(no subject)
Well I went and did it. This is my first finished fanfic in a really damn long time. It's 'The Newsroom' - Will/Mackenzie, set post 1x05 ("Amen").
Nothing Casual
Mac leaned in the doorway, not even trying to articulate the thorny, convoluted acknowledgement-come-apology that Will nevertheless read loud and clear in the play of emotions across her features. It was becoming harder and harder for him to tamp the tenderness he felt every time he caught her chewing her bottom lip while wrestling with a diplomatic nicety, to not reach out and gently still the nervous tapping of her pen as she worried a feature that was already solid. He had to govern himself more firmly every day. She was as yet unforgiven.
Will was a man rarely at a loss for words, but she had almost silenced him with the readiness with which she accepted the truth of Wade’s duplicitousness. She had seemingly endless reserves of strength and patience, a capacity for forbearance that was a marvel to him, quick-tempered as he was. His defense of Wade had been a knee-jerk reaction to her pain, and what came next another slip in control. He almost regretted the flirtation, but the flutter in his stomach felt good after the iron weight of hurt he had been carrying there. So when she came to him later, disheartened and embarrassed and worn out, he wanted to do more than tell her it was ok. He wanted to call her inside and close the door, pull her onto his lap and breathe her in, soothe her any way he could. She stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, ruining his attempts to remain emotionally remote. He knew she felt it too, the slow drawing back together of their desires. He wanted to punish her by withholding himself from her, but hurting her in return didn’t feel good, didn’t feel like leveling the scales.
He knew her like a well-loved book, longed for the familiarity and comfort of her companionship, the thrill and rush that followed her quirked smile. He had memories of her in crisp sheets, flushed and receptive; the soft brush of her eyelashes over pale cheek-bones, the parting of soft lips to a coffee cup in early morning light. In all his quiet moments he longed to read her again, to part her covers and absorb her meanings old and new, read her by touch, her skin alive with braille to be deciphered. These micro-memories that sparked electricity in his most primitive systems warred with his left-brain’s recall of devastating betrayal, leaving him in a no-man’s land between semi-hard and poison-tongued.
Will saw her now, nursing a drink in the dark corner of the bar that did not have $3 drinks and appetizers, and thus assured her some privacy while she licked her fresh wounds. He slid into the booth beside her, and when she didn’t look up he knew she had been hoping he would come and find her. He was barely seated when she spoke.
“Wade tried to compare what he did, to me not telling him about you and I.”
Will took a sip of his drink and said nothing.
“You’re supposed to ask me why I didn’t tell him, and then I can pretend like I’ve no idea what you mean, and you can toss back your drink and pretend like you don’t care either.”
Will picked up his glass.
“I am going to down this now, but it’s not because I’m pretending I don’t care.”
The drink went down hot and smooth, and he felt good and dangerous as he slid closer to Mac. He felt her frisson of excitement and confusion as he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Mac, if I wanted to kiss you right now, would I end up regretting it being this time right now when you’re vulnerable, and then later you get all quiet and weird on me and I’ve fucked it all to hell?”
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Be all casual and joking about it.”
“I’m not joking, and...” His breath stopped in his throat as he felt her hand on his thigh, fingertips pressing hard through the denim. Her eyes were bright as he leaned in. The smell of her, the taste, badly missed, made his head spin. The kiss broke and he mumbled, “and not at all casual when it comes to you.”
Mackenzie’s hand rode higher, higher and he looked at her, chagrined, as she raised an eyebrow.
“Definitely not casual.”
“It’s perfectly normal.” Mock defensive now.
She let her hand drift away, reached for her glass.
“I miss you, Will. I know I don’t have any rights to you any more, and I’m trying to move on but I’m not really getting there, so please don’t tease me, yeah? You can’t start this with me now and think better of it later.”
“I could say the same for you.” His dark look told her that he hated the necessary turn of conversation, yet he was trying, willing to exorcise the ill spirit. They sat silent but connected for some time, arm to arm and thigh to thigh, too close for friends, not close enough yet for more. It was Mackenzie who eventually spoke.
“Buy me another drink, William, then kiss me again.”
“I think I’d like to kiss you again, and then buy you another drink.”
Mackenzie found she was flexible, and the mutual sigh as they came together once more made her smile into his kiss. Tomorrow they would see how this worked in the cold light of a newsroom, but in the dark and secluded present they gently made reacquaintance with almost no need for words at all.
