When Mac finally crawled into her bed late that night, a stunned, tentative smile still graced her lips. She wrapped the sheets tightly around her bare shoulders, trying to recapture the warmth of Will's embrace, but it was a poor substitute.
The chaos of the last few days finally catching up with her, Mac felt as though she could sleep for a week. But as she lay there, replaying the events of the last few hours in her mind, Mac's eyes stubbornly refused to remain shut. Over and over that night, Mac felt herself drifting off, but thoughts of Will would cross her sleepy mind once more, and her heart would give a sudden thud, jerking her back to consciousness.
"Can we try again?" he had asked her. Lying in the darkness, Mac pinched her arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. If she was being honest, Mac's insomnia had as much to do with nerves as with euphoria. What if she woke up tomorrow, only to discover that this impossible turn of events was only a dream? The mere thought of it was enough to leave her struggling for breath.
Mac tossed and turned for hours, her legs becoming hopelessly tangled in the twisted sheets, and she changed pillows a dozen times, searching for a cooler place to rest her head. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Mac managed to clear her mind, just long enough to fall asleep.
The remaining hours of the night were anything but restful, however, and she woke early the next morning, feeling blurry and on edge. The frayed threads of a dream teased at the edge of her consciousness, but every time Mac reached out to examine them more closely, the vague recollections dissolved entirely, like smoke dissipating into thin air.
The foggy feeling followed Mac for the rest of the day. She attended the economics panel that morning, as promised, though she felt sure that she was sleepwalking through every minute of it. She could not have recounted, later, a single word of what she had said, nor even what she had been asked. That nobody laughed or challenged her suggested that, somehow, she must not have acquitted herself too badly.
It was well into the afternoon before Mac finally made it to the newsroom, fortified by a large coffee that managed to keep most of her exhaustion at bay. Under Jim's direction, the rundown was well in hand, with coverage of Libya and the other uprisings taking up much of the hour.
The first time that Mac caught Will's gaze, they exchanged nervous smiles, and her heart leaped in her chest. After that, though, they hardly had a minute to speak for the rest of the day. It was only after Will signed off the air for the evening, and she had finished going through her notes with the staff, that they were able to find a moment alone.
Mac made her way to Will's office, the last of the caffeine that had buoyed her up for the last few hours wearing off. She leaned in the doorway of his office, and he smiled when he saw her.
"Time for a drink?" Will asked, as he had the day before. Mac tried to nod, but she couldn't suppress an enormous yawn. Will chuckled, and Mac joined him, sheepishly.
"Not tonight," Mac said, regretfully. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Me neither," Will admitted, stepping around his desk to take her in his arms.
He hugged her gently, differently from the night before. If Will felt any kind of awkwardness in their embrace, he concealed it well, but Mac felt clumsy, as though her hands couldn't decide where it was appropriate for them to fall. What were the rules when it came to ex-boyfriends with whom you were 'trying again', after cheating on them the first time?
Mac was so exhausted by the time she got home that night that she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. She would wish later that she had never slept at all.
The dreams were nothing more than a series of fragmented images, but each one felt like a knife plunging into her stomach. Will, when he had seen her again for the first time, looking like he was seeing a ghost. Will, after she had sent that humiliating email to the entire staff, gazing at her like she was a complete stranger, someone he no longer even recognized. Will, when she had told him the truth and ruined his life.
If those images were like knives, the ones that followed were the lemon juice and the salt. Will carrying her to the First Aid tent at the New York Marathon. Will beaming with pride as she accepted her first Peabody. Will serenading her on their anniversary.
Her bitter words to Jim earlier that week: I deserved what I got.
By the time morning came, Mac felt physically ill. How could she have ever thought that they could make this work? On her way to the office, she bought a large peppermint tea, though she knew that it would do nothing to calm the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Will took one look at her as he entered the pitch meeting, and his brow furrowed with worry. "What's wrong?" he mouthed across the table, as the rest of the staff took their seats. Mac held up a hand, brushing aside his concern, and taking another long sip of tea.
When the meeting was over, she escaped to her office and shut the door, knowing that she had very little time before he would follow her there.
