A/N: Enjoy beautiful people. A few more weeks and we'll have shiny new episodes to play with! xx
There are little things that Will has forgotten.
Like Mackenzie's frigid toes on late February mornings and the tickle up his calves as she presses them into his skin. Her refusal some days to let him share a shower because she's in a hurry and he's distracting even though both of them are like walking zombies only capable of lifting a bar of soap; the press of her shoulder when she leans against him whilst messing with her hair, eyes catching in the mirror whilst he shaves and she fusses and scowls and pulls at her ponytail. How she snorts with laughter behind her hand when she's amused and taps her foot against the back of her calf whilst standing in the kitchen listening to music and how she always, always takes the economics section from the newspaper with the intention of reading it and never, never does.
Tiny little moments that were once permanently a part of his mornings and are slowly, like molasses under gravity, seeping back into his world.
ooo
The first morning they wake together (actually together, with Will's arm around Mackenzie's waist and her face pressed into his neck and the knowledge that this thing is permanent now, not waiting for an end) Will spends ten minutes holding the back of Mackenzie's neck and rubbing his thumb into the soft dip at her hairline, soothing her in her sleep. He remembers the action from years ago; how she'd sometimes complain that her neck ached on cold mornings and he imagines that after a series of international flights, not to mention six years and multiple warzones and pregnancy, that the aches and pains he once knew by heart can still be mapped up and down and across her pale skin.
She's warm in his arms and draped across his chest and when she breathes he can feel the air stir across his bare skin. He shivers lightly and curls his toes at the end of the mattress where the blanket has bunched up. No wonder they're both so cold this morning, he realizes, only a light sheet is still draped across their legs.
He moves to pull it back up but stops at the last moment lest he wake her – she's comfortable and calm and the tips of her fingers are resting at the curve of his shoulder where the sleeves of his shirt have ridden up. Each little pressure point is weighted and intimate – he can feel her touch down to his bones.
There's something so inherently intimate about Mackenzie that has always marveled him.
He's not young, and before he'd been aware of her existence Will had spent many years acquainted with the female voice and body and form. Women were warm and nice to hold and soft to touch and yet firm and bold at the same time – they sounded both strong and beautiful – touched him and made him feel more than he was, something greater and stronger and smarter than he could ever believe and then Mackenize McHale had stumbled into his life and he'd realized the rest were nothing in comparison.
Mackenzie had taught him intimacy; delicacy and the sublime nature of existing alongside somebody else. Knowing Mackenzie was like learning the world all over again, but this time with new sights and tastes and colors.
There was the faint blush of her cheeks and the deep red of her lips when they were bitten and the dusting of perfume and shampoo and something technical, something electrical, under her skin – like the newsroom was alive around her and seeping into her – everything was suddenly technicolor and hyper-real. He became attuned to the presence of her body near his; noticed the soft wave of her hair brushing her shoulders or the twitch in her jaw when she was tired. Knew to speak softly when she was irate lest he start an argument or to speak short and abrupt when he was itching for a fight; knew a million and one things about her, more than he ever supposed was possible – and still ached to crawl inside and underneath and discover more about the light behind her eyes and the brains behind her words and her smiles.
He supposes that might be what love is; being intimately aware of somebody else's everything and wanting to get closer still.
Now he finds himself brimming with knowledge about her – useless little tidbits that he's discovering are either still true or have shifted and changed. She's no longer so flighty, no longer restless like at any moment she might disappear. She sleeps heavier in his arms at night and he loves that she now feels permanent.
She was always an octopus of arms and legs and clinging fingers but now it doesn't feel so desperate – not like they're madly trying to hold on to something gossamer; but instead like she's supposed to be blanketing him down, a good weight upon his chest.
Will rubs his thumb delicately along her hairline and gets lost thinking about the empty room on the other side of his wall that needs a fresh coat of paint, and maybe some curtains, and it isn't until Mackenzie snuffles quietly and rubs her nose into his chest that he realizes he's been awake and holding her almost an hour.
