She has no recollection of turning her phone to silent, although given they were on air until almost 4am and by the time she made it home she was so exhausted she could barely think, her memory lapse comes as no surprise. The entire night was fuelled by adrenaline, bolstered by a jolt of panic everytime she looked at the monitor to be reminded she'd put a completely wasted Will on the air to break the biggest story in a long, long time. She knew he could do it, that wasn't the problem, the problem was that if anybody should find out...well, she was pretty sure that would be the end for both of them. She would probably find herself begging for a job even worse than the one she was about to take before Charlie showed up, and Will would...well, who knows what disastrous hour of shit Will could end up fronting.
Heading for the kitchen, powered by a desperate and all-consuming need for coffee, her heart sinks as she sees she has two missed calls and a voicemail. She knows it's unlikely someone called for a friendly chat at...5.24am. A slight wave of relief washes over her when she sees Will's name – he was as high as she's ever seen him, so the likelihood of him having called when he got home just to babble incoherently about nothing is a pretty good one. Flicking the coffee machine on, she reaches for a mug, leans back against the counter, and hits play.
“Hey Mac, it's me.” She can hear him smiling down the phone, the goofy grin she hasn't seen in years, the one she misses. “Look, I'm not just saying this because I'm high...I've never stopped loving you. You were spectacular tonight...can you believe we got Obama?”
She stares at the phone, struggling to believe what she just heard – wasted or not, that was quite the declaration. Until now, she had no idea that the ears and the brain could completely disconnect in the way hers clearly have. Logically, she knows what she just heard but she can't even begin to process it, so she reaches for the phone and plays the message again, and then again, and only after the fourth time can she manage to pull herself together enough to pour her coffee and make it to the table, still clutching the phone in her other hand. He's never stopped loving her. He's never stopped loving her? It may be true, but she knows too that even if it is he'd never have said it if he hadn't been high, regardless of his insistence at the start of the message. She thinks about the way she caught him looking at her across the room at the party, the way his eyes were fixed on her as he played the guitar, and then later in his office she remembers the gentle weight of his hands on her shoulders. She remembers the way he hugged her on Valentine's Day, how she closed her eyes, relaxed into his touch, and felt comfortable for the first time since he had last held her three years earlier.
She doesn't have a clue what the fuck she's supposed to do now? She has no idea if he'll remember leaving the message, or if he'll apologise, brush it off, tell her he doesn't recall what he said at all, or worse he'll tell her of course he was only saying it because he was high. Even if that is his reaction, it doesn't change the fact he said it, whether he tries to deny it or not. She doesn't know if she can bear to hear him take it back, to watch as he once again builds a wall between them, the look on his face she's become so painfully used to, the look that says he can't stand to be around her. She knows too that she can't just let it go, she has to talk to him, she has to tell him she got the message and that she still loves him too, always has. Surely he must know that, surely he knows she wouldn't have taken the job, wouldn't have put up with his resentment in the beginning if she didn't still love him? It hits her then, like a sack of bricks, that maybe he doesn't know that, that maybe he thinks it was purely the job she came to New York for and that she was happy for them to be nothing more than colleagues, although God knows she isn't blessed with a poker face of any note, so he must know how she feels...right? She gulps her coffee down too fast, too hot, but she needs to shower and get dressed, she needs to head to the office and stand in front of him, to see his face when she tells him she got his message. Only looking into his eyes will tell her what she needs to know.
By the time the cab comes to a stop outside the ACN building her brain is screaming at her. In the space of just a few blocks she's decided he meant what he said, he didn't mean it all, she'll be fine whatever, of course she won't be fine if he takes it back, but above all, she really wishes she hadn't silenced her phone. She wonders what he would have said had she answered the call, if he would have gone as far as to tell her she was spectacular but held back on the rest, or if he was just the right level of high for his inhibitions to have been low enough to say exactly what he said in the message.
The newsroom is quiet and she makes it to her office with nothing more than a brief hello to Maggie, who looks as tired as she herself feels. She heads for the coffee machine on autopilot, aware that she's avoiding the conversation that an hour ago she was raring to have, because now she's here and he's just feet away in his office, the possibility of him taking his words back in the cold light of day is a very real one and she feels sick at the thought.
Taking her coffee with her (she can at least hurl it at him if this goes badly...when it's cooled a little, she's not a total monster), she heads out of her office and towards his, letting out a long breath before rapping lightly on the door and walking in, careful to close the door behind her.
