A/N: Here's today's chapter. I hope you like it. It's kind of a two part chapter in that it splits a scene in half. But it was a long scene. Trust me.

Also, thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I always appreciate it.

Chapter 10

xxx

Mac was fidgeting with stuff on her desk, trying not to think about a thing she would eventually need to think about.

She didn't want to think about it right now.

Right now she wanted to concentrate on the show she would be producing in a few short hours, the show that was irritatingly problem free today. Not that Mac wanted a bunch of problems to crop up, but she wouldn't have minded some minor issue or other. Just to act as a distraction, obviously.

Unfortunately, she was currently very much distractionless.

And she couldn't even think about her plan, which was her usual distraction these days, because her plan was tangled up with the thing that she didn't want to think about.

Mac paused.

She supposed she could think about her plan. Provided she stuck to a very specific part of the plan. The part that had to do with planning little events.

After all, Charlie's Newsroom-organized surprise party had been a rousing success. Everyone had a great time. Even if Mac suspected that her boss was trying to open a door she hadn't wanted opened (at least not by someone else, and not until she was damn sure what was on the other side). And now Charlie might try and sneak in and interfere where he wasn't wanted.

But she wasn't going to think about that.

She would think about the part of the plan to get people in the newsroom to socialize more, particularly Will. Yes. She could do that.

Except, that the plan was going so well now, it almost didn't need her to organize it anymore. Everyone was practically falling into a new sort of equilibrium. People were seeking Will out (and he was reciprocating) without her having to lift a finger.

So what about the other (less dominant) half of the plan? What about her and Will? Where did it leave the two of them?

Mac was pretty sure something was going on, but she wasn't sure exactly what. Maybe Will was just trying to be friends. Good friends, obviously, but friends nonetheless. Maybe she was misreading everything because she wanted to (god did she want to), and really all the casual touches between them were just meant to be friendly. She didn't think so, but even if they weren't... She had no idea what to do about it.

Mostly because she had no idea where Will stood.

Sure, things were more comfortable between them. Will obviously liked her and didn't like seeing her upset or in pain. He trusted her at work, confided in her even; he definitely liked to tease her. Maybe he even liked touching her. And all of that was great (anytime he wanted to touch her that would be just fine). But...

But she didn't know if he'd forgiven her.

She didn't know if he ever would.

And that was the problem.

Mac didn't know if Will would ever be willing to try a relationship with her again, even if there was something between them now. She didn't know if she'd hurt him unforgivably (and sometimes she thought that she had). She didn't know if what they'd had was obtainable again.

And, much as she wanted it, she wasn't sure she was willing to risk what they had now to find out.

She wasn't ready to risk this new Will, the one who was always there for her, supportive and sweet and gruff and irritating and brilliant and, goddamn it, sexy as hell. Sometimes she wanted him so much her hands practically tingled to touch.

(After that neck massage... god...)

But to touch would be to risk, and that terrified her down to her bones.

Not to mention, to find out what was possible they'd have to talk. They could only avoid dealing with the missing three years of their lives for so long. She'd mentioned that time tangentially a few weeks ago at the bar in the middle of a minor mental breakdown, and the awkwardness and emotion had almost been too much for her then. Will hadn't exactly been composed either.

Although, he had chased after her; he hadn't let her run.

Mac didn't know if she was ready to have the conversation they needed to have. She didn't know if she could have it and not fuck it up. (She needed to not fuck it up.) And if she wasn't ready for it, Mac didn't even want to imagine what Will was thinking.

He... he knew about the attack. He'd said as much. Which meant that he probably knew about the scar. But knowing and seeing were two very different things. And seeing and accepting were very different. And then accepting and moving on were different again.

Who the fuck knew where Will would end up?

Mac had a sudden image of her stalking into his office, ripping open her blouse and showing him the damn thing. Just to get it out of the way. The thought had her giggling, but her laughter was short-lived.

God, it was so complicated. She couldn't deal with it. With any of the things currently screwing with her brain. And Will would notice something was up. He noticed everything now.

She wasn't ready to talk to him yet. She couldn't talk to him today, about any of it.

Which meant she needed a game plan to avoid him.

Mac decided developing one would do nicely as a distraction.

xxx

Mac was thrilled with the success of her latest plan. Not the one to get Will to socialize; the one to avoid him (yes, she was well aware of the irony).

She'd executed it flawlessly.

