I'm just cross- posting some of the things I wrote for the tumblr blog: thenewsroomprompts. You know, for posterity and stuff. And the title comes from the Lorde song. BECAUSE I CAN.


Let's go down to the tennis courts, and talk it up like yeah


"Whose idea was this again?" Will whines as he ties his tennis shoes and glances over at his fiancée, who, it has to be said, looks pretty good in her little white tennis get-up. Good enough that he wants to call up Don and Sloan and tell them that he's very sorry but he and Mac just aren't going to make it today.

"Mine," Mac answers with a smirk, her white skirt swishing as she throws things into a gym bag. "I miss tennis. Plus, exercise is a great way to deal with stress."

"I can think of other ways to get our heart rates up that are infinitely more appealing than tennis," Will suggests, wagging an eyebrow and is disheartened when Mac just tosses a clean towel in his face.

Well, it was worth a shot.


Sometimes Will forgets that Mac was born a child of privilege. She's a damn hard worker, and she doesn't come across as upper-class, but then there are moments like this, with a racquet in one hand, a smile on her face, and her little white skirt flying as she slams the ball across the net and sends Don scurrying to try, unsuccessfully, to send it back that he remembers how many years she spent at prep schools playing tennis and riding horses, or whatever the hell young girls do at boarding schools.

He also forgets sometimes how competitive she is, but her type-A personality is on full display at the moment, as she gleefully celebrates another ace, racing over to give Will a high five, which he returns.

"I give up," Sloan announces from the other side of the net.

"What?" Mac turns to face her, and Will can see the pout already forming. He's a sucker for that pout, but he somehow doubts it will have the same effect on Sloan.

"We're clearly being outplayed here," Don says.

"Plus, you roped us into this by claiming it would be a ton of fun," Sloan adds. "And it's so not fun."

"I'm having fun!" Mac argues and whips around to see if Will is on her side. He's wisely staying out of this argument.

"You're the only one," Don points out dryly. "Sloan and I are getting our asses kicked, have been getting our asses kicked, and Will's been limping from the minute he got out onto the court."

"That's not…" Will starts to deny, but it's true. His knee's been killing him, although fortunately MacKenzie has been doing enough running around for the both of them.

"But," Mac starts to argue, but it dies on her tongue.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Sloan pipes up. "There's a bar right inside there. We can celebrate your clear athletic superiority at the same time that we mourn our obvious inferiority and Will can ice his damn knee and numb the pain."

"I second that idea," Don says, raising his racquet in a salute and giving his girlfriend a solid kiss.

"But," Mac tries again, but Will snakes his hand around her waist.

"Come on," he says, tugging her towards where Don and Sloan are already shoving things haphazardly into bags, hurrying off the court lest Mac somehow sway Will to her opinion. "First round's on me."