Will pushed through the glass door separating the studio from the corridor to Control.
"Where is she? Where the fuck is anyone—"
"I'm right here," Don cooed, trying to disarm Will's ire. "I've had you all night and there's—"
"Where's my staff? Where's Mac?"
Blinking, Don took a step back. The show had actually gone well—that is, after Will stopped bellowing into his mic pack. Change upset him, everyone got that, but this last minute substitution couldn't have been helped. Moreover, he and Will had worked together before—it may not have been sunshine and lollipops every day, but there should have been enough residual trust between them to—
"Where is she?"
"Mac still wasn't feeling well—"
Ah, yes. The interruption to the final rundown meeting, where Mac had been a no-show and Sloan had mysteriously spirited Jim away, too.
Jenna appeared at Will's elbow. "Call holding on your line. She's—"
With a glare at Don, Will made a growl and stalked toward his office. Then, loosening his tie and popping open the top button of his collar, he wrenched the phone from its cradle.
"Yeah, Nina. I was just about to call."
oooo
"You weren't here yesterday."
Will leaned through the open door, his tone mildly accusatory.
It was Wednesday and Mac was at her usual place, the desk littered with newspapers and legal tablets and pillars of clumsily stacked manila folders. A spray of brightly colored highlighters was scattered over it all, and Mac, readers pushed halfway down her nose, capped one as he eased into the office.
She looked up. "I had to leave."
He allowed the door to close before beginning again.
"Nobody told me, so it was a surprise. A surprise on air. You know how I don't like surprises on air."
"I do know and I'm—sorry."
"Somebody should have told me—you could've said something, Mac. I mean, I thought we—"
She sighed and closed her eyes. "Someone should have told you," she agreed, then amended her words to say what she knew he wanted to hear. "I should have." She looked nervous. "I didn't feel well. It was better that Don handle the show."
"Not Jim?"
"Jim saw me home."
He canted his head, straining to pierce the reserve she was so plainly clutching around her. "Is everything okay, Mac?"
"I won't be leaving early tonight, if that's what you're worried about. I'll be in your ear throughout the show."
"Well, nice to know, but what I mean is, are you feeling all right? After, you know, the other night?"
She broke eye contact and looked down. "Will, you should know that I've given Charlie my resignation."
"He told me. He also told me he didn't accept it."
She made an ironic harrumph and shook her head. "In the end, it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't."
"I beg to differ. You have a contract."
"I've asked to be released from it."
"ACN'll hold you in breach." Even as he said it, he knew it was the argument of an officious prick scoring a cheap point. He should be asking other questions—like why—but he didn't want to take the focus off her shortcomings to spotlight his own.
"Charlie won't allow that. You know he won't." She was looking at him directly again. "Jim can handle the show until you find someone."
"I don't want Jim handling my show, I want—well, I want you." Although still wanting in feeling, it seemed like admission enough for this moment—just the bald statement that he wanted her to continue to helm the show. Whether it was because she was the best, or he had some residual feeling for her, or he was simply inimical to change of any kind—well, all that could be dealt with later, couldn't it?
She closed her eyes for a few long seconds, obviously regrouping. "It's just that I—I need some time—need to sort through—"
He snorted. "Hell, you've probably accrued two months' vacation time. Why don't you just take a couple of weeks off?"
"—I need some space—"
"So, fly to Montana—Calgary—Thule—"
"Friday's my last night, Will."
That sucked all the air from the room. Finally, he managed, "You're just going to abandon the show?"
That, at last, seemed to raise her hackles. "Abandon? Seriously—abandon? I rather thought you might be—relieved—even anxious to go in new directions. You've certainly indicated as much personally—"
As she said it, his eyes fell upon the odious Page Six from the previous week, open on her desk.
She paused, and then released a breath. "Will, the show has momentum. It'll still have momentum even if I'm not here. Simply continue to push the edges. Jim will help."
