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"What do you mean, they won't pay for the flights?" The clock on the wall read 6:19 A.M. and Will, on any other day, would have remembered not to raise his voice to a producer whose cup still contained a good two-thirds of his coffee.
He was lucky Nate's only response was a wince at his volume. "You made the choice to go relatively last-minute, and between Hussein's hearing and Reagan, resources have been stretched pretty thin these past few months."
"We were supposed to leave this afternoon! When exactly do you think this decision was reached?"
"You knew as soon as I knew."
"I'll pay it." Will said decidedly.
"Look, while I appreciate that this summit could be a big break for you, and that you're willing to do anything to get ahead, corporate's not going to take your money; it'll look like all you need to do to get noticed by them is throw cash around."
"In what way exactly would that differ from reality?" Seeing the unimpressed look on Nate's face, Will changed tack. "What about my producer? The one—I forget her name, the one from New York."
"I couldn't get her on the phone in time, she lands here in an hour and we'll have to turn her back. Atlanta's looking for an AP to send."
"You're kidding."
"Will, I know that—"
"Atlanta's going to bungle this. They need Washington, they need people who know politics."
"And you need this."
"That's not—yes, but that's not the point." Will took a beat. "The producer. She lands here in an hour?"
Through the morning haze, Nate could sense a plan sharpening focus in Will's mind. "Just about, yeah. What are you thinking?"
"Call corporate and ask if they'll cover gas. My car, no rental, no checked baggage fees. We'll fucking sleep in it if that'll save them money. I'll meet her at the airport."
"You're going to be driving all day." Nate warned.
"I want this. I'm going to start packing equipment into my car. Just call." Will hesitated. "Please."
Either Nate wanted to finish his coffee in peace, or he knew Will McAvoy well enough to know pleases and thank yous were not wasted on the trivial. "I'll make the call."
"I'd like to propose something."
If MacKenzie hadn't known any better, she'd say Will looked nervous.
Charlie looked up at Will expectantly from his office chair. "Go on."
"Our ratings have been taking a hit lately—"
"You're not supposed to know that." MacKenzie interrupted, fidgeting with a ballpoint pen picked up off Charlie's desk.
"—and I think the SOCTUS vote is a good opportunity to bring them back up. We can do all the legal coverage we planned and tack on human interest: get packages of people giving opinions about the ACA—"
"You'd better be talking about qualified people." MacKenzie crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not letting anyone tell our viewers how their health care should be handled unless they're damn well educated about it."
"Focus group data shows people are more likely to keep watching if they see themselves represented on television. It would only be for a few broadcasts." To Charlie, "We can get one of our APs on it and use field producers from Atlanta and LA to get people from across the country. The only problem would be—"
"The Midwest." Charlie cut in. "Chicago's still out of commission."
"How long can it possibly take to fix water damage?" MacKenzie wondered. "It's been weeks."
"It wasn't a leaky pipe, Mac, the ceiling caved in." Charlie turned back to Will. "I'm assuming you have a solution in mind?"
Will shrugged. "I have to be back in Nebraska next week anyway. If Mac doesn't mind tagging along, we can get our footage then."
"You want to do a human interest story." Charlie said. "You."
Will nodded.
"I think it's a good idea, Charlie." Mackenzie said quietly.
"Have I missed something?" Charlie was appalled. "The last two years happened, yes?"
"It'll get the A-block for four or five nights when they start oral argumentation, depending on how much footage we get in." MacKenzie decided. "Give it to Kendra." she instructed Will. "And get Jenna to book me on your flight."
"Got it."
The second the door shut behind him, Charlie started in on Mac. "What the hell happened back there? I don't think I've ever seen you turn on an issue that quickly, especially something like this. We're supposed to be a united front with him, we've talked about this! When did you go from 'mission to civilize' to indulging him in ratings grabs?"
"Charlie—"
"You're going to let a cattle farmer in Illinois tell our viewers whether the supreme court should uphold the ACA? Or should it be a housewife, maybe that’d help with women 35-54?"