Her ability to over-think everything to death had unexpected advantages sometimes. Will hadn't stood a chance. Sure, he'd noticed that she was distracted, but Mac had given him absolutely no opportunity to corner her and ask her about it. Each time he'd tried she had something she needed to do. She'd come up with a handy mental list of potential issues to use as escape hatches. She'd even arranged a meeting with Don immediately after the show wrapped to discuss ways of linking the eight o'clock broadcast to the ten o'clock so that Will couldn't grab her after the show.

In fact, she'd practically flown out of the control room for their meeting and then stayed and watched the first twenty minutes of the ten o'clock just for good measure.

She should have known it would all be for nothing.

At about 10:30, Mac walked back to her office, one of the many dark rooms in the bullpen (Will's office being another, she was happy to note), and flicked on the lights.

Only to find Will sitting in her chair, waiting for her. And he didn't look happy.

Mac jumped.

"Jesus Will!" she said, her hand on her chest. "You scared me."

"Did I?" he drawled, standing up slowly, and walking around the desk to meet her.

"Yes!" Mac replied, deciding going on the offensive was her best option here. She strode towards him and slammed her notebook down on the desk next to his hip. "What the hell are you doing in my office so late, and in the dark?"

"Maybe I didn't want to tip you off," he suggested, his voice carefully restrained.

"Tip me off?" Mac asked.

"Drop the act Mackenzie!" Will snapped suddenly, his voice cutting like a knife. "We both know you've been avoiding me for half the day. Why?"

That surprised her. She hadn't expected him to call her on it so directly. "Will..."

"No, goddamn it!" he said, picking up her notebook and slamming it back down with a bang.

It was only then that Mac realized the extent of the anger he was barely suppressing. She didn't have time to react to it (maybe even to try to diffuse it) before Will was yelling at her again.

"You're the one who's been pushing your whole newsroom-as-a-family thing!" he bellowed. "You're the one who's always trying to get me to talk to the goddamn staff! You're the one who's always trying to get me to connect! You're the one who's been arranging all of these little events to try and get me to fucking open up! And then you have a hint of an issue yourself, and you close up better than a fucking turtle! What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to deal with it when you shut me... when you shut everyone out so completely? Goddamn it Mac! Today you must have had a list of contingency plans a mile long to make sure you didn't have to be in the same room as me for longer than thirty seconds!"

Mac flinched, inadvertently confirming his accusation as pain bubbled up in her chest. She hadn't wanted to hurt him.

The colour drained from Will's face when he realized he'd been right. Mac realized he'd probably been expecting her to have an explanation, or to deny it.

But she couldn't deny it.

That was when Mac saw the fury really grow. Before, it had been at least half bluster, hot and quick, coming and then going just as quickly (usually thanks to a good rant). Now she watched it turn cold, cold and cruel and far, far more dangerous. Because now he was protecting himself from future hurt.

Hurt at her hands. She bit down on her lip to stifle a sob.

"Will..." she pleaded, desperately trying to head him off (trying to make him understand).

"What?" he snarled. "You actually want to talk to me now? Well, there's no need! I see how it is. I understand perfectly Mackenzie. Your plan to avoid me was certainly very effective. I had to camp out in your office for an hour and a half to get a moment of your time like a fucking fool."

Mac could hear her heart racing in her chest. She'd just wanted to avoid an argument, just wanted to... How had things gone so wrong so quickly? She was absolutely awful. "Will..."

He ignored her second attempt to interrupt him. "I see I'm not wanted. So tell me, was it really all just for the show? Was it really all just to create a high functioning team? Some management nonsense you read about in a book no doubt. A handy management tool."

"Of course it wasn't just..." Through her shock, Mac realized that it wasn't just anger she was seeing. It was hurt and... And oh fuck. Was Will feeling rejected?

Had she inadvertently rejected Will?

Mac actually felt sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes to control the nausea.

Will continued ranting in her direction as he paced around her office. "And what about me? You're always trying to get me involved with the goddamn staff. Does that not include you, now? Or are you just the puppet-master? Do you not want to be one of the people I talk to anymore?"

His last accusation was enough to get Mackenzie going again. She would accept (even admit, if necessary) that she'd royally fucked up. But she wasn't going to take that. Her eyes snapped open, a fire behind them again. She drew herself up to her full height and fearlessly met the ranting lunatic on the other side of her office head on. "Don't be an idiot! Obviously I enjoy spending time with you."

Her anger succeeded where her tentative attempts at explanations never could. Will was momentarily stunned, and when he recovered his voice was slightly calmer. "How on earth are you calling me an idiot right now?"

Mac knew it would sound like a terrible reason, but it was the only one she had. And it was the only way to start the explanation, "Because I have one busy day and..."

"Actually, this is twice now," Will interrupted, referencing the night at the bar. "It's twice that you've been upset and I've practically had to corner you to have a conversation."

