Should Auld Acquaintance

by Sueg5123

"Don't call him honey. It makes me crazy." Will had tipped his hand with that one. Too much information. Waaaay too much.

Blotting the champagne from his tux in the 24th floor washroom was out of the question—too many inquiring eyes—so Will had detoured upstairs, to Charlie's executive washroom to do the honors. It was private. It was discrete.

And, sadly, nowhere near effective.

The Armand Fellini tuxedo may have been pitilessly handsome when dry, but wet—it puckered into welts like bad seersucker.

Also, pressing paper towels into the jacket lapels alone gave him time, far too much time, to consider the conversations from earlier in the evening.

"Can Wade have two minutes with you?"

Well, sure. Send the new boyfriend ("that's what you call him") right on in to my fortress of solitude.

Then, "Don't call him honey. It makes me crazy."

Will had tipped his hand with that one. Too much information. Waaaay too much.

Fuck.

The paper towels Will used left crumbs of fiber all across the tuxedo jacket.

So his humiliation was complete when, riding the elevator back downstairs, it pinged at the familiar 24th.

Will raised his eyes to meet whoever had summoned the car.

Other eyes raised to meet his. Specifically, those of Wade Campbell, whose mouth was at that moment moving toward the throat of the elegantly attired MacKenzie McHale, whose own eyes were unsuspectingly cast down. When hers flicked up, and all three pairs of eyes intersected, Will abruptly cleared his throat and shifted his gaze.

We're a little more than friends, Wade had said.

Yeah, well, that was obvious now, wasn't it?

"Hey, Will. Going down, I guess?" Interrupted in his pursuit of the unwitting MacKenzie, Wade made a self-conscious shrug and boomed, "Anyway, didn't we just leave you at the party?"

MacKenzie offered Will the comradely weak smile of one who was trapped and knew it, then stepped into the elevator car, her date tagging behind.

Will crossed his arms and looked up to the elevator floor indicator. "I thought it was time to make my exit. You know, to give the young staffers some room to make asses of themselves."

Wade Campbell gave an exaggerated nod, giving clear indication of the level of his inebriation. "Time for some private celebrations now. Right?"

Now MacKenzie looked—to her credit, Will thought—properly mortified.

But Wade missed all the clues. "You got another party somewhere? That blonde ever come around?"

Mac looked up at that, so Will was careful to shake his head slowly.

"No, just the drink in the face. Not much to build a relationship on after that."

"Yeah, I'm imagining what you must have suggested to get that reaction. Musta been beautiful."

"Not as ribald as you think. A mild disagreement over the state of civilization."

Bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, Mac looked away again.

"You know, Will, that crack about Countrywide—well, that hurt. In my defense, I just helped put away that guy Peter Hall for defrauding all those investors—"

"Financial crimes against the one percenters. That's real crusading in justice."

"Expertise, Will. Trends in prosecution. Mac and I were thinking I could be on some panels for you in the new year."

"Mac and I?"

"What Wade means," the lady in question hastened to insert, "is that recent wins against financial crimes are always relevant and—"

Mercifully, there was an arrival ping. The elevator door slid open to the lobby, and Will held the door for the others to exit.

Wade extended his hand. "Nice to have met you, Will. Hope we get to work together soon." He winked at Mac, and the expression on her face did not escape Will. "You stay here where it's warm, sweetheart, and I'll get us a cab—"

Will slipped into his coat. "My car's already at the curb. Why don't you let me give you a lift?"

"That would be great, wouldn't it, sweetheart?" Wade said, blithely unaware of the blink he provoked from Will each time he used the endearment on Mac.

"If it's no trouble," she amended, feeling like she needed to say something at this point.

"No trouble."

Outside, Will swung into the front passenger seat, alongside his driver, then turned back to Campbell. "Where to?"

"Gramercy. 17th and 3rd."

Will hesitated. "Is that a restaurant or—"

"Let's say, private party." Wade Campbell laughed archly, and it was suddenly clear that Campbell expected to host Mac at his place. This wasn't the end of the evening, it was the beginning of a different kind of evening.

Tersely, Will nodded to his driver, then set his jaw and slunk into the seat.

When, following a silent ride, they arrived at the address Wade had given, Wade made his thanks and let himself out of the car. Careful to keep the car door open, Mac stepped to the pavement. There was a protracted pause and Will finally craned around to see why the car door hadn't been closed yet.

