fic: MISREMEMBERED
MISREMEMBERED
the newsroom; mac/jerry; r.
"i'll get you better facts."
nb; as requested by popculturecray. so yeah this happened. notionally set post unintended consequence but no spoilers past first thing we do let's kill all the lawyers.
“This is bullshit.”
Mac pauses, looks at Jerry. Up, down, up and down. Her gaze is steady in its intensity as it rakes across him. She lets her glasses slide down her nose and returns to her reading. When she’s finished she looks up at him, expectant.
“This is bullshit.” He says again.
There’s silence, just for a second. “Let’s get a drink.”
He hedges, looks to the door. “I have a bottle in my desk.”
“A bottle of what?”
“Wine,” he says, as though the answer was obvious. He frowns again. “Objection?”
Mackenzie scoffs, “It’ll do.” She says. “Go and get it, then.”
A bottle of wine split between journalists hardly counts as drinking, so goes the received wisdom. And to an extent, it’s true - neither Mackenzie nor Jerry feel drunk. Their vowels are sharp, even as he drains the dregs.
“Will has scotch.”
“I don’t-“
“Go to Will’s office,” she instructs, slowly, “and get his scotch.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“What?” He says. It’s out of the blue, he’s only just come back, with the half empty (never half full) bottle hanging from his right hand and two glasses held in the fingers of his left. His shoulders slump when he stills in the doorway, but his eyes are bright and alert. “What?” He says again.
“Genoa. It’s not true.” Mac leans over her desk for the bottle, twists the cork out and pours two measures apiece. She shrugs simply. “It can’t be true.”
“What do I have to do to convince you?” There’s a shade of pleading in his voice. He downs half his drink, and swills the other round the glass.
“I need facts, Jerry.”
“I’ve given you the facts.”
“Better facts.”
A sigh, “Jerry,” she says in a low voice. And then she stands and rounds the desk.
“I’ll get you better facts.”
“Give it up, man!” She says, her voice raising again. Her hands fly up and an empty wine glass bounces to the floor. “It’s a good story,” she says, “but I can’t risk it. We just can’t.”
He has his throw back ready, “Don’t patronise me, Mackenzie.”
“I’m not--”
This is when he moves to kiss her, hard on the mouth. Her teeth chink against his, and she flinches. She goes to pull back but he’s braced against her, holding her into the embrace.
Her lips stay parted when he finally lets her go. She stumbles back, goes to speak and then stops. She moves towards him again, kissing him with a murmured fuck it. Her hands hook in his belt loops, pulling his hips flush to hers. In return his fingers twist into her hair and into her shirt and across her waist and down and down again until she lets out a small sound.
She breaks the contact to sit up on the desk, rucks up her skirt so he can stand between her legs. Her gaze is straight and still, and just a little distant. He’s gone quiet, too, his face buried in her neck as he drives into her once, twice, three times.
And then she says it. “This is a bad idea.”
“The worst,” he agrees. And then he comes too quickly, and he knows it’s too quickly and so does she and they both find it hard to care. His face screws up with the effort, and she holds him away from her body just a little while he stiffens and shakes.
He steps back almost immediately, turning himself at an angle so she can’t see him rearrange himself. “Mackenzie,” he says, quietly.
Mac’s standing, now, her skirt smoothed and shirt rebuttoned. A glass has smashed on the floor by her feet.
She doesn’t say anything.
The next morning he pauses in the door of her office. Mackenzie follows his gaze to the spot on her desk where they, well, yeah.
“I don’t think I wanted to do that.” He says, limply.
Her eyebrow quirks, “Shouldn’t have done it then, smuck.” Her smile’s strained at the edges of her lips and when she stands she braces herself with her feet set wide. “But it’s usually worth the risk.”
“You’re giving me Genoa because I slept with you?”
Mac’s smile loosens, the shadowed movement of tongue in cheek, “I’m giving you Genoa because you had the guts to sleep with me.” She pauses, "And also because I am your boss and the new HR rep down here's kind of, you know--"
He shakes his head, “I don’t-“
“Well I do, and the last time I checked I was your EP so you can suck it up, Sherlock.”
