I wanted to get this done sooner, but you know, life and stuff. I've started the next chapter, so that's good news! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

When Mac drifts off to sleep, Will carefully climbs out of bed to try not to wake her. She has a pretty serious concussion, and her arm's going to be mighty sore, but it could be so much worse.

It hits Will like a train. It could have been so much worse. It could have easily gone another way. The knowledge drains him of all his energy and he drops into the chair next to Mac's bed.

"Shit," he says to himself as tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. He'd been trying to be strong all day, for Mac inside the bank, and then once she was out, and it was exhausting.

She could have died. He could be sitting planning her funeral right now, and the thought, the image of crying over her grave, is so strong that it sucks the breath right out of him.

Will looks back to where his wife is sleeping peacefully. It's only late afternoon, and it feels like this day has been endless. He picks up her hand and brushes his finger along her wedding band. Her family ring, the ring that was the catalyst for stopping in the first place, is still safely on her other hand.

He allows himself to cry a little longer; resting his head on the bed next to her hand, before pulling himself together and stepping into the bathroom to splash water on his face.

She's fine, he reminds himself. She's fine.

When he's settled back into the chair, there's a soft knock at the door and Pete, his friendly neighborhood negotiator, is stepping inside.

"How is she?" He asks quietly.

"Fine," Will replies, and she is, she is, she is. But she almost wasn't.

"Can we talk for a moment?" Pete asks, and Will stands, leaving a kiss on Mac's forehead, before stepping out into the hallway.

"I should thank you," Will starts, and Pete shakes his head.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't get her out safely, she got herself out safely," Pete says. "The first officers in there said that she got herself mostly behind the island in the middle of the lobby. There were bullet holes in the other side. She was almost directly in the line of fire, Mr. McAvoy. She got herself out of there. I didn't do a damn thing."

"Jesus," Will breathes out, and feels lightheaded. Mac's so much smarter, so much braver, than he is. He feels a physical ache, and needs to get back to her side. Needs to see her chest move up and down with her even breathing, needs to know that she's okay, despite the bullet holes and being almost directly in the line of fire, for Christ's sake.

"I wanted to return this," Pete extends his hand and in the middle is Mac's engagement ring. That goddamn engagement ring.

"I don't know if she's going to want that back," Will gives a slight laugh, bordering on hysterical, but reaches for it anyway.

"It wasn't the ring's fault. It wasn't her fault for wearing it, and it wasn't your fault for buying it for her," Pete's voice is firm. "It was just dumb fucking luck."

"Right," Will says, but he's not fooling anyone.

"You should get back to your wife," Pete tells him. "I just wanted to return the ring. We'll be by to talk to Mackenzie tomorrow?"

"She's discharged in the morning," Will replies. "She said she just really wants to go home."

"We can come to you," Pete answers the unasked question and doesn't miss the relief in Will's eyes.

"We just really want to get home," Will says. And God, does he. He just wants to get Mac home and into their bed, and not leave for days. Maybe ever again.

Pete digs out a card and hands it to Will.

"Call me when you get her settled tomorrow," Pete instructs. "But we really need to get her statement as soon as possible." Will nods, slipping the card into his pocket.

"I need to..." Will gestures to Mac's room and it's Pete's turn to nod, giving Will a small wave and a,

"I'm glad she's okay," as he disappears down the hall.

Mac stirs hours later, and Will is still in the chair when her eyes open. He's reading something, and he glances up when she shifts in bed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, picking up her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Have I been sleeping long?" She asks.

"Few hours. How's the head feeling?"

"Ugh," Mac replies. Her head is pounding, and her arm feels heavy and sore, and it all comes rushing back to her. The Captain's gun in her face, the hard fear in the bottom of her stomach, the thought that she might never get to see Will again. She feels like she might be sick again, but swallows hard and closes her eyes.

"Mac? What's the matter? What's wrong?" Will asks, his voice frantic. "What hurts?"

"He was going to kill me," her voice is soft, and Will's eyes widen. He didn't think she'd be ready to do this yet. If he was being honest, he had hoped that she wouldn't want to relive it yet. He wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it. He needed a little more time and reassurance that she was okay. He had wanted to be at home, where it was safe, surrounded by their things and their life before he heard about how it was almost all taken away from him.

But he's not going to stop her if she wants to talk.

"Which one, honey?"

"The Captain," Mac answers. "That's what I called him. I called him the Captain. He seemed to be in charge. And then there was Sparky and Lurch. I didn't know their names, I don't…I don't think I want to know their names." She takes a deep breath and reaches for Will's hand, and he's only too willing to oblige her. "Lurch and Sparky wanted more money. They were the ones who made me call you back to tell you that the price had gone up. The Captain told them that they didn't give you enough time. He said I was useless." She shudders, and Will leans forward to thumb away a couple of tears from her cheeks. "He pulled out the gun and said that he would just shoot me for them, because there was no way you'd be able to come up with the money in time. He pointed it at me. He pointed it right at me." She's crying in earnest now, and for the second time, Will climbs into the bed, wrapping her in his arms and rocking them gently back and forth.

He doesn't say it's okay, because this is so not okay. This is far from okay. Mac had a gun in her face, and that will never be okay.