“Jesus, Will, you look like hell.” Not how she planned to open, but shit, he really does.
“Good morning to you too.” He raises an eyebrow, which only serves to showcase his bloodshot eyes and slightly sheepish look.
“Did you get any sleep?” she asks, determined not to dance around what she really wants to say, but somehow not quite as able to dive right in as she thought she was.
“Yeah, some, I guess.” He shrugs and she sees her opening.
“Well, you were awake later than I was, I know that much.” She steps closer to his desk and sits down in the chair opposite him. “Even though I also know you got home before I did.”
“Because you insisted on the world's craziest detour,” he says, glancing at her briefly before looking away and reaching for the coffee in front of him. “Seriously, Mac, from here to my place and then back to yours makes zero fucking sense, and I'm not sure Lonny had a clue what was happening.”
“Yeah, well, I'd already put you on air as high as a kite, the last thing I needed was for to decide you wanted to continue with the party.” She smirks, remembering how mellow he was when they arrived at his door, wondering what might have happened had she taken him up on his offer of a drink. “And there's nothing wrong with keeping your security detail on his toes, keeping him sharp.”
“How do you know I didn't head right back out the second you drove away?” He looks at her again and she sees it this time, the look she's seen only a few times since she came back, the look that makes her stomach flip over and gives her a glimmer of hope.
“Well, I suspect your doorman has been thoroughly briefed on not letting you saunter out of your building alone in the middle of the night, and besides, I have the evidence right here.” She holds her phone up and bites her lip before she goes on. “Unless you somehow managed to sweet talk both your doorman and Lonny into heading back out and you made this call from the world's quietest bar.”
“Ah,” he says, his eyes again flitting from hers as he sighs.
“So...did you...I mean, were you...” She can't seem to string her thoughts together enough to form a sentence, and he's saying nothing, won't even look at her, so she takes a breath and pushes on. “Was it just because you were high?”
“I...I was pretty wasted last night, and then the show was so...” He pauses and she feels her glimmer of hope start to fade. This is it, he's about to backtrack, to blame it on the fucking cookies. “Shit, Mackenzie, the fucking show, you were-”
“Spectacular, yeah, I know,” she says, sounding more curt than she intends to, but needing suddenly to prepare herself for what is starting to feel like the inevitable. “I got that.”
“Can you believe we got Bin Laden?” He does look at her now and there's humour in his eyes, in the hint of a smirk on his face.
“I spent enough time out there, mostly in awe of what those troops were up against, that I actually can believe that. What I'm not quite sure I can believe is that you just got it first time there. Obama...” She raises an eyebrow but she can't match his humour because she still has no clue what's happening, she can't be sure whether he just rescinded his declaration or if he still has more to say. “I guess things seem much clearer this morning, right?”
“Tends to happen when exhaustion replaces the high,” he says, the sheepish look back in his eyes. “Mac, I-”
“It's fine, really, it's...I get it, it's...it was quite a night.” She stands up, figuring she may as well go and kick herself in the privacy of her own office rather than standing here making a total fool of herself. “So, I thought we could make things easy for ourselves tonight and do something of a wrap-up, some recapping from last night, a couple of interviews, I'm sure we can drag a few people in, we should run it by Charlie, and then I'll have the team make some calls-”
“Mackenzie.” His tone is sharp enough that she stops talking and looks back at him, unsure if he's about to tell her to shut up, to get out, or that he really does love her.
“What? You have a better idea?” she asks, aware once again of the harsh edge to her tone, suddenly eager to escape to her office and curse herself for her stupidity. “I'm open to ideas, but I just figure everyone is going to be exhausted today and this is a story people are going to be happy enough to see rehashed for a while, so we may as well capitalise on that. I doubt Charlie will object either because it certainly won't hurt the ratings, so-”
“Mackenzie.” Her name in full again, his tone this time slightly softer, enough to make her shut up and look into his eyes, sighing as she does.
“You've seen me high before and yeah, it relaxes me, lowers my inhibitions, sure,” he says, pausing for a second, his gaze following her hand as she reaches nervously to push her hair behind her ear, before his eyes meet hers again. “But it never, ever makes me say anything I don't mean.”
“So, you were, I mean, you said...” She stumbles over her words again, pauses, takes a breath, starts again. “You've never stopped loving me?”
