If anyone had seen Will McAvoy step into the elevator, they would have described the look on his face as resigned.

He knew why he had been summoned, and he suspected his recent trip home was going to be the excuse. Or at least the segue. He rubbed his eyes; they were dry and scratchy, and his arms ached. He hadn't gotten much sleep over the weekend between spending time with family and dealing with the funeral details, and it was taking its toll.

That, and Mackenzie.

He was no stranger to lack of sleep. He wasn't the kind of person who needed eight hours a night to function – not that he could remember the last time he got eight hours straight. But any idiot could tell that there was a distinct correlation between her return and his present state of sleep deprivation. Their recent sashay into half-drunk and grief-filled embraces just added a whole new level of complicated; and, suffice to say, his brain had gone into (and was very evidently still thoroughly enjoying) overdrive.

He tried to push her out of his mind as he stepped out of the elevator and walked the few steps to Charlie's office. She'd recommence actively ignoring him in real life soon enough.

'How was the funeral?' Charlie said, standing to greet him.

Will shrugged noncommittally.

'Family good?'

'Yup,' he replied, sitting down on one of the chairs opposite Charlie's desk.

'Everyone come back?'

'Yeah. From all corners of the country, they came,' he announced dramatically, but Charlie could see through the performance. 'Ah, everyone loved and hated the bastard.'

'Yeah. How are the nieces and nephews?'

'Good. I think. Tall,' he said frowning.

'You're tall.'

'My father was 5 foot 10,' Will countered.

'Clearly you all didn't get it from him,' Charlie decreed, pouring himself and Will a glass of bourbon. 'Seen Mac yet?' Will pursed his lips.

'No.' He took Charlie's offering, ignoring the fact it was 7:45am, but deciding at the last second against sculling it. He'd only had a coffee for breakfast, and he needed to focus today.

'I heard about Friday night,' Charlie said, a smirk on his face. Will closed his eyes and sighed.

'I'm fairly sure the entire building heard about Friday night,' Will replied.

'You two haven't shouted at each other like that in months,' Charlie said quietly.

'Yeah, well, you know what MacKenzie is like.'

'I know what you're like!' Charlie shot back, and Will shot him a half-hearted glare.

'An iPhone, Charlie? Who the fuck is walking past my building at 5am, and how the fuck do they recognise Mackenzie?' Will yelled, standing up and pacing in anger.

'Someone from NewsCorp, apparently.'

'I don't buy it,' he said, shaking his head, his eyes narrowed.

'That's what journalism has come to, Will. Any idiot with a phone and two brain cells can make the news now days,' Charlie said, waving his hands. 'They tell me it's the digital generation. I couldn't care less what they call themselves. It's just making them meaner and harder to ignore,' he blustered. 'And harder to avoid.'

Will sat back down and took a mouthful of his bourbon. 'I didn't mean for her to get hurt,' he said, his voice returning to normal levels. 'She was only…trying to help.'

'I know. And yet it keeps happening,' Charlie replied, his tone matching Will's. Will shot him a look.

'That's what she said.'

'She's right.'

He stood again, pacing, the frustration he'd spent the weekend hiding coming flying out. 'I know she's fucking right, Charlie. I just…ugh!' he threw his hands in the air, frustrated even more by his sudden inability to use words.

'She drives you crazy,' Charlie filled in.

'She drives me insane!' he cried, his hands in the air.

'Well, you always were a little stupid when it came to Mackenzie,' Charlie said, his face perfectly serious. Will glared at him again, knowing full well where Charlie was going with this.

'Don't,' he said, pointing at him. Charlie shrugged. Will sat again and took another mouthful of his bourbon.

'What's the one thing you regret about your father?' Charlie asked, his tone changing as he put his feet up on the desk.

'What?' Will frowned, confused, and still frustrated.

'What's the one thing you regret about your father? If you had an extra 24 hours, what would you do?'

'Don't fuck with me, Charlie,' Will said, his eyes narrow. 'I know what you're doing.'

'I'm sure you do,' he replied. He paused, and looked out his window, past Will. 'You know, my wife used to say some smart things every now and then. One day, when we'd had a huge fight, she sat down on the bed next to me and said, 'Forgiveness is giving up my right to hurt you the way you hurt me'. It really screwed with my head, because every time we had a fight and I said something mean, that statement would sit in my mind until I'd apologised. Damn smart woman,' he muttered, sculling the rest of his bourbon.

Will watched him warily, unwilling to betray his thoughts.

He knew Charlie was right; Will was simply hurting Mackenzie the way she hurt him.

She'd owned him, heart and all, and he'd loved it. And then she broke his heart into a million pieces and fled the scene, leaving him to pick them up and try to re-start living something like a vaguely normal life. Only she hadn't left them behind, he'd realised. She'd taken them with her, leaving only the burnt-out shell of a man that was once Will McAvoy.

He'd never forgotten what Charlie had said to him the day she returned, and he was right; the day she left was the day he stopped being a nice guy. And, unfortunately for all of them – most of all, himself – her return didn't herald the return of the nice Will McAvoy. Instead he'd unleashed vengeful, heart-broken, power-hungry Will; the kind of Will that was happy to exact his revenge in whatever way pleased him.

Only it hadn't pleased him; it hadn't brought him any pleasure at all. At first he'd felt a sense of power; she'd come back, reiterating her pleas for forgiveness in person, doing everything he demanded, and more. And he'd taken his revenge. Exacted his payment.

And there was a certain sense of satisfaction in the moment. Especially the moment when he produced the ring. He'd done it with a sense of achievement; he'd almost wanted to laugh. He'd beaten her again. He'd managed to be one step ahead of her, again.

But then she'd left his office, her heart on her sleeve and tears in her eyes and he'd hated himself.

He'd managed to viciously hurt her and completely betray her trust. Again.

And it only left him a little more broken each time.

She still carried his heart, and she was slowly mending it, piece by piece. As much as he fought her, as much as he raged against her smile, the way she would bounce into his office with a brilliant idea – or something she'd done wrong – the way she would passionately and forcefully demand the news be done right, the way she refused to settle for nothing than the very best of him as a news anchor – all of these things slowly melted the tough exterior he'd built up, and piece by piece, he was put back together.

He wasn't complete yet; not by a long shot. But she'd done all she could do a long time ago, and now she was waiting.

Waiting for him.

Charlie took the bourbon glass from the desk in front of him and poured some more, much to Will's consternation.

'Charlie, it's eight in the morning.'

'And you don't have to be on air for twelve hours.'

Will eyed him, but took the glass anyway.

'You're getting old, McAvoy,' he said, waving his glass at him in some kind of morbid toast. 'Stop fucking around.'


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