A beat. She is looking at him but he is looking at the floor. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
end.
the newsroom; mac/jerry; r.
"i'll get you better facts."
nb; as requested by popculturecray. so yeah this happened. notionally set post unintended consequence but no spoilers past first thing we do let's kill all the lawyers.
“This is bullshit.”
Mac pauses, looks at Jerry. Up, down, up and down. Her gaze is steady in its intensity as it rakes across him. She lets her glasses slide down her nose and returns to her reading. When she’s finished she looks up at him, expectant.
“This is bullshit.” He says again.
There’s silence, just for a second. “Let’s get a drink.”
He hedges, looks to the door. “I have a bottle in my desk.”
“A bottle of what?”
“Wine,” he says, as though the answer was obvious. He frowns again. “Objection?”
Mackenzie scoffs, “It’ll do.” She says. “Go and get it, then.”
A bottle of wine split between journalists hardly counts as drinking, so goes the received wisdom. And to an extent, it’s true - neither Mackenzie nor Jerry feel drunk. Their vowels are sharp, even as he drains the dregs.
“Will has scotch.”
“I don’t-“
“Go to Will’s office,” she instructs, slowly, “and get his scotch.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“What?” He says. It’s out of the blue, he’s only just come back, with the half empty (never half full) bottle hanging from his right hand and two glasses held in the fingers of his left. His shoulders slump when he stills in the doorway, but his eyes are bright and alert. “What?” He says again.
“Genoa. It’s not true.” Mac leans over her desk for the bottle, twists the cork out and pours two measures apiece. She shrugs simply. “It can’t be true.”
“What do I have to do to convince you?” There’s a shade of pleading in his voice. He downs half his drink, and swills the other round the glass.
“I need facts, Jerry.”
“I’ve given you the facts.”
“Better facts.”
A sigh, “Jerry,” she says in a low voice. And then she stands and rounds the desk.
“I’ll get you better facts.”
“Give it up, man!” She says, her voice raising again. Her hands fly up and an empty wine glass bounces to the floor. “It’s a good story,” she says, “but I can’t risk it. We just can’t.”
He has his throw back ready, “Don’t patronise me, Mackenzie.”
“I’m not--”
This is when he moves to kiss her, hard on the mouth. Her teeth chink against his, and she flinches. She goes to pull back but he’s braced against her, holding her into the embrace.
Her lips stay parted when he finally lets her go. She stumbles back, goes to speak and then stops. She moves towards him again, kissing him with a murmured fuck it. Her hands hook in his belt loops, pulling his hips flush to hers. In return his fingers twist into her hair and into her shirt and across her waist and down and down again until she lets out a small sound.
She breaks the contact to sit up on the desk, rucks up her skirt so he can stand between her legs. Her gaze is straight and still, and just a little distant. He’s gone quiet, too, his face buried in her neck as he drives into her once, twice, three times.
And then she says it. “This is a bad idea.”
“The worst,” he agrees. And then he comes too quickly, and he knows it’s too quickly and so does she and they both find it hard to care. His face screws up with the effort, and she holds him away from her body just a little while he stiffens and shakes.
He steps back almost immediately, turning himself at an angle so she can’t see him rearrange himself. “Mackenzie,” he says, quietly.
Mac’s standing, now, her skirt smoothed and shirt rebuttoned. A glass has smashed on the floor by her feet.
She doesn’t say anything.
The next morning he pauses in the door of her office. Mackenzie follows his gaze to the spot on her desk where they, well, yeah.
“I don’t think I wanted to do that.” He says, limply.
Her eyebrow quirks, “Shouldn’t have done it then, smuck.” Her smile’s strained at the edges of her lips and when she stands she braces herself with her feet set wide. “But it’s usually worth the risk.”
“You’re giving me Genoa because I slept with you?”
Mac’s smile loosens, the shadowed movement of tongue in cheek, “I’m giving you Genoa because you had the guts to sleep with me.” She pauses, "And also because I am your boss and the new HR rep down here's kind of, you know--"
He shakes his head, “I don’t-“
“Well I do, and the last time I checked I was your EP so you can suck it up, Sherlock.”
A beat. She is looking at him but he is looking at the floor. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
end.