drabble: the theorist
the newsroom, will mcavoy, pg
you were high when you broke osama?
“I’m a medical marvel-“ he begins, and Jack sighs, sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.
“Get to the point, Will.”
He shifts forward. “I got high.” He says, simply.
“That won’t help with the anxiety.”
“I thought the point of these sessions is that I get to talk and you have to shut up and listen?”
There’s a silence, “Go on, then. Talk.” Jack says, throws his arms up in mock frustration, and they both pull smiles.
“Sometimes I get baked. And sometimes there’s news.”
“You were high when you broke Osama?”
He almost laughs at the incredulity in the other man’s voice. “I say again- “
“-carry on.”
“Yes, I was high when I broke Osama. And I was still high when I got home afterwards.” He pauses, there is no easy way to phrase this. “And I was still high when I phoned Mackenzie.”
Jack snorts a laugh, and Will’s ninety percent sure he’s not supposed to do that.
“She didn’t pick up, I mean, it was four am. But I left a voicemail. I told her-I told her what you keep telling me to tell her and to call me back.”
An eyebrow quirks, “And did she?”
His head falls forward when he shakes it. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him, the soft sound of the younger man clearing his throat.
“Have you spoken to her about this?” He answers with a glare, and Jack’s smile is tight, knowing. “Of course you haven’t.”
He shrugs, “I told her I wouldn’t.”
Jack stands, watches the last of the sand drag through the hourglass. “You’re an idiot.” He says, straight to his face.
“You can’t call me-“
“Time’s up.”
you were high when you broke osama?
“I’m a medical marvel-“ he begins, and Jack sighs, sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.
“Get to the point, Will.”
He shifts forward. “I got high.” He says, simply.
“That won’t help with the anxiety.”
“I thought the point of these sessions is that I get to talk and you have to shut up and listen?”
There’s a silence, “Go on, then. Talk.” Jack says, throws his arms up in mock frustration, and they both pull smiles.
“Sometimes I get baked. And sometimes there’s news.”
“You were high when you broke Osama?”
He almost laughs at the incredulity in the other man’s voice. “I say again- “
“-carry on.”
“Yes, I was high when I broke Osama. And I was still high when I got home afterwards.” He pauses, there is no easy way to phrase this. “And I was still high when I phoned Mackenzie.”
Jack snorts a laugh, and Will’s ninety percent sure he’s not supposed to do that.
“She didn’t pick up, I mean, it was four am. But I left a voicemail. I told her-I told her what you keep telling me to tell her and to call me back.”
An eyebrow quirks, “And did she?”
His head falls forward when he shakes it. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him, the soft sound of the younger man clearing his throat.
“Have you spoken to her about this?” He answers with a glare, and Jack’s smile is tight, knowing. “Of course you haven’t.”
He shrugs, “I told her I wouldn’t.”
Jack stands, watches the last of the sand drag through the hourglass. “You’re an idiot.” He says, straight to his face.
“You can’t call me-“
“Time’s up.”