Is it just infatuation for her? A chemical, physical attraction that should be dismissed out-of-hand for its baseness, its disconnection from her intellect? On the contrary, she thinks. It is precisely because their intellectual connection is so powerful that their physical one was – is - so extraordinary.
She can feel it now, bubbling, shimmering, just below the surface. It's pulling her towards him with ferocious intensity, despite the other Will's attempt to shut it down. It's a current that runs between them, picking up strength at every juncture, every return to the other's end.
This is what's real.
This is what keeps her rooted to the spot even now, despite the cold war the reporter's question has ignited between them.
Everything above the surface of their desire is just window dressing.
This is what exists between them – a symbiosis of love, desire, and intellect.
The body doesn't lie.
She knows from experience that Will – this one and the other one – feels it, too. He's facing her now, and she can see it in the way he just looked at her while she was looking through her purse. She can tell he's only half-paying attention to what Millie is saying, so consumed is he with trying to mask his feelings. She can see that his pupils are dilated and his face is flushed and his feet are pointing directly at her (a tell-tale sign if there ever was one that he is deeply attracted to her – or so she'd read in a magazine on the flight from DC).
She's only been back in Will's orbit for two hours and she already knows that all future attempts to date people who are not Will McAvoy are doomed. She has never for another man what she feels for Will McAvoy, whose company these last two hours has awakened a sense of loss in her that's as deeply felt at this moment as it was on the night he'd ejected her from his life.
She's sure he regrets inviting her back to his hotel (for whatever fucking reason he did so), but she'll take it because he's here and this may be her last chance to get through to him.
Suddenly, a new thought flutters to surface.
What the fuck am I going to tell the BBC? A family emergency took me to Chicago where I just happened to run into Will McAvoy…what are the odds?
It's seven o'clock in the evening London time, so if she can't make it out of town tonight, she figures she has a few hours to come up with some lame-ass excuse about why she has to postpone the interview again.
She brings her attention back to Will, who's put the phone down while he waits for Charlie to get off another call.
As if reading MacKenzie's thoughts, Will asks.
"Do you need to call anyone? The journalist?" he says sarcastically, emphasizing the last word.
She pretends not to notice the dig and shakes her head.
He still has no fucking idea what he wants to say to her, but he figures he'll come up with something.
Everything he'd wanted to tell her 15 minutes ago has dried up in light of the revelation about her boyfriend - broken up or not - and now he just wants her gone: out of his hotel room and out of his life.
He doesn't want to think of MacKenzie McHale, with her lilting smile, ever again.
"May I use the bathroom?" she says, interrupting his train of thought. "I'd like to wash my face."
"Sure, it's – "
Then Charlie's on the line, and Will is waving his hand in the general direction of the bathroom.
She makes her way there and closes the door as she hears him say, "Hey Charlie… yeah, we're okay… yeah, she's here, yeah, she's okay. Listen…"
She closes the door behind her, places her palms down on the vanity, looks down and takes a deep breath. When she looks up, she sees her face is red and splotchy and her hair is tangled from being buried under Will's arm. She picks up Will's wooden bristle brush and her eyes fill with tears.
It's the one she'd put in his Christmas stocking four years ago. She'd had it engraved with his initials. It was the one thing of hers he hadn't the heart to throw out. He hadn't remembered she was the one who'd given it to him until after he found out she'd gone to Afghanistan. He didn't know why he kept it.
She takes a deep breath, brushes her hair and splashes water on her face. She notices a sweatshirt hanging on the back of the door. She touches it, then slowly brings her nose to it. It smells like Will. Earthy and sweet.
Then she opens the door, ready to face whatever comes next.
She's here, he's here. The rest is up to him.