The Real Don Quixote Ch. 3 Part II: Fathers and Sons
Will looked up at the tap on his door. Charlie was standing there, Bourbon in hand and looking at Will with raised eyebrows.
"What are you doing here?" Charlie demanded. Will looked back at him, confused. Taking a dramatic sigh and rolling his eyes, his boss took another large gulp of his drink and flopped down into the chair in front Will's desk. He pointed his finger accusingly at Will. "I'll tell you what you're doing here: being an idiot!"
"I don't understand." Will spoke slowly, wondering if Charlie had actually managed to get drunk – something he had always presumed had just never been an issue for the guy; it was just one of those strange things in life, like people who are immune to certain diseases.
A look similar to the one that had crossed Charlie's face the day that Will had stubbornly announced he was going to get his contract changed – that day – the day she had come back into his life.
"If you were looking for the right moment to pull yourself out of the hole - tonight was it!" Ah. It dawned on him what Charlie was referring to; and Charlie immediately spotted the resigned expression on Will's face. But this only made him more determined, "She got the whole team to re-enact your crazy film for you, which – thank the Lord – you managed to display some form of human emotion for – that hug? That moment – that was when you should have made your move! It's Valentine's day for Christ sakes! They're all down there at that bar right now! Stop being a pussy, you coward!"
Frustrated to the point of shouting, Will leaned over and seized the glass out of Charlie's hand and put it a safe distance from the man before running his fingers through his hair a couple of times and getting up jerkily to go and stare out of the window.
He knew that Charlie was just trying to help; and he knew that the older man cared deeply, not just about his happiness, but also about Mackenzie's – and he was glad of that. He was grateful to Charlie for this in the same way that he was silently grateful to Jim; grateful that she had people who were looking out for her whilst he kept hurting her as he tried to figure out how, or if, to forgive her.
Because he could not forgive her just yet, even if he might want to. Maybe he never would, he didn't know. Every time her name popped into his head one of two things would happen. Either a memory of the two of them in happier times would float across his mind and he would feel warm inside for a couple of minutes before the bitterness that those times were gone overtook him; or the perpetual images of her and Brian in the bedroom, or up against a wall, or on the sofa would pound themselves against the inside of his skull. It was like having a boxing match going on in his head.
Every so often though, a third process would occur. One in which his mind created (to his great annoyance) scenarios involving himself and Mac which had never, and may never, come to pass.
He pinched his nose between his fingers as such images started to flood into his mind again.
"I – Charlie, I wish I could, but I can't."
Now Charlie was the one looking confused. "Can't what, William?"
Will turned around, and Charlie nearly recoiled at the look of guttural devastation on the man's face. He looked as though he might cry.
"I can't forgive Mac!" He spread his arms, as though trying to ensnare a solution in the space in front of him, or exorcise all the negative feelings he held for Mac into this area. Charlie tilted his head, sympathy for Will beginning to seep into his veins. "I – God! I wish I could Charlie, I really do! There is no one who would rather things could go back to the way they were than I do, but that's never going to work, because every time I shut my eyes –"
He reeled off staring, lost into the space before him, as Charlie looked up at him, at a loss for how to react. He had thought Will was maybe just being proud, or stubborn; he knew (obviously) that he had been hurt, but apparently he had underestimated just how much.
Not able to find any words, Charlie got up and took Will's arm, guiding him into one of the chairs by the meeting table. Immediately Will put his head in his hands, letting out a soft moan. Drawing up the chair next to him, Charlie produced a hip flask from his pocket and forced it into Will's hands.
"Now listen to me, and listen good. I know what love is like and believe me when I say that you two youngsters have only seen the half of it. You think you get it, but you don't. I'm not saying that she's not the reason why you're screwed up –"
"Good!" Will choked out, taking a swig from the hipflask. Charlie held up a hand, patiently, to stop him from going further.
"But as crazy as this might sound to you, she is the solution."
Will stared quietly at the bottle in his hands, processing what Charlie had said. He knew that. Really! Will knew without a shadow of a doubt that the only person who could make him truly happy was Mackenzie McHale; however, since her betrayal three years before, she was also the person who could make him truly miserable. If he could just manage to get rid of that second part…
He felt a warm pressure on his arm as Charlie grasped it reassuringly.
"I'm not saying it's going to be easy on you, or on her. But you guys seriously need to work this out. For all our sakes, not just your own!" A hint of humour had returned to Charlie's voice as he tried to cheer his friend up. Will did not seem to hear him, however.
"She's with that asshole, Wade, anyway –"
"She broke up with him tonight." Charlie said calmly. Will's head shot up and Charlie nodded, smiling slightly. He leaned back in his chair appraising the younger man, wondering how much to tell him. He settled on full disclosure, "I believe her exact words were 'leave, lose the election, go to hell'."
The ghost of a smile flickered across Will's face, and he took another slow swig from the flask. "I'll bet they were." He muttered wryly. He thought of Mac's last words to him tonight: "Happy Valentine's Day." Out of himself and Wade he seemed to have come out on top. God, why could this not just be simple?
Charlie smiled back, feeling this was as far as he was going to get tonight. Clapping a hand on Will's shoulder, he stiffly got to his feet, old age clawing at his muscles. "Come on kiddo. Come and join the others for a drink – one drink – show your face and go home and get some sleep before we have to go through all this again tomorrow.
Will sighed. Charlie was a persistent bastard. He had cut 'getting his own way' down to a fine art. In years to come historians would write about the cunning and guile of Charlie Skinner.
Heaving himself out of the chair he stumbled over to grab his blazer and his briefcase, and Charlie ushered him out of the room, a victorious grin slapped across his face.
"'Attaboy!"
Bonus points to anyone who gets the two West Wing references. I admit the first one is a little bit hazy :p