There was a long silence.
"I can't believe this is what you want."
"That's your prerogative." Her words would have been all the more believable but for the slight quaver in her voice.
"You know, Mac, that delicate air of martyrdom you've cultivated isn't as attractive as you think." The retort came as most of his did, without thought or consideration, and instantly he regretted the words.
But she had no reaction beyond a long blink. "Friday night," she repeated.
oooo
Jim's head hung in the door. "Maggie said you wanted to see me."
Will gestured for him to enter completely, and Jim complied, albeit with a guilty look around.
"What's up?"
"Mac's talking about leaving."
Jim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, but made no response.
"You knew about this?"
"She's talked about leaving since the week after she got here," Jim hemmed. "I think, at first, it was just reaction to those rough first few weeks. A lot of pressure to perform—plus, you constantly on her ass. There was some little office rumor that you had a clause put in her contract—"
"My contract," Will interrupted, before realizing how much of an asshole the clarification made him appear.
"Okay. Your contract." Jim let that settle meaningfully before continuing. "Then, it sort of morphed into an ironic running joke. You know, like, Bad day in Control, guess this will be my last week."
"But something's changed now."
The younger man's jaw worked. "Yes—and no. I mean, she came with baggage. From before. You probably never noticed—"
"Mac and I are cool, okay? Whatever happened between us a few years ago—well, we've put it aside for the sake of—"
Jim interrupted, testily. "What I was going to say was, the things that don't wash away when you leave a war zone. That's the baggage she came with. Although, of course, whatever happened between the two of you doesn't help."
A long pause hung between them.
"Look, I don't know what Nina has or if she has anything. But something has been eating at Mac. There's been a long string of doctors that I know of, and there's been a few episodes—"
"Episodes of what?"
"Can't you guess? Anyway, there was one last week that I know you're aware of, because we all met at the hospital in the wee hours." He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Will. I've never known what your motivation is in this thing between Mac and the gossip queen. Whether you're just trying to protect someone on the team, or whether you'd just like to stick it to Nina. It's great that you want to help." Beat. "Of course, it would've been greater if you'd wanted to help earlier. Before things got so bad that she—"
"That's what I'm getting at. Something changed. What was it?"
"I don't think all the recent media attention you've gotten lately has helped."
"It isn't like you don't know why there's been that media attention. I've been trying to do something for Mac, to protect her—"
"You can't do the bare minimum two weeks after it needed doing and still expect everyone to be eternally grateful," Jim lobbed back with uncharacteristic passion. "I don't know what your real motive is. I know there was something between you and Mac once, something that ended pretty badly. For what it's worth, she told me it was all her fault. But, from what I've seen, you haven't missed many occasions in the last year or so to rub her nose in it when you could."
"I'm trying to help now," Will maintained.
"Yeah, well—assuming it isn't already too late—try harder."
oooo
Will made an effort to be more congenial Thursday. He held his criticism during the pitch meeting, when one young A.P. actually proposed an instructional segment on dog CPR, and foreswore arguing with Mac on the sequencing of stories, allowing her to prioritize an update on the Syrian siege of Deir al-Zour over the riots in Tottenham. He had to concede her selection had scale; he just wasn't sure it made for an audience connection. Nonetheless, he held his peace.
The slate seemed firm and balanced by the final rundown.
Until the wheels came off.
A junior wanna-be whose name Will didn't know leaned in through the door and shared the screen of his smart phone with Jim.
"Okay, people, listen up. AP says a U.S. military helicopter is down southwest of Kabul—a CH-47 Chinook." Jim stabbed a finger at Gary. "Need to know which of our units are operating there and whether there's been any recent skirmishes. Tess, we'll need a spokesman from DoD—"
At this, Mac chimed in. "Call CENTCOM direct. Fewer layers, quicker response. And, Kendra, see if you can locate Mike Tapley."