She wakes slowly, with her hair in wisps and tangles that she'll grumble over later and Will is glad that it's the weekend and they've nowhere to go. He runs his hand up through her strands of hair and cradles her skull as she peers up at him sleepily. She's blinking to try and clear her gaze and he smiles when she mumbles good morning against his chin and presses her nose back into the crook at his collarbone.
"Too early," she mutters and Will passes a hand down beneath the sheets and her shirt to find the skin of her back. He spreads his fingers out and kneads them into the dips of her spine and after a few seconds she groans softly. Her knee shifts higher up against his thigh and Will presses his lips to her temple in a quick succession of kisses.
"We should stay in bed today," she mutters around a moan before nestling her forehead into his shoulder. Will chuckles and the vibrations shudder up her spine. He teases her, "should we?"
"Yes," she grounds out determinedly.
Whilst two seconds ago Mackenzie had been loose and lax now she straightens and swings her leg wide across his hip so that she's straddling his thighs and settled on top of him. Her hands land on his chest and Will finds himself blinking up at her serene face, eyes blazing with a newfound morning spirit as she kneads her fingers into his sleep warm skin.
Her shirt's riding up and the baby's little bump rests comfortably where she's sitting on his stomach. It's such a strange sight – such a strange reality that he's found himself living. Never did he imagine he'd be spending another morning watching Mackenzie slowly rub circles into his skin, and whilst it's not some rom-com movie ending, not a happily ever after (lord knows they've still got mountains worth of crap to deal with and stumble through), for the first time in a long time at a base level he feels happy.
He covers the backs of her hands with his own and squeezes around her wrists until she dips down and kisses him, familiar and sweet. She's smiling against his mouth and Will can feel the ends of her hair tickling his cheek and chin and it's distracting in the best possible way – as is the press of her stomach against his own where the baby's just grown large enough that it's starting to make its presence known - so distracting that he almost misses her wandering hand tickling down his side.
He jumps, and Mackenzie's nose bumps his cheek as his hands dart out to grab her sides and in a second her face swims back into focus with a confused frown crinkling her eyebrows.
"You okay?" she whispers, still sleepily gruff, and Will sighs hesitantly, muttering his assent.
Mackenzie isn't so easily convinced and her hand is still resting dangerously low against his side and Will wishes her fingers would stop ghosting along the hem of his t-shirt; but at the same time wishes they'd never stop. He stays silent because the issue is stupid and narcissistic and Mackenzie will most likely laugh at him if he voices it – lord knows it's something he'll have to get over soon if her hand is anything indication of interest and Will wishes they weren't doing this in the bright morning light.
"Will," Mackenzie prods again, voice musical and knowing, like she might charm the answer out of him if she smiles hard enough (which she can, not that he'll ever tell her that. It takes a great man to hold strong against her smile). Her hand finally dips underneath his shirt and runs quickly up his chest and Will shudders beneath her as she leans forward again.
"Talk to me," she pleads, and it takes Will a moment to realise his eyes have slithered shut.
When he speaks his voice is low and gruff, faltering slightly under the press of her body heat over him; "Are we doing this?" he asks quickly, and Mackenzie's brow crinkles further.
"Doing what?" she mumbles, confused. She can't be that confused, however, he ponders, because she dips her head down to kiss lightly at the juncture of his neck and shoulders and within seconds has graduated to deep, wet mouths of skin. She swipes her tongue along his stubble rough neck and Will jolts automatically beneath her, squeezing her hips tight. She presses them down in retaliation and Will growls quickly before running his hands up her back.
"This, you mean?" she questions coyly, and Will grunts in affirmation, curling his hand at the base of her neck to angle her head down.
"This," he mumbles between kisses – nipping at her bottom lip until she smiles and opens against him. He forgets, somewhere amongst the heat of her body and the curl of her fingers and the sweet playfulness of her mouth as she nips at the side of his own, about the reason he'd faltered in the first place. He's wanted Mackenzie for forever – from first moment he laid eyes on her all those years ago and despite the longing and then the waiting and then the heartache and her eventual return; despite all the times when she emphatically wasn't his, he's still always wanted her. Will always want her, come what may.