He saw Mac give Campbell a quick but loveless hug, deliberately omitting any goodnight kiss.

Campbell looked visibly defeated on the sidewalk.

Fronting his eyes before Mac slid back into the car, Will let two beats pass before acknowledging, "I thought he was your boyfriend, Mac. What, no private party tonight?"

"I told him that the drink earlier had given me a headache."

"Ah." He let another beat pass, then leaned around in the car to make sure Wade Campbell had departed the vicinity. As the SUV continued to idle at the curb, Will popped open his own car door and moved to the rear seat.

He checked his watch. "You know, given the fact that it's still just a little past midnight, getting you home is going to be problematic, what with a half a million or so people milling around Times Square right now."

She sighed. "If you can get me a little closer to midtown, I'll walk from there."

He leaned forward and gave instructions to the driver, before turning back to her. "So. Seriously, Mac, is there really anything between you and him?"

She snorted. "Just air."

"But you want there to be something—"

"How thick can you be? I want a partner, I want someone who cares if I come home and someone who's glad to see me when I do. I told you that I'm trying to move on, Will, as you evidently already have."

"And what does it mean when you tell your partner that you have a headache in order to avoid going home with him?"

"This is ridiculous. Just tell your driver to let me out here, anywhere. I'll walk home."

"Dressed like that, with those?" He gestured to the red-soled heels he knew she wore.

"Will—"

"Truce. I call a truce." He showed his palms and offered a placating smile. "Come on, Mac. It's New Year's Eve. I don't want to argue. It might bring bad luck or something."

"Technically, I think it is already New Year's Day, but I don't want to argue either." After a moment, she returned the smile, her eyes crinkling in a way that made his heart catch with remembered fondness. "I have to confess, I was a little glad you struck out tonight with that gossip columnist."

"Me, too. Although I could've lived without the champagne in the face."

A minute passed in companionable silence, and Mac turned her attention to the street outside, the still-crowded sidewalks and the sea of red taillights in front of their vehicle.

"Were you able to get back to London to see your family over Christmas?"

"They were just here last month—so, no."

"Oh." That sank in. "You spent Christmas with him?" Will meant Wade Campbell.

"You know, sometimes silence is vastly underrated," she returned, tartly. "But in the spirit of full disclosure, on Christmas Eve, I took Maggie and Gary and some of the others who hadn't gone away to dinner. If you're checking up on me, I can provide a credit card receipt to prove it. Christmas Day I spent sifting through the Wikileaks release of the embassy cables. With chocolate and cabernet, by the way, so that it wasn't a total loss."

"Whoa, I didn't mean—and I'm not trying to pry—but, damn, Mac. Doesn't sound very—merry."

She huffed a short laugh. "Well, it was a sight more comfortable than last year's Christmas. Thirty six hours hunkered down during the Narang raid in Afghanistan, listening to the pop-pop-pop of small arms fire."

Another pause between them.

"Well, generally speaking, is Christmas better here or London?"

"Christmas is good wherever I am. But if you're asking about my favorite one—well, that was here, three years ago." She shot him a sidelong look. "Maybe you remember it, too."

He made a single nod.

"I thought—I really thought," she went on, more hesitantly, "that you were going to give me a ring that year."

He moved his head again, but said nothing.

"Probably for the best that you didn't. It would have made things even messier than they became."

The SUV crawled through another intersection, hindered by pedestrians surging across the crosswalks.

"Look. I think it's beginning to snow," she said, pointing to a few flurries outside the car window. "I love snow."

He leaned over to look where she indicated, swallowing at the sharp memory of being this near. He remembered snow and the city and MacKenzie.

Suddenly, apropos of nothing, "How's your headache?"

That provoked a small giggle. "Saw through that, did you?"

"You know—if you haven't given up totally on prosecutors tonight—we could have a quick toast to ring in the new year. I know I'd welcome the opportunity to actually drink a drink instead of having it thrown at me. We can even talk about the show if you want to."

She stared, openly skeptical of the invitation.

"C'mon. It's snowing. I gotta real fireplace. Real fire, too," he continued. "Plenty of seasonal atmosphere. I'll even lead a chorus of Auld Lang Syne."