“I've never stopped loving you,” he says firmly, nodding, the look in his eyes so intense that she feels a flush in her cheeks and a smile creeping onto her lips. “I've loved you since the day I met you, I've never stopped, and I'm pretty fucking sure I never will.”
“You know, I had so little sleep last night I'm not entirely sure I'm not hallucinating right now.” She's teasing, she knows this is happening but there's still a part of her that can't quite believe it. After everything they've been through, what she did to him, how she was so utterly convinced his hate for her was a commitment he'd made for life, he's sitting in front of her telling her he never stopped loving her, and it feels surreal, totally surreal. “I'm not...am I?”
“Hallucinating? No. You're not.” He stands up and walks around the desk, taking her phone out of her hand and holding it up in front of her before turning to put it down on the desk and take both of her hands in his. “I love you, I've never stopped, and I'm sorry for...fuck, for being a stubborn angry asshole for so long, and for not being able to find the balls to say it until I was wasted, and-”
“Billy.” She stops him, squeezing his hands as she does, smiling up at him. “I thought it was really obvious from the second I walked into ACN that I...that I still love you, but I don't know, maybe it wasn't-”
“It was. I knew that.” He shakes his head and smiles back at her. “I mean, I thought I knew, I was pretty sure you...I hoped you still-”
“What a fucking night!” Charlie's voice startles her to the point where she actually jumps, her hands slipping from Will's almost automatically as she turns to see their boss standing in the doorway with a huge grin on his face and, remarkably, not a trace of tiredness in his eyes. “You were on fire last night, Will, on fucking fire! And you, Mackenzie McHale, continue to prove me right every damn day, you were-”
“Spectacular.” Will cuts in and she looks back at him, replaying his message in her head all over again, hoping her grin doesn't look quite as dopey as she fears it does, only to instantly realise she doesn't really care.
“Exactly!” Charlie's grin grows wider and he steps into the office, shooting down her hopes of getting Will on his own again to finish their conversation. Although the part about each of them loving the other was covered already and that's the main thing, so fine, she can cope with Charlie's interruption for the moment. “Damn though, you look exhausted.”
“Me?” she asks, glancing up at Will, still pretty sure he looks a lot more tired than she does.
“Both of you.” Charlie steps closer and stares at her, then at Will, turning back to her with a smirk. “He looks worse though.”
“I know.” She returns the smirk, amused by the offended look on Will's face even though she knows he must be aware of exactly how tired he does look. “So...did you come in here just to tell us how awful we looked?”
“And to compliment you on the show last night, which I already did,” he says, grinning at them both again, clearly genuinely delighted with how the broadcast went. “Have you thought about tonight's show?”
“We were actually talking about that right before you walked in,” she says, catching Will's eye, the slight raise of his eyebrow.
“Among other things,” Will says, his gaze fixed so intently on her she has to remind herself that Charlie is in the room.
“Everything okay in here?” Charlie frowns, seemingly aware that something is different, and probably, understandably, jumping to the conclusion that a disagreement is the reason.
“Everything's fine.” She smiles at him, a real smile, one that feels happier than any she's smiled in a long time. “Great, actually.”
“Alright then...good.” Charlie seems satisfied even if his tone still holds a hint of curiosity. “So, we all had a long night last night, and I think we put out something we can squeeze plenty more life out of yet, so how would you feel about a show tonight that's mostly a recap, a little of whatever the White House gifts us with today, and an interview with the most camera worthy and articulate marine I can have in the studio in the next hour? That way you guys have an interview to record, some recap filler for you, Will, then we have the tech team splice everything else together and everybody goes the hell home and hits the sack.”
“We were actually thinking along those lines right before you got here,” she says, relieved she doesn't have to fight her corner today, she's too tired and her brain has enough to try to process without having to try to charm Charlie too. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at Will. “And I don't about you, but going home to bed sounds so good to me right now.”
“I honestly can't think of anything I'd like more.” Will's voice is low and she swears her heart actually skips a beat in response.
“Good, then that's that,” Charlie says with a grin. “Control room then, I want to see the final ten minutes of last night's show.”
“Now?” she asks, watching as Charlie nods his confirmation and turns to the door.
“Well, are we going?” Charlie reaches the door and seems to realise neither she nor Will has followed. “The whole point of this is to get a show for tonight in the bag as soon as we can so you and your team of zombies can get the fuck out of here, and we can't do that standing in here gawping at each other.”
