A/N: Prompt: Sometimes, Will just knows she's too good for him. Today is one of those days.

Anon asked this a couple of days ago and I only just got around to filling it. Domestic!McAvoys, beware! I'm physically incapable of writing things that aren't domestic and happy at the moment! I hope you enjoy! :)

On Monday, Will is fine.

The day starts with Mackenzie's fingers grazing down his forearm and her lips at his shoulder blade pressing kisses into his skin and it ends with the two of them roughly in the same position, only Will's mind is racing with thoughts on North Korea and Mackenzie won't stop muttering about the video footage Sloan had shown her of a meteor exploding over Russia.

"It was amazing," she utters for the millionth time. She has her arm along across his chest and her face buried against his collarbone and even though they've spent the last three months falling asleep together, Will's still marveled by the tickle of her breath against his skin.

"How long do you think sending condemnations across the Pacific will work?" he asks dryly, and Mackenzie pauses with her hand mid gesture (Will thinks she was trying to reenact the meteors flight with her fist) before collapsing it down against his chest.

She tips her head upwards and he glances down to meet her wide, contemplative eyes. "Hopefully long enough," she mutters, and Will chuckles derisively. They've always differed in regards to diplomacy and action – Will wants to believe that negotiations can work but he's also pragmatic enough to recognize when they're futile. Mackenzie, somewhat understandably, has a loyalty to diplomacy and the United Nations that rivals her loyalty to America and Louboutin.

She shuffles further up his chest and Will pulls her closer, savoring her warmth. It's so much nicer in winter having someone else's body curled around him and Will lets his hand drift down to her waist to tickle at the bare skin around the rim of her pajama pants.

"You okay?" she murmurs, and Will makes a noise at the back of his throat in response, too utterly relaxed to muster the energy to form words. Mackenzie's body has gone stiff against him and Will whines in opposition until she silences him with a hand on his forehead.

"You're warm," she explains, and Will rolls his eyes upwards in amusement.

"I'm fine," he tells her, because he is.

He has a slight headache but that's usual after a busy show and while his skin does feel a little hot he imagines that's a result of the heating and the strong hold Mackenzie's arms and legs have across his torso.

"Honestly," he presses, as she frowns.

She settles back down and Will cards his fingers through her hair.

ooo

On Tuesday he wakes up and feels like death.

ooo

"I think I swallowed a razor blade," he croaks.

It's Wednesday and Will's been banned from leaving the apartment unless the bed and surrounding room set fire and he absolutely must.

With the way his body's feeling, like the Sahara desert has invaded under his skin, he wouldn't be surprised if the latent heat rising off him did set the sheets ablaze, but Mackenzie has assured him that his temperature is better than it was yesterday (he has vague memories of yesterday – there was lots of coughing and aches and pains and Mackenzie's fingers drifting through his hair as he tossed and turned and fuck, he thinks, thank god he proposed to her last November because at least now he has someone to take care of him) and now every time he tries to complain she simply rolls her eyes to the ceiling as if she's pleading for some divine intervention.

"I hate the flu," he groans as she hovers by his side and she hushes him with a hand to the back of his forehead.

She frowns at his temperature and shuffles a little closer to him and Will tries to tip his head forward so that it rests against her hip but she pushes him back at the last second. "Well, nobody likes it," she mutters under her breath, and Will wishes he had the strength to pinch her instead. He's curled up on his side because every time he coughs it rattles up his body and Mackenzie is seated on the edge of the bed, just inches away.

"I have to go back to work now," she whispers, and Will flutters his eyes open and tries not to blink too heavily (everything from his fingertips to his ears to his eyelashes hurts). He's wearing an old grey t-shirt that Mackenzie rescued from the bottom of his closet and a pair of sweatpants that are rolled up to his knees because he's too hot – his hair is a sweaty mess and he knows he must be completely unattractive right now, but Mackenzie has a soft look in her eyes as she smiles down at him and she doesn't hesitate to lean forward and press a row of kisses across his brow.

He's feeling a little lightheaded and lets his eyes drift shut as she rubs a finger at his aching temple and it isn't until Mackenzie's quiet laughter washes over him that he realises he's been murmuring incoherently under his breath.

"You haven't married me yet, it doesn't apply, " she reminds him, and he whines in confusion, cracking an eye open. He's well aware he hasn't married her yet but that doesn't mean she shouldn't look after him. He's a dying man after all. She has a duty -

"You're not dying," she utters drolly, interrupting his internal tirade, and Will tugs the blanket up to his chin and tries to remember to stop his mouth voicing his thoughts – that always gets him into trouble, even when he lucid.

