The day passed quickly, and Mac was tired by the end of the evening, but it was a good tired, a feeling of having worked hard and produced a show that made her proud. She had no sooner stepped foot in her apartment after work that night when her phone rang. Mac smiled when she saw Will's name.
"Miss me already?" she felt good enough to tease. Her smile widened when he chuckled in return.
"Are you home yet?" Will asked.
"Just walked in the door," she said, balancing her phone under her chin as she juggled her purse and her coat and shut the door behind her. "What's up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely," he said simply.
Mac's heart swelled in her chest. Could he be any more perfect? She was the luckiest woman who had ever lived. "I'm here," she repeated, unable to say any more without choking up.
"Have a good night," Will said, ending the call. Coming from anyone else, this would have been a mindless pleasantry, but coming from Will, and coming on the heels of the night they had just shared, Mac saw it plainly for the gentle prodding that he intended. The warmth that had filled her from the sound of his voice stayed with her as she climbed into bed a little while later, and it carried her off into another blissful night's rest.
The next morning, Will initiated another new routine. He arrived in the newsroom early that day, and found Mac where he knew she would be – in her office, already poring over her notes. Mac smiled when she saw him, but Will said nothing, merely rounding her desk and taking her hands in his. He tugged her to her feet and into a long hug, burying his face in her neck. He inhaled deeply, his warm breath tickling her skin.
Mac could never quite decide whether this gesture was meant for his benefit or her own, but she could almost feel her equilibrium leveling out as she stood in his arms, and she came to rely on this moment of her day far more than on any cup of coffee she had ever tasted. Will never uttered a single word until he had pulled away from her, but Mac hoped that the moment brought him even a fraction of the peace that it gave her.
Despite working thirty feet apart for the better part of a year, Will and Mac had to get used to being around each other again, to talking about themselves and their lives, and not just what story to lead with that night. They began to take their lunches together, in the privacy of Will's office, feeling each other out on the new boundaries of their relationship.
In an awkward, stilted conversation that had her wringing her hands nervously until he grabbed them and held them still, Mac confided to Will that she was afraid of things between them accelerating any further for now. What had happened between them on that snowy Sunday night had been absolutely unavoidable, given the circumstances, but anything more, even kissing him, was not something she was ready for. Mac couldn't put it into words, but Will seemed to understand anyway, that if they renewed their physical relationship now, if she let herself become re-accustomed to the pleasure they had once shared, and it didn't work out, she might actually not recover.
Will was so understanding that it actually hurt. He agreed without question, content to let Mac set the pace of their relationship for the time being. She was still uneasy, but Will kept her laughing and smiling so much when they were together that she forgot, most of the time, to worry about the future. Whenever Mac was alone, however, she couldn't help but wonder when the universe would realize she was utterly unworthy of this much happiness, and her streak of good luck would simply run out.
In the weeks that followed, Will and Mac settled into an easy, comfortable rhythm of lunches, work, and casual touches. They looked even more forward to the weekends, spending long evenings at Will's apartment, even if it were for nothing more than Chinese takeout, a movie, an absurdly cutthroat game of Scrabble. Mac lived for the times when they were curled up on opposite sides of the couch, waiting breathlessly for the moment when Will would inevitably reach over and pull her up against his side, his palm never leaving its place on her thigh.
And always, every night without fail, Will called Mac at bedtime, just to say goodnight.
Then, one Friday in mid-March, Will unexpectedly decided to alter this rhythm. After pulling back from their morning hug, he presented Mac with an envelope. She opened it suspiciously, revealing two tickets, prime seats, for the Saturday evening production of The Phantom of the Opera.
Mac's heart leapt and sank and clenched in her chest, completing an entire gymnastics circuit all in the span of just a few seconds. "Will, I can't accept these," she protested, her throat suddenly dry.
"Sure you can," Will cajoled, smiling at her. "And I've made us dinner reservations too."
Mac didn't need to ask where. She knew that the following evening would find them at her very favourite restaurant, sitting at their table, and she wished she could put into words for him why it was all just too much.
