Authors' Notes: For a man who worships at the altar of musical theater and various classic rock gods, how in the hell did Will McAvoy end up singing Friday, Friday?! This is our attempt to answer that question, and to try to navigate the dicey waters of Will and Mac's season two relationship. They seem to be getting along better, don't you think? Maybe there's a reason why. Thanks to writingalone for gchating another story with me. On with the show…
"Are you going to try to tell me you're asleep again?" she barked into the phone the moment he answered it.
"Well, if it isn't Mackenzie from Midtown again! To what do I owe the pleasure, Mackenzie from Midtown?" he replied smoothly, though smooth was the last thing he felt at the moment. He was tired and aching and desperate for sleep, but every time he tried he just stared at the ceiling, until he gave up and trudged out to the balcony, listening to music and smoking and wondering if he was ever going to have a decent night's slumber again.
"Stop with the late-night disc jockey crap and tell me why you started quoting statistics at me during every commercial break until I want to tear my hair out and when the hell you started singing teeny bopper one hit wonder songs to pass the time?! Is this some new form of punishment you're trying out on me Billy? Because I've got to tell you, the lyrics to Friday, Friday may be listed under the Geneva Convention's restricted forms of torture" she huffed out.
"Why can't I quote statistics at you and what in the hell is Friday, Friday?" he asked, clearly stumped.
"It's the song you were singing along with the other night…you know 'partying, partying, yeah'? How do you, show tune aficionado and guitar playing god, know the lyrics to a song that was, at best, laughable?!" she nearly shrieked.
"First off, thank you for the guitar playing god portion of that comment. And secondly, I thought that song was part of a Jimmy Fallon skit?" he muttered. She could hear the sound of him banging on his computer keyboard in the background and knew he must now be looking up the song. She could tell the moment he found it. He made some sort of a choking sound and began swearing under his breath.
"What was that Billy?" she asked sweetly, knowing just how horrified he must be by the "music" he was hearing.
"I said what the fuck is this shit?! AutoTune is the downfall of modern music! Can anyone actually sing anymore?!" he asked, clearly in shock that he had even allowed these lyrics, if you could call them that, to pass his lips.
"Are you going to be alright?" she asked, joking.
"Hold on just one minute Mac. I have to go wash my brain out with soap…or maybe drown it in alcohol. Quick, get me a joint, some scotch, and Paul McCartney…STAT" he ordered.
"I'd say that's a little dramatic, but I do agree that you have to get that ungodly song out of your head."
"I think there's a jazz club down the street that's open till 2am. With any luck they'll let me in, though the mere fact that I hummed that little tune may get me banned from any serious music establishment for the rest of my life. Do you think someone from Gibson will come and take back my Les Paul Stratocaster? None of that was recorded, right Mac? There's no chance this terrible lapse in my musical judgment will make it to YouTube, is there?" he asked with trepidation.
"It was recorded, but don't worry, I took the master" she assured him.
"Wonderful! You're saying I have to rely on your technological ability to keep it private?!"
"Hey! Keep knocking my abilities and that tape will mysteriously appear on news stations across the country faster than you can say American Taliban buddy!" she warned.
"You are a brilliant executive producer and I don't know how I would survive without you" he said solemnly.
"That's more like it! And I don't know how you would either…Leno" she mocked.
"Ok, that's it! Did you have a request for tonight's broadcast, Mackenzie from Midtown, or did you just call to harass the DJ?" he asked. Just then his iPod shuffled through his playlist and landed on Van Morrison's Crazy Love. Could she hear it, he wondered?
"I just called to harass the host…mostly. You weren't really asleep, were you?" she asked quietly.
"When? Just now? No." Come on Mackenzie, hang up the phone before we're sitting here, listening to our song, and spilling secrets. Please.
"Stop being a jackass and answer the question" she demanded.
"Yes, I was asleep last night" he lied again and waited to see if she would accept it. Miraculously, she did.
"Are you sorry we did the story?" she blurted out.
"What story?" he asked, clearly confused. Were they still talking about what had transpired in the last couple of days? Because he didn't remember offending anyone recently…except for singing that awful song into Mac's ear.
"The American Taliban story. Are you sorry we did it? Are you sorry that you're getting the backlash and being pulled from the 9/11 broadcast and all the other shit that goes along with what we said?"
He thought for a moment. He was still stinging a bit from Charlie taking him off the 9/11 anniversary coverage, and he hated that both he and Mac were taking hits in the press for what they had said, but he wasn't sorry they had said it…not by a long shot.
"I'm not sorry we did the story. It was something people needed to hear. The fact that everybody is so pissed off about it means that it hit home. It needed to be said" he told her.
"But did we have to be the ones to say it?" she mumbled, clearly wondering if all the fall out was going to be worth one moment of clarity in an otherwise addle-minded news cycle.
