Round 4)

She hates these dinners. They're basically evenings filled with false smiles, back room deals, disgustingly expensive alcohol and networking - or, as she likes to call it, sucking-up so that if you ever needed someone to annoy for a comment about something, you'd know exactly who to go to.

She knew Will hated them too, and with Charlie off reminiscing with an old friend who used to work with Cronkite, the two of them were seated at the bar having completed their ninety-minutes post-dinner ass-kissing, and were now sipping wine and brandy and bitching about the people in the room that they hated the most.

It was a rare, relaxed, happy moment for them, just laughing and she was loving every minute. She could see Lonny hovering a in a far corner and she waved him over to join them, but, ever the professional, he shook his head appreciatively and winked at her.

"Flirt." She heard Will mumble into his glass.

"Me or him?" She teased, her eyes sparkling, whether it was from the wine or it was just her being herself, wasn't entirely clear.

"Him!" Will said indignantly.

"You don't know that." Mac said, deliberately not looking at him, her lip curling, knowing she was annoying him. "Maybe I wanted him to come over so I could dance with him." She jerked her head over to where maybe eighty people filled the dance floor.

She chanced a look out of the corner of her eye and caught the miffed look on his face as he thought about what she'd said. She laughed, shaking her head at how gullible he could be after a few drinks.

He asked for another round, and they returned to their gossip session.

When she was nearly finished that glass of wine, she found herself laughing. "You know, TMI should hire us to be Mr. Chatterbox columnists. We'd be brilliant."

"Dance with me." Will said abruptly.

She nearly choked. "What?"

He looked at her rather seriously, which made her want to laugh even more, despite her surprise.

"You're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be serious?" His brow furrowed. "Come on, let's dance.

"What? You'll dance with Lonny but not with me?"

"He could probably stand up right for longer than you right now. Why? Are you jealous?" She was just teasing…maybe even borderline flirting, but she saw a slightly darker look in his eyes that she hadn't seen there in a long time and she decided to just be honest. "Will…we're in a room full of people who know - TMI won't need to hire us. We'd write ourselves."

"Come on, Mac. It's one dance. You know how many people dancing over there are colleagues?"

She stared into her wine glass, "Not colleagues with our history." She said quietly, before downing the last swig, closing her eyes as the cold liquid ran down her throat to soothe it. As she put her glass down she felt a hand slip into her free one, and she reluctantly met Will's eyes, looking hopefully back at her.

"Please. One dance?"

The image of the pistol flashed in front of her eyes again. But then so did many other memories of the two of them dancing on a beach in the Seychelles, a balcony in Paris, in his apartment one night after a great dinner.

There's not always a next time.

She couldn't refuse him.

She hopped off the bar stool and offered a small smile, at which he beamed back.

As she tried to stop herself from leaning too closely into Will, or looking like she was too lost in her partner in a room full of reporters, she wondered if there was still a bullet somewhere in her metaphorical revolver – and more importantly: if so, where the hell her life was going.