She decided it best to let Charlie’s argument run its course and gave up trying to get a word in edgewise.
“You can’t tell me you’re really okay with this—human interest stories? Slumming it as a field producer?"
MacKenzie’s teeth worried her bottom lip. “I think this is his way of saying he doesn’t want to face Nebraska alone, so yeah, I’m okay with it.”
Will stood on the arrivals level of Dulles holding a piece of paper on which he had hastily scrawled the name ‘McHale’. He’d already endured at least ten minutes of people who seemed like they might be CNN producers veering towards him, getting his hopes up, and promptly dashing them as they inevitably swerved away at the last second.
Oh, come on, it wasn’t her, was it? He couldn’t be that lucky.
She was stopped ten feet or so in front of him, head cocked to one side as she scrutinized his sign. “I think you were aiming for my name” she said to him, approaching with an outstretched hand. “Though it looks as if you got lost somewhere along the middle.” (In his hurry, his writing had switched from printing to cursive midway through the ‘H’). “I’m Mac.”
“Will McAvoy.” They shook (and Will didn’t think about how soft her skin felt under his fingers. Not even a little. She was a colleague.) “Have you checked your phone messages yet?”
“No?”
“My car’s in the lot. We’re driving to Savannah.”
If this new development fazed her, she didn’t show it. “Corporate didn’t want to pay the flights?”
“So it would seem. Was your luggage checked through?”
Mac shook her head. “I’ve just got the carry-on.” She gestured to the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “But I need something to eat. You call the hotel and press office, tell them we’ll be later than expected. I’ll grab some food. Meet me back here in fifteen.”
Will couldn’t remember ever having met anyone who spoke so quickly. “Make it ten.”
Mac paused. “Who’s paying my flight? The one I just had?”
“If you’re back here in five, I’ll write you a cheque.”
She smirked and sauntered off, and Will found a quiet(er) corner to make his calls, watching her disappear into the crowd. He shook his head and pulled out his cell phone. Five minutes and he was already falling for her; there was no telling what a whole week of working with her was going to do to him.
Mac didn’t quite manage five minutes, but it wasn’t long before she resurfaced, armed with coffee and bagels, and started talking non-stop the moment he was in earshot. “I brought lots of food, I figured that way we wouldn’t need as many stops—I’m not really sure how long the drive is, but—”
“I recognize your voice from somewhere.” Will said thoughtfully.
“I’ve been at CNN in America for four months, you might’ve—”
The gears in his head were turning. “Mac is short for MacKenzie.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re MacKenzie McHale.” Excitement creeped into Will’s voice. “You’re the one—you were in the control room in New York the day Washington couldn’t get an EP and you ran fifteen minutes of the show from four hundred miles away.”
She shrugged, offering him one of the cups of coffee, which he accepted. “It wasn’t a big deal, I just handled things until your Senior Associate got back.”
“Through headset.” He definitely remembered her now. “You’re the one who wouldn’t let me up on that stupid interview—”
“You weren’t asking the right questions!” Mac nodded her head towards the exit sign. “If we’re going to have this argument, could we possibly do it in your car?”
“Was it that hard to ask,” she said a few minutes later, as Will loaded her duffle into his trunk (he’d insisted on doing it for her). “’Why did Blackwater deny the request for equipment?’ I mean, you could hear me, but instead you kept with—you know, how long is this drive, anyway?”
Will’s train of thought hovered a second behind hers (a reaction to the speed of her speech, and, if he was honest, the length of her legs). “About nine hours.”
Mac raised her eyebrows as she got into the passenger seat. “Let’s hope we don’t hate each other, then.”
The flight to Lincoln had been uneventful and the drive was utterly quiet. The rental car had a divider between the front and back seats for privacy, something MacKenzie had never seen outside of limousines, and she wondered if it was something Will had asked for or something someone had decided he should have.