Mac had not allowed herself to return here even once since she and Will had broken up, and the torrent of memories that came flooding back as he held the door open for her was overwhelming. Will had brought her here to celebrate nearly every major occasion during their two years together, and a great many other times 'just because'. Every mouth-watering bite was just as perfect as she remembered it, and she blushed deeply every time another moan escaped her lips, making Will smile ever more broadly.
They walked the familiar path to the theatre hand in hand, arriving with only minutes to spare before the curtain rose. Settling into their seats, instinct would have had Mac slipping her arm through Will's, as they had done a hundred times before, but she held herself still, needing Will to make the first move. He did nothing at first, and Mac soon turned her attention to the action beginning to unfold onstage. Then, timed perfectly to coincide with the first triumphant chords of the overture, Will slid his arm around her. As the chandelier came alight and started to rise above them, Will's thumb began to stroke her back, teasing at the edge of fabric below her bare shoulder blade. Mac's skin erupted in goosebumps, and they didn't fade until the lights came back on at intermission.
In the show's second half, just at the moment where Mac's heart always broke into a million pieces, Will's hand found hers in the darkness, and he squeezed. Mac squeezed back, and though she had seen this musical dozens of times, she cried harder than ever before. Will was kind enough, after the show, to pretend not to notice her tears.
Lying in bed that night, Mac squirmed as wave after wave of emotion washed over her, too many and too complicated to catalogue. Her heart clenched painfully, as she thought about the lengths Will had gone to – would always go to – to create the perfect evening for her. She thought about his gentleness and his patience, about how he always seemed to know just the right thing to say to calm her down.
Tonight had been perfect, there was no other word for it. It felt as if they had taken a giant step back in time, back to before Mac had made the biggest, stupidest mistake of her life. Will was acting as if none of it had ever happened, but Mac simply couldn't do that. Not a day – not a minute – went by when she wasn't reminded of the fact that Will deserved far better than the woman who had already broken his heart.
There's nothing I can do to make it up to him, Mac thought miserably. But as she drifted off to sleep that night, she knew that she was going to have to try.
She started with small things, bringing homemade cookies in her lunch so she could share them with Will, wearing the skirt she knew was his favourite, because of the tempting glimpse it gave of her calves as she walked. These gestures made him smile, but they were not nearly enough to atone for her transgressions. Then, on Friday, Will proposed another spaghetti dinner at his apartment, and she leapt at her chance.
"Actually," she said, a little too brightly, "I thought it might be nice if you came over to my place for a change."
Will agreed, but by the next evening, Mac was regretting ever opening her big mouth. An enormous pot of water boiled away on the stove before her, and she raked a shaky hand through her ponytail for the umpteenth time, but there was simply no way around it. These lobsters were not going to cook themselves.
Taking a deep breath, Mac seized them up before she could change her mind and dropped them into the pot, slamming the lid down after them. Mac's whole body writhed squeamishly. She didn't mind eating crustaceans, but having to actually touch anything fresh out of the ocean was about the most repulsive thing she could think of.
Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Mac turned her frazzled attention back to the mushroom risotto simmering away on the other side of the stove. She wondered, not for the first time, how Will made it all look so easy.
Mac's heart nearly stopped a few minutes later, when the sound of the buzzer announced Will's arrival. She gazed down at her jeans and t-shirt in dismay, and tried to smooth down her hair, but there was no time to do anything about any of it now. Hurrying to let him in, Mac let out a long string of curses that would have impressed even Will, but by the time she opened the door to greet him, she had a smile plastered on her face.
"Hi, you're early," Mac babbled, flustered. "Come on in, dinner's not quite ready yet, I've got to get back to the kitchen." She turned and fled back to the stove.
"You're cooking?" called Will, closing the door behind him.
"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Mac said drily. "I can cook, Will."
"I know you can," he said, halting in the doorway to the kitchen. "Is that lobster?"
They were soon seated down to their meal. Will inhaled deeply, bending low over his plate. He hummed with pleasure. "My favourite," he said. "But you really didn't have to go to so much trouble."
Mac shrugged. She hardly tasted a thing during the entire meal, too preoccupied with making sure Will was enjoying himself. When they finished cleaning their plates, Will reached over and swiped her cheek with his thumb, licking the chocolate icing he found there.
