It was close to midnight and Mac was busy frantically highlighting portions of a speech by Mitt Romney about the number of vacation days President Obama had taken that year. She simultaneously had up on her computer a picture of the Obama family participating in a traditional luau while on one of their Christmas breaks to Hawaii. She was popping M&Ms as if they were tiny crack rocks to keep herself going; though, she doesn't recall how they ever ended up in a bowl on her desk. One day shortly after the American Taliban broadcast they appeared, and were restocked each day since. Chocolate was chocolate as far as she was concerned at that point.
Despite all the research the team put into that broadcast, the right wing news outlets were spinning the facts and outright stating that Newsnight had fabricated evidence. Mac was not going to tolerate it. She had holed herself up in her office for the last two weeks, piling information on top of more information to corroborate their initial stories.
Just as she was finishing up one of the speeches, her yellow highlighter ran out. "Bloody Christ," she shouted to herself, as she threw the pen as hard as she could towards her door. It was at that moment that Will had opened the door to her office.
"Ow!" he laughed, as it hit him in the chest. "Is it safe to come in or will you be throwing more office supplies?"
"Shut up, Billy. You know how angry I get when I have to switch highlighters in the middle of a document. They just don't make sense with more than one color, unless the colors are supposed to signify a different topic or news story. Now I am going to have to start all over again, because I will not have this speech marked up in yellow and…" she looked in her desk drawer, "…pink highlighter. It is borderline unprofessional if you ask me." She was getting all riled up and Will couldn't help but laugh.
"Calm down, Mac. Just breathe. Maybe eat something than M&Ms?" he said cautiously, not sure that after his outburst of laughter if she would throw more blunt objects at him.
"How do you expect me to calm down when all of the other stations are airing flat out lies and the American public believes them over us? Maybe you were right—maybe most of America is born stupid. They are listening to a guy named "Mitt", can you believe it, "Mitt", a name better fit for a cat, than for the Presidency, than cold hard facts. Some days I wish I was the EP for Ginger Zee, the meteorologist on Good Morning America. The weatherman is never supposed to be right, right? Wouldn't it be lovely to not get death threats or have to fact check? I could just look out the window in the morning and tell Zee to point to different areas of the green screen and talk. Have you ever thought about being a weather man, Will? I don't think you'd be good at that with your knees and such…."
"MACKENZIE!", Will interrupted. "How the hell did you get from (he looked down at the article on her desk) the number of vacation days Obama took, to me not being cut out for a weatherman? And I'll have you know, I would be a loveable weatherman."
Mac took a breath, and popped more M&Ms into her mouth. Before she finished swallowing them, she grumbled out "You might have to be once I run this show into the ground."
Will held his hands up in mock surrender and approached the other side of her desk.
"What are you doing?"
"Print me another copy of that article. I will re-highlight everything in pink for you."
"You really don't have to do that, Will. This is my own OCD issue. I will be fine, I promise."
"I know you Mac. You are not just going to let it go. You are going redo it. So just let me do it so you can start packing up your things. It is getting late."
"I can't, Will. There is too much to do still."
"Like what? What can't wait until tomorrow?"
"Background checks on guns."
"Mac, I promise you, the Second Amendment, guns, and lack of background checks will still be there in the morning. Now come on, scoot. Give me your chair and pack up your things."
"Find. But make sure you use the skinny, not fat, side of the highlighter. And leave some white space in between lines otherwise…"
"Mac. After all these years of reading your notes, you don't think I know how your anal retentive mind works? I think even a idiot like me can handle this."
"Don't be too sure of yourself. You know what? Why don't I just run to the store real quick and buy more yellow highlighters. That way you don't have to waste your time."
"Seriously? That's how little faith you have in me these days? That I can't even color with a magic marker anymore?"
Mac sighed. "No, no, not at all. Please, color away. I will just pack up my things."
As she was packing, Will noticed a DVD fall out of her stack of papers. He bent down to pick it up, and their heads lightly clunked. They looked into each other's eyes, both giving the other a small smile. Mackenzie was the first to move back up, grabbing the DVD in her hand.
"Sorry about that, Will, I am such a clutz lately."
He looked at her quizzically. "I knew you were stressed out and upset Mac, but not to this extent. Are things really this bad?"
"I don't know what in the world you are referring to?"
"Yes you do. Oceans 11? You always used to watch that when you were stressed out, or as you put it, 'sexually frustrated and in need of 11 good looking men.'"
Mac blushed. "Just get back to highlighting. I am going to take off, since you have Lonny to drive you home. I expect that on my desk first thing in the morning!", she said mockingly.
"Yes, ma'm."
"Don't call me ma'm. It reminds me of when I was embedded."
"Fine. Yes, my neurotic, beautiful EP. I will have this ready for you first thing, stat!"
"Much better. Keep saying beautiful to me and maybe I won't have to watch Oceans 11 for much longer?" she asked hopefully.
"Hmph. Maybe not," he said grinning briefly before he got back to highlighting.