She glanced over at him, across the vacant middle seat. Neither of them were quite dressed in work clothes, and it felt strange, the feeling of being almost under-dressed around him—she felt suddenly oddly self-conscious, wearing jeans and an old t-shirt around him. Too comfortable; too familiar.
MacKenzie reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of iced tea, uncapping it and taking a sip. "Yes, fine." she said, noting his stare. "I've been converted."
Will's legal pad was balanced on his knee, marked up with ink. He looked down at it, crossed something out.
“Script?” MacKenzie questioned quietly.
Will shook his head. “Johnny asked me to do the eulogy.”
That threw her. “Why?”
“I don’t know, I figured he’d either want it himself or ask Meg. He was probably afraid I wouldn’t show otherwise.”
“Will Johnny get the farm?”
“My dad’s will probably still says my mother gets it, but yeah. Even if it’s not left to him, he’s the one that stayed.” Will stopped. “You don’t need to listen to all this shit.”
“I don’t mind.”
He gestured to his pad. “I should really—”
“I brought a dress.” Mac blurted. “A—an appropriate one. If you wanted—if you didn’t want to be alone.”
“No, thanks, Mac.” Will replied after a moment, voice soft. “It’s…”
“You don’t have to explain.” she said quickly. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have…imposed.”
“You didn’t. It’s just one of those things.”
“I figured we could switch places after we stop for lunch.” Will glanced at MacKenzie for a second before returning his eyes to the road.
“Not unless you want your car swerving into a ditch.” Mac replied.
“You can’t drive?”
“No.”
“You’re a field producer.” He turned to look at her again, this time for a little longer than could reasonably be considered safe.
“In Manhattan.” she countered, rifling through the contents of his glove box.
“If I fall asleep at the wheel, kick me.”
“I’m going to hope that was a joke.” Mac removed one of his CDs from its case and slid it into his car stereo. She pressed play, looking pleased with herself. “There. We have music. It’s a real road trip now.”
There was a long stretch of nothing but the CD after that as Will struggled to come up with something to say. It was a little absurd; that day on the air, he’d never felt more disappointed to hear the voice of his Senior AP. Three months later he was no closer to a plan (using the company directory to call her up and ask her out on the basis of the sound of her voice and her competence at producing seemed libel to send her running to HR).
“Did you bring XLRs?” She interrupted his train of thought.
Will clearly thought this was a stupid question. “Yes.”
“You’re not a producer.” She said defensively. “I wanted to make sure.”
“Nate checked it all over.”
More silence. Luckily, she seemed to find it as maddening as he did. “So, why the G8?”
Will glanced into the rear-view mirror. “I’m hoping to prove my talents aren’t limited to legal coverage.”
“Are you gunning for your own show?”
“Ever met a correspondent who wasn’t?”
“Many, many times.”
“Yeah, I mean, who wouldn’t turn down a stable job with a good salary to stay one step above freelance?”
“Stable?” Mac questioned.
“Comparatively speaking.”
“Not everybody wants roots.” Mac said. “They don’t all want white picket fences and dogs and — roots. They want to be — what’s the name for a dandelion seeds? Not the flower, the things that blow around?”
“I think they’re just called dandelion seeds.”
She laughed at him for that, and Will wasn’t sure what he’d said that had been funny, but he didn’t mind being out of the joke if she was happy. “Do you want roots?” he asked.
She was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I think I do.” MacKenzie decided. “I just haven’t found where yet.”
The hotel turned out to be a Holiday Inn.
“I know it’s not your usual standard of accommodation.” Will offered.
“I wasn’t expecting the Ritz-Carleton.” It came out a little more abrasive than she’d meant it.
“There’s nothing else close. I mean, this isn’t close, but… it’s all there is.”
“Will, it’s fine.” At that point, he could have asked her to sleep on a park bench and it would have been fine. This was about Will, and whatever he needed, and getting him through this, and—she closed her eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the image of him unconscious on the bathroom floor, mouth caked with blood. This was about that not happening again.
Will’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Something’s going on in Syria.”