Mac retreated into the kitchen to get the brownies she had baked, her cheeks burning. How long had he been staring at the smear on her face? She scrubbed at her cheek to get rid of the rest of it.
The rest of the month passed in much the same way, with Mac attempting increasingly grand gestures to make Will happy. She considered anything less than seamless perfection a miserable failure, so she was frequently left disappointed. Will continued to be his usual wonderful self and so, despite her best efforts, Mac could feel herself falling further and further behind in her quest to pay Will back a little of what she owed him.
Mac's desperation to impress him culminated, at the end of the month, in her presenting an astonished Will with tickets to see a Monster Trucks show that weekend. He stared at them blankly at first. "Are you serious?" he asked at last.
"Of course," Mac replied. "I know how much you loved it the last time you went." That had been a few months before cheated on him, and she had teased him about it, calling him a teenager masquerading in the form of a grown man. He had laughed, truly not bothered, and gone with some of the guys from work.
It was about as awful as Mac had anticipated. Will seemed to be enjoying himself, but it was hard to tell, with the loud noise making her feel like her eardrums would never recover, and the smell of the exhaust going straight to her head.
I'd almost rather be back in Afghanistan, Mac thought moodily, her headache growing. She watched, with mind-numbing boredom, as yet another vehicle sailed through the air, no more impressed than she had been when the first one had done exactly the same thing over two hours before. Will nudged her knee with his, and she forced a smile when she saw he was watching her, a strange expression on his face.
In the week that followed, Mac and Will had dinner at her apartment nearly every night, and she could see that the honeymoon period, with Will being on his best behaviour to impress her was coming to an end at last.
Every night that week, Will absently tossed his coat on the back of a chair as they entered her apartment. Mac had had Will pretty well trained when they were together before, and she had hoped he would have retained those lessons, but clearly a lifetime of the ingrained habits of bachelorhood were hard to break.
"Indian okay?" Will asked. Mac acquiesced, though she would only be picking at it, as the spices in the curry Will loved so much had never agreed with her. She waited until he was on the phone, ordering dinner, before picking up his coat and going to the closet to hang it up.
After dinner, as they sat together on the couch, the chaste kisses on the cheek or the forehead they had so far restricted themselves to kept threatening to turn into something more, and Will's fingers began to wander ever more dangerously. Mac said nothing, merely entwining her fingers with his to distract him, but she wondered, uneasily, how long he could possibly remain satisfied with things as they were now.
Mac was left at the end of each evening with a stack of dirty dishes or empty takeout containers, and as she tidied up, she tried to calculate how these minor annoyances factored in to the economy of give and take between them that she had established in her head. Even if they helped to close the gap between them a little bit, Mac knew that she would never catch up.
Though he and Mac didn't speak about it, something had obviously gotten under Will's skin in the first week of April. He was fine when they were alone together – a little quieter, maybe, a little more pensive – but at work it was another story. He snapped at the staff more frequently than he had in months, and Mac felt like she was playing a constant game of tug-of-war with him on the air, as his tenacious lines of questioning inched closer and closer to crossing the line.
It all came to a head at the end of the week, when News Night invited Sutton Wall to talk about Rick Santorum's impending entrance to the presidential race. As Mac tied her hair back and donned her headset that night, she tried to convince herself that she had nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, she knew Will and his present mood too well to believe it.
The interview went exactly according to plan at first, with Will grilling his guest on Santorum's stance on gay marriage. Then, things took an ugly turn.
"Does it bother you that Mr. Santorum thinks there's something wrong with you that should be fixed?"
Mac was on her feet in an instant. "Easy does it, Will," she warned, but he wasn't listening.
Mr. Wall was more than able to hold his own, but Mac still grimaced when Will told their guest that Santorum saw him as "a sick deviant who's threatening the fabric of society." Mac chewed her nails, watching the skirmish unfold on the screen before her, knowing that it wouldn't be long before she was going to have to intervene.
"I will say it again: Mr. Santorum is a great man who would be a great president. He has never treated me with anything but the utmost respect."