"I was working on the money," it feels important that she knows that. He's not sure why, but he needs to tell her that. "I would have paid anything to get you out of there. I would have sold our fucking apartment if I had to. I would have done anything to get you out."

"I know that," Mac's voice is firm. "Of course I know that." And just like that, she's his strong, resilient wife. Just like that, he knows they're going to be okay. She's going to be okay.

"I was so fucking scared," Will admits.

"I know," Mac buries her face in Will's chest and he brings his hand up and tangles it in her hair. "I knew you would be. That's why I kept my phone. I wanted to be able to tell you I was okay."

"Until you weren't," Will points out. "Until a gun was pointed at you."

"He didn't…Lurch and Sparky pulled out their guns and pointed them back at him," Mac's voice trembles, and he drops a kiss to the top of her head. "I was standing by the thing in the middle, you know? That thing where you can fill out your deposit slip? I was trying to get around to the other side without them noticing."

"That was good, that was so good," Will murmurs, tightening his hold on her. He can't get her close enough.

Mac doesn't say anything else, just sighs into his neck and presses her damp face into his skin.

"You should rest," Will says after a few beats of silence. "Just rest."

Mac, thankfully, sleeps the rest of the night. Will sleeps fitfully beside her, and is incredibly relieved when the discharge papers arrive in the morning. Sloan follows closely behind, with a bag and a change of clothes for Mackenzie.

"Kenz," Sloan exhales when she sees Mac in the bed, and her bottom lip trembles.

"I'm okay," Mackenzie reassures, and Will gets up and guides Sloan into the room. "Thank you for bringing me clothes. I didn't want to go home in scrubs." Mac's shirt was ruined, covered in blood. Will had a little bit of blood on his sweater from where she had pressed her face into the fabric, but he had just stripped it off and was wearing the oxford shirt underneath.

"Kenz," Sloan repeats.

"Come here," Mac gestures, and Sloan stumbles forward towards the bed until she's hugging Mac with as much force as she can manage.

"Shit," Sloan pulls back suddenly. "I didn't hurt you, right?"

"No, no, I'm okay," Mac tells her.

"You scared the shit out of us, Mac," Sloan chastises. "And I wasn't even there. I wanted to be, though, when Charlie burst in and told us that you were being held hostage, Jim and I fought about who would go down with him. I'm still not sure how he won, but he was insistent. You should have seen him, Mac, he was so shaken up, and I just…I'm so glad you're okay." Sloan throws her arms around her again, and Mac meets Will's eyes over Sloan's shoulder and for the first time, she smiles, and he feels his heart constrict.

"I'm okay, Sloan," Mac says gently, and Sloan nods a few times.

"No, no, I know," she says and she gives Mac a small smile. "Jim's on his way in. He didn't want to wait until you got home. He's pretty antsy to see you. We were all pretty antsy to see you." She gives Mac's hand a squeeze, and as if he was cued, Jim steps into Mac's room.

"Hey, Jim," Mac tries to put on a bright voice, but Will can hear the strain underneath it, and he knows that Jim can too.

"Mac," he says, crossing over the bed and ignoring both Will and Sloan. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, really, I've been in worse shape before," she says, and Jim nods, because he knows. He was there. He was there and it was awful, but it wasn't anything like yesterday. Yesterday was worse. Yesterday was full of uncertainty and fear and long stretches where they had no idea if Mac was alive or hurt, and it was fucking terrible.

"Yeah," Jim says, and Mac reaches out a hand and Jim takes it. "You're definitely okay, though?"

"I'm okay, Jim," Mac reassures. "Seriously. I'm just ready to get out of here." Jim nods a couple of times.

"All you have to do is change and we can get the hell out of here," Will says, helping Mac out of bed. He leads her gently to the bathroom. "Need help changing?"

"We'll never get out of here if you help her change," Sloan pipes up, and Will shoots her a glare.

"I think I'm okay," Mac says, but her arm hurts. Her head fucking hurts too, but Will's already looking at her with concerned eyes, and she doesn't want to make him worry any more. She slips into the bathroom and is grateful that Sloan brought a button down shirt so that Mac doesn't have to lift up her sore arm. She manages to slide the jeans on, and gets a few of the vital buttons done before opening up the door and asking Will to do the rest.

Lonny appears, and with a frown, explains that they'll have to go out through the garage.

"Why?" Will asks, although he thinks he knows why, and his hands tighten into fists at the thought of photographers camped out in front of the hospital to get a picture of Mac leaving.

"Fair warning, there are lots of photographers outside. Outside your apartment and ACN too," Lonny says apologetically, and Mac sighs, and Will swears under his breath.

"We can go through the garage at the apartment too, Billy," Mac reasons. She slides her fingers through his and feels the tension drain out of him slightly.

"I hate that they're outside waiting to get a picture of you. You were just held fucking hostage, and all they care about is selling the pictures to the highest bidder," he's infuriated, and Mac wraps her good arm around him and rests her head on his chest.

"Let's just go home," she pleads softly. "Please, let's just go home?" And Will nods, tiredly, and with an arm wrapped around Mac, leads her to the waiting car to go home.