MacKenzie knew this already; she’d turned off her notifications in the car so Will couldn’t hear the frequency of Jim’s messages. “Elliot and Don have it covered.”
Will looked unconvinced, but dropped the subject and carried their bags inside (she didn’t bother protesting, not anymore.) She checked them in: one room for him, one room for her, and one for the driver. She tried to remember the name Will used when he checked into hotels and wondered if he’d felt the need to use it in the Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska and she started to wonder when this had happened, when it had all gotten so much.
(The first few months after she moved from New York to Washington, they went out on assignment three or four times, and needed two hotel rooms: one for them, and one for the guy in accounting who went over expense reports. C’mon, Mac. Will had said. HR will be thrilled. Half the cost to send us out of town when they find out).
“Tomorrow,” MacKenzie said, holding open the door to her room so he could deposit her bag. “You said it’d be over by eleven, right?”
“The service, yeah. There’s a thing at the house afterwards.”
“How long is the drive from here to the church?”
“I think it’s about an hour. I’m not sure; this wasn’t here the last time I was.”
“So, in the morning, we’ll drive out and you go to the church and I’ll—” Hand around the town where you grew up while you give a eulogy for the man who used to hit you didn’t seem the right thing to say. “—get some work done.” she finished lamely. “And when you’re ready, we can head to—” She glanced at the first stop on the sheet Jim had given them. “Denison, and then Topeka, and we’ll do the interviews Kendra set up.” MacKenzie like plans, liked saying things out loud and having them written down. Liked knowing what was going to happen next.
“You can stay here, if you want.” Will offered. “When I’m done at the house, we could come back and get you.”
“Don’t be stupid, there’s no reason to lose two hours coming back to get me and making up the distance. I’ll survive.”
“So, what made you want to cover the G8?”
“I’m trying to break into political coverage." Mac said. "I have some contacts going so it seemed like a good way to start.”
“Friends in high places.” Will commented.
“I didn’t say a diplomat father was completely useless.”
“Why New York, then? If you’re looking to do politics?”
Mac looked out her window, turning away from him. Traffic had lessened significantly somewhere around the North Carolina border and all she could see were fields. “Relationship choice.” she said, deliberately casual.
“Oh.” Will kept his voice as neutral as he could manage, heart sinking.
“I asked him if we were serious enough for me to move — I was in London — and he said yes. He dumped me three weeks after I got to New York.” Her gaze shifted to her hands.
Will’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Asshole.”
“He’s really not, he’s just… maybe he is a little bit.” She gnawed on her lip, fingers toying with her CNN lanyard.
Will sensed the need for a change of subject. “Do you want to talk about what we’re going to cover?” he hedged.
“Sure.” She produced a pad and pen, clearly grateful for the distraction. “Obviously we want to focus on the Middle East and nuclear proliferation. We can call the highlights for Africa and HIV but that’s not where most of our attention should be going.”
Will nodded, taking one hand off the wheel and glancing down at the summit’s schedule in her lap. “What about sustainability?”
Mac sighed. “I would be more than happy to talk about sustainability if I thought somebody was going to do something about it. I’ve seen an advanced copy of the development press release, it’s all ‘promoting’ and ‘encouraging’ and no solid policy.”
“Also, it doesn’t rate well.” He was secretly impressed; advanced copies of those things didn’t just float around.
“That’s not why I don’t want to cover it.”
“If you say so.”
“I don’t care about the ratings, I care about doing a good show. But it would be nice if the segments we do actually get on the air.”
“You’re the boss.” By now he was just trying to rile her up. She was cute, like this.
“Fine.” She glared at him. “We’ll add an environmental segment and you can watch it end up on the cutting room floor of every primetime rundown and then every dayside one.”
“So you can lord it over me later?”
“Mostly.” She made a few notes. “Would it be absolutely terrible if I ate in your car?”
“We’ll stop for lunch at the next exit.”
“I mean would it be terrible, would the world col—”
“You are not eating in my car.”
MacKenzie heard Will knocking on her door. “Mac? It’s almost nine, you ready?”