Nothing Casual
Mac leaned in the doorway, not even trying to articulate the thorny, convoluted acknowledgement-come-apology that Will nevertheless read loud and clear in the play of emotions across her features. It was becoming harder and harder for him to tamp the tenderness he felt every time he caught her chewing her bottom lip while wrestling with a diplomatic nicety, to not reach out and gently still the nervous tapping of her pen as she worried a feature that was already solid. He had to govern himself more firmly every day. She was as yet unforgiven.
Will was a man rarely at a loss for words, but she had almost silenced him with the readiness with which she accepted the truth of Wade’s duplicitousness. She had seemingly endless reserves of strength and patience, a capacity for forbearance that was a marvel to him, quick-tempered as he was. His defense of Wade had been a knee-jerk reaction to her pain, and what came next another slip in control. He almost regretted the flirtation, but the flutter in his stomach felt good after the iron weight of hurt he had been carrying there. So when she came to him later, disheartened and embarrassed and worn out, he wanted to do more than tell her it was ok. He wanted to call her inside and close the door, pull her onto his lap and breathe her in, soothe her any way he could. She stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, ruining his attempts to remain emotionally remote. He knew she felt it too, the slow drawing back together of their desires. He wanted to punish her by withholding himself from her, but hurting her in return didn’t feel good, didn’t feel like leveling the scales.
He knew her like a well-loved book, longed for the familiarity and comfort of her companionship, the thrill and rush that followed her quirked smile. He had memories of her in crisp sheets, flushed and receptive; the soft brush of her eyelashes over pale cheek-bones, the parting of soft lips to a coffee cup in early morning light. In all his quiet moments he longed to read her again, to part her covers and absorb her meanings old and new, read her by touch, her skin alive with braille to be deciphered. These micro-memories that sparked electricity in his most primitive systems warred with his left-brain’s recall of devastating betrayal, leaving him in a no-man’s land between semi-hard and poison-tongued.
Will saw her now, nursing a drink in the dark corner of the bar that did not have $3 drinks and appetizers, and thus assured her some privacy while she licked her fresh wounds. He slid into the booth beside her, and when she didn’t look up he knew she had been hoping he would come and find her. He was barely seated when she spoke.
“Wade tried to compare what he did, to me not telling him about you and I.”
Will took a sip of his drink and said nothing.
“You’re supposed to ask me why I didn’t tell him, and then I can pretend like I’ve no idea what you mean, and you can toss back your drink and pretend like you don’t care either.”
Will picked up his glass.
“I am going to down this now, but it’s not because I’m pretending I don’t care.”
The drink went down hot and smooth, and he felt good and dangerous as he slid closer to Mac. He felt her frisson of excitement and confusion as he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Mac, if I wanted to kiss you right now, would I end up regretting it being this time right now when you’re vulnerable, and then later you get all quiet and weird on me and I’ve fucked it all to hell?”
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Be all casual and joking about it.”
“I’m not joking, and...” His breath stopped in his throat as he felt her hand on his thigh, fingertips pressing hard through the denim. Her eyes were bright as he leaned in. The smell of her, the taste, badly missed, made his head spin. The kiss broke and he mumbled, “and not at all casual when it comes to you.”
Mackenzie’s hand rode higher, higher and he looked at her, chagrined, as she raised an eyebrow.
“Definitely not casual.”
“It’s perfectly normal.” Mock defensive now.
She let her hand drift away, reached for her glass.
“I miss you, Will. I know I don’t have any rights to you any more, and I’m trying to move on but I’m not really getting there, so please don’t tease me, yeah? You can’t start this with me now and think better of it later.”
“I could say the same for you.” His dark look told her that he hated the necessary turn of conversation, yet he was trying, willing to exorcise the ill spirit. They sat silent but connected for some time, arm to arm and thigh to thigh, too close for friends, not close enough yet for more. It was Mackenzie who eventually spoke.
“Buy me another drink, William, then kiss me again.”
“I think I’d like to kiss you again, and then buy you another drink.”
Mackenzie found she was flexible, and the mutual sigh as they came together once more made her smile into his kiss. Tomorrow they would see how this worked in the cold light of a newsroom, but in the dark and secluded present they gently made reacquaintance with almost no need for words at all.