Work Text:
October 2014
MacKenzie isn’t exactly sure what to expect for her anniversary. In the past two years, she’s gone from being on poor terms with Will to being his wife and their lives have become completely entwined. They’d opted to move into his apartment but remodeled to better accommodate her and now all the sleek lines and harsh angles have been softened by her touches here and there. It really feels like a mix of the two of them instead of just that she’s living in his space and she couldn’t be happier.
Their anniversary is a Sunday and MacKenzie lets the sun wake her up instead of an alarm, stretching slowly and rolling over to see a tray set on the table next to the bed with a single rose and a big breakfast. There’s also an envelope with Mrs. McAvoy written across it in the bold, slanted hand that’s Will’s trademark. She grins and reaches for the envelope first, opening it up and smoothing out a page of heavy linen paper. The handwriting is fine, beautiful, and MacKenzie can tell he took his time with the penmanship.
MacKenzie bites her lip a little and tries not to cry. While she loves being spoiled and is never going to turn down a box from Tiffany or a new pair of Louboutins, it’s things like this that Will does that she’s never had from another man. She’s never had a man write her a love letter that was eloquent without being rehearsed and she’s damn sure never had him bring it to her in bed with breakfast and present it as what he thought was the most important part of her anniversary gift.MacKenzie -
This is only the first of many presents you’ll receive today but I think this is the most important. I researched what a man is supposed to get his wife on their first anniversary and was told that the traditional gift is paper. I could have copped out and bought you stationery or just said forget it and smothered you in diamonds (those will come later, I promise) but I decided that the best thing I could possibly give you would be my words.
For so long, I was unable to tell you how I felt. I held in the feelings I had for you, unwilling to admit that even though you hurt me deeply that I still loved you. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped aching for you and wishing that I had you even though you hurt me. I told you once when I was high and then I conveniently was unable to mention it again - until I thought I was going to lose you.
I want you to know that I am never, ever going to make you have to guess how I feel about you ever again. I am going to tell you that I love you every day in every way that I know how to say it. I am going to make sure that my actions and my words correspond, because so many times in our lives we have had one without the other; I know we both have our damage and I don’t want to contribute to it anymore.
I love you. There is no end to that, it just is. It’s a fact, a law of nature, and you are the center of my universe. Everything I do, in some way, is for you. There is nothing that could happen that would make me walk away again and I want you to know that there’s nobody, no single person on this planet who is made to fit me the way that you fit me. You are my Galatea and, unlike that myth, there’s no catch. You’re a real woman with real flaws and I love you because of them, not in spite of them.
You are beautiful, sensual and passionate about things I couldn’t even begin to understand. There’s nobody sexier on this planet than you, even if you’re in your glasses and pajamas and it’s three in the morning and we both have colds (Admittedly, there’s times I’m probably sexier than at that moment but this letter isn’t about me.) I love you. I can’t say that enough because, in the end, that’s what this is all about.
I want you to know this letter isn’t edited. I did copy it over a few times to ensure there weren’t any mistakes but I wanted you to have something genuine and honest, something that was me rambling and pouring out my heart instead of reading from the fucking teleprompter. The world gets Will McAvoy in Armani without a single stumble. I don’t want you to have what I give them. I want you to have the side of me that nobody else gets to see - because you share with me the most intimate parts of yourself and I should do you the same courtesy.
There is nobody in this world who is more precious to me than you, my wife, and I want you to know it. I may not always be the best at telling you. I can guarantee I’m going to fuck it up more often than not but I love you. I need you. You own me. Never forget that. The next time that I hurt you, and I know I will even though I don’t mean to and don’t want to, please remember that the whole of me belongs to you. There is no me without you.
Love always,
Will.
She carefully folds the letter back up and tucks it into the envelope, wanting to keep it safe, before she crawls out of bed and heads into the kitchen. Will’s standing at the bar, drinking his coffee, and he leers a little, a grin tilting up the corners of his mouth.
“Well, well, Mrs. McAvoy. Did we lose our pants this morning?” Normally MacKenzie would laugh at this and yeah, she has a bad habit of walking around half naked but she’s married and in her own apartment so who gives a fuck? This morning, though, she ignores that in favor of crossing over to him and plucking the coffee mug from his hand so she can wrap her arms around him. She tips her face up and kisses him, slow and deep and full of all the passion and love she has for him; there’s nobody she’s ever loved more than Will.
“Happy anniversary,” she whispers, pulling away just enough to speak. Her lips still brush against his as she speaks and he tips his head to nuzzle her nose with his. “I love you.” His hands thread in her hair and his eyes are bright.
“So you liked the letter? You didn’t think it was cheesy?”
She kisses him before he can get any more words out and she feels like that expresses her opinion better than a thank you.