Chapter Text
It was a hatchet job, Brian's article.
It was worse than a hatchet job, and the staff were scrambling to stay out of Will’s line of fire until things settled back down.
Will was loud about his displeasure. His temper was quick and explosive, and no one got the brunt of his anger more than MacKenzie in the days following the publication.
Will had gotten loud, and Mac had gotten quiet. She disappeared into her office after the rundown meetings and only came back out in the minutes before the broadcast. When the broadcast ended, she made sure to clear the hell out of the office before Will was done changing.
It was tense, and awful.
The staff skirted around both bosses, trying their best to make sure nothing else came up that might ignite Will’s rage. They collectively voted for Jim to be the one try to talk to Mac (no one was willing to talk to Will in his current state), tell her that they were all in her corner, and he knocked on her office door a couple days after the article to find her in her chair, head tipped back, eyes shut, and her mouth in a thin line.
Jim had spent enough time around Mac to know that she was hanging on by a thread, and he cleared his throat and her eyes flew open, straightening herself in her chair, and squaring her shoulders in a defensive posture before she realized it was just Jim, and relaxed a little, slumping down slightly.
“Hey, Jim,” her voice was weary, and as he came closer he noticed that her eyes were red rimmed.
Goddamn both Brian Brenner and Will McAvoy. She didn’t deserve this, and Jim’s hands tightened into fists at his side as he thought about the heat Mac was taking from Will about so many things, not just this stupid article, but so very many things, that went by unappreciated (or worse, unnoticed). She continued to take whatever Will threw at her, spine straightened, head back, eyes defiant, but there was a cost, always a cost, and it was starting to wear her down.
Jim could see it, her eyes had dimmed and her enthusiasm had flagged, and if he had to pinpoint the exact moment that happened, it would have been when Will invited Brian fucking Brenner into the newsroom. Into her newsroom.
Jim wasn't sure of all the dirty details of MacKenzie's relationship with Brian, but there had been long nights while they huddled together for warmth and safety, and stories had spilled out. There had been stories about hands a little too tight around her wrists, and a few shoves that had thrown her into the wall, or one memorable night down a set of steps. Mac always tried to soften these,
“He was just pushing me to get past me,” she'd hurry to explain. “I don't think he meant to hurt me.”
Or,
“It was just a few steps, I think I might have tripped during our fight, and anyway, he was too drunk to come to the emergency room, there would have been too many questions.”
When she would tell him about Brian, she would become someone that Jim didn't quite recognize. An image of a woman that didn't quite fit with what he knew of the woman that was in front of him. She would become defensive and cagey, twisting the blanket between her fingers as she bit down on her lip, and Jim wondered what in the hell damage Brian had done other than physical.
“I was young,” Mac would shrug. “Stupid, and anyway, it's over now. After Will and I got serious I finally saw Brian for what he really was. A manipulative, selfish, well, butthead.” She giggled a little bit, and then her face fell. “I don't know.” Her voice was small, and she started to curl in on herself, before Jim grabbed her hand in the darkness and gave it a squeeze.
“His loss,” Jim was firm. “Both of their losses.”
"What can I help you with?" Mac asked, and Jim shoved his hands in his pockets.
"We, uh, everyone, just wanted you to know that, well, the way Will's been treating you lately," Jim started, but then stopped. It sounded so stupid. We're on your side. It sounded so worthless. We won't stand up for you because we're too afraid of Will's wrath, but we appreciate that you're taking one for the team. It sounded selfish and cowardly. "I'm going to talk to him," Jim finished, deciding that was what he was going to to do.
Mac raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly.
"You don't have to throw yourself in front of Will for me, I'm a big girl," she replied, and then gave him a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the offer." She shrugged. "It'll pass. He'll get over it soon enough and things can go back to the way they were." There was something in her voice, a wistfulness that didn't allude Jim, as if the last thing she would want was for things to go back to the way they were before.
"Mac," Jim said.
"It really is fine, Jim," Mac assured him. "I'll be fine. It was a stupid article and it's over. It's fine."
Jesus, Jim wanted to say, the last thing it is is fine.
Three days after the article was published, Will answered his phone with a distracted,
“Yeah?”
“You're a real douchebag, you know that McAvoy?”
“Excuse me?” It took him a minute to place the voice. “Molly?”
“How could you do that to her?” Molly demanded.