Jim spied Maggie hurrying for the exit. "Maggie, wait, I need—"
"I know, aircraft manufacturer's safety record."
"Boeing," he called after her.
Her hand went up in a backhanded wave as the door closed. "Knew that, too."
With the staff dispersed, Mac turned back to Jim. "One hour till air. Let's be prepared to push A and B blocks to the second half." She dipped her chin and looked at Will, standing at the far end of the table. "If this turns out to be anything, you'll have to carry it."
He nodded understanding.
Confirmation came quickly, and the iNews alert flashed scarlet to underscore both the urgency of the news and the gravity. Fallen Angel, the CENTCOM spokesman called it. A Chinook aircraft laden with military spec-ops troops, shot down by a Taliban RPG. Thirty-eight military personnel had been on board, but there was still no confirmation as to their status.
Fallen Angel.
When Joey made up the Breaking News card, that was the phrase emblazoned on it.
As soon as Mac saw it, she knew it was just a matter of time until the reaction set in.
oooo
Mac's mouth was dry and she pushed back hard against the wall, using the reassuring pressure to distract from the random but familiar images replaying before her. Squeezing her eyes closed was no relief.
Just get through this, a voice echoed in her mind.
She'd sent Jim home early, telling him he would need to be fresh for tomorrow, when the casualty count was confirmed and more information known. Dayside would need the expertise. She had to get him out of Control before he became aware of the sudden tremor in her hand, the slight hitch in her voice.
No one else might notice, but Jim would.
There had been none of the usual overt triggers—loud noises, smells of petroleum and burning rubber, bright flashes—had tripped, but she had known to flee for a safe space.
Her breaths came in rapid halting gasps, and she pressed further back against the wall, attempting to make herself smaller. It helped to have the sturdiness of walls, of a floor, of flat, finite surfaces that concealed nothing and offered some protection. Absent a closet in her office, wedging herself between the credenza and the wall afforded the most safety.
Mac's palms were slick and cold, and her trembling had become a shudder that seemed to emanate from deep within. Even with eyes tightly closed, the images played in an endless loop in her mind. She couldn't blot them out.
Trauma changes your brain, Dr. Gavin had told her. It short-circuits emotions, takes you from calm to panic like zero to sixty.
There were relentless voices, and the air very hot. Everything was very close, very loud. The blast, when it came, was concussive and pushed her into the warmth of another body.
"Mac?"
Numbness began to drain away and the thudding of her pulse in her own ears diminished. She was conscious of steady pressure on one hand.
"Mac?"
Will's voice. "Everything's okay, Kenz. Why don't you open your eyes now?"
And because she never denied him anything, she did.
He was on one knee in front of her, frowning with concern.
When she realized he was holding her hand, she attempted to jerk it back, but his closed, keeping hers in place.
"How about a little water?"
She nodded acquiescence, and only then did he release her hand and pass her a glass.
"Have a little more," he coached, indicating the glass.
She took another sip.
"So, is this a good time to talk about the show?"
She had recovered enough now to detect the trace of amusement around his mouth that let her know he was being gentle, being the old Will. She even managed to huff a short laugh before melting into tears. "This isn't—I'm not—unstable or any—"
Wiping tears with the back of her hand, she tried to rise. She recognized and was moved by his gallantry, but it embarrassed her, too, and made her feel vulnerable, and all she could think of was the necessity of returning to the status quo. The detachment between anchor and producer.
He helped her up and into the desk chair. He sat on the corner of the desk, still watching her with evident concern.
"You don't have to—I'm grateful, Will, but I'm better now and you really don't have to—"
"Your voice didn't sound right. And they told me you sent Jim home in the middle of breaking news. I mean, I could tell that something strange was happening." He looked anxious and a little frustrated. "Is there something I can get for you?"
"You mean, find my meds? Well, the Xanax has sort of turned into its own problem lately—and trading symptoms for over-medication wasn't working for me. So, no. Nothing."