Mackenzie laughs shortly again and pats his back twice before rising gently.

"Medicine's on the bedside, I'll call you later and I'll be home straight after the broadcast," she tells him. "If there's a problem ring Maggie and someone will be over," she adds, but Will ignores her – he'll be damned if anyone else sees him in this state.

He's half asleep as she finally leaves the room and the heavy weight of the blanket on his shoulders is a nice comfort. In the last few minutes his body has decided the apartment is Antarctica and he can already feel the horrible tremor of chills settling into his bones. Best to sleep now and then wake when Mackenzie gets home and her lovely, warm body takes up the other side of the bed.

Fuck, he really is lucky he proposed to her, he thinks idly before drifting to sleep

ooo

Thursday and he feels a little better in the morning and then a lot worse by lunch time but then better again as he struggles to sit up and watch Elliot cover NewsNight.

He hates watching from the sidelines but there's no way in the world anyone will let him back near his anchor desk until he can stand on his own two feet for more than five minutes.

Mackenzie has rung him approximately fifteen times since she left for work in the morning, but Will appreciates the concern – it's better than having her hovering by his bedside and slamming pillows into his groin like she had done when he was in hospital.

She has a strange way of showing concern when she isn't sure how it will be received, and even over the last few days she's been hesitant around him. He's grumpy when sick, and they both know it, but he's tried extra hard over the last three days to keep his groans and grumbles to himself and not let his temper take over when Mackenzie is particularly overbearing.

She's the one who has to put up with his whining and sleep next to his too hot, sickly body at night (and he secretly thinks she's stupid but also saintly, because she has a perfectly good bed across town but when he'd suggested that she'd simply rolled her eyes and pressed a kiss to his brow and muttered, "If I get sick I get sick, I'm more worried you'll kill yourself accidentally if I leave you here for more than few hours") and if that's not true love, he doesn't know what is.

Later that night he actually manages to sit up for more than a couple of minutes and with the first bought of energy he's had since Monday he wrestles Mackenzie under his arm until her body is curled into his.

"Thank you," he murmurs against her forehead, and she hums happily and rubs her fingertip across the skin of his stomach.

"You're welcome," she smiles.

"By the way Elliot should have asked the –"

"I know," she interrupts, voice hard and without room for his complaint.

"I'm just saying," he defends, unable to stop his lips twitching in a smile, and Mackenzie huffs against his chest.

"It's not my fault my news anchor feel victim to the flu. I did the best with what I had, thank you," and Will chuckles, nodding understandably.

"I missed you at work," she murmurs moments later, "I like coming home to you at night but I prefer seeing you in the day. Rundown meetings aren't so fun when you're not there to grumble disapprovingly."

"I do not grumble," he grouches, and Mackenzie pinches his skin just above his hip until he gasps and relents, "Okay okayokay."

ooo

He wakes up later that night with his lungs trying to cough up his throat and Mackenzie's soft, soothing hand rubbing circles into his back.

"You're too good for me," he groans, collapsing back against the mattress, and Mackenzie's body shakes with muffled laughter before her hand curls around his neck and pulls him into her body.

"Sleep," she orders, and Will acquiesces immediately.

ooo

He doesn't realize how good she truly is until the following evening, watching her weave her magic at work.

He sneaks into ACN without any real stealth. In the elevator on the ground floor he runs into Martin making a quick dinner run and is thus treated to a five minute explanation of what has been happening at NewsNight in his absence. By the time they reach their floor Will knows about every rundown meeting the team has had, including the twenty-minute debate Martin, Tess and Tamara had yesterday over the ability of bumblebees.

"Bumblebees?" Will questions, stopping Martin in his tracks with a hand to his arm.

The young producer startles and fixes Will with his trademark creased brow of confusion. "There was a study released yesterday that states that bumblebees can –"

But Will has already lost interest, stopping Martin again with a wave of his hand and a muttered, "Yeah, okay," before he wanders in the direction of the studio.

If Will's timing is correct then Mackenzie, Jim and Elliot should be all set up for broadcast, allowing Will to slip in to the back of the studio and observe them in their natural habitat.

He leaves Martin to contemplate the boxes of Chinese in his hand and waves a hand at the few producers and team members who smile and try to talk to him. The clock strikes 8 just as he slides into the studio and he can't help but smile as Mackenzie's back comes into view.

He's known her nearly nine years and never once has been able to simply sit and watch her.