It isn't until she tugs forcefully at the hem of his shirt and his mind blanks and then flashes sexnakedmackenzieoldohdeargodwhy that he remembers again that the last time they did this and were sober he was at least 5 years younger and a little bit fitter and not so old.
Dammit.
Mackenzie has both hands cradling his face and her hair is a dark cocoon of lovely smelling shampoo and fresh vanilla when he snaps his eyes open. Will can feel his cheeks heat beneath her fingertips and she's wonderfully still and quiet now, waiting for his words without judgment.
"I'm just having one of those moments where I feel old," he finally mutters, and then tightens his grip on her hips in annoyance when Mackenzie snorts loudly, laughing.
"Will, you've been having those moments as long as I've known you," she teases, and though he's loath to admit it, it's true.
Hell, Will's been having moments of extreme self-awareness ever since a crazy man in a bowtie cornered him at a luncheon and asked if he'd ever considered broadcast television and journalism instead of moving his way up the legal ladder.
After all, one does not spend five out a seven nights a week on national television and not build up a steady sense of negative self-consciousness.
"Are you really worried about this?" Mackenzie asks after a beat. She's pulled back a little, just enough that Will can see her eyes in the early morning light and he wonders sometimes if she realizes just how enchanting she is.
"It's been a long time," he grumbles, well aware that he sounds ridiculous. He is largely a ridiculous person, no matter how straight and gruff he manages to present himself. Mackenzie's always known that, and taken pleasure in reminding him on occasion.
"Not that long," she reminds him now, stealing his hand and pressing it to her bump.
He rolls his eyes because what part of recreational drug use does she not understand, honestly. Everything looks and tastes and feels wonderful when one is flying high – her enjoyment of sex four and a half months ago has nothing to do with him and everything to do with those damn cookies no matter how right and real it had felt at the time.
"Mackenzie," he grumbles, and she giggles again. Minx.
"You don't get it, do you?" she sighs wistfully, eyes still bright with merriment. She leans closer and Will goes cross-eyed trying to keep his gaze on her, giving up when her nose bumps his cheek and her lips close against his ear and her fingers snake up into his hair.
"I love you," she murmurs, voice low and sweet, like a caress, "and despite your tendency to be slow and stupid I think you're wonderful and smart and generous and gorgeous."
The last word is whispered like a secret and Will feels warm and itchy all over, but more than that he feels wanted and it's such a wonderfully hot feeling – spreads through him like molten honey.
"I feel like I should also mention that I'm four and half months pregnant Will, and for some reason that means all I've wanted to do for the past month is get you naked and on this bed," and then she pauses, imp, and whispers darkly, "So, please?"
She has a hand rubbing against his chest and with the other she tugs up his shirt and Will wriggles helpfully to be rid of it yespleaseyesyesyes. With quick hands he has Mackenzie's shirt sliding up and off her arms and then she's falling forward with her hot mouth and tickling hands and strong thighs and Will is lost lost lost in the lovely sensation of her.
ooo
They break for lunch hours later on the carpeted floor of the spare room - Samuel's room – with a plate of cold lettuce and tomatoes and carrot and ham and bread spread between them. Will is contemplating the food mutely and Mackenzie is nibbling at the end of a carrot like it's chocolate and both of them have their backs pressed up against the wall with their legs extended and crossed before them.
"We could just be boring and paint it blue," she mumbles, glancing to her left where Will sits. He nods thoughtfully, poking at a piece of lettuce in abstract horror, before picking up a slice of bread with ham and cheese and biting into it hungrily.
"How about yellow?" he asks around a mouthful, and Mackenzie crinkles her nose at him in despair.
"Perhaps."
"Or green?"
"Like, mint green, or forest green, or Irish green?"
Will pauses, confused, "Just, green?"
Mackenzie scowls and sighs, "That's a terrible colour to paint a bedroom."
"We need those little tabs of paint samples," Will provides helpfully. He gestures to the blank white walls and Mackenzie's eyes follow his hand like little laser points. She squints at the wall and he wonders if she's trying to imagine it all different colours – reds and yellows and greens and blues.
