you down this aisle. Let's do it as slow as possible - maybe they can catch up."
She laughs, and hugs the friend and mentor she's known for years. She takes the elbow he's offered.
The wedding march starts.
They're in the middle of the aisle when someone suddenly yells, "Halt there!"
In comes MacKenzie's parents, slightly panting but present, nevertheless. Her mother smiles and hugs her, while her father turns to Charlie, "I appreciate your gallant efforts sir, but this is my daughter I must give to that gentleman."
"All yours," Charlie replies, giving a firm handshake to the father of the bride.
This exchange must have been weird to everyone present, but no questions nor comments were given.
MacKenzie's laugh was music to his ears.
Lord John McHale and Athena McHale made it a point to visit their children whenever they could. Mark Mordred McHale was a manager in one of the big name firms in Wall Street, while MacKenzie Morgan McHale was an EP in one of the big name networks in America. One can only imagine the swell of pride they felt for their children.
It was in one of their family dinners that they found out that MacKenzie was going out and no longer a prisoner of her past.
"So, when do we meet him?" Athena McHale asked her daughter.
Suddenly, MacKenzie deemed the wine glass to be interesting, and she started swirling the contents.
"Well.. You've already met him."
John and Athena exchanged looks.
Mark took her hand and said, "As long as you're happy Mackie."
She's radiant today.
He takes her hand, obviously nervous.
The two of them are about to commit into something that everyone considers to be for eternity.
"End this pain, priest," Will thinks.
"Do you, take this man, to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?"
"I do," she says, firmly, as what is expected of MacKenzie Morgan McHale.
"And do you, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do you part?"
"I do," he says, matching her firmness.
"And I pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!" the priest proclaims, rather enthusiastically.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand Navarre!"
They kiss, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
Will watches from the last pew, claping along with everyone.
Beside him, Charlie asks, "Are you staying?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything else."
For three weeks, Sloan begged MacKenzie to be her number two at the "Financial Correspondent's Annual Ball". Methods of persuasion ranged from conspiracy theories ("Geithner is setting me up here, HELP ME KENZIE.") to favors Sloan might not normally accept ("I will tell you where to invest your hard earned money." "You do that in your show!" "Yes, but I will be very specific and helpful on your investments.").
In the end, MacKenzie agreed. They both borrowed a few elegant selections from the wardrobe department. They had agreements that they will just keep away from everyone else until the night ended.
They found out that Sloan may have been on to something with her conspiracy theory. The night wasn't over, and Secretary Geithner managed to corner Sloan. Soon, the two were having a heated debate about the Eurozone.
"Oh Sloan," MacKenzie muttered as she finished another glass of champagne.
"Timmy's just asking for it. He's just trying to prove a point, you see."
MacKenzie almost jumped out of her dress. The man apologized for surprising her, and introduced himself. "Ferdinand Navarre, one of the underlings in the Treasury department."
"MacKenzie McHale, one of Sloan's friends."
"And EP of News Night with Will McAvoy, if I'm not mistaken."
"You've done your research?"
"Well, yes. We wanted to thank whoever thought of the idea to give Sloan Sabbith a few minutes to talk about the economics during prime time."
"Sarcasm?"
"It may or may not go both ways."
By the time the night was over, MacKenzie may have completely forgotten about Sloan. She apologized about that in the morning.
The reception is beautiful. There's song and dance and speeches - everyone who is close to the McHales and Navarres are having a good time.
Will McAvoy may be smiling, but he's smiling from far away.
He sees the young producers mingling with the control room people, laughing and dancing along whatever the DJ plays. He sees MacKenzie's nieces and nephews play along Ferdinand's younger cousins, not minding the pleas of their parents to be still. He sees the newlyweds, trying their best to accommodate the guests who approach them to give their well wishes.
He sees Charlie and Leona, dancing and talking to each other. Leona nods her head at where Will was standing. Charlie seems to agree with her on something, though he continues to dance with her.
Will was lost in this sea of happiness when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
"Hi Will," Ferdinand greets him, and without waiting for a reply, he leans closer to him and adds, "She wants to speak with you... She's at the rose gardens." He leaves without saying more.
Will makes his slow walk to the place, and at the first glance at MacKenzie, he lets his heart feel the ache it's been longing to feel ever since. She's just there, standing, but she's as beautiful and confident - the MacKenzie that he fell in love with, even until now.
Even if she is no longer his.
MacKenzie sees him, and she walks to him. The bridge is closed, and they try to say prepared speeches and practiced smiles - but everything doesn't fit right now. The thoughts are there, waiting to be said, so why can't it be said?
They both knew, one way or another. They were no longer in the same plane.
Will asks, "Can I have one dance?"
"You may," MacKenzie replies.
Dancing to nothing, they sway lazily under the stars, a cool breeze comforting them. Will feels that this is awkward, and so he starts to hum,
Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.
Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
And the way you look tonight.
With each word your tenderness grows,
Tearing my fear apart
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,
It touches my foolish heart.
Lovely, never, ever change.
Keep that breathless charm.
Won't you please arrange it ?
Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight.
There's a damp feeling in his shirt, and when he looks down, he sees MacKenzie's eyes welling with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." she mutters. "I don't know what's gotten into me."
"It's your wedding. Brides are known to cry on their weddings." he offers her handkerchief.
She laughs, accepts the handkerchief, and dabs away the tears.
He kisses her on the forehead, and once more on the lips - he'll never get the chance to do it again anyway.
"Be happy Mackenzie, just be happy and never change."
He repeats those words as the carriage the newlyweds were in drove off.
MacKenzie usually brushes off tabloids. Nothing newsworthy was in them anyway.
Until today.
Front and center, the headline screamed, "McAvoy's Mingling? Exclusive scoop on what's keeping the anchor down."
She bought it, read through the article, trying her best not to even look at the paparazzi shots.
But there it was.
Will was walking out of his swanky, upscale apartment, Nina Howard in his arms.
"Sources say that the couple has been together for three months."
She called Jim from his desk, and when he asked what was wrong, she just said that she needed a few moments to herself.
Jim was having none of that.
The first thing he saw was not MacKenzie seated on her floor, but the tabloid magazine showing the picture of Will and Nina.
He said nothing, but he sat beside MacKenzie and let his presence be felt.
That day's show went as normal as you would please.
But instead of saying "Good night", MacKenzie said "Good bye."
"Be happy Will," she said, to the quiet calm of his office. "Just be happy, and never change."