Author's Notes: Once again inspired by a LiveJournal prompt from LilacMermaid. "Enjoy yourself it's later than you think." Thanks for the idea. If anyone isn't familiar with the song check it out in Woody Allen's Everyone Says I Love You. This is about to get dark folks. If you don't want to read angst, then don't read this. Don't know why this idea was stuck in my head, but it just wouldn't leave and wouldn't let me get on with my other two stories. And sorry LilacMermaid if this wasn't what you saw coming when you posted that prompt. On with the story.
Will was sitting silently in his living room staring at the televised images of ghosts dancing out of a funeral home singing "Enjoy Yourself, It's Later Than You Think." He had always loved Woody Allen films. Especially Manhattan and Annie Hall. He loved to watch New York on film. He had never really enjoyed this one. Everyone Says I Love You…there was just something unnerving about the idea of a Woody Allen musical.
He had returned from the service two hours ago, unsure what to do with himself. He had lived nearly forty-six years of his life without even knowing she existed, why was it that now that she was gone he had no clue what he was supposed to do without her?
This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Didn't she know that? Where was their kid at the end of Camelot moment? They were supposed to change the world with his intelligence and affability and her expertise at producing…who would do that now?
The phone was ringing again. He was sure it was Charlie. No one else would dare call him right now. And if he didn't answer the phone soon he was sure the man was going to show up here with a large bottle of scotch. Maybe that's what he needed. To get really drunk. No, all that would do was put off the inevitable for a few hours. He would wake up hungover and drooling in a bed that still smelled like Mackenzie. He didn't want to have to wash those sheets any sooner than necessary, so going to bed with half a bottle of scotch in him didn't seem like a very good idea.
The irony here was that he had always thought he was too old for her. When they first got together she was thirty-two and he was forty-seven. And God, she was a young-looking thirty-two. He sometimes wished she would start going grey a little early. But public opinion be damned, he loved her. Yet it wasn't public opinion or age differences that doomed them, it was her fear of commitment and a tendency toward self-destructive behavior.
Your heart of heart, your dream of dreams, your ravishing brunette. She's left you and she's now become somebody else's pet.
He thought he knew pain after that. Thought he had felt the worst pain he could ever feel when he looked into her eyes and saw that she was completely serious. She was actually telling him that she had been sleeping with someone else for the past four months. Mackenzie McHale, the woman he had been about to ask to marry him, had been fucking another man while he was picking out engagement rings. Yeah, he thought he knew pain that day. It was nothing. That day was like a skinned knee compared to the amputation he was experiencing right now.
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think. Enjoy yourself while you're still in the pink.
Six years later, they were both a little older…a little more world-weary. She still looked younger than her thirty-eight years, but she had seen so much. He wanted to tell anyone who thought there was too large an age-difference between them that they didn't have a clue. If anything, she was older than he was. She had seen things no one should see, lived through too much, been to too many funerals. She knew how precious time was…he would too, soon.
It was easier to fall back into their old relationship than he thought. Once he finally stopped holding his hand over the candle and started holding onto the idea of being with her for the rest of his life, it was really a lot simpler than he had imagined. The mental and verbal sparring at work continued on the ride home and right on into the bedroom. God, he forgot how amazing it was to be with a woman who could practically read his mind.
They hadn't had enough time. That's all that kept running through his mind as he sat next to Mackenzie in that God-awful lime green doctor's office. He was really trying to listen to every word that was being said, but somewhere between biopsy, lumpectomy and chemotherapy he had tuned the doctor's voice out of his head. This was a dream…he knew it had to be a dream.
Part of the reason the age difference had always bothered him so much was not what other people thought. It was the idea of what Mackenzie's future would look like. He was fifteen years older than her. He smoked and drank and he hadn't changed his diet since college. Mackenzie was likely to be a widow by the time she was fifty. He didn't want to do that to her. She needed to be with someone who would grow old with her, not someone she would be taking care of or burying. When men plan, God laughs. That's all he could think now.
The years go by as quickly as a wink. Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself it's later than you think.
It had all happened so fast. One minute they were planning to do her tests and surgeries during the NewsNight summer hiatus so as to disturb the broadcast as little as possible, the next they were hearing words like malignant and stage four. There was nothing else to do.
He was a mess. She was a rock, as usual. He spent two days drinking and smoking, until she finally kicked his ass into gear. Just like she always did. They hadn't had enough time she said, he wasn't going to waste any more of it being a jackass.