“Yeah, give me a second. Come in.” She pushed open the door for him before going into the bathroom. Outside the door, her phone began to ring. “Could you get that, please? It’s in my bag.” She could feel scuffling outside the door and zipper on her bag as she washed her hands.
Will answered just as she exited the bathroom. “It’s Don.”
The hand-off of the phone was awkward; she was frazzled and there was a misstep, a stumble, and Will ended up half-catching her in his arms. “Sorry,” she murmured before righting herself, turning away from him to give the call some illusion of privacy (not that it mattered—not really—but she didn’t want him to have to worry about work today). “Hey Don… Yeah, but NAACP is running long so you’ll have to cut—Yes. Keep Rios, dump Rowland. Okay. Keep me updated. Just me.” She hung up.
“Everything all right on the home front?” Will asked.
MacKenzie smiled. “They can do without you for a day, you know.” Pause. “A car bomb went off in Damascus.”
“Do we think it’s an anniversary thing?”
“We don’t have to think about it at all.” MacKenzie said firmly. “Not until we get back.”
He was only half paying attention, looking at something blocked from her line of sight.
“What is it?” she asked, moving in closer to him, following his line of sight.
“It’s nothing.” Will said quickly, guiltily. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
MacKenzie flinched when she saw what he was looking at—a photograph tucked into a pocket of her duffel bag, no doubt uncovered in his search for her phone. Two faces filled the image—Jim with his arm slung around the shoulder of a blonde boy in uniform. They were both laughing at something, the person behind the camera. A sliver of pink tongue was poking out of the kid’s mouth.
“I didn’t know that was there.” She admitted quietly. “I haven’t—I haven’t used this bag since I came back.” It felt insufficient as an explanation. “He was a friend.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yeah, well.” Mac looked down. “Anyway, I’m ready to go.”
Will held the door open for her. “How old?”
“Nineteen.” MacKenzie said. “In the picture.”, though she wasn’t sure that was what he was asking.
He didn’t make any move towards the elevators. “You’re wearing the dress.” It was blue, veering into black, nicer than what she’d wear to work.
“Yeah, I mean, I know you don’t want me there and that’s fine, I just brought it before I asked—and I pack lightly, so…”
“I didn’t think you still had that dress.” (She’d kept it for years, though not worn; it was still too mapped with memories of being peeled off her as she laughed, clumsy fingers pushing fabric off her shoulders, his hand teasing between her thighs.)
“I had it in storage for while.” she said, brushing past him towards the elevators.
He was watching her iced tea slowly dilute as the ice cubes disappeared (out of the corner of his eye. Mostly, he was watching her.) They were lingering over their meal for longer than they ought, but he found he just couldn’t help himself.
“This is disgusting.” Mac proclaimed, indicating her drink. “Tea is supposed to be hot and nowhere near this sweet.”
“Welcome to the South.” Will quipped.
“It’s an abomination. I’m moving back to England.” She pushed the offending glass to the opposite end of the table. “How are you on the Middle East, by the way? I forgot to ask earlier. I mean, how much do you know?”
“About as much as I know about anything that isn’t legal coverage.” A lie, for the most part; his skills were undeniable domestic — in the White House, he’d had a tendency to farm out foreign policy sections of speeches to his staff. “What about you?”
She arched an eyebrow. “My dissertation was on Pakistan-US relations.”
Will didn’t know what to say to that. So he said nothing, casting his glance around the diner, until his gaze landed on the bushes outside. “Did you know that lilac bushes only bloom a few weeks a year?” It was blurted and he felt silly as soon as he said it, but honestly, he had half-hoped to come up with something that would impress her, make him seem knowledgeable. He was off-balance with her — he’d been in meetings with politicians more intelligent than he could ever hope to be, but there was something about her that threw him — wide-eyed earnestness met scathing directness met an ability to talk about politics with a level of nuance that would have impressed his former colleagues.
“I didn’t know that.” she said thoughtfully. “That’s nice.”