She moves to follow him because he's right, the sooner they can pull a show together the sooner everyone gets to go home and sleep. Or, as far as she and Will are concerned, not sleep...or at least not right away. As she gets to the door, she feels Will's hand reach for hers, his fingers tangling with her own, and his thumb stroking gently across her skin before they walk out of the office and he breaks the contact.
In the control room, she can feel Will's impatience to be alone with her as much as she feels it in herself, in every word he speaks, every look he gives her as they go through last night's footage, figuring out what they should use again, what can be embellished, and how much time they need to spend actually filming new material. The three of them agree on most of the decisions, and the disagreements are easily ironed out, mainly because they're all tired and have limited patience to fight. Charlie's phone rings and she and Will carry on working out a loose script while he takes the call, their shoulders brushing more than usual, their faces closer together, the anticipation building for something she's been waiting for – hoping for – for such a long time. She's so lost in her thoughts and in the overwhelming presence of him being with her, actually with her, that it takes a few seconds to realise Charlie's call is over and he's talking to them.
“Sorry, Charlie, I...zoned out there for a second,” she says, smiling sheepishly at him. “Do you have a guest?”
“Sure do, and he can be here in an hour, so if you can prep your team, do whatever you need to do...” He pauses, glancing at Will, who suddenly looks more exhausted than he did an hour ago. “And get this one into a suit and fuck load of make-up, we're looking good to go. I, meanwhile, am heading back to my office to drink my body weight in coffee.”
“Coffee, sure,” Will says, shaking his head, a shadow of a smirk on his face. “Who's the guest?”
“Ah, yeah, a marine, served in Afghanistan, good guy, by all accounts, done some stuff on camera before so should be fine,” Charlie says, looking at her, realisation dawning in his eyes. “Actually, Mac, you might know him, or of him. Steve Penton, he's in-”
“24th MEU, I know him. Jim does too. We spent a lot of time with the 24th in Garmsir right before they went in,” she says, picturing the operation so clearly, remembering how the marines were reluctant to have her and her crew along at first and how she pushed for it because she knew it was an operation that would be key, and she was right, it won her a damn Peabody. “You're right, he is a good guy, and he's completely comfortable on camera. Nice call, Charlie, thanks.”
“Well, I'll leave you two to do what you need to do here.” Charlie smiles and heads for the control room door. “You know where I am if you need me.”
“So...” She watches as the door shuts and Charlie heads down the hallway before turning back to Will, smiling and stepping closer. “The boss says we can go home to bed.”
“Mmm, I heard that,” he says, sliding his hand slowly down her arm and tangling his fingers in hers.
“Did you also hear that we have a show to put together and a guest to prep for interview first?” She sighs, thankful they have Charlie's okay to coast a little through tonight's show, but aware it's going to take a level of patience she isn't sure she has to get through it when all she wants to do is drag Will home and into bed.
“Yeah, I know, but we have time.” He pushes her hair behind her ear and she sighs, basking in the feel of his fingers against her skin, the touch she missed so much. “Anyway, I'm tired but I don't think I'm wrong in thinking we were midway through a pretty big conversation when Charlie showed up.”
“Yeah, we were,” she says smiling as once again the enormity of it all hits her. “I love you, you love me...”
“I do,” he says, his voice low again as he glances quickly towards the door. “I really do.”
“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?” she asks, remembering every detail...how his eyes widened when she leaned in and whispered into his ear, how he grabbed her hand and before she knew it they were in a dark, quiet corner, his hands in her hair and his lips on hers. She doesn't wait for an answer. “Do it again.”
“In here?” He looks surprised and she laughs because she can't quite believe that since he left her a message at almosy five thirty this morning, they've talked about it, established that they're still stupidly in love, semi-planned tonight's show, but still haven't kissed.
“Right here. The rest of the team, if anyone has even struggled in yet, will be face down in coffee and definitely won't be wandering into the control room at nine fucking thirty.” She bites her lip and squeezes his hand. “And even if they do, does it matter? I mean, unless you don't want anyone to know, or-”
“Fuck that, Mac.” He stops her, his tone firm, his eyes fixed on hers as he starts to move the two of them towards the wall. “I want everyone to know.”