Pack it with dirt, the Marines always said.
He paused for half a minute. "I was at the hospital Saturday morning."
"I wish I hadn't been."
He recognized her words as a deflection, so he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And I want you to know that I think we're fine, Mac. You and me. We work together well. But I feel—somehow—that, whatever happened tonight, that I may have contributed to whatever you're feeling—whatever is making you unhappy here now."
"May have."
He found himself unable to read her tone as she repeated his words. So, after a pause and a long exhalation, he began again. "Mac, about me and Nina—"
"Will, I am the last person on earth to whom you owe any explanation—"
"Actually, you're the only person I'd—" he stopped, struggling with what he needed to say. "I want you to know that it isn't what it looks like. There's nothing between us."
"Then, what are you getting out of this one-sided relationship?"
Her retort took him by surprise, but before he could fumble a response, she answered her own question. "Because you know that if I ever find out you paid a gossip columnist money to protect me, I will beat you senseless.
The threat was reassuring, because it was sounded like Mac. "I didn't."
"Good. Because you know I can do it."
That, at least, seemed to restore some good humor between them, and Will made a small smile.
"Feeling a little better?"
"A little."
He felt like he needed to say something, needed to clarify about his abortive Nina reference. "Mac—this may not be the time—and we don't have to—"
"Fallen angel, Will. That was the tripwire. I've heard that term before, you know. That's what they would say when they called for back-up and extraction. I was shooting the fallen angels—"
"Shooting the—?" Perhaps she wasn't as cogent as she'd seemed just a moment earlier, because nothing was making sense now. "I don't understand—"
"You want to know what this is about, right? Why I seem a little—"
Fragile—broken—haunted? his mind filled in in the millisecond between her words.
"—Distracted." She reached for the water again. "Some days are worse than others, and I think the last couple of weeks may have been aggravated by—well, other things—but you deserve an explanation. Because of the other night—because of right now, and also because it's going to cost you your executive producer—"
He still didn't want to entertain that thought, so he pivoted to what she'd said earlier.
"I don't know what you mean about shooting angels."
"Filming. Recording. Shooting. All the euphemisms we get to use when we're in the field, when the cameras are in our hands and not anchored to the set." She wet her lips. "My team was split in two military vehicles that day. I was with Staff Sergeant Newitt in the lead vehicle, and my sound man and the fixer were in the other truck with the Gunny and another Marine."
"Jim?"
Despite the somber subject, she still mustered a tiny snort. "Jim was—indisposed, having recently been the recipient of a butt-wound. Anyway, this was early 2009 and the MRAPs—the mine resistant armored personnel carriers—hadn't gotten to our AO yet, so the vehicles we were in had only been retrofitted with a bit of plating. The coverage was rather hit-and-miss, so to speak." She huffed an ironic laugh.
"It was a routine transit—we'd made the trip before. That strip of road was virtually a military highway. There was a bang. IED, probably a remote detonation, since my vehicle had passed unharmed. I grabbed the camera—just reflex by that point—and followed the smoke." She took a deep breath. "Behind us, the other truck was burning. A body in the road—I found out later it was the Gunny, who had been riding shotgun. Small arms fire began from the other side of the berm. Sergeant Newitt radioed for back-up. I kept recording."
"It's what you were there to do." He felt as though he should offer comfort.
"The incoming fire focused on the disabled vehicle. Newitt tried to return fire to give the others opportunity to escape the burning truck, but he wasn't armed for a full-on assault." Another pause. "When it became apparent that that we were going to be next—we still didn't know if there were survivors or not—we put some distance between us and them. They didn't pursue us. We waited for back-up from US and ANA forces and I was still recording everything. That's why they call the camera the unblinking eye."
Her own eyes closed now, she went silent and he prompted, softly, "Mac?"
