She was sitting in her office, contemplating life. It was something she never used to do, but now it seemed inevitable. When she'd been in the Middle East she hadn't had time to ponder things – she'd been too busy finding danger to report and getting stabbed. But now, a little over a year after she's back stateside, a little over a year after she started (once again) at ACN, Mac sits in her office wondering what the hell is going on in her life.

Mostly, she's wondering what that damn voicemail Will had left her said. Clearly her not hearing it had given him the strength of Don Quixote, which left her wondering – what the hell had the message said?

She'd stopped bothering him about it after that night, after the American Taliban broadcast, knowing that she'd never get an answer out of him if she pushed. She'd probably never get an answer out of him anyway, but her chances of success lowered from five to zero percent the harder she pushed him. It was now a month later and still no mention of either it from either one of them. It had almost turned into a battle of stubbornness – who would break first? Although, she conceded, it wasn't really about breaking the other anymore. The voicemail didn't hang between them – it lived in the shadows, undisturbed, while they quietly existed in another world by themselves. That's what it felt like sometimes – like they existed in another world separately, together.

But that wasn't the most perplexing thing her brilliant mind was mulling over at the moment. She and Will had become close recently. Close in the way that they once were. They weren't intimate, but it was like their minds were in sync with each other again, they knew what the other was thinking before a word was said. They had eye-conversations. That's what Sloan called them at least - when their eyes would meet and they would instantly know they were on the same page. Sometimes his baby-blues and her chocolate orbs would be waging war with each other. Sometimes it was a friendly, almost shy, conversation. How are you today? - I've been better. How did you sleep? – I didn't.

It was in these moments that Mac knew she still loved him. Of course, she'd never fallen out of love with him, but there had been times when she'd tried to forget what they'd had, when she'd tried to move on. Clearly she had been unsuccessful.

And it didn't hit her like a ton of bricks – not like the first time. Because when she'd seen him again for the first time a year ago she'd known instantly that no man would ever live up to this fucked up one giving her the cold shoulder, this man that she desperately loved.

But recently she'd been cherishing the small moments they had together. A shared smile, an inside joke, an eye-conversation. It was the infinitesimal moments shared between them, when she'd think to herself, I love you. Mac thought back to dinner a week ago.

It was almost ten pm and she was sitting at her desk shuffling through the endless amounts of paperwork required by the network. When she'd been in the Middle East things hadn't been this… organized. Bureaucratic.

A knock startled her from some boring memo or other, and she saw Will standing in her doorway.

"You didn't wait for me to say, 'come in,'" she teased. She hoped he never would, either.

He grinned at her, sheepishly. "Yeah, well, you know me – bad at following rules."

"Except for when ratings are down," she countered. He gave in with a little shrug, not wanting to get into it now. All he wanted to do now was get out of this office. And he hoped she'd come with him.

"Wanna grab something? I know for a fact you haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Keeping tabs on me, are we?" and it almost sounded like she was flirting, as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. Geez, she thought, where did that come from? How long has it been since I've flirted with Will? Or with anybody?

"Just making sure you don't wither away. I'd hate to have to break in a new EP," he said, walking farther into her office. "So what do you say?"

"Hmm…" she pretended to think it over. "Take out?" He nodded. "I get to pick?" she asked, pointing to herself. He rolled his eyes, but nodded with a small smile on his face. "Alright McAvoy. I'm in," and with that she got up out of her chair, grabbed her things and they were on their way.

Forty minutes later they were standing in his kitchen divvying up the contents of the take-out boxes. She'd chosen Chinese, as he knew she would.

"Feel like a movie?" he asked while dumping half the carton of low-mein onto his plate and the rest onto hers.

"Do I get to pick?"

He rolled his eyes, "When have you ever not picked?" he said, chuckling. She pulled a face at him but joined in the laughter. "Besides, I already know what you're gonna choose."

"You do not!" she exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised. He shrugged, conveying his smugness with a smile. "Fine, then," she walked over to a drawer and pulled out a post-it pad and a pen. She scribbled something down. "What is it?"

He didn't even have to think about it, "Notting Hill." She looked at him stunned, unable to believe he'd actually guessed correctly. Although, she supposed it wasn't really a guess – he really had just known.

"Am I that predictable?" Will thought she looked almost crest-fallen at the notion, and gave her a smile.

"Nah – I just know you too well," he supplied. But with those words a thousand memories flooded back into his mind - hers too he expected – and he gave her a sad smile that she returned.

"Come on old man," she said after a moment, breaking eye contact and heading for the living room, "I want to watch Julia and Hugh fall in love."

"Again." Will said, following her, "It's not like you haven't seen this movie a hundred and fifty seven times already."

"Yeah but it's my favorite."

"Only because you like the idea of a Brit and an American falling in love," and as soon as he said it he wished he could take it back. Why did he have to make everything awkward? Why did everything have to remind him of their past?

Mackenzie, however, recovered quickly. "No – I just like Hugh Grant's ass," she said with a smirk. And then much quieter, "And you know I am American."

"I know," it almost came out as a whisper.

It had been almost two-thirty in the morning by the time the movie ended. Mackenzie had fallen asleep twenty minutes ago, but he didn't want to wake her. He liked the weight of her head on his shoulder.

She woke up the next morning – a Saturday – in his bed, the bed they used to share, and concluded that he must have moved her at some point, but that he had slept out on the sofa.

She smelled waffles cooking. Her favorite. He remembered. He always remembered.

Mac was brought out of her memory by the ping of her Blackberry. It was an email from Leona Lansing. This couldn't be good.


TBC

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