Mac took a deep breath and prepared to face the music. "I'm sorry. I've just, I've had things on my mind."

She watched him clench and unclench his fists and knew he was desperately trying to calm down and face her rationally. "I see."

She took a tentative step towards him. "It's not that I think I can't talk to you, or that I don't want to talk to you, or that I don't like talking to you," she tried to assure him.

Will obviously wasn't convinced. She watched him deflate completely. "Right."

The defeat in his voice went straight through her and showed in her wavering voice. "It's not."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced away. "Was it only ever just about the show?" he asked again.

Mac almost laughed at the question. She would have laughed if it hadn't been deadly serious. Given the amount of time she'd spent telling herself that before realising the truth, it was almost funny. Almost, but really nowhere near. "No," she assured him quietly, angling herself slightly closer.

Something in her tone seemed to get his attention because he glanced up, leaning against her desk. "No?"

She settled against the desk next to him and nudged him in the shoulder. "We're friends," she murmured desperately. Then she was hit by a stray doubt of her own. "Aren't we?"

Will ran a hand through his hair. "I thought so, but then... you were the one who ran for the hills and wouldn't even say two words to me about it."

She couldn't tell him that sometimes it was hard for her to talk to him; it would hurt him. It would hurt both of them. Maybe especially now. Instead she said, "You're hardly Mr. Communication."

He turned to look at her accusingly, "This isn't about me."

She raised an eyebrow. After all, if they were going to discuss this, they should discuss both sides. "Will."

"And anyway," he said more loudly, obviously in the mood to argue again. Mac decoded she didn't mind, just as long as the crushing hurt stayed out of his voice. She was sure that she wouldn't be able to hear another second of it without throwing herself in his general direction, wrapping around him and never letting go. "Aren't you the one who's always yelling at me to open up more?" he asked.

She sighed. "I'm not very good at this." It was true. She was fabulous professionally; personally, well, her track record spoke for itself. And she very rarely said the right thing, at least that's what it felt like.

"Try anyway," he ordered. She might have resisted, but for the pleading tone she heard underneath the command.

She ducked her head. "Does it have to be right now?"

"Mac..." he said wearily.

She heard the defeat loud and clear and shook her head violently. He'd misunderstood. Of course he had. Because she was terrible at this, at he words when they were about this. She tried desperately to fix it. "No, I mean, I... Can we not do this at work?" She didn't want to do this at all, but she was beginning to realize that maybe she had to. And she especially didn't want to do it in the office.

She watched him carefully as she waited for his response. He looked understandably confused.

"It's after ten!" Will reminded her.

She nodded. "I know."

"Almost everybody's left," he added.

She smiled hopefully (in spite of herself). "I know."

He obviously wasn't following. "Mac?"

"You know this place never actually empties out, Billy. Not really." There was almost always someone milling around. More often than not, it was her and Will. But if they were going to have the conversation she was half afraid they were going to, she wanted to make sure it was just the two of them.

"You want to go somewhere else?" Will asked slowly.

She nodded. "Can we?"

He shrugged, and the relief she could see settle across his shoulders with the movement gave her hope. He obviously didn't care where the conversation took place. "If you need to," he said after a moment.

She exhaled in relief, trying not to put too much stock in the fact that things were no longer the worst they could be. "I do."

"Okay," he said, before turning abruptly and grabbing her coat.

Mac made sure her computer was shut off before letting him slip her coat over her shoulders and grabbing her purse. She let herself enjoy the luxury (that she probably didn't deserve) of his hands sliding partway down her arms after he settled the jacket on her shoulders. "Will?"

"Hm?" he asked grabbing his own coat, which he'd tossed over a chair.

She walked over to the door to meet him, wanting to reassure him, to tell him that she hadn't meant to... That it hadn't been her intention to try and push him away. Okay, it had. But only in this particular instance. Just for a few hours. Maybe a day. Not forever. But she was realizing something. The plan had ostensibly been to help Will learn to let people care for him again, and to care for them in turn. But maybe she had some lessons of her own to learn in that area. Afghanistan had made her tough, tough and resourceful and even more self-sufficient than she'd been before.

Maybe she didn't need to be that self-sufficient, that independent. Not all the time at least.

She hadn't just broken Will's heart, she'd broken her own. And while she was a lot better at most of the stuff with other people, she was equally careful when it came right down to it.

Maybe Will wasn't the only one who had to learn how to trust again.

Unfortunately, standing here in front of him, in the semi-darkness, at the end of a long day, she couldn't find the words to tell him that. Any of that words.

