"A miracle. A miracle happens. We become a team again. We all hate this, right? We hate what we're doing… I said, 'God, please show me a sign that I'm not doing a big thing badly' –and right that second, the power went out."
Despite her attitude just hours ago, I can't help but be endeared by her enthusiasm and fickle belief in God and miracles. Yes, fickle. She is a devout atheist who prays only to the higher powers of Journalism, Murrow and Cronkite. Yet suddenly, she wholeheartedly believes that God sent her a sign from above that ACN – or, specifically, me – is not to broadcast anything to do with Anthony Weiner and Casey Anthony. Well, as much as I'd love to believe her and her passionate delivery, I don't buy it. A miracle? No. Most likely a freak accident and a coincidence. Fortunate, comedic, but ultimately meaningless.
She's pacing to and fro, waving her arms and preaching her views. For the first time this week, she's content and excited, and I feel a slight bit of shame at having made her so miserable. Even in the dark, I can see the glint in her eye – the slightly mischievous, devilish glint that tells me that she doesn't care if this fucks up our ratings, because we're going to work together (instead of against each other) again. And although I might not believe in her miracle theory, I do believe in her. And I desperately want an excuse to jump ship on talking about Weiner's, er, private business.
For the hell of it, I ask if anyone else is getting freaked out by Mac's behaviour – only half joking, of course. The truth is that a large part of me wants this as badly as she does – ratings be damned.
"Leave God out of this and talk more about electricity."
"You're an idiot."
So sue me, I can't put on these fucking trick pants. That doesn't give her the right to call me an idiot! Oh. She's not talking about the pants. Well, good.
Once again, she's riled up and feisty, and this time I can't blame her. We worked our asses off for that debate, so not getting it was a kick in the gut after we'd put ourselves down in the gutter. Mac's face has gone red, and I'm starting to feel concern for her mental health (and also slightly guilty that I've had Brian fucking Brenner shadowing her like some sort of spectre from her past all week). Tucking my shirt into my pants, I try to calm Mac down, to help her see the light of this situation – we still have all of our viewers. Of course, it's never been about the viewers for Mac – but now it is, and I've made it her problem. She cares about the viewers – is willing to get dirty with filth that can hardly be called news – to save my skin, my career. And for what? Out of a sense of misplaced guilt.
How could she possibly think that I would accept the debate format without her? We work well together – we are a team. She is my most trusted partner and producer, and so help me, I probably couldn't find my other pants leg without her. I'm not sure about this – I'm not sure about denying the debate or what I'm about to do now, but when am I ever sure about anything?
"Remember your first day here? The BP spill? Remember when I said throw out the rundown?... Did you think that was…cool? Throw out the rundown."
Hey guys! I tried updating yesterday, but for whatever reason the system wouldn't let me upload documents, so here it is today instead. I hope you enjoyed reading it, and if you did please leave a review! I would like to thank everybody who has reviewed previously, but also to say thanks to SueG5123 for reviewing the last chapter - it means a lot to me!