This isn't fair, Mac thought miserably, one hand pressed to her mouth. You've got to end it now, before things get too far. She took several long, deep breaths, preparing herself for what she needed to say.
But when he knocked on her door less than a minute later, she found that she just couldn't do it. How could she break his heart again? How could anyone willingly give him up?
"What's wrong?" he asked again.
"Nothing," she lied. "Nothing, I'm fine."
Will rolled his eyes, and Mac cursed the fact that he had always been able to read her so well. He gently removed the cup of tea from her hand, sniffing its contents.
"You're feeling sick?"
Mac shrugged helplessly. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "Honestly, Will—"
But he was already feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, and she couldn't resist the impulse to lean into his soothing touch. Will drew her head to his shoulder, and Mac's breath caught in her throat. She wondered if she would ever become re-accustomed to Will actively engaging her in physical contact. She didn't think so.
"You don't feel feverish," he said, his gentle fingers stroking her neck.
"Must have been something I ate," Mac replied, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be fine, I promise."
Somehow, she got through the rest of the day. It was better when she was working, when she was distracted, when she didn't have time to think.
The dreams came again that night, the same series of images. This time, Mac fought her way back to wakefulness, categorically unwilling to subject herself to another full night of torment. Still, the cold, dark hours loomed before her, menacing, and it wasn't long before she was reaching for her Blackberry. She turned on her lamp, and spent the rest of the night researching possible stories for the show.
The rest of the week continued in exactly the same way, an exhausted Mac throwing herself into her work, getting by on just an hour or two of sleep. She was soon relying on mug after mug of the strongest, vilest coffee imaginable, just to survive each day. She spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror each morning, until she was sure that she had applied enough concealer to disguise the dark circles under her eyes.
No one seemed to notice Mac's glassy, unfocused eyes, or the way that she kept stumbling over her words. No one, that is, but Will, who cast her increasingly alarmed looks every time she lost her train of thought. Somehow, she managed to keep his concern at bay, and miraculously they made it through Friday's show without incident.
The weekend brought no end to Mac's troubles, however. In fact, the time away from the office just meant that she had more empty hours to fill. She busied herself with chores as best she could, and spent the remainder of the time on her Blackberry. Then, on Sunday morning, Will called.
"Have dinner with me," he said, without preamble.
"Good morning to you too, Will," Mac teased.
"Good morning. Will you come over for dinner?"
Mac agreed, and that evening found her riding the elevator up to Will's apartment. She summoned every ounce of energy that she had, knowing that no excuses would satisfy Will tonight if she couldn't string more than two words together.
The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread reached Mac's nose before the elevator doors even parted. "Dinner smells delicious," Mac said, inhaling deeply. She presented Will with a wine bottle, and he took her coat, revealing a dress that she had changed four times before leaving home.
"I've missed your cooking," Mac confessed as they sat down, and then promptly grimaced. Whose fault is that? her inner voice taunted.
As always, Will realized what she was thinking, and he reached across the table to squeeze her hand, before deftly steering the conversation towards News Night, sounding her out on how she wanted to tackle the stories of the uprisings in the coming week.
And there he goes again, Mac thought, doing everything he can to make you feel better. A stab of guilt hit her at this, but she allowed him. Even on her worst day, a good discussion about politics and current events always brought out the best in her, and she was desperate for this evening to go well.
This line of conversation was enough to carry them all the way through dinner, into the kitchen, where she washed and he dried their dishes, and back into the living room, where they settled onto the couch with another glass of wine. When her eyes finally became too heavy to keep them open, Mac glanced reluctantly down at her watch. She almost dropped her glass when she saw the time.
"Will!" she interrupted, "It's after eleven! I've got to get home!"
Will blinked, equally surprised at how much time had passed. He stood to grab her coat, but then stopped short. "I don't think you're going anywhere tonight, Mac," he said, gesturing behind her.
Mac turned, looking out the large windows that took up one whole wall of Will's apartment. Heavy snow was plummeting from the sky, almost entirely obscuring the view of the city lights.
Mac's heart lurched. "I'm sure the cabs are still running," she tried, knowing as she said it that Will would never accept this.
He should his head, going over to the window and looking down. "The roads already look terrible. I'd feel a lot better if you just stayed."
Mac squirmed.