"I saw everything. Gunny's corpse dragged down a dusty road and defiled. The men dragged from the vehicle and beaten until they didn't resist and then their bodies mutilated. All the fallen angels and all I could do was watch." She drew a shaky breath and looked down at her hands. "I still can't un-see it."
"What happened to the video?"
"Owing to the extreme and heinous acts depicted, as they said, CNNi impounded it. They deferred to the local military commanders, who in turn deferred to military intelligence. At some point, the nation-building wonks at State were brought into it. Newitt and I were debriefed six ways from Tuesday and none of it ever hit the media except for the body count. No one wanted to inflame the sensibilities on the home front."
"Jesus."
"I get better, things go great, then something triggers and I'm back. The doctors—well, mostly, they've good shills for the pharmaceutical industry."
They sat together in silence for a few minutes, until the lights of the bullpen suddenly dimmed. Beyond the decidedly non-sound-proof glass of her office, they could hear a vacuum cleaner.
"So, this is what Nina has—"
"There's no way anyone could have this, Will."
Then, what was Nina attempting to bargain with?
He hadn't spoken the words, but Mac seemed to have read them in his face.
"Is this why you've suddenly cozied up to the doyenne of detritus? My god. I thought it was just the sex. Actually, I would have preferred it was just the sex."
"Mac," he began, unsure of the words that would follow but desperately needing to stop this line of inquiry.
"I don't want to be a topic of conversation for the two of you. In any way. At any time." MacKenzie closed her eyes, willing away whatever else had been on her mind. "No. Let's not say anything more tonight. Thank you, Will, but I'm fine—grateful for your concern, but you don't have to stay any longer. I don't need you."
oooo
The following day at work was like any other. Its very normalcy belied any idea that a change in EPs was imminent. The pitch meeting was unremarkable, the rundown meetings workaday. From Control, everything was business-as-usual.
After the show wrapped, however, Will had to hurry out, committed to his third and final rendezvous with Nina Howard. She had wrangled an invite to the post-screening reception of the final night of the Tribeca Film Festival. He took grim satisfaction in the fact that the red carpet had been rain-soaked, the drinks had been watery, the hot hors d'oeuvres had been icy, and the paparazzi had been in distressingly small attendance.
The latter aspect especially pleased Will, although he tried to maintain a poker face, and visibly annoyed Nina. She saw her third wish from the genie of celebrity seemingly wasted on an event that wouldn't net her any Page Six column inches the next morning. Of course, she and Will had to depart together, since they had arrived that way, so Will pasted affability on his face and looked forward to a speedy end to the evening.
Nina, as ever, stood ready to disappoint him.
She murmured some direction to the cabbie as they left and then settled back into the seat.
"Surprised there wasn't a bigger presence by the press," she said, idly checking her phone and then replacing it in her clutch. "I thought these indie films were celebrity magnets."
"Perhaps the title threw them off. She Monkeys."
She made some pithy response, which he ignored while rehearsing the end to the evening. The reason why he was unable (unwilling) to see her to the door of her apartment. Why this mission of civilizing had just been wasted time for them both. Why he really wanted her to just cut to the chase already and hand over whatever information she claimed to have on Mac.
After an interminable ride in unusually light city traffic, the taxi pulled alongside a curb, where the neon light reflected on the wet pavement.
Hang Chew's.
"I thought we might have a drink, and knowing your distrust of my motives, this seemed like the—"
"You said, three. Three events. I acted in good faith."
"Excellent faith, I'd say" she purred back, pressing a few bills into the cabbie's outstretched palm. "But the night isn't over yet. So, come on."
"I can't go in there with you."
"Of course you will. You want this resolved and that is the proverbial finish line."
She flung open the taxi door, nearly clobbering the cabbie who had scrambled around to do the same.
He followed her out of the taxi, thinking rapidly through his options. There were none. He wanted the flashdrive—this was the cost. He would just hope that any staff members had already had their post-show drinks and departed for other weekend revelry.
"It's going to be a damned short drink, Nina."
