To level the playing field
A/N: Newsroom withdrawal is why. Unapologetic drabble ahead. Possibly more to come.
i.
Will McAvoy tears apart the recipt for the Tiffany & Co. engagement ring with a nagging sense of discontent (he refuses to call it guilt). It was supposed to be a prank. It was supposed to be a contingency plan for that ridiculous opposition research which she had no doubt turned into a skeleton dig for leverage. He kind of likes being one step ahead of her (or so he likes to call it that) and in a really masochistic way, he finds a slither of reassurance on the look on her face whenever he hangs her mistake on the invisible pulpit.
She crumples a little. He sees a quiver pass her and her eyes dart down to the floor in regret. Every single time.
It makes him want to close the imposed distance between them. It triggers this impulse to just wrap his arms around her, to breathe her in. But it's just that and nothing else. He doesn't act on any of them, and he still thinks he can't forgive her yet.
Why can't he forgive her?
After his agent returned with the deftly concealed package earlier, he reassessed his plan. It shouldn't take long for her to uncover that mishappen Fox offer. In a twisted way, he could not wait to show her the ring. And it was truly a stunning piece of jewelry, if he had to be honest. Maybe if she hadn't fucked up the way she did in the first place, she'd already have it on her finger.
He'd planned on popping it out in the middle of her impassioned monologue (at least he got that bit right). What he didn't expect was how he could not, for the life of him, announce to her the big joke afterwards. Not with the way her eyes gave away all that wistfulness. Not with the way she looked liable to collapse into sorry little pieces in front of him. Not with the way how he could finally see what Charlie had meant when he called her physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.
Flipping open the lid of the small box didn't really give him the satisfaction he had anticipated. Quite the opposite, actually.
Maybe she shouldn't have blown his heart into smithereens. And maybe what he did was bordering on cruel. That much he was willing to concede.
ii.
Do it for me, Will.
It's been a week. Seven days. That's seven days and she has said nothing about the message. No comment, no acknowledgement, no change in demeanor whatsoever. Well, he specifically asked that she not mention it ever - but still.
And the ring is burning a hole in his office desk.
Stupid, stupid ring.
Habib would probably tell him that it took getting as high as the CNN tower to admit his feelings but a.) he can't tell another living soul that he was fucking wasted that night and b.) it wasn't entirely true.
It was the ring. That stupid ring. So when her voice echoed in his ear, with resolve fragile and unyielding at the same time, to not fuck up that broadcast, something snapped and he knew he couldn't deny her anything.
But a week has passed.
One step forward and two steps back - they have it down to a science.
iii.
If his ammunition is the blasted ring, hers is the notepad.
It's not. But it can be.
He wanted to kiss her the minute she whipped it out. He also wanted to break things in his office out of rage. That infuriating, maddening, frustrating woman.
Still, nothing happens. They've entered an impasse punctuated only by lingering looks and voices lowering an octave whenever they're in close proximity.
Then one of their reporters gets stabbed while covering a riot down south.
Her face goes blank. The newsroom falls into chaos. He watches and something clicks.
She calls in sick the next day.
He calls bullshit and storms to her apartment.