She purses her lips like she's come to a decision and Will waits as she turns back to face him, "It should be a pale colour, no matter what we decide," she announces and Will bites into his sandwich despondently, disappointed that they're no closer to an answer.
"Pale?" he mutters; wonders for a second if Mackenzie is making everything up as arbitrarily as he is.
She hesitates, and he knows with a triumphant curl of victory that she is.
"It seems like something people would do...paint the baby's room in light colours," she says finally and Will rolls his eyes. He glances down at her stomach where Samuel – his son, and that's never going to stop being a mind trip – is busy growing fingers and toes and brain cells.
"Poor kids got no chance with parents like us," he gripes and Mackenzie huffs, but doesn't disagree.
It's stupid, of course. Academically he knows that he and Mackenzie already love the little boy intrinsically, would do anything for him, have the means to support themselves and enough brain cells between them that there's every chance Samuel McAvoy will have every opportunity in life.
But it's easier on both of them to joke about being useless; it takes the sting out of the restless, floating feeling they both have whenever they think of being parents. They don't know what they're doing – unlike muddling through international conflicts and arguing fluently for progressive social reforms and debating corporate tycoons on national television, having a child is new and terrifying and completely without a guidebook, no matter how many times Elliott has offered Will his old and battered copy of What to Expect.
At least if they're both joking about the prospect of parenthood, they're feeling useless together.
"We need a crib," Mackenzie murmurs, barely loud enough for Will to hear and when he glances at her her eyes are wandering around the room slowly. Her eyes are wide and deep and she has a hand resting lightly on her stomach; something warm pools in Will's chest at the sight and he can't help but think that in 4 and a half months they'll be holding that child.
"And a rocking chair. And a bookcase. And clothes."
Will hears the exact moment Mackenzie's breathe catches and so he reaches his hand across to hold her own, squeezing around her wrist tightly. "We've got time," he reminds her, and she settles a little.
"Not a lot," she tells him, and she sounds young and fragile. He tugs at her wrist and she tips to the side until her head's resting against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her back and she leans against him, breathing into the soft fabric of his worn Henley.
"Let's focus on the paint first, we'll worry about the rest later," he suggests and her bangs fall across her forehead to obscure her eyes as she nods against him.
They sit in silence a moment, the wide windows covering one wall of the room bathing it in soft sun butter yellow. It's light and makes the room feel bright and airy and Will rubs his thumb across Mackenzie's knuckles rhythmically whilst thinking of the soft babies blanket that Maggie had given to him weeks ago. It's just a few shades darker than the sunlight seeping into the walls and Will can't help but think that it suits the room – wide and open and beautiful.
"You mentioned yellow?" Mackenzie murmurs against his shoulder and he smiles because she's watching the walls closely too.
"Just like that," he nods, pointing to the patch of direct sunlight.
Mackenzie hums and shuffles further down into his side and Will can feel her falling asleep against him – she's more tired in the afternoons now, happy to daze off following lunch.
Will can imagine a chair by the window and long afternoons bathed in sunlight and a sleepy child struggling in vain to stay awake.
It's a good thought.
ooo
On Monday it takes Will approximately 12 seconds to realise that he has an arm wrapped around Mackenzie's back in the elevator.
They're under no illusions that Mackenzie will be returning to her apartment for any great length of time, not that she's relinquishing it just yet – they're both too volatile and hesitant to make that grand decision – but Mackenzie hasn't left his apartment since she arrived home and late Sunday afternoon she'd brought over enough clothing to last her a week and Will has started finding her belongings scattered all over the place again (not that he understands how, she's only been back in the country four bloody days). Her shoes are at the door and her scarves are on the coat stand and Will's discovered three different types of tea in his pantry that he never even knew existed (Turkish apple? Really?)
On Monday morning they dress for work and Lonny picks them up with a small, approving smile and Will would sock him in the jaw if it wouldn't break his hand, because the bodyguard's been sending him frowns for months over the state of his and Mackenzie's tattered relationship – he's not allowed to be smug now.