It was the first thing he’d said so far that she seemed to think was worth hanging onto, and Will felt like it didn’t matter for the rest of his life if another good thing happened, so long as she kept looking at him like that.
“Are they blooming now?” Mac asked him.
“Nah. We came at the wrong time.”
Mac’s cellphone lit up, and, barely glancing down, she sent the call to voicemail.
“You can answer, if you need to.” Will said.
“I don’t.”
“It could be work.”
“It’s not.”
“I meant — ”
“Can we talk about something else?” she said sharply.
“Okay.” Will paused to take one of her french fries, ignoring the unimpressed look she gave him. The salt burned his tongue. “Any idea why Darrell Ferguson hates my guts?”
“The reporter?”
“Is there a secret, second Darrell Ferguson?”
“Why do you think he hates your guts?”
“I saw him storming out of an argument in Nate’s office when he found out I was going to Savannah. Didn’t look very pleased with me.”
“He’s CNN’s White House correspondent and Nate sent a legal correspondent and a no-name field producer to the G8 even though he’s been covering politics for nine years?”
“He feels like he got gypped?”
“He did get gypped.”
“You don’t seem broken up about it.”
Mac shrugged. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, but I don’t think a Peabody winner is in danger of being usurped by the likes of me.” She took a sip of water. “At least, not yet.”
Mac did sit in the car through the service. The church was picturesque, if rundown, perched at the top of a hill. It bordered a steep cemetery; MacKenzie wondered if Will’s mother was buried there.
The car door opened. Will. “There’s a thing at the house.” he said as he climbed in, bits of melting snow clinging to his shoes and staining the car’s carpet. “I’m just going to go for a few minutes and then we can head to Denison.”
“Sounds good.”
The drive was quiet until, on Mac’s left, they came upon an old, beaten-down farmhouse. “That’s it, isn’t it?” MacKenzie asked. Will gave the barest nod of acknowledgment. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew exactly, she hadn’t even really been looking, eyes fixed instead on Will for some kind of clue to what was going through his head.
The car pulled into the drive. “So,” Will said. “You’re okay to just sit in the—no, this is fucking ridiculous Mac, come inside.”
“I don’t mind waiting.” she assured him, but Will was already opening her door. He led her by the elbow to the doorstep, then stopped.
“I don’t have to be here if you don’t want me.” MacKenzie said. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not that.” Will said. “Nina and I broke up. So don’t—mention her or anything.”
“When?” MacKenzie asked, surprised. “Why?”
Will raised his eyebrows. “A few weeks ago, and, does that really require much of an explanation?”
“I suppose not.” MacKenzie conceded as he opened the door. A small group had already gathered inside (the driver had gotten a little lost on the way, making them slightly late). The interior was shabby and smelled of beer—MacKenzie wasn’t sure if that was ever-present or due to the guests. A cluster of children ranging in ages from toddler to teenager huddled in a corner of the kitchen, sticking together the way children do at adult gatherings. MacKenzie hadn’t met all of Will’s nieces and nephews before, but she noticed one was missing. “Maddie didn’t come?”
“Emma didn’t come.” Will said quietly.
“Why not?”
“She was old enough to remember the shit he did to us, I guess.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah, well, someone had to do the eulogy.”
MacKenzie’s brow furrowed and she looked at him with concern, but Will was whisked into the crowd before her thoughts could cement themselves into sentences.
They were back on the road, hours piled upon hours of driving, and somehow, Mac had managed to extricate most of his life's story without him really noticing.“ I mean, it’s not like I left politics for the salary, or status—believe me, I could have had much more of both of those if I’d stayed—hell, if I’d stayed a prosecutor—but…” Will trailed off.
“So why did you leave?”
“I was looking for… I don’t know what. But I didn’t find it in the DA’s office and I didn’t find it in the White House.”
“So journalism is what?” MacKenzie asked archly. “Your next stop?”
Will paused. “Not if it has what I’m looking for.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know.” he said dismissively.