Maybe just to spite cancer and chemo and doctors who said she didn't have long, she wanted to get married. And who was he to deny her? She said she wanted to do it in St. Lucia. She had never been and she didn't want his only memory of the place to be a weekend with Erin Andrews. God, he didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at that one.
He had rented a private plane. By that time, chemo had weakened her immune system too much to deal with security and checked luggage and sick tourists on commercial flights. He'd be damned if he was going to lose her even one day sooner than necessary to some stupid virus she picked up at JFK. So Charlie and Sloan and her parents and his sisters all piled in and joined them. It was one of the happiest times of his life. She was thinner and tired, but she still looked like his Mackenzie. That's why she had wanted to do it as soon as possible.
Next year for sure, you'll see the world, you'll really get around. But how far can you travel when you're six feet underground.
One year. He'd never given much thought to what that meant before. Twelve months, three-hundred and sixty-five days. How do you fit everything into one year?
You couldn't. That was the answer. You couldn't fit everything into one year, but you could do your best. It went too fast, but it was an amazing year. They did the show they wanted. For six months, they didn't listen to anyone but themselves. This was their baby…the child they would never have. And it was beautiful. They pointed out every flaw in the system…corrupt politicians, unscrupulous bankers, corporate greed. They knew Leona and her board would come down on them eventually but they didn't care. They made sure their staff was safe. They took all the blame. And when NewsNight was cancelled it came as no surprise. By then, Mac was too sick to continue working for long anyway. They gave their notice, returned whatever portion of their salaries that were left on their contracts and said goodbye to ACN. It was hard to leave the people, but surprisingly not that hard to leave the rest of it behind.
Six months. That's all they had left. They spent time with her family in England. Went to Paris to revisit the hotel they had spent their first real vacation together in. But in the end all Mackenzie wanted was to be with him, at home, for as long as possible. And she made it, right up until the last couple of days. She was in too much pain then for it to be managed at home. He made the hospital room as comfortable as possible for her. He didn't call her parents, at her request. She didn't want to have to put on a show for anyone…that's what she said. She just wanted it to be the two of them, like it always should have been.
She apologized over and over for her mistake. Said she wished she had known this was going to happen. They could have had more time. He stopped her with a kiss each time she started to apologize.
Time seemed to expand and contract during those last few days. He felt like he had been sitting next to her bedside for weeks listening to her breathe in and out. Listening to the lengthening silence between each breath. How long could she possibly go on like this? But when the breaths finally stopped all he could think was, no, not yet, I'm not ready yet.
The funeral was too big and too much. He knew it would be. He was famous and Mac's mother was a planner. He knew it would be everything Mackenzie would have hated. He could practically hear her rolling over in her grave. Well, if she had a grave. There was a stone marker. Her mother had insisted. But Will held firm on her wish to be cremated. Her mother was not going to railroad him on that one. There were too many people there and there was press outside. He felt like they were all pushing in on him. Requiring him to mourn in public. He just wanted to go home, but that would just remind him of the fact that she wasn't there.
The minister kept talking about her as if he knew her. Mackenzie hadn't been to church (except for a funeral here and there) in more than twenty years. This man didn't know her. Hell, he kept stuttering over her God-damned name. Will couldn't help himself. He started to laugh every time the poor minister tried to stumble over Mackenzie McHale-McAvoy. Somewhere she was laughing too. He knew it.
Charlie finally wouldn't take no for an answer two days after the funeral. He came over, scotch in hand and found Will lying on the sofa. Charlie set the scotch on the table next to the urn containing Mackenzie's ashes and pulled Will into his arms. It was the first time he had really cried. He didn't stop for nearly an hour.
A month later found him on the beach in St. Lucia. Charlie had wanted him to try to go back to work. He thought there was some interest from MSNBC. He could design a totally new show if he wanted. Will just looked at Charlie like he had lost his mind. What the hell would he do the first time he went on national television and heard someone else's voice in his ear? He really didn't need to have a nervous breakdown during the nightly news when a voice other than his wife's drifted through his earpiece.
No, he was just fine here. He had bought the house they had spent their honeymoon in. He thought it would be hard, but it wasn't. It was quiet and peaceful and everything he would have wanted to give her for the rest of her life. And sometimes, if he tried really hard, he could almost imagine she was here. Maybe she had just stepped out to go shopping or walk the beach by herself. She would be back any minute.
Will lit a cigarette and hummed quietly as he walked up the beach towards his deck.
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Sorry, I told you it would be angsty. Had to get that out of my system. Hopefully, I can now get back to my other two stories and give Will and Mac some fluffiness…well, at least some light-hearted moments here and there. Wish me luck.