“What are you talking about?” Will thought he knew which her Molly was referring to, but he wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve the kind of vitriol in Molly's voice.
“Brian Fucking Brenner,” Molly seethed. “You brought him in to write that article. How could you?”
“First of all,” Will said, trying to keep his temper even. “Not that it's any of your business, but I thought based on his skills and...”
“Fuck that,” Molly interrupted. “Fuck that. Do you have any idea what it was like to have her show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night asking to sleep at your apartment because she and Brian had a fight? Do you know how it feels to sit at dinner with your smart,capable friend and listen to her piece of shit boyfriend belittle her in public? Or worse, getting called down to the emergency room at three in the morning because Mac 'fell down the steps?' after a fight with him?” The words spilled out of Molly, and Will froze, painfully aware of his heart pounding against his chest.
She couldn’t be saying...there was no way.
“Wait, what?” Will reached out to grab his pack of cigarettes, but his hand was shaking too much to try to light it. If Molly was saying what he thought she might be saying, if Brian had hurt Mac, and he brought that asshole back into the office, back into her life...then...fuck.
“It took so long to get Mac to see what an absolute asshole Brian was, is, and she finally got away from him, finally, and you bring him back in to write a stupid fucking article? What is wrong with you? There are thousands of writers, Will, thousands, and you had to pick Brian? Why? To rub her mistakes in her face? To make her feel small? Are you proud of yourself?” Molly’s voice was rising, and Will winced as if her words were physically hitting him.
“No, I…” he started. “No, that’s not…I didn’t know. I had no idea that...I wouldn’t have..I never would have…” He ran a frustrated hand over his face, but his mind was racing.
Mac had never talked about Brian, not really (not until the morning she sat Will down and told him that she had slept with Brian. Will hadn’t listened to the rest, hadn’t listened to her try to explain). There were a few comments, here and there, that had made Will pause, but he hadn’t pushed her, and Mac hadn’t offered up more details.
And the truth was, although he wouldn’t admit this to one of Mac’s oldest friends, he wasn’t sure why he had brought Brian in (which wasn’t quite true. When he was being brutally honest with himself he knew that he brought Brian in to punish Mac).
“I thought more of you, Will,” Molly said, her voice softening. “I really did. I know she hurt you, but I never thought you’d go this low.”
“Molly,” he tried again, but she had already hung up.
He didn’t understand. He needed to understand.
He stood up from his chair so fast that he nearly tipped it over, and he threw open his door and moved towards Mac’s office. He knocked twice, hard, but didn’t wait for a reply as he barged in.
“Mac,” he said, and then he took a good, hard look at her. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked sad, and he had done that to her. That was on him.
“Yes, Will?” She asked, bracing herself, and it was his turn to feel small. And now that he was here, in front of her, the words didn’t want to come (he pushed aside the thought, unwelcome and cowardly, more than the words wouldn’t come, he didn’t really want to know. He didn’t want to have to confront it, make it real).
“I think we should move the unemployment statistics to the C block,” he chickened out, and she narrowed her eyes in slight confusion, but then nodded.
“Okay,” she said easily. “We’ll move it. Is that all?”
"Yeah," he said, and she turned her chair away, effectively dismissing him.
Oh, he had screwed up. Big time. Fuck.
The broadcast went fine. Not their best showing, but as good as it could have gone considering his mind was no where near the show.
It was his turn to rush out of the office as soon as they went off the air, not stopping to talk to anyone (although it probably didn't matter. It had not escaped his attention that no one had said an unnecessary word to him in days.)
Lonny drove him home in silence, and Will mumbled a goodbye as he slid out of the backseat and walked into his building.
Upstairs, Will grabbed a bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes and made himself comfortable on the chaise lounge on his balcony.
It was going to be a long night.
He didn’t bother with a glass, tipping the bottle back and taking a long sip. It was good scotch, smooth, and it hardly burned going down. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
Brian had hurt her.
Will had gathered that it was not a healthy relationship, but he had never thought that Brian had been abusive.
No, that wasn’t true, a little voice said. He had suspected that Brian might be verbally abusive, but he hadn’t wanted to admit that to himself. He hadn’t wanted to put in words his suspicions, voice his fear.
He hadn't even allowed himself to think that it might be more than words.
But Molly had all but confirmed it.
And he brought Brian back.