She can't help the smile that moves onto her lips at his words, and she says nothing, doesn't feel the need to, instead she lets him steer her around the sound desk, pausing as he pushes a chair out of their way before they reach the wall, just out of sight of the door should anyone walk by. His hands move to her face and his thumbs caress her cheekbones as he gazes at her, his pale blue eyes, dark in the dimness of the room, completely focused on her. There's a fluttering deep within her abdomen; excitement, nerves, anticipation, a tinge of relief, of happiness. She feels his hands slide into her hair and she reaches for him, winding her arms around his neck as his lips meet hers, soft and gentle at first, becoming more hungry, more needy as she returns the kiss and presses herself up against him. From the minute she met tall, blonde, blue-eyed Will McAvoy she loved his hair, the hair she's now running her fingers through and pulling on just slightly as their kiss deepens. He's always kissed her like his life depends on it, and she's sure it's this intensity that means nobody has, or ever could, make her feel the way he does, like she's the only person in the universe. It overwhelmed her once to the point she ran, now it overwhelms her to the point she never wants to leave.
When he pulls away she feels herself let out a whimper of protest, silenced by his lips moving down her neck and his hand clumsily tugging her shirt out from her skirt so he can run his fingers across her skin. Her nails scrape the back of his neck and his hand moves higher under her shirt, the touch of his fingers warm on her back, his lips hot against her neck.
“I've wanted to do this since the minute you walked through the door a year ago,” he murmurs against her, tickling her neck with his words.
“I wish you had.” She thinks about that day, how she was so nervous she thought she might throw up, so medicated she's amazed she didn't, yet she somehow managed to act like she was totally fine, like seeing him standing in front of her barely fazed her at all. “It would have been quite a different welcome from the one I got.”
“I know...” He pauses and she feels his lips move from her neck as he lifts his head to look at her and she knows what's coming. “If I'd just been...I was just so...I didn't know Charlie had hired you, I had no idea that walking into the newsroom and seeing you standing there would just about stop my fucking heart all over again, and I was-”
“I don't know if you know this, but I only found out a few minutes before you arrived that Charlie hadn't told you he'd given me the job, and I don't know if I...no, I would have still taken it, I just would have...well, maybe I'd have handled things differently somehow, hidden under a desk or something, I don't know.” She knows he was completely blindsided, and she remembers kicking herself for making the assumption Charlie had told him she was his new EP when it suddenly became horribly clear he hadn't. “You hated me for what I'd done, I know that, and you were-”
“I didn't hate you, Mackenzie, I've never hated you.” He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. “I was angry, sure, with you and with myself...for letting you walk away-”
“I hardly walked away, Will.” She's not mad at him, but she needs to make it clear that leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. “You called me a cab, threw me out and showed up at my door the next morning with a suitcase full of my things, and then for the next three years you ignored every single message I sent. Three fucking years of emails, calls, letters-”
“I know, I know that one was on me.” He leans in and kisses her, his hand squeezing hers as he pulls back. “I pushed you out of my life and spent the next three years angry with myself for it, and fucking furious with you for running into a war zone, and then one day I walk in and there you are. I didn't think I'd ever see you again and suddenly you were standing right in front of me looking as fucking beautiful as ever, and it just...it blew my mind.”
“We have stuff to talk about, Billy, I know that, and we will...but for now I need you to answer something.” She bites her lip and watches as he nods for her to continue. “I know you love me, I'm not doubting that, but I need to know it's more than that.”
“More than me being totally, completely in love with you, always have been, always will be?” he asks, frowning slightly despite his sweet words. “More than that?”
“As much as I love hearing that, and I really do, I need to know you trust me, I need to know you've forgiven me, because I can't...” She has to pause to take a breath because if she isn't sure she's forgiven, as much as it would break her heart to walk away, the tightening in her chest is telling her that all the love in the world may not be enough. “I know I hurt you, I know I did a terrible thing and it's the biggest regret of my life, it really is, so if that's still something, if you...I think what I'm trying to say is if you're hoping that loving me will eventually mean you might be able to forgive me then I don't know if this is going to work, no matter how much both of us want it to.”
“Can I do something, just in case anyone shows up and interrupts us again?” His frown lifts slightly and she nods.
He doesn't say anything, he just takes her hand and rests it on his chest, over his heart, covers it with his own and leans in to kiss her again. It's gentle, slow, and it feels like he's answering her question, or at least starting to. She relaxes a little and when he pulls his lips from hers she looks up at him and waits for what he has to say.
“You know I've been going to therapy again, right?” he asks.