Instead she reached out and took his hand; slowly, not taking her eyes off his face, she threaded her fingers through his and held on firmly.

Because words or no, damned if she'd let him think she didn't want him near.

She saw his eyes flash in understanding before feeling his fingers return the grip. They stood there another few seconds, until the expression in his eyes became too much. So she tightened her grip and tugged him lightly towards the elevator, her hand firmly in his.

She didn't let go right away. She needed the connection.

When they were in the elevator heading down towards the lobby, Mac turned towards him again. "Can we go to my place?"she asked softly. If they were going to have even part of this conversation, she'd rather be in her own home. She definitely didn't want to end up in a bar, no matter how private it was. She saw the shock on his face, so she added quickly. "Or yours if you'd be more comfortable there."

Will watched her for a moment. "This is your thing. Why the hell would it matter if I was more comfortable?"

She laughed ruefully. It was her thing alright. "Mine it is, then."

The elevator doors opened, and she finally let go of his hand.

The relief nearly swamped her when, once they were in the car, he grabbed it back again.

xxx

They didn't talk much on the way over, for which Mac was grateful. She was trying to use the time to figure out how to start the conversation they were about to have (and trying to predict how it would go). In the end, she decided that sticking to the facts without embellishment was probably her best option.

She walked into her condo, tossing her coat on a chair and gesturing to Will to do the same. Then she wandered into the kitchen as he looked around.

Mac knew he wouldn't find anything too exciting. Her place had pretty decent space, a lot of clean lines and neutral colours with flashes of bright colours here and there and a few pieces that didn't quite match (but also didn't quite not match). It was a bit eclectic, but she liked it.

"Nice," he murmured. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she replied. "Do you want a drink?"

He spun partway. "What are you offering?"

She shrugged. "I'm pretty well stocked. I was just going to have a glass of white wine, but if you want something else..."

"No, the wine's fine," he assured her.

"Mmkay," she agreed, grabbing a pair of glasses from the cupboard and followed by the Riesling she had chilling in the fridge.

When she joined him in the living room, she found him absently skimming her bookshelves.

"I see your taste in novels is as eclectic as ever," Will murmured. "And I recognize a lot of these."

Mac barely stopped herself from pointing out that she hadn't tossed out her book collection when they'd broken up. (After all, she'd abandoned most of the rest of her life, so...) "Feel free to borrow any you're interested in," she told him. "The ones I haven't read yet are in my bedroom."

That made him smile. Mac took it as a positive sign.

"I'll get back to you," he replied.

She handed him his glass of wine, which he clinked against hers in a silent toast.

She smiled awkwardly and grabbed a seat on the couch. Will dropped into the chair next it. Mac took a sip of her wine before setting it down and wringing her hands.

Because it was time to end small talk for the day.

Will frowned. "Is it really that scary, Mac?"

She shook her head, knowing in a flash that she'd made an uncomfortable situation worse through pure stupidity and a healthy dose of fear. She'd told herself she just needed a few days to sort it out in her head first. That was all. But really, she'd been a coward, uncertain of where they were and how to proceed. Afraid that even a hint of the past would send them back light years. And even more afraid that he wasn't where she was when it came to thing between them, wasn't sure how much he'd be willing to withstand.

"I had a meeting with Charlie today," she said softly. "About a possible feature. He thinks we should cover Afghanistan. The ongoing troop withdrawals, I mean. He doesn't think it's getting enough coverage."

"He's probably right," Will said, his tone neutral. "It's not a bad idea."

"It's not," she agreed. Although, the timing of the suggestion made her a little suspicious. Mac couldn't shake the idea that Charlie had deliberately suggested this now, to try and, she didn`t know, provoke a confrontation of sorts between her and Will. Force them to confront that part of their lives. She had no proof, just a feeling. And she didn`t like it.

She turned her brain back to the explanation at hand. "He was thinking of having a series of perspectives on the war. Getting people from all aspects of the operation to speak, to... to talk about what they'd seen, what the troops went through, and are continuing to go through."

Will watched her for a moment. He was obviously trying to figure out what the problem was. She reached for her glass of wine.

"He asked you to contribute," Will said after a moment, obviously trying to get her to keep talking.

Mac nodded as she took a drink. "I haven't been on camera in three years."

He shrugged, dismissing the concern. "It's just like riding a bike. You never forget."

She almost smiled. It wasn't the point. "Will."

"You said it like it was a problem," Will defended indignantly. "I was just being reassuring."

This time Mac did smile. "Okay. But that's not really the..."

"What is the issue, Mackenzie?" Will asked, trying to be calm, but Mac could hear hints of impatience.