"Except for finding you disgusting," Will jibed.
"Stop. Hitting. Him," Mac implored, and there was a note of desperation in her words that finally managed to cut through Will's tirade, stopping him dead in his tracks. His face froze, and he trailed off mid-sentence. For a moment, a look that held at once pain and revulsion rippled across his face, before his eyes went blank and unseeing.
"Will! Hey, wake up!" Mac said sharply, snapping Will out of it and back to himself. He fumbled clumsily into an unplanned commercial break during which he composed himself and apologized to his guest with no prompting from her. As the commercial ended, and Will reiterated his apology on the record, Mac eased herself back into her chair, knowing that he had gotten the message.
"I'm sorry," Will said simply, as they slipped into his driver's car after the show that night. She squeezed his arm in silent acceptance, though she wished he would tell her what was on his mind.
They stopped to pick up a pizza on the way to Mac's place that evening, and Will tossed his coat over the back of the couch the minute they walked through the door.
"Mind if I check on the Bulls game?" Will asked, already reaching for the remote.
"Go ahead," Mac replied, slicing the pizza and pouring their drinks. She was carrying it all into the living room to join him when she saw Will reach into his pocket, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and inhaled, before glancing up to look over at Mac, who had frozen, watching him.
Mac blinked, too surprised to process what she was seeing. A muscle twitched slightly in her neck, but she said nothing, and Will turned his attention back to the TV as Mac set their dinner down on the coffee table and slid onto the couch beside him.
Will exhaled loudly. He drained his glass in one gulp, and butt out his cigarette in the empty glass. "I don't want us to be like this," he said, turning to face Mac.
"What are you talking about?" she asked blankly.
Will scowled. "You know I hate it when you pretend to be less intelligent than you are."
Mac crossed her arms in front of her chest, frowning with confusion and irritation. "I'm sorry, but you're going to need to give me more to go on this time."
Will looked away from her. "Recreating the Rudy scene was the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me, but for the last few weeks, you've been bending over backwards to give me everything I want, even when it makes you miserable. I just lit a cigarette in your apartment, Mac, knowing how much you loathe the smell, and you didn't say a word because you didn't want to bother me. You're being Leno."
That stung, and Mac's throat went dry. "I just want you to be happy," she said stiffly, her mind working furiously for some way to salvage this situation. "Is that so terrible?"
Will rolled his eyes. "Of course not, but you're taking it to the extreme. The Monster Trucks? You were miserable the entire night. The curry? You hate Indian food. I've left a mess behind me every night this week, and never once did you tell me to clean up after myself. Letting me smoke in here, when you know you'll be coughing for a week because of it? It's ridiculous."
Mac's eyes narrowed, and she got to her feet, coming to stand in front of him. "So you've, what, just been testing me these last couple weeks?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Will said, in that flippant way that he knew was like sandpaper on her skin. "Ever since the Monster Trucks. I wanted to see how far you'd let me take it." Then he turned serious. "I know you want to wait before we become intimate again, and I'm fine with that, but I've been pushing that this week too. I know you noticed, and you've been distracting me, but what if I didn't stop? What if I decide that we've waited long enough, and that I want to sleep with you, even though I know you're not there yet? Were you just going to let me take advantage of you and push you into something you're not ready for?
Mac glared down at Will, angrier than she had been in many months. "I would not," she growled furiously. "And you know you'd never do such a thing, not in a million years. I can't believe you'd even say that. How dare you?"
Will deflated, most of his anger evaporating in an instant. "You're right, and I'm sorry. That was way too low," he said, scrubbing his face with one hand. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."
"What about tonight?" Mac snapped, not ready to let go of her own ire. "Going off on Sutton Wall like that, was that a test too? I've told you before, mess with me however you like, but do not mess with our show!"
"No," Will said softly. "No, tonight – that was just me being a jerk. I went too far, but I did stop when you reined me in. I told you I was sorry for that."
Mac sighed, her anger fading too. "I know you did," she said, allowing herself to return to the couch, though she stayed opposite from where Will was sitting, and her arms remained folded defensively over her chest. "I don't know what you expect me to say," she said wearily.