It took her three seconds to decide. "All right. Yes to the toast. As long as you don't make me sing."

"Trust me, I know better than to do that."

oooo

"Nice view. And it's still snowing, just a bit." Mac stood gazing out the glass doors to his terrace.

"Sparkling or still?" he called out from the other room.

"Oh, it's New Year's Eve. Champagne, if you have it."

"Hang on. I'm looking."

Joining him in the kitchen, she revised herself, "Actually, anything would do. We're about an hour and a half in to the new year, so bubbles may be passé by now." When he made no response, she added, "We're really going to talk about work, Will?"

Even as he bent into the refrigerator, she could see his shoulders move in a shrug. "Only if you insist."

"Well, we could start with the words you mispronounce. I gave Maggie a list."

"I don't mispronounce them," he said, straightening and holding a dark green bottle. He attended to the opening and pouring functions. "And some of them are Americanisms. Anyway, if you Brits would—"

"Yank here," she interrupted.

"Then get with the program. It's pronounced MO-bul, not mo-BILE."

"That hardly accounts for using 'normalcy' when 'normality' is clearly the accepted—"

"Mac," he said simply, handing her a fluted glass. "I've changed my mind. No shop talk tonight."

"Ah. Then what do we talk about?"

This suddenly seemed like scary uncharted territory.

"Have you noticed my real fireplace with real fire in it?"

She followed him back to the living room where the aforementioned fire was burning low, throwing shadows all around the darkened room . "I did. Is combustion another of your talents?"

"It is, and do you mind if I loosen my tie? I feel half strangled." He slipped the bow tie knot, allowing the ends to dangle, and popped the collar button. "Hey. This is New Year's, so let's drink to something."

"News Night?"

"Not the show. Maybe the staff. Maybe—" he paused, "maybe the EP."

She hadn't expected that and it surprised her into speechlessness. She searched his face for a clue as to his meaning, whether he was mocking her, and it was nearly ten seconds before she was able to speak.

"Come again?"

He held up his champagne flute. "To you, Mac. Thanks for—well, persevering. I know I haven't made things very welcoming. I'm kind of sorry about that."

Kind of?

She hesitated, looking down into her drink.

"It would have made things easier, that's true, if we hadn't been at odds. But I understand it—I know where it comes from, and one day I'd like the chance, just the chance, to earn my way back into your good graces."

"You can't—" he blurted, before seeing her face fall and knowing he'd begun that sentence wrongly. "What I mean is, you don't have to do that, Mac. It's isn't the way you think."

"What is this about, Will? I've lived the last eight months with your sword of Damocles dangling over my head, wondering whether I was about to be fired at the end of each week."

"You were never going to be fired. I just couldn't—it was hard, at first, you being back, and I wasn't ready—" Clearly, he was stumbling badly in setting this up. "Let's try the toast again. Bring your glass up and I'll—"

"Will." Her tone was reproving. "I can't tell anymore when you are serious and when you're making fun of me, and I am so very tired of the sniping and keeping score. Thanks, but me being here tonight probably wasn't a very good idea, in retrospect." Setting the flute down, untouched, she reached for her purse. "I'll call a cab—"

"You'll wait all night. It's New Year's Eve, Mac." He paused to allow the logic of that equation to sink in, then set his own glass down with a sigh. "I'm not being sarcastic. You've done a great job this year—the whole Arizona goat-rope notwithstanding, of course—and I'm trying to say thank you. It's been—well, it's been good to have you back."

She couldn't help a sardonic chuff. "I've spent all year wondering how much you hated me."

"I don't—hate—you, Mac." He picked up both glasses and handed hers back to her. "C'mon. Once more, but with feeling." He looked amused. "As the song goes, let's, uh, 'take a cup of kindness yet.'"

She extended her glass first and finished softly, "For auld lang syne'?"

"What does that mean, anyway?"

"Times long past, I think. Remembering. Reflection." She stopped, beginning to feel a little self-conscious with the explanation. "Something like that."

Eyes meeting, they softly touched glasses. Will looked as though he wanted to say something more, she thought, but seconds ticked off and nothing came, so she decided she had misread him. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

So, she turned back to the view. "It's really coming down now."

He drained his glass and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle for a refill, but, in returning to the room, stopped at the sight of her. The firelight cast a delicate amber glow on her features and accentuated the drape of her dress.

