They were going to do something good. They had been gifted with a miracle, a reprieve from on high, a last minute call from the governor staying their death by humiliating pander. Mac could rally the most flagging spirits, and there was nobody in her realm at that moment that didn't believe her words. Patton had nothing on her; she could marshall troops like nobody's business.
No onewas going to stand in the way of her show, not even the Almighty himself. Her face shone in the darkness like the warm glow of a tech monitor, giving them all a beacon to focus on and gather bearings from. They were really going to do it.
And then the lights came back on. The power returned and hers was lost, and for the first time in a long time he saw her rage. It was momentous in its brevity, the way she'd been slammed to a halt and had fired off a really loud "son of a BITCH!" like an explosion... before it all faded. She gave God an annoyed parting shot over his sense of humor, and shrank back down to human, pulling on her uniform of exhausted resignation.
They stood looking at each other and the moment stretched fine and fragile like a cobweb, and Will couldn't take the look on her face. She swallowed down whatever remnants of triumphant motivational speech still lingered in her throat, and gave him a half-hearted suggestion about the coverage tonight. Then she went off to prep a girl he could swear was named Sandy Witless. And if he went on the air, that's what he'd call her. He could claim it was an accident, but if they went on the air with that twit, he was gonna say it- partially to make himself feel marginally human again and partially to hear Mac's smothered laughter when she corrected in his ear.
He loved that she lived in his ear. She'd said when she'd first come back - back when he wasn't willing to accept her being thrust so prominently into his life - that she owned him for one hour a night, five nights a week. He'd replied that he didn't see that working, and in truth he hadn't been able to, but the proof was undeniable and something he didn't mind at all now. He liked it, he loved it, he wanted more of it- but for now he'd take what he could get.
He started to walk out, planning to go down the hall so hair and makeup could put finishing touches on him, steeling himself to lose another piece of his soul per the Lansing mandate. Really he had.
But as he walked he found his phone in his hand, ordering 3 generators from a local supply store for immediate delivery to the plaza, to be held for MacKenzie McHale. One generator wasn't enough for Mac. One generator might fail, and then they'd all be standing around in the dark again, and she wouldn't let that happen; so neither would Will. He detoured to the crafts table and picked up a cup of coffee, then put it back and called down asking for a few of the burly techs on 15 to come up on the double with some rope- and take the stairs. A text dashed to Emery about a mobile uplink station, and it was done. Phone secured in his pocket once more, he absconded with two of the fishbowl looking globes that sat on a warmer. He walked purposefully, as stealthily as a man could carrying scalding orbs of coffee, and eased out the side door.
There was a fuse junction in front of him now; he'd stepped out of the main hall behind the elevator panel and found where it stood, sheltered just past a maintenance area. Will used his keys to jimmy the cover open, stepped to the side and poured the first pot of coffee carefully over the wires. Then he took a few steps back, mindful of the splash zone, and hurled the second pot like a zip ball in the ninth. Glass and liquid exploded as a few sparks shot out (just like in the movies, Will paused to reflect before he ran from the room) and a pathetic whirring issued from within the wall before the building plunged back in to darkness. Even if it did turn out to be just their floor - although he doubted it given the buzz rush he'd just delivered to the box - they wouldn't be able to do the news there, and most other studios were occupied or ill-equipped.
He steps back into the now. He appears against a back wall of the Newsroom, hardly anyone the wiser of his absence, and watches the confusion with a carefully schooled expression. "Darn. What a shame" is all he says when someone speaks, and they sent Witless tripping down the stairs in her teetering heels to her FOX debut with a smile.
The guys from 15 have arrived and Mac delivers her orders, only slightly surprised at the sudden turn up but grateful for the help. Desk deconstruction underway, she's reaching for her phone to order generators and a sat van when a guard at the front desk rings her about the delivery standing in the plaza.
Will is nowhere to be found, having dashed off to his office to finish getting ready. Someone is complaining about missing coffee pots. People and supplies have turned up before she knew she needed them... something is going on.
That night, Will performs his news to an audience of one. She stands in his sight line, and it's like he's reading the news to her, like a married couple talking about stories in the paper at the end of their day. He's brilliant, even more than his usual self, and all across town, while other reporters are covering the "bombshells" in the cases of various Anthonys and looking like complete prats, Will is reporting important news with dignity and eloquence. It is a civilized, well topiced, informational broadcast, and someone even catches Sloan on 21st Street in time to come back and talk about the debt ceiling crisis.
If Mac notices the coffee splashed shirt in his office when they go back up to gather their things, she says nothing.
After that night, a surge of viewers returning to the fold and gradually enjoying the new format allow Mac and Will to never go back to the ways of that painful fortnight. They choose their own stories, and present them their way, and sometimes the ratings are down a bit but they always come back up. And yes, sensationalism still lingers and people still watch tripe about pageant moms and Rich Real Swapping Kardashian Housewives of East Jesus Wherever and Nancy Grace is never struck by an errant lightning bolt for being Nancy Grace.
But the news prevails. And their Newsroom stands. And Will and Mac stand at its center, focused on each other with an unwavering lack of compromise- hand in hand with the world at their feet.
A/N: much as Mac's reaction to the lights coming back makes me laugh, I've always wondered what would've happened if the power had gone off again. and why it might've done that.
this is my vision. hope you like it.