"I expect you fight back!" Will entreated. "I expect you to smack me over the head when I'm being ridiculous. I don't ever want you to let me mess with you, at work or anywhere. You told me yourself I could have any brainless girl I want, because I'm rich and famous, but I don't want that. How could you think I would? I want you, but I don't even recognize the person you've become these last few weeks."
Will paused for air before going on. "This isn't us, it isn't who we are. We've always been at our best when we're sparring a little, you and I. You could make me quit smoking again, you've done that before. All you have to do is ask and I'll quit for you. You demand perfection from our show. Why won't you demand better from me?"
Mac listened to every word of this speech in a kind of stunned silence. She wanted, more than anything, to tell Will that he was right, that if she just stopped trying so hard, and they went back to being themselves, everything would turn out for the best. But hadn't they already tried that once before? It hadn't worked because she had felt, even then, that she was not worthy of him. Now, with the her infidelity weighing heavily on Mac's mind at all times, balancing the scales seemed next to impossible.
Will was staring at her now, plainly waiting for a response. Mac settled, reluctantly, for a half-truth that she knew would still upset him.
"You already are better," she said, not knowing where else to begin.
Will's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.
Mac sighed, searching for the words to make him understand. "This whole time, ever since we got back together, it's been almost entirely one-sided, you giving and me taking, me falling apart and you putting me back together. Every day you do one more amazing thing for me, and it reminds me over and over again how absurdly perfect you've been about absolutely everything."
"So, what's the problem?" Will asked, cautiously.
"I don't deserve it," Mac said quietly. She took a sip of her drink to avoid having to meet Will's gaze.
"Excuse me?"
Mac slammed her glass back down onto the coffee table and faced him again, needing a little indignation to get through this confession. "I feel like I'm lucky just to have you back at all, alright? I owe you so much now. If I have to sit through a stupid Monster Truck show or eat curry for a week to make it up to you even a little bit, then that's a small price to pay."
Will's jaw dropped. "That's what this is about? Are you kidding me? You don't owe me anything!"
Mac sighed tiredly. "Will—"
"No, I'm serious," he said. "We could spend forever going back and forth over who owes who—"
"Whom," Mac interjected quietly.
"What?"
"It's 'who owes whom'," Mac repeated. There was clearly no point in simply letting Will have his way anymore. If he wanted banter, then that's exactly what he was going to get.
Will rolled his eyes, exasperated. "We could spend the rest of our lives arguing over who owes what to whom," he stressed. "But what's the point? Wouldn't you rather just enjoy what we've got? I was perfectly happy with where we were up until a few weeks ago."
Mac could think of a million reasons why this was simply not enough, but she knew better than to press the issue now, when she could see that Will had had enough of talking about it. He seemed content to ignore her concerns, in the hopes that they would just go away on their own. Mac knew better, but she was certainly in no hurry to anger him into ending things, no matter how unworthy she felt.
Will had used the words "the rest of our lives", a phrase which was not lost on Mac. Knowing that this was how he saw their future both elated and terrified her. She imagined the years stretching before them, and Will continuing to give and give and give, until she had drained him, and he had absolutely nothing left. She imagined his enormous heart filling gradually with nothing more than bitter resentment, and all of it directed at her.
She sighed, sliding across the length of the couch to sit beside Will, curling her legs up beneath her and leaning her head on his arm. She reached for his hand and placed it on her knee, letting him know that their fight was over for the moment. If this was going to work, they would have to deal with it all eventually, and she'd have to tell him the whole story, without leaving anything out. For now, though, the air between them was a little clearer, and she would have to stop trying to be perfect, stop trying to even the score.
"Will?" she said, lifting her head. He looked down at her inquisitively. "I want you to quit smoking," she said firmly, smacking him lightly over the head as she reached for a cold slice of pizza.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Once again, thank you so much for reading! I've really appreciated the positive response to this story so far.
I've been very nervous about this chapter, because it's a little different from the first two, so I hope you'll let me know what you think! I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing, even once it's already been posted. I thought about posting this one as two or three separate chapters, but ultimately I decided to keep it together.