She looked down at her knees. "Stuff happened to me over there," she muttered.

Then he frowned, sitting up suddenly. "Wait, talk about your experiences... He didn't ask you to..."

Mac swallowed her wine too quickly. "Talk about the stabbing? No! Are you crazy? Of course Charlie didn't..."

Will leaned back against the chair, relaxing slightly. "Okay."

"I think he's just looking for perspectives," Mac explained, trying to keep him calm. "Maybe a then and now sort of a thing. I wouldn't have to talk about the attack. I'd talk about what it was like reporting from a war zone, being embedded with the troops, the country itself, how I felt, what I did, my experiences..."

"Getting that second Peabody," Will teased.

Mac tried to laugh off the compliment, but her heart wasn't in it. Award or no, those three years hadn't exactly been the best of her life. Though they'd been rewarding in their own way.

"You don't want to do it," Will surmised after a moment.

Mac nodded, surprised by how well this was going so far. "I think the feature needs to be about the troops, not about the journalists, not about, well me."

"That's understandable," Will assured her, leaning forward slightly. "Charlie would understand that."

"He does," Mac confirmed. "He still thinks perspectives might add something, and asked me to think about it."

"Hmm." Will hummed. He took a sip of his wine slowly, then turned his attention back to her. "So those are the facts. Now tell me what's really bothering you."

She closed her eyes. The bare facts may have been a start, but there was more to it. Namely the insanity of her brain twisting something that should have been simple, or at least simpler, into a massive problem. "Those three years..."

"I can't even imagine," he whispered.

"You don't want to," she told him. Even with her eyes closed, the pain in his voice went straight through her. If he was already upset, how would he react when she got to the end of it? And she couldn't not tell him. Not if he thought her avoidance was a rejection. There were many things Mackenzie McHale could live with. Will McAvoy thinking she'd rejected him wasn't one of them. "I mean, parts of the experience were amazing. I wouldn't trade those times for the world. But other parts... Well, let's just say I'm glad I got to come back."

She watched Will stand up abruptly and walk around. Her heart sank. And here it was. The part of the conversation where Will remembered why she'd been there in the first place. What those three years represented.

Sure, they'd been a fabulous career opportunity and she'd seen things she never would have otherwise, but she'd also been running from the life she'd ruined as far and as fast as she could. Their life (or what was supposed to have been their life). It didn't matter how much better things had gotten between them, that was a reminder that would always hurt.

She wasn't sorry she'd gone, but she'd been sorry she'd felt like she had to go.

She watched Will run a hand through his hair, obviously trying to sort some things out in his head.

Mac couldn't help thinking (completely inappropriately) how much she liked his hair when it was a little bit disheveled. She shifted her mind back to the conversation at hand when Will started speaking again. "We've never really... I mean, when you first came back, obviously we didn't, and then afterwards, it didn't really seem..." He took a breath. "Charlie said you were mentally and physically exhausted three years ago. Were you? Not that it showed. I'm not trying to... Just... I mean, did you... Did you... speak to anyone?"

Mac tried to wrap her mind around that. That was what he was focusing on? Her mental state from being in a war zone? On a list of things he'd start with when discussing those three years, that hadn't even made the top ten.

She knew she was staring at him like he'd gone crazy, but she couldn't help it. Where were all of the accusations? The reminder of whose fault it was that she'd even been there? Where was the blame? "What?"

"I'm not trying to imply that... fuck..." He continued to pace, obviously trying to sort out his thoughts. "I just, if you're having issues or..."

Mackenzie stood up and walked towards him quickly. "I'm not experiencing PTSD, Will," she told him, reaching for his elbow to try and get him to look at her. "I'm not having nightmares. Well, not often. I'm not anxious. I was speaking to someone off and on when I first came back, but not for a while. I'm fine."

"Then what am I missing?" Will thundered, spinning around to face her.

His sudden anger startled her. She'd been expecting it for ages, but was somehow surprised when it came. "What?"

Will started summarizing their conversation. "You don't necessarily want to be on camera because you think it should be about the troops. Fine. That's fine. Everyone understands that. You could have talked to me about that. It's not bringing back repressed memories. You're not worried about nightmares. Your reports from the field were objectively amazing. You saw a lot. You're more qualified to speak to this than most of the people the other networks will have on the air. What am I missing?"

"Maybe it's not a period of my life that I want to be reminded of!" Mac snapped, her mental control finally fraying. She couldn't keep everything balanced anymore. She just couldn't. She'd been trying all day and look how that turned out. "I was a good reporter and an awful everything else!"

Her breath caught in her throat.

Well, fuck.

xxx