“Yes, you do.” Mac gave him an encouraging look.
“You’d laugh.”
“Why?”
“It’s too…idealistic.”
“Ask around about me.” she said. “You’ll find I’m not one to laugh at idealism.”
“The White House burnt me out, or… disillusioned me, I guess. And I didn’t get it back when I was a prosecutor.”
“Are you looking to be re-illusioned?”
“I just want—I’m so sick of posturing. I want—for a day, I want substance over optics.”
“Politics may have been the wrong place to look for that.”
“See? You think it’s stupid.”
“I don’t, actually. Give me a little more credit than that.”
“I’m starting to think journalism wasn’t the right place either, given the people I’ve encountered so far.”
Mac looked affronted by that. “I got this job on merit.”
“I never would have expected otherwise.” Will replied, a little surprised. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
“You were just… talking about optics. Lots of people think I have this job because of my dad.”
“Your dad?”
She stared at him. “Rupert McHale?”
The car damn near went off the road. “Your father is Rupert McHale?”
“Jesus!” Something in the back seat crashed onto the floor. “I hope that wasn’t CNN property. And, yes, if nothing else, your ignorance is refreshing.” Her phone rang before he could respond. “Sorry.” Out of the corner of her eye he could see her bite her lip as she looked at the screen before declining the call. She shifted a little in her seat, obviously uncomfortable.
“Everything all right?” Will asked lightly.
Mac breathed out a sigh. “Yeah.”
He wanted badly to look at her, to she if she was okay, but the car ahead of him was trying to merge and he couldn’t, could only feel her eyes on him, had nothing to go off other than her voice.
They left the farmhouse after a quarter of an hour and made it to Denison without incident (or conversation). It had been a while since MacKenzie had had to set up her own camera, in the living room of a girl named Stacy who had been an ACA agent (a compromise between credentials and whatever the fuck it was Will wanted). Will asked his questions, Stacy answered, they got back in the car and drove. And drove.
They repeated the exercise in Topeka. Will was less charming with this interview, both on and off camera. MacKenzie was getting worried.
“Can I do anything?” she asked in a low voice as they made their way back to the car.
He have a small, tight smile. “Nah, Mac. Thanks.”
He was still quiet after that, but seemed to make an effort to be a little more affable. They stopped and had lunch on a restaurant patio, and a pleasant enough conversation during which Mac didn’t say any of the things she was thinking. She looked across the street, a series of well-kept front gardens beginning to grow. “Did you know that lilac bushes only bloom for a few weeks a year?” she asked him.
“I think I told you that.” Will replied.
MacKenzie frowned. “Are you sure?”
“No.” He wiped a paper napkin across his mouth. “I don’t remember.”
“Do we have time for another stop?”
Will glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Not really. Bathroom?”
“Just hungry. I have food with me.” Mac said casually. “You know, if somebody would let me eat in his car.”
Will groaned. “Fine. Go ahead.”
Eagerly, she reached for her purse, its contents spilling over as she opened it.
“How much food did you bring?” Will asked, amused.
She looked embarrassed. “I’ve never been on a road trip before. Do you want any of it?”
“No, thanks.” He smiled. “We should do one sometime. A road trip.”
Mac laughed. “What would you call this?”
“I mean, a real one, a fun one. You and me and no work. Just for us.” He should have stopped talking, but it was late and he'd been driving for hours and he'd left behind whatever filter he had around her some miles ago.
“Most people’s idea of a first date is a little less involved than a road trip.”
“I’m not anticipating getting any vacation time for another couple of months, I wasn’t talking first.”
“You’re optimistic.”
“Based on your smirk I’d say I have reason to be. Would you, MacKenzie McHale, like to accompany me on a non- work-related date at some point in the near future?”
She pretended to think about it, tilting her head to the side. “After much consideration, I’d say my acceptance is a definite possibility." Her speech was running together a little; she was drowsy, but trying to hide it.
“Anything I can do to make it a definite probability?”
“Hmm… More road trip?”
