Okay, so real life and writer's block have stopped me from writing, but! I felt like writing something and this is what came out. I hope it's acceptable. As always, reviews are wonderful, and you all are wonderful too.

It's dark in his bedroom, and he rolls over to find an empty space where a warm body should be. Will runs a hand over his face and can hear the soft sounds of music playing from somewhere in the apartment.

It's not terribly unusual for one or both of them to not be able to sleep. Co-habitation only meant that instead of picking up a phone to dial Mackenzie in the middle of the night, he just reached across the bed. She used to be a sound sleeper, all heavy limbs and deep breathing, but many things have changed in the intervening years, and he's not sure if it's age or her years spent in a war zone, but she has become a very light sleeper. One sigh from him and she's sitting up, asking what's wrong.

Will throws his legs over the side of the bed, and reaches for his pajama pants and t-shirt that had been discarded at some point earlier in the night when the two had tumbled towards the bed, both slightly drunk from the work holiday party. Sloan mixed a mean drink, and drunk Mac usually meant a handsy Mac, and he wasn't complaining.

He pads out into the living room to look for her. He wasn't sure what could be keeping her awake. The lawsuit is still ongoing, but they're all keeping their jobs and the numbers are slowly ticking upwards. The two of them are scheduled to board a plane the day after tomorrow to head to London to spend Christmas with her family, and so Mac and her mother can go shopping for a dress for their impending nuptials.

("Something big and fluffy?" He had teased, and she had thrown a pillow at him.

"Have you met me, first of all? Second of all, I'm pushing forty," she replied. "There will be nothing fluffy. No bows or sequins or ribbons of any kind."

"Oh come on," Will had gathered her in his arms, dropping a kiss to the place where her neck and shoulder met. "Can't there be some sequins?")

Will finds her curled up on the couch, the only light the dim, warm glow of the Christmas tree, and the television softly playing White Christmas. She's wearing one of his button-down shirts, and her deliciously long legs are tucked up underneath her. She turns her head slightly at the sound of his footfalls on the wooden floor, giving him a small smile.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" She asks, and he drops onto the couch next to her, tugging her to him, and spreading the blanket around both of them. She responds by dropping her head to his shoulder and tangling their fingers together.

"I was just wondering where you went," he answers. "I should have known I'd find you out here with Bing and Rosemary." He jerks a thumb at the movie, and she grins.

"It's my favorite Christmas movie," she replies.

"That's because you've always had a thing for Danny Kaye," Will teases, and Mac laughs.

"Oh, yeah, you've got me pegged. Tall, gangly redheads really get me going," she deadpans. He chuckles, and she settles against him, turning her attention back to the movie.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asks, and he feels, more than sees, her shrug. He brushes a kiss to the top of her head. "Want to talk about it?" She sighs, and turns so that she can bury her head in his chest, her body curling into his.

"My cup runneth over," she says after a moment. He understands. After years of spending lonely nights and lonely Christmases holed up in his apartment alone, drinking scotch and brooding, it's a little surreal to be spending the holiday with Mackenzie, a ring on her finger. Surreal and a little more than a little overwhelming.

"I get it," he assures her.

"It's just my Christmas last year, well, it really sucked," she mutters, twisting the fabric of his t-shirt between her fingers.

Will's own Christmas last year was odd. He had been doing whatever it was that he was doing at the time with Nina Howard and he had been invited to her house for Christmas, but that had seemed far too serious and far too much of a commitment and he had declined. Instead his fingers had itched to dial Mac's number and wish her a Merry Christmas, but he was a coward and a fool and so in the end all he had done was send her a text message.

He doesn't say anything, just tightens his grip on Mac. He doesn't know much about how she spent her Christmas the year before. He knows that she hadn't gone home to London. He heard Jim ask her about it, and she had shrugged and said there was just too much to do to take off for a week and if she was going to go all the way over there it was going to be for more than just a couple of days. He imagined her sitting alone in her dark apartment, a glass of wine in one hand, and Bing Crosby crooning in the background, and it made his heart ache.

Will was so stupid for so long, and he hated how much time the two of them had wasted. How much time he had wasted.

"This year is different," he assures her, and she tips her head up to look at him, and he kisses her softly.

"My parents are very excited to see us, both of us," she tells him, and he gives her a squeeze. He has a bottle of the most expensive whiskey he could find for her father, and perfume for her mother that Mac picked out. He's nervous about seeing them again, and when he confessed that to Mac, she had laughed away his concerns.

"They love you!" She had insisted, but the truth was that they had loved him. He wasn't sure what all Mac had told them, and there was a lot of his behavior in the past few years that he was not proud of. Mac had called them the day after the engagement to tell them the news, and he hadn't been privy to the whole conversation, but she had gotten off the phone slightly less enthused than she had been. She had waved away his questions, assuring him that they were thrilled about the engagement, just surprised, and that they were looking forward to celebrating with them in person.

Will wasn't sure what exactly had been said, but he didn't think thrilled was used.

Mac was quiet for a moment, her body molded around Will's. He ran a hand absent mindedly up and down her arm as they continued to watch White Christmas.

"We should go to bed," he spoke up finally, watching her yawn. She hums her agreement, but neither makes a move to get up off the couch.

"I just want to hear my favorite song," she says sleepily, her eyes growing heavy. He's sure she's not going to make it to the part she's referring, where Rosemary Clooney sings about love doing her wrong, a song that he's pretty sure took on special meaning for Mac while they were broken up. She always says that she wants someone to make her a replica of the black low cut gown Rosemary wears. She'd look damn good in it. She'd look damn good in just about anything.

"If we're going to do this, let's just do this," he says making her stand before lying down on the couch and pulling her down on top of him, arranging the blanket over both of them. Her breath is warm on his neck, and though he thinks they both might regret falling asleep out here on the couch, he can't bring himself to care all that much.

All he cares about is right here in his arms, and just when he thinks she might be asleep, she brushes a soft kiss to his jaw and whispers,

"Merry Christmas, Billy, you're my gift this year."