The shuffle into the elevator and Will finds himself nodding and smiling at various vaguely recognizable faces and it's not until the fifth floor when Mackenzie's phone vibrates in her coat pocket and he feels it shudder through him that he realizes they're basically pressed up and wrapped around each other.
No one's looking at them strangely and they're not exactly a secret anymore. Will's sure the entire building's thought they were together from the start, even before the pregnancy, so no one's going to notice the shift in their relationship even if it has only just changed.
But that doesn't mean he's not suddenly aware of himself in close relation to Mackenzie. He shuffles back from her slowly and Mackenzie shoots him a disapproving glare. He's not sure why though it's just as likely to be because she enjoys using him as a heater. It's still chilly this early in the morning and Mackenzie had spent the entire ride to the office hiding in his side with her hands tucked in his pockets.
"I have to see Charlie," he whispers, resting his hand on her elbow. She nods but doesn't tip her head up towards him. She has her phone out and is madly scrolling through emails and the switch from home Mackenzie to work Mackenzie is almost funny. She hums and that's all the acknowledgment he gets even as she stands with their bodies so close their feet and arms are touching.
She's so caught up in messages that he has to push her out the door at their level – she startles and glances around the elevator quickly and Will can't help but smirk as she blinks wildly. "I'll see you at the meeting?" he suggests, and his words seem to rattle her from her work induced stupor.
She nods and then sends him a smile and Will pushes at her waist before she gets caught in between the closing elevator doors.
The last thing he sees as they close is her slightly befuddled face and he can't help the eye roll and grin as she finally becomes aware of her surroundings.
Next to him one of the admins from the 44th floor smiles at him like they're adorable and suddenly Will realizes that he's back in a relationship that other people are aware of, with a partner and he's in love and shit, why does his life keep getting so complicated? He panics briefly but then remembers the little tab of yellow paint samples stuck on the wall in the spare room and the run of Mackenzie's fingers down his spine as he'd stood in the scalding hot shower in the morning and her head bumping into his shoulder as he'd tried to steer her through the crowds on the ground floor.
And so by the time he's reached Charlie's office, and the old man's greeted him with a large smile and, "how are you?" and a terribly colourful bowtie, for the first time in a long time he can answer truthfully, "I'm really well."
ooo
The rest of the week passes in a blur of meetings and broadcasts – the election is at the end of the year and even though it's late February already it feels like they're being snowed under by campaigns. Will's madly trying to decipher the worthy from the ridiculous and he and Mackenzie keep clashing over how much time to devote to the rest of the world – every time they share an icy glare or short words the entire room freezes like the rest of the team expects them to self combust and Will's taken an almost pleasure in baiting Mackenzie just to see Jim's eyebrows creep steadily up and up his forehead in quiet dismay.
Maggie corners him late Friday afternoon and with a furtive glance both ways enquires whether things between he and Mackenzie are any better now that she's returned from London and Will smiles delightedly, tells her that he and Mackenzie have never been better, and then sits back with a smug smile as Maggie leaves his office looking more confused than when she came.
The only real change in Will's existence is the sudden occurrence of a sex life and that leaves him so oddly calm and pleasant that the rest of the team never knows how to talk to him.
It infuriates everyone except he and Mackenzie who spend their time arguing and then flirting and then smirking at each other whilst everyone else tries to keep up.
ooo
Sunday, again, finds Will and Mackenzie spread out on the floor of Sam's room, this time sharing a slice of cheesecake that Mackenzie had picked up on a whim late Friday afternoon.
It's thick and creamy and Mackenzie keeps taking tiny bites and then closing her eyes happily. They're supposed to be picking a shade of yellow to paint the room but the call of the cheesecake had been too strong and they'd somehow found themselves devouring it on the floor instead.
Instead of paint, Will's first thought is to drag a few comfortable chairs into the baby's room because it's steadily becoming their favourite place to sit and talk and ponder.
