"She's a knockout."

Man, he's really grinding my gears. This guy's a jackass, and I don't appreciate the way he's looking at Mac. Not because she's mine (though I guess that's part of it) but because she doesn't deserve to be looked at or talked about in such an undignified manner. Mac can kick my ass intellectually – and probably physically – any day of the week. And seeing as how she can do that to me – and I've got four inches on my new cell-mate – she'd have no problem conquering him. Idiot savant, if there ever was one.

I glance briefly at the picture of Mac and me on our wedding day – I can't believe that it was only a few short months ago. God I miss her. I miss Mac like I'd miss a severed limb. She's as much a part of me as any other actual part of me, and the separation has been agonising. Glaring back at my roommate, I see that he's moved on to commenting about my colleagues, and I want to punch his face in when he starts in on my being here voluntarily. For fuck's sake – I thought this sentence was supposed to be coercive, not punitive.

He keeps talking, despite the fact that I've made it clear that I just want to read my book in peace. Gritting my teeth, I try to remain civil with him, ignoring the strongest urge to knock him out (if only for the silence). And now I know why I hate this sack of shit so much – his attitude reminds me of my father's. In fact, his whole fucking demeanour and the fact that he's in here with me for beating his wife set me on edge. What the fuck did I do to get landed with him for however long I've got left? I mean, I realise that I was purposely bull-headed with the judge and Lasenthal, but that's only because they had to have known that I wasn't going to give up the source. And yet they went through the whole song and dance of trying to get me to reveal their name anyway.

And now he's offering to give up the source for me as a way of getting his sorry ass out of jail (probably to go back to smacking down his wife for getting him put away in the first place). I've been calm, and God knows I've been patient with him, but enough is enough. I'm tired of dealing with him in a civilised manner: I resort to sarcasm, my best and only defence. I fucking hate guys like him anyway – guys who don't have the guts to face their own demons, so they take it out on their wives and kids instead. I hate bullies, iron-willed asshats like my father who beat me, my sisters and my mother into submission until I was strong enough to give it back to him. I hate my new cell-mate.

God I miss Mac.

"It's a hell of a plan."

"You miss your wife?"

Here we go again. I don't know what his fixation with Mac is, but it's driving me absolutely insane. Of course I miss Mac – it's the most asinine question I've been asked since coming here.

A trophy wife? What the actual fuck?

Mac is the most intelligent woman I know – second to none. I fell in love with her brain, the first time, the rest of her came later. The fact that this moron would accuse Mac of being anything less than an absolute-fucking-genius is an outrage and frankly insulting. And now he's mocking me for answering him seriously. Fucking hell, I might just ask to transfer cells.

And now I'm a prick. And a shithead. Because I don't feel inferior because my wife is so much smarter than I am. She is the most beautiful and intelligent woman I know, and her mission to civilise is the whole reason I'm in here. She taught me to be a good reporter again – she taught me that you might as well do the news well or not do it at all. I'm in here because I want to do right by her in every way possible – that's why I married her, and that's why I'm here, behaving as only the mad old man in Don Quixote could.

Accusing me of being elitist is fairly accurate. He's right, I've prided myself on becoming the news elite, and I don't give a flying fuck what this shit-kicker thinks about it. Yeah, I look down on him. Not because of where he's come from, or even his political views. I look down on him because he's a wife-beating sonovabitch who got his ass thrown in jail because he's threatened by his own wife. He belongs in the gutter because he is a hapless bully, whose life is worth less than that of any of the other criminals in this prison.

"Down is where some people belong."

"Charlie had a heart attack a few hours ago. He died."

I finally have Mac back in my arms, but all I feel like doing is screaming – lashing out in rage and grief. My father's phantom became my cell-mate during my incarceration – my actual father lies dead and I wasn't even there to say goodbye; just like the first time. My heart wrenches at the sound of the tremor in her voice, and I want to gather Mac back up into my arms – to comfort and soothe her now that I'm finally able to. Except that I'm not, because my own grief is so consuming that all I can think about is how I didn't get the chance to thank Charlie for everything he'd done for us. I don't think I would've ever given Mac a second chance if it hadn't been for Charlie – hell, I know I wouldn't have. Charlie was the only real father I've ever had, and I'm fairly certain he knew it in the first real conversation we had, during the 9/11 broadcast. I shudder violently, glad that Mac is here to keep me sane – to keep me whole. But I can't respond to what she's said. I can only look at her dumbly as I feel my world crashing down, her eyes on mine my only constant.

Hey guys! Thanks for reading this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd like to thank SueG5123 and Rachel2016 for the reviewing the last chapter - I really appreciate it :). If you've enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review!