“Four years ago, you asked me to set off on a political odyssey. We battled the turning tides of public opinion. We battled the monsters of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy and the rabble-rousing pseudo-pacifists of the Pervasive Left-Wing Idiocracy.  We even battled each other when the going got tough. But when it all came down to it, Hillary, we were in this together. Are we still?” Evan asked.

                He’d only asked himself so far because he hadn’t had the courage to ask her outright. Everything immediately following the State of the Union had passed in a blur.  She had smiled at him before turning to face an adoring Congress.  She’d had her game face on, then, and they’d had theirs.  They hadn’t been sure what to make of her remarks that night and, frankly, neither had he.

                The media had met her pronouncement that she couldn’t ask for more with bold-printed question marks combined with dazed, half-hearted commentary.  They couldn’t imagine that after a lifetime of fighting them tooth and nail that she’d walk away once all she’d ever wanted was in her grasp.  Although this was her time, she seemed just about ready to clock out.

                They didn’t know this Hillary and they seemed more terrified than ever of that.

                She’s got them balancing on their toes, he mused, if not equally worried, a bit smug at realizing that his President still had it.  She made them pant after the would-be story and wonder when there was none.  She got out of bed in the morning to make their careers or break their hearts.  Hillary was a phenomenon, even to him.

                He couldn’t bear to see it end so soon.

~!~

                It was another two days before he found himself alone with her again. She was curled up on the couch inside the Lincoln bedroom immersed in a book and he was standing at the doorway like a besotted schoolboy with an apple to share.  Maybe ‘apple’ was too romantic a euphemism for what he had in mind.  Like Hillary, he had come prepared to make two speeches. The difference was that one resembled a marriage proposal and the other felt a great deal like the end of his political career as he knew it.

                Maybe they both feel a little like that, he reflected, but couldn’t find it in him to regret anything yet.

                His President tenderly turned a yellowing page of her book, her smile seeming to grow just a bit more as she read over her favorite lines.  Peony in Love, he recognized and he smiled despite himself.

 She’d been reading the book repeatedly for years now. When she was troubled, she flipped through its familiar leafs, recalling not the story, but the moments of her life it had serendipitously reflected. That was what she’d told him anyway, back when talking through the pain was all that kept her from giving up on physical therapy altogether.

                She had spoken so much about love then. He wondered if that was when he’d simply tipped head over foot for her.  While it had taken Susan’s quiet, abrupt departure to certify it, he’d belonged to Hillary for longer than she’d been free. From the Senate Chamber to the Oval, there’d never been any chance he’d leave her side once she requested his presence.  He had to wonder who was really fooling themselves now.

                Her, that she could shake him or him, that she’d have him?  He couldn’t say and felt at a crossroads like never before.

                As if in answer to his reservations, she shut the book that had always brought her peace. She gently fingered the spine of the years-old historical, assessing the damage as one would something they’d loved when it was time to let it go.  Despite the fact that Hillary treated her personal library with the utmost care, Peony had suffered the consequences of being so treasured.  Tear drops and coffee rings and unexpected rips that she had mourned in her own way. It was as ragged around the edges as Evan found himself today.

                “There are two things we can do,” he began, announcing his presence but keeping his distance. Her eyes darted to him from the image of the woman on the cover.  He couldn’t be sure if she was surprised to see him, but he could be sure she was happy.  That vague smile had a way of pulling him that still made it almost impossible to speak.

                She moved to stand, but he waved for her to keep her seat.  She looked at ease snuggled up among the cushions. He wanted her to have at least that when he was finished.

                “There are two things we can do,” he began again and hoped he could keep his nerve.  “We can call it a day on our political ambitions and leave it all behind.” He looked at her, really looked at her—with his hands tucked into his pockets because looking always led to wanting.  “We can build a cabin on Lake Winola. Just us and the rest of our days. Nobody to answer to, nobody to give us their unsolicited opinion on anything. We can have that if you want it.”

                She looked back at him, but her expression was inscrutable.  “Or?”

                “Or we can do that later.”  He folded his arms across his chest in response to her raised eyebrow.  The book was laid aside, as was the blanket she’d been huddled in.  She swung her bare feet onto the floor and stood up. Once his consciousness caught up, he made a conscious effort not to look down.

                “Later can mean a lot of things, Evan,” she told him in so matter-of-fact a manner that he was very nearly distracted from what she was wearing.  That blue brings out her eyes rushed through his mind before she took another step toward him.

                It was pretty and gave every appearance of being soft to the touch. He resisted the temptation to discover the truth with his mouth. He’d already kissed her there; he’d have to seek some new ground to cover, some place uncharted and preferably forbidden. Where I haven’t touched, but want to so very badly.

                “This is not what I had in mind when I came to see you,” he told her, assessing her as one would someone they desired when it was time to behave. He could feel himself veering off-course. She was knocking him out again.

                She laughed and he knew it was at his expense. She rested a hand above his heart—it was beating so quickly she must have sensed it—and kissed his cheek.  “Did you think I was going to let you make all the grand gestures in this relationship?” She traced his lips with her fingers; he kissed her hand.

                “I thought I’d get at least the first one,” he groused. He craved this intimacy with her. He couldn’t see never touching her again. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought, reality or no.

                “Sorry, sweetheart. This is an equal opportunity relationship. I’m as free to sweep you off your feet as you are to sweep me from mine.” She pressed herself against him chest to toe and he didn’t believe for a second that it was President he served doing it.  She was Hillary in his arms, armed with that playful glimmer and the enticing curves of her figure etched in Tiffany blue silk. The lace scratched against his tie, though he was anxious to learn how it felt against his skin.

                “Oh, really?” he questioned, following her example and outlining her features with his hands. There was so much more to touch, he hardly knew where to begin.

                “Mmhmm.” She balanced on the tips of her toes and kissed his chin. He leaned just so she could kiss him properly.  She read his intention and did just that.

                “It’s not over, is it,” he asked when she was good and done.

                “No, honey.”

                He pretended at a pout in the hopes of garnering another kiss. She scoffed—not a bad thing to do when he could feel every breath she took.  He grinned. “Did I just get played?”

                She nodded with all the patience of a grade school teacher as she flattened his tie.  “You and all the Republicans.” She radiated pride for her little scheme.

                He raised an eyebrow. “You resorted to chicanery.  I’m surprised at you, Madame President.”

                She grinned back at him.  “You call it chicanery, I call it strategy. Let them get their hopes up.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.  “This one’s ours.”

                He wiggled both eyebrows and leaned down to kiss her again.  “Shall we celebrate now or later?”

                She leaned eagerly up towards him. “Now is always good.”

                As usual, she was right.

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