“That’s a shame.” Will said, indicating the sign for Savannah. “We made it.”
Mac smiled at him through sleepy eyes. “I mean, there’s always the back.”
“Oh, God.” Will groaned at the thought. “We’re staying here until you get your licence.” But he was tired, too much so to continue talking, and they drove the last few minutes in comfortable silence.
They ended up in a hotel in Des Moines for the night. Another day of interviews and they’d reach Chicago and fly home.
It was almost midnight when MacKenzie heard the knock at her door.
“Can I come in?” she heard Will ask.
She opened the door. “Yeah, yeah." She waved him in, tired. “I was just about to get changed, what’s up?”
Will crossed to the opposite side of the room, looking out her window. “Are lilacs some kind of thing here?” he asked,
“I think it’s just the right season.”
Will turned, and she could see he was holding a glass of something (Should he be drinking?) “You’ve been a Goddamn saint this week, MacKenzie, you know that?”
She didn’t know what to say. “You’ve been selfless this week,” Will continued, and MacKenzie had to stifle a laugh despite how anxious she felt, because never in the rest of her life had she imagined Will McAvoy calling her ‘selfless’.
“And that got me thinking about things.” Will moved closer.
“Will—”
“There’s a lot of shit in my head that isn’t mine.” He was so close he was almost touching her. “And sometimes, when things happen, you think it was your fault when it wasn’t.”
It took her a second, to suss out his meaning. Was he talking about Brian? That was her fault. And then she remembered what Will had said to her that night. There’s only one person that’s supposed to matter from, and when he tells you you’re bad, then that’s true forever.
She didn’t know, MacKenzie thought, what it was to wrongly assume guilt. All of her problems had been of her own making. “Will, what are you—”
“You’ve been selfless for a long time, MacKenzie.” His hand caught her arm, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist, rubbing gently.
“I was just...” She didn’t have an answer to that, didn’t know how to explain how selfish it had felt to come back. She was distracted by his touch, everything felt too warm and too real.
“I wasn’t mad at you, Mac.” Will’s voice was soft. “Or, maybe I was. At first. It didn’t feel like me, that did some of those things, and I know that it was and it’s not an excuse, but being here I just think… what if I hadn’t had him hanging over me all my life?”
Mac just looked at him.
“I didn’t ever stop loving you.” Will said, and Mac felt like she was in free fall. “It was just… things… I should have known better.” He stopped speaking, looking at her expectantly.
“I—” She took a breath. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”
“I don’t know if there’s a supposed to.” Will looked anxious.
“I—I love you, of course I love you, you must have known that already. And I....” She trailed off as the hand on her wrist moved, bringing her fingers up to his lips.
“I had… hoped.” Will said. “But between Brian and Nina and all the other shit I couldn’t tell—some things felt irretrievable.”
She looked at him and said “Billy,” imploringly and freed her wrist and put her arms around him. She stretched up to bring her lips to his, once, gently.
And then went back (because when, ever, had once been enough for MacKenzie McHale?), letting him take the lead, his hand gently coming to cup the back of her head. He tasted a little like whiskey and a little like cigarettes (that one, she wasn’t particularly pleased about) but mostly he tasted like all of the things she’d forgotten about him and about how this felt.
MacKenzie broke the kiss, giggling, when the surprise of her tongue made him stumble a little. He skimmed his hands down the length of her back, settling them at her hips.
“Is this our do-over?” she whispered, rubbing the fingers of one hand in slow circles against his shoulder.
“No do-over.” Will answered, pulling her closer. “This is just Part Two.”
They had uprooted and rebuilt so many times, setting fire to past lives to create new ones; burning bridges and homesteads the memories of nineteen-year-old boys. But some things refuse to burn, some plants grow back more insistent, stubborn to carry on, and it was that thought that anchored MacKenzie as Will leaned in to kiss her again—he had roots in her body that twisted from her heart to the tips of her fingers. Even when they were apart, he had never truly left.
Outside, the lilac bushes were in full bloom.