"Fine by me."
She latched onto his arm and motor-boated him through the door, where they were instantly assailed by an off-key rendition of You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling.
"If you'll do the honors—dirty martini, one olive." She handed him her card and smiled. "You've been such a sport, Will, I've got this."
By this point, he would have acquiesced to just about anything to speed the conclusion to the evening, so he stepped to the bar briefly and returned, drinks in hand. Nina was looking across the room and, as he handed her the martini, he followed her gaze.
In the dark corner of the bar far away from the karaoke stage, a dozen or so people sat at tables. Over them, a banner proclaimed Don't Forget Us, Mac!
He stood staring stupidly, the logical conclusions slowly taking shape in his brain. This was not simply an after-hours gathering of co-workers—this was a gathering with a purpose. And the purpose of this one was plainly a farewell for MacKenzie from her team.
Her team.
Not only had he been excluded from the invite list, but this just confirmed that she was, in fact, really leaving. Them. The show. Him.
Nina leaned in and tucked a flashdrive into his hand, folding his fingers over it. With that, she sipped her martini, then casually, deliberately, dropped the glass. It hit the floor and shattered, coinciding with a pause in the music so that all the attention in the club was now trained on the two of them.
"Thanks for the date, Will."
A dozen familiar faces in the corner of the club stared at him. Not one was smiling. Sloan half-rose, but Don took her forearm and whispered something that made her pause. Jim took it upon himself to lope forward.
"You should probably go," Jim advised, his natural diplomacy barely blunting the firmness of the suggestion.
"What's going on, Jim?" Will asked, though the answer seemed clear enough.
"Some of the folks wanted to do a little goodbye for Mac—a surprise thing."
"Jim." Mac herself had materialized and put her hand on Jim's shoulder. "Why don't you go back to the party? I want to have a few words with Will."
She watched as he departed, then scuffed at the broken glass on the floor. "Can I assume the night didn't end well?"
"Fuck, Mac. I can't believe you're still going through with this." Will had recovered from his surprise in typical fashion, with anger.
"And I can't believe you brought her here—although," Mac paused as the obvious answer occurred to her, "she brought you, didn't she?"
Nina's actions had been so blatant that even Mac had seen them for what they were. Why hadn't he?
"I didn't—I mean, this wasn't supposed to—this was supposed to have ended a different way. I was trying to help, I wanted to help." He was stumbling badly and tried to pivot. "Whatever Nina had, whatever it was—well, here." He passed the flashdrive to her. "See? Now there's no reason for you to—leave."
She didn't say anything.
"All these people need you, Mac." He nodded to indicate the people in the corner of the bar. "The show needs you. Charlie needs you." He offered what he hoped resembled a wry smile. "After all, he relies on you to keep me from making an ass of myself on prime time."
Her teeth abruptly released the prisoner lip. "Charlie—well, he's calling this just a leave of absence—"
Will brightened instantly. "I knew he could make you change your mind."
"Charlie changed the words to provide cover in case I did change my mind. But—thank you for this," she added, grasping the flashdrive. She dropped a hand to his sleeve and squeezed lightly. "Thank you, Will."
She turned and took a step to rejoin the group. Then, turning back again, she asked, "What about you, Will? What do you need?"
"You're going to be damned sorry you left me again."
Nonplussed by his words, and the vehemence, she stood dumbfounded and simply stared at him.
Left.
Me.
Again.
Which one should she tackle first?
The idea that leaving was a decision made lightly?
The idea that it was personal—that she was leaving him, and not the show and her colleagues?
Again—implying she'd left voluntarily the first time—that it had been a lighthearted trip undertaken on a whim—
"Kenz!" Sloan inserted herself between the two of them and not-so-subtly nudged Mac backward while simultaneously casting a fisheye back to Will, warning him off. "Your drink got all melty, so Don's buying another round. Thanks for stopping by, Will. See you Monday."
