"Mac lets Will yell at her, because (for once), she knows she's not really the one he's mad at." Prompt from lilacmermaid33 at Livejournal Season 2 Ficathon. Thanks for the awesome prompts!
"Are you okay?" she whispers.
Everyone hears the disruptive screaming coming from the office but no one listens. They scurry around the desks, preparing to leave for the night. Paperwork is being filed, computers are logging off, and a gruff, disgruntled voice is clearly heard in the background.
"GOD DAMN IT MAC, CAN'T YOU FUCKING LET IT GO?" His normal facade slowly crumbles. "I don't want to fucking talk about it. I don't want to fucking think about it."
Mackenzie's soft brown eyes turn into saucers as Will backs her into the front of his desk. His face above hers but inches away. Quietly, with a measured but gentle tone, Mackenzie asks, "Do you want me to go?"
And that completely breaks him.
Mackenzie delicately pulls Will to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He puts his face into her hair and she feels the tears tickle her neck. She holds him and sinks to the desk under his weight. "Why Mac?" his voice strains as he fights to get out the words. "Why can't he still be alive? Why the fuck didn't we work things out?" Mackenzie holds him close and strokes his hair.
She fights back the growing knot in her stomach, "I don't know, Will. I don't know."
"Please, don't leave." Mackenzie has seen things and experienced enough pain to make crowds burst into tears, but right now, the only thing breaking her heart is Will McAvoy. Seeing him in so much pain kills her. Her stomach tightens and aches. Her heart races in fear and she doesn't know what to do so she sits there. She holds him while he cries because he is the only thing that matters. He's the only thing that ever mattered.
When he finally has enough, Will stands up and tries to apologize but Mackenzie cuts him off, "Will, let's go home." She hands him his clothes and steps out of the office to let him get dressed. God, what am I going to do?
Will doesn't ever cry, but he can't help it. He wants to feel angry, frustrated, spiteful, anything except...regret. He wants to throw his chair across the room and scream, but he doesn't. Will barely has enough energy to put on his street clothes. He shuffles out of his office to see Mackenzie still standing there, patient as ever.
"Mackenzie, you don't have to-"
"Let's go home, Will."
The entire cab ride is silent. The walk inside is silent. The elevator to Will's apartment is silent. They live in the city that never sleeps but tonight the only noise they hear is the blood rushing in their ears. They listen to the beating of their hearts, the breathing of each other.
Will opens his apartment and locks it behind him. Mackenzie slips off her shoes and starts the pot for tea. The place is exactly how she remembers it, down to the very last teacup. Will empties his ashtray in the garbage and grabs a fresh pack of cigarettes. He picks up a bottle of scotch and looks at it, staring and scutinizing it under his gaze. He heaves it across the room and watches it smash into a hundred little pieces against the white wall. Mackenzie dunks the teabag into the hot water. Will won't be drinking tonight.
They lay in bed peacefully. Will quickly tears through his pack of cigarettes as he stares at the ceiling. Memories float in his mind, one by one being consciously rejected or denied further examination. He imagines the bruises on his mother's face. Denied. He recalls the first major league ballgame he saw with his father. Granted. It's best not to think ill of the dead.
Mackenzie's head lays across Will's chest. She hears his heart beat and feels every breath he takes. She can't do anything but be there for him. He won't say anything, but he doesn't want her to leave. She wouldn't dare desert him at a time like this, a time of crisis. Mackenzie will always be by Will's side. She will do whatever it takes to fix him.