"Did I show you this?" Will asks, remembering the soft blanket folded in his back pocket in tuffs of bright yellow. Mackenzie darts her gaze to him and raises an eyebrow, mouth closing delightfully around a forkful of cake. She swallows and Will follows the movement down her throat and by the time he's realized he's now staring at her chest she has a finger flicking him in the side of the temple painfully.
"Eyes, mister. And show me what?" she admonishes, but Will just smiles at her because, bluntly put, he's finally allowed to look and touch and taste again. He's distracted once more but quickly recovers and pulls the tiny blanket from his pocket to dangle it in front of her.
"Maggie gave me this a few weeks ago – Sam's first present. She found it at a kids shop and I think the apparent 'cuteness' of it overwhelmed her," he explains drolly. Mackenzie isn't listening, though. Her lips are parted carefully and she's gazing at the blanket like it's both the most gorgeous and terrifying thing she's ever seen, but Will understands – it's hard to imagine that soon a little person will be folded within it.
"Cute, huh?" he huffs when she remains silent, and it takes her a second to tear her eyes away and instead gaze at Will.
There are crinkles around her eyes from her smile and Will can't help but chuckle at her expression. He holds the blanket out to her and she touches it reverently, still silent, folding it between her hands and rubbing her thumb along the soft satin edge. She runs her fingers along the embroidered animals and rests them on the little dancing elephant and Will can't help but think of that one trip he made to the zoo when he was tiny, barely five years old. Uncle Lucas had been there, and his mother and Annie. His father had been working he believes, not that his absence was noteworthy. He'd adored that day, though he can hardly remember it - only the fresh smells and bright colors and the fun of spotting animals hiding behind trees.
"Do you like the zoo?" he asks Mackenzie, intrigued. He knows a million things about this strange, wonderful woman but there is still so much he doesn't.
She hums delightedly and nods, "I love animals. When I was ten my mother and I went to South Africa for two weeks and we visited Johannesburg Zoo and Kruger National Park and I feel in love with giraffes. For about a year afterwards I was convinced I was going to be a zoologist."
And Will thinks fondly, of course you were.
Sometimes he forgets just how widely traveled Mackenzie's always been. It took 18 years before he ventured much beyond his little patch of land in Nebraska and by the same age Mackenzie had stamped off nearly every other time zone.
Just over a year into their relationship they'd taken a month off work and traveled through greater Europe – starting in London but then crossing over to Norway and then Germany and Poland and Serbia and Turkey and Russia with a dozen other stops in-between. Listening to Mackenzie muddle their way through Moscow with her lilting accent forming the deep Russian words is still on his list of the most amazing, startling and sexy things he's ever experienced, but the trip had also taught him how much fun it was spending time with her.
For the most part their relationship has always been built on a strange, passionate attraction - both physical and intellectual – but they've also always been great friends.
He thinks, perhaps, he missed that almost as much as the intimacy. Mackenzie's friendship – companionship – is as important to him as her heart and her mind and her presence.
"Let's go to the art gallery," he announces suddenly – the ache to get out of the apartment and explore with Mackenzie overwhelming him. She eyes him amusedly but doesn't object and it's still early enough that they'll be able to make it through a few exhibitions. They'll have lively debate and undoubtedly a few arguments because they've never been able to agree on art – that's the main reason Will loves seeing it with her.
He pushes himself up off the floor with a loud groan – way way too old to be hanging out on the floor, Willam – and reaches a hand down to help tug Mackenzie to her feet.
In the bedroom she places the blanket delicately on their bed and Will passes her a thick black scarf when she mutters about losing it and Mackenzie manhandles him into wearing a pair of jeans just so she can hold the belt loops as she trails after him and by the time they're out the door Will realizes that the bubbling in his stomach is excitement.
They wait for the elevator side by side and Will takes her hand and turns to press his lips to her forehead like they've been doing this forever – and in some ways they have. He thinks a part of him always knew his life was simply waiting for Mackenzie to return to it.
There's an old couple that he doesn't recognize on the ground floor and they smile warmly as they pass. For all they know, he and Mackenzie could be married, and he likes the thought that no one would otherwise be able to tell.
He'll marry her one day, probably.
But today they're content to explore.