"No one else has the platform to say what we said. If it came from a politician or the left wing media, it would have been a joke" he told her. "And why are you calling me in the middle of the night to check on my sleeping patterns anyway?" He just didn't feel like arguing about whether they should or shouldn't have done that broadcast anymore. What's done was done.
"Why can't I be concerned with your sleeping patterns?" she asked indignantly.
"You don't find it strange? Do you ask all of your friends if they are sleeping when you call? Isn't the obvious answer 'no' since you have just woken them up by calling?" he wondered.
"I don't have friends Billy, and neither do you. Let's not pretend we talk to anyone else at two in the morning."
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments.
"Mac, why do you still sleep with a nightlight? I thought that pattern would have ended while you were traipsing around the desert."
Shit, how did he do that, she wondered? How did he manage to cut right to the heart of the matter without even realizing he was zeroing in on it?
"You'd be surprised the sources of light you can find in the desert…if you're desperate enough. I volunteered to sleep closest to noisy generators or computers that ran all night long in army barracks. Occasionally, I fell asleep to the sound of your voice. Did you know that NewsNight runs on ACN International at two in the morning?" she asked.
"I did not know that. Did that help you fall asleep or infuriate you Mac?"
"I tried not to listen to what you were actually saying. That tended to piss me off. Were you asleep at the anchor desk for three years Will?! Good Lord! A war was going on around me and you were talking about iPhones?!" she shouted.
"Hey, the iPhone is an amazing invention! There's even an app for tracking…never mind. It wasn't the best time in my life" he said, hoping she accepted that explanation, though he knew she wouldn't.
"There's an app for what, Billy? Tracking your ex-girlfriend across the desert? There's an app for knowing exactly which stories to air to piss her off the most? Because you did an amazing job of that, you know?"
"I'm going to hang up now" he warned, not wanting to tell her that he did actually track her comings and goings with his iPhone while she was away. Google news alerts were amazing things.
"No! Don't hang up! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start an argument. I didn't mean…" she trailed off.
"What Mac? You didn't mean what?!" he barked.
"I didn't mean…." she searched for an explanation, but settled on the truth. "I can't sleep Will. I didn't mean to piss you off and make you hang up on me, because I can't sleep and the nightlight isn't helping, and old black and white movies aren't helping, and I thought maybe talking to you would."
"Ok, calm down. I'm not hanging up…I was just trying to yank your chain. And I can't sleep either. All the mundane music, joints, and scotch in the world aren't working these days" he chuckled mirthlessly. "You know, you are the only thing that helps me fall asleep too. We must be two really boring people Mac."
"I don't think we're boring. I like to think we soothe each other" she said so quietly he had to strain to hear her.
"I wasn't really in bed the other night" he admitted. "And I'm not there now."
"I knew it!" she shouted, and he pulled the phone away from his ear with a smile.
"How?" he asked.
"I could hear the traffic over the music. There's no way you were anywhere but on your balcony. Is that where you are now Billy?"
"I am."
"Why are you listening to Van Morrison again?"
"Why are you using a nightlight again? If you don't have to answer my question, I don't have to answer yours" he pouted.
"How old are you? Five? That sounded like a toddler's reasoning Will…or maybe the Tea Party's."
"It sounded like sound legal theory to me. It's called discovery, Mac. If you aren't showing me all your exhibits then I'm not showing you mine."
"Fine" she grumbled, slouching down in her bed.
"Fine" he answered back and slouched down in his chair.
"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep" she asked.
"Honestly? When I was in the hospital."
"Well, all the drugs helped I'm sure" she reasoned.
"Or it was because you were there with me, alternately staring at me while I slept, or beating me senseless with periodicals" he said quietly and waited for her response. It wasn't at all what he expected.
"We're like Bert and Ernie" she said seriously.
"We're like orange and yellow secretly gay puppets?" he asked, confused.
"No, you idiot! We're a matched set. We don't do well without each other."
"Or without someone else controlling our every move" he grumbled. "So we are like puppets?!"
"Ok, forget the Sesame Street metaphor. It's clearly not working here. What I'm trying to say is that we need each other Billy. And apparently we can't sleep without each other either. So I don't give a flying fuck if we sleep in Bert and Ernie beds or if we're in fucking bunk beds. I just need a damn good night's sleep, ok?!" she screeched.
"Who the hell even has twin beds anymore? And I sure as hell am too tall for bunk beds."
"Damn it Billy! Stop avoiding me! Stop avoiding our feelings!"
He could tell he was pushing his luck now…she was on the edge.
"I'm not avoiding anything Mac. What do you suggest? We get back together just so we can solve our insomnia problems?"
"You're a genius Will. I'll be right over."
And suddenly he was listening to the dial tone and wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.
To Be Continued…