“Know? I'm fairly sure I've been instrumental in making sure Lonny gets you to your appointments on time,” she says, smiling at him.
“I wondered why he was so keen on me making it to those appointments, I figured he thought maybe I'd be less of an ass if I stayed in therapy. It makes way more sense he'd be doing it because he has a crush on you.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles a little wider. “Figures.”
“Well, that's quite possibly true,” she says. “But anyway, yes, I know you've been going to therapy.”
“He's pretty good, the new Habib. You know, for a twelve-year-old.” He shrugs and she says nothing, wanting him to tell her whatever he needs to in his own time. “We've done some talking about you, and a lot about...other stuff.”
“Your dad?” She doesn't want to push but she knows how bad his childhood was and how he's never really dealt with it in the way he probably should have. “Look, we don't have to talk about this right now, I just wanted-”
“No, you're right, you should know,” he says, taking both of her hands in his, his touch providing the instant comfort it always has. “Do you know what Martin Luther King said about forgiveness?”
“I don't think so.” She leans back against the wall, suddenly exhausted all over again.
“I can't claim to know the speech word for word, but it went something like 'forgiveness doesn't mean ignoring what has been done, it means it no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship. Forgiveness is a catalyst creating the atmosphere necessary for a fresh start and a new beginning.'” He pauses, the look on his face suggesting he has more to say, so she's surprised when a wry smile crosses his face. “Not that I'm saying what you did was up there with almost sixty years of racial segregation.”
“Good to know.” She returns his smile but pushes on, needing to hear him say it. “You know, if you wanted to summarise on behalf of yourself and Martin Luther King, I wouldn't object. We do have a show to record, and it would be nice to know if we're going home together when we're done.”
“We're going home together,” he says, quickly and with absolute certainty. “When I first saw Habib I think I expected he might, I don't know, give me a quick fix, I guess? Of course he didn't, he just gave me something to help me sleep, which of course didn't fucking work, so I still lay there every night, wide awake, wondering why the fuck I couldn't just forgive you, and then last night, at the party, I looked at you across the room and I realised you're always the one I want to see when I look across the room, every room, and then last night's show...Jesus, Mac, last night's show, you were amazing-”
“I've been downgraded from spectacular already?” She pouts, not meaning to interrupt him but apparently unable to resist teasing him, now he seems to have put her fears to rest.
“Do you want me to finish?” He raises an eyebrow and she nods, dropping the pout and smiling at him. “Alright, so you were spectacular last night, and then you made the driver go about a million blocks out of the way to take me home, you watched me stumble into my building like a confused frat boy, and I sat down, I had another drink and that was it, like an epiphany of sorts, I guess, I just knew. I trust you more than anyone, you're the only person I'll ever love, and I realised that the forgiveness just comes with that. You made a mistake, and you went into a war zone and could have died, Mackenzie, you could have fucking died, and I would never have had the chance to-”
“It's okay, I know...I know.” She steps forward, pressing herself against his chest, feeling his arms move to wrap around her, closing her eyes and wondering for just a second if anyone would notice if she napped right here for a couple of hours.
“Mac, Charlie said to let you know that...” A voice cuts through the silence and she lifts her head reluctantly from the comfort of Will's chest to see a wide-eyed Jim in the doorway, his phone in one hand, a stack of paperwork in the other. “Um, shit, sorry, I, um-”
“To let me know what?” She blinks at him, trying to rouse herself back into the moment.
“Oh, um, yeah, Steve's on his way, should be here in about ten minutes. I mean, I know him, obviously, so I can totally, if you need to...” Jim falters and as tempted as she is to let him squirm a little longer she decides to put him out of his current misery.
“Thanks, Jim. Could you maybe get him into hair and make-up and I'll be right there to start prepping him?” She watches as he nods and almost runs from the room.
“Steve?” Will asks, his face showing no recognition at all.
“Steve Penton, the marine you're going to interview,” she says,pushing her hands through her hair, attempting to rearrange it into some kind of respectable state. “We need to get you into a suit, get you into make-up. I can start to prep him, we can make any last minute changes and we can get this show in the can.”
“Sounds good,” he says, smirking slightly and reaching for her again. “But...Jim said we have a little time, right?”
“Ten minutes.” She smiles and slides her arms around him. “Enough for you?”
“It's enough,” he says, leaning in, his lips brushing hers. “For now.”