She has her hair tied back in a ponytail and Will loves how it's grown longer over the past year. It's almost the length it was when he first met her, and he likes how the soft wisps frame her face and curl around her shoulders.

He settles back against the glass wall at the back of the studio and while Joey and Herb have both noticed him and smiled in greeting, Mackenzie remains blissfully oblivious. She asks Elliot how he's feeling and whether he's ready and unlike Will, who likes to respond with variations of no, not at all, and definitely not every night, Elliot smiles and nods happily.

Amateur, Will thinks in amusement, half the fun of having Mackenzie as your EP is tickling and teasing her with little comments to see how she reacts.

The NewsNight theme starts playing and Will contemplates whether or not it's too unprofessional to start throwing the little paperclips scattered on a spare desk nearby at the back of Mackenzie's head.

Probably.

At the very least she'd retaliate sometime later by throwing something much larger at his.

He settles for watching her lead Elliot into their top story followed by a cross to Washington for updates on the upcoming campaigns and one to their European correspondent about Greece.

There's something startlingly different about watching Mackenzie in her studio. Will's so accustomed to hearing her orders through his ear that he'd never really thought about what life behind the camera's like – but at one point they almost lose the connection to Athens and at another Jim, Maggie and Herb all start talking to Mackenzie at once and while Will gets lost after ten seconds of listening to three conversations, Mackenzie manages to answer them all coherently and without asking for repeats.

She takes a second in between an ad break to drink from a bottle of water and Will can't help but smile as she breathes out heavily – no wonder she's always so short with him when he does something stupid; his inane chatter in her ear is the least of her worries.

He's always known she was good at her job; fucking fantastic, actually. He wasn't lying when he assured Charlie that he was one of the eight championing her as the best in the business. But there's something natural and almost graceful in the way she moves around the desk – her cheeky comments to Elliot balanced by her quick orders to Joey and Herb. Mackenzie has never been a calm and collected individual, but she runs a studio like she was born to do it, and Will can't help the swell of emotion in his chest as the broadcast continues.

This is the woman he's marrying – the woman he loves.

They hit the halfway mark and she turns quickly on her heel and Will finds himself with her bright, amused smile directed at him.

"Good evening Mr. McAvoy but didn't I leave you in bed?" she ponders, and Will notices Kendra try and smother her laugh as Mackenzie sways towards him.

"I was bored," he responds, reaching a hand out to tug her close, and fuck, he thinks, they've shied away from affection at work but today he's off duty. He's wearing his oldest pair of jeans and hasn't shaved - surely he's allowed to hug her closer.

"You're good at this," he tells her, and Mackenzie laughs delightedly and slides an arm around his waist.

"I've been your EP for how many years and you're only just realising that?" she ponders, and Will's cheeks blush – he can't help it.

"I've never seen you from this side," he defends, and she nods in understanding, knocking her head against his shoulder.

"You should be at home," she murmurs.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

Will shrugs – he's still a little shaky on his feet and his cough remains, but his temperatures' disappeared and it no longer feels like the Bermuda Triangle is located in his stomach.

"Can I have my job back on Monday?" he asks, "Or has Elliot proven himself?" and Mackenzie settles her head against his shoulder permanently and in exhaustion, whispering, "If you're not sitting at the desk on Monday then I quit. I love Elliot, but I love you more," and Will chuckles roughly.

"Good to hear."

He rubs a hand at her waist and Mackenzie hums softly and approvingly. She has her eyes closed and Will wonders how exhausting the last week has been for her – looking after him and putting up with his tossing and turning and then coming to work and running their ship.

Herb's steady voice interrupts their moment as he announces ten seconds to broadcast and Mackenzie knocks her head into his shoulder once last time, squeezing he fingers at his waist.

"Thanks for coming. I miss having you here," she whispers, and Will nods and presses a wayward kiss to her brow.

"I'll see you after the show?"

"Definitely. You owe me dinner," she orders, pointing at him, and then spins on her heel to face the multiple screens and remind Elliot of their next guest.

Will settles back with his arms crossed and a lazy smile and ponders how he might have to think about taking a few more days off in future; he likes watching Mackenzie work – like's being someone she comes home to.

Maybe one day he'll retire from broadcast news and they'll buy a house out in the middle of nowhere with some land and big windows and a library and a dog; and Mackenzie will teach and Will will potter around the house writing articles and complaining about the state of journalism and Mackenzie will come home to him in the evenings and they'll sit out the back drinking wine and watching the stars.

It's a nice future, he decides.

But it's a nice present he's living, too.