"I have a guest room," Will added, reading her mind once more. "I'm not suggesting any more than that. I don't want to rush things any more than you do."
Mac nodded, though her unease mounted again as he showed her the room, just across the hall from his own. He handed her a towel and a new toothbrush.
"Need anything else?" he asked.
"Can I borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?" Mac asked, feigning nonchalance. Will eyed her strangely, but he crossed the hall to his room and found one, tossing it to her.
"Since when do you wear anything to bed?" he asked her.
"It's February, it's cold," she said, but she couldn't stop the blush rising in her cheeks.
Mac showered and changed before climbing into bed, but she made no effort to turn off the light. She was not going to have the dreams again tonight, not with Will right across the hall. Instead, she reached immediately for her Blackberry, settling in for another long and sleepless night.
It was two in the morning when Will opened his door, intending to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. The pool of yellow light spilling from under Mac's door stopped him in his tracks.
Mac was sitting up in the bed, completely absorbed in her reading. So focused was she that he didn't even hear Will's soft knock, or the creak of the door opening. At the sound of his voice, though, Mac nearly jumped out of her skin.
"I saw your light on. What are you still doing up?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.
Mac's head jerked up in surprise, and as her hair fell back, Will caught sight of her face, free of makeup for the first time in days. He cursed loudly.
"When's the last time you slept?" he demanded, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.
Mac sighed deeply, regret and liberation warring within her. The last thing she wanted was to add another weight to Will's shoulders, but it had been absolutely exhausting maintaining this façade for him, and she could not have kept it going much longer.
"What's today? Sunday night, I think," she answered truthfully.
Will cursed again, shooting her an exasperated look. "Why didn't you tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, Will rounded the bed, sitting up against the headboard on the left side.
"Will, come on now," Mac protested, her heart racing.
"No arguments," Will said firmly. "I can't have my EP letting me go off the rails because she hasn't slept in over a week. Come on." He propped a couple pillows behind him and lay back, opening his arms for her.
Mac shot him one last pleading look, but Will would not be moved. She reached over to flick off the light, and then slowly, very slowly, she rolled over onto her stomach, inching slightly down the bed. Obeying old muscle memory more than anything else, she brought her bent arms below her chest, and tucked her head beneath Will's chin. Will wrapped his arms snugly around her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Pleasure, guilt, and overwhelming relief surged through Mac's veins once more, and she could have wept. She swallowed hard, trying to contain the rush of emotions, but she couldn't stifle a whimper, and then a shudder that shook her whole body. When she had finally stopped shaking, Mac went rigid in his arms.
There was a long pause, just long enough that Mac thought Will might let that one go as well. "What are you so afraid of?" Will whispered at last.
Mac didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Where could she possibly start? "I'm just trying really hard not to screw this up," she answered lamely, her voice quavering dangerously.
Will's arms wrapped themselves more tightly around her, and Mac shuddered again in the cocoon. "Relax," Will whispered, more insistently. "It's been less than a week. Let's give this a fair chance before we decide that it's not going to work, okay?"
"Okay," Mac whispered, almost inaudibly. Will kissed her hair again, and she buried her face in his chest, taking long, deep breaths. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension began to drain from her body, and she drifted off into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
When Mac woke once more, it was to the soothing feeling of Will's fingers stroking through her hair. Mac didn't open her eyes right away, wanting to hold onto this moment for just a few seconds longer.
"What time is it?" she mumbled into Will's shirt.
"It's 10:30," came Will's amused voice. "I didn't want to wake you, but we need to be at work in half an hour."
Mac's eyes shot open, and she tried to push herself up to look at the clock, but Will's arms still held her fast. After a moment's struggle, she lay her head back on his chest.
"I slept for more than eight hours?" she asked, bewildered. She angled herself so she could see Will's face. He nodded. "I haven't done that in three years." Then, a lump rose in her throat. She swallowed. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?" she asked.
"Not much," Will admitted. "But it was enough. You needed this."
Mac couldn't deny that. This was exactly what she needed. She just wondered how long it could be before Will realized that it was far, far more than she deserved.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you so much for the positive response to chapter 1! As always, I love to hear any kind of feedback, so please leave a review!