"You look really nice tonight." Each word was spaced evenly, deliberately.

"You said that earlier—but thank you. Again."

"Goddam, MacKenzie. Don't ever wear that dress with any man who isn't me."

He was a dozen feet away, arms at his sides, a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, but his face was shadowed and she couldn't see the non-verbal clues that she was certain would allow her to unpack his meaning.

"You're sending some, um, rather mixed messages tonight, Will. Perhaps I should—"

He closed half the distance between them. "I thought I was going to be alone tonight, and I was so desperately afraid you weren't."

"That sounds like the champagne is talking."

"Actually, champagne has a deeper voice. Also, a tiny lisp, owing to the bubbles. Not many people know that." He refilled both their glasses. "Stay, Mac, and let's put this right."

"Put what right?" she asked, a little nervously, bracing for more unexpected things to come from his lips.

"I can't stand it any longer." He put down the bottle but made no move to pick up the glasses. "I've loved you for a long time, Kenz—maybe forever, because I can't remember ever not loving you—"

"Wait. What?"

"—And tonight I saw you slipping away from me and I knew I needed to say something—"

"Will, what—?"

"So, I'm saying, let's give it another chance."

"Another chance," she repeated, the words finally registering, even If the meaning hadn't caught up. "A chance for—"

"Us," he finished, closing the distance between them and reaching for her hands. "Happy New Year, Kenz. Let's make it a really good year, too. And—can I kiss you now?"

"Oh, god, yes."

She stretched up to meet him halfway, and they reunited in a tentative kiss, before pulling back slightly, regrouping, and kissing again, slower and deeper. Encouraged by the soft sighs she made, he parted her lips and slid his tongue against hers. Her hand curled around the back of his neck for balance, and her fingers lightly twisted the hair at his nape.

When they pulled away a second time, she finally remembered to breathe. And smile, because the joy was finally overtaking the puzzlement and she wanted to give herself wholly to the giddiness of love renewed.

"This is for real?" Disbelief was stubborn.

"Absolutely for real. And you're okay with it?"

"Beyond okay. I feel like—like—"

"Like it's New Year's Eve and you've had too much champagne?"

"More like it's early morning of New Year's Day and I haven't had nearly enough champagne," she smiled back. "Like my heart's in one year and my head's in another."

"I can fix the champagne problem, anyway," he said, handing her a glass. "Drink up. Now that there's finally something to celebrate. To us—well, mostly to you, because you make us possible."

Her eyes were bright as she sipped. "I probably oughtn't have more—I feel lightheaded enough as it is. You won't believe this, but I almost I feel like dancing."

He pulled her close again began to hum and sway.

"I was kidding, Billy."

Billy. A very good sign.

"I'm trying really hard not to screw this up, Kenz, so if you aren't all right with this—if this is too much, too soon—just tell me and—"

She smiled coyly. "Any ideas in that over-developed frontal lobe of yours?"

Surprising her—and himself—he scooped her into his arms. "Definitely a couple of ideas. Even if they put me in traction for weeks."

He stumbled through the semi-darkness to the bedroom, laying her gently on the duvet. He reached behind her neck, for whatever clasp held the twist in the top of her dress, and struggled with the unseen foe.

"Cut it. Tear it," she offered helpfully, willing to sacrifice the elegant little black dress.

"Not this dress."

She leaned up on her elbows. "You're in love with a dress? Is this some sort of fetish?"

Suddenly, he pulled back, yanked his slackened tie off completely and began to attacked the shirt studs on his dressed shirt.

Mac watched with gentle amusement as he wrestled with his wardrobe. This night had veered wildly from the course she had imagined—from the boorish compromise that had been Wade Campbell to Will's startling behaviors, his strange verbal slips earlier at the office to his astonishing revelation mere minutes ago. She had had no clue that such a remarkable change was in the offing; she'd pretty much resigned herself to perpetual guilt and unrequited feelings. Now—this.

Finally having overcome the tuxedo's clingy shirt and shed his dress trousers , Will slipped beside her. When Mac reached to finish removing her dress, he stayed her hand.

"Please—leave it for now. You look so fucking hot tonight. I just want to—"

"It is the dress, isn't it?" she giggled.

"Hey, let's get this party started."