“You wanna run?” she asked him from her place on the other side of the room.  She had a three dossiers and a dwindling legislative agenda to review, but here she was, acting as his sounding board.  He’d never understood how she could do it all.

                He nodded, too jazzed to speak. He needed her at his side. She was his voice of reason and his pep squad all at once.  It was her blessing he needed more than he needed his own peace of mind. She’d been in this game long enough to know the odds.

                “Then, run,” she said, glasses folded on the desktop and hands folded across her stomach.  She had a way of making a fool of fear. With Hillary, certainty was all there was.

                And like that Evan Bayh picked up the Clinton torch and took off.  There was still good to be done and legacies to write.  He was pumped, he was energized. He had his sons, his stepdaughter, and his beautiful new wife.  It would be hard—nothing worth doing came any other way—but it would be worthwhile.

                “You’ll be with me,” he asked her, uncharacteristically unsure of her devotion.

                “Always,” she promised.

                “I thought you couldn’t promise that,” he teased.  She laughed and came over to wrap herself in his arms.

                “I was wrong,” she confessed easily.

                “Twice in a lifetime. Who knew?” He kissed her reddening cheek, then her lips.  “I like that you’re wrong about this.  I’m not letting you go, Hillary. Not for all the peace treaties in the world.”  He began calculating the maximum amount of time he could devote to divesting his President of her pantsuit while remaining on schedule.

                “Good thing I don’t plan to make myself a bargaining chip, then. You can keep me,” she replied cheekily.

                “I always did like bedroom decoration,” he murmured against her ear.

                She smacked his arm, humming good-naturedly.  “Be good or you won’t be able to unwrap your presidential present tonight.” She traced the lapels of his suit with her fingers, peering up at him from beneath her lashes.  “A shame, too, the wrapping’s new, all lace and silk, blue.”  He groaned, recalling that ‘emergency’ trip she’d had Huma make to a Maryland shopping center earlier in the week. He’d yet to confirm just what she’d bought.

                “Victoria’s Secret,” he guessed.

                She smirked and shook her head.  “Frederick’s.” Visions of nightwear of a more scandalous sort filled his head.

                Evan felt the heat rising under his collar. The things she did to him…  He grabbed hold of her jacket and pulled her mouth to his.  Immediately, her hands were everywhere: in his hair and underneath his jacket.  He had initiated the kiss but she controlled it.

                That’s about how things had always worked with them.

~!~

                “In a world that grows more conflict-ridden by the moment, America needs a steady hand to lead it. Now,” she continued,” I think I’ve been pretty steady myself, but we’ve got a thing called term limits and that means it’s time to pick another hand.  I know just the one.”  Hillary grinned, badly concealing thoughts that weren’t nearly so pure as the new-fallen snow. Her smile softened as she truly began to think of the past.

                “This hand has been my chief support during my time in Office. It has comforted me during some of the worst—and best—days of my life, as well as rising to the occasion of the country’s needs when I could not.”  She looked at the assembled crowd of Indiana residents, nodding minutely to those she recognized.  They knew, but she could only hope they understood. “You know him. He is Indiana’s finest son and I have been blessed to know him as my dear husband and my dearest friend.” She turned slowly to the solid figure that stood waiting in the wings.  “The next President of the United States, Evan Bayh.”

                He jogged up the steps and waved at the rallying people, dimples flashing and positively beaming as he crossed the stage to her side.  Heat swept right through her when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  He only had eyes for the people, but his lips found her cheek just the same and he whispered in her ear, “You ready to run, beautiful?”

                She looked him up and down, momentarily forgetting herself. She thought he looked pretty damn good right now. “That depends. You ready to rule?”

                His gaze flickered back to her with a wink. “Only with you, Madame President.”

                Overwhelmed and a little flushed, she said nothing else, but handed him the mic and stepped back. This was his show now.

                He held up his hand, signaling for quiet.  It was a while before everyone calmed down, yet his grin never wavered.  He’s made for this, she thought, overcome with pride for the politician and love for the man. She was glad she’d seen him all the way.  It was a hell of way, she reminded herself.

                “I’m glad to be here today,” he began.  “I have an incredible story to tell and not a lot of time to tell it.  Eight years ago—no, that’s not when this started. This started long before the beginning of this administration. It began nearly thirty years ago with the governor from Arkansas and his brilliant wife. It continues today, at the crest of an amazing era that I hope to continue. Were it not for the devotion, friendship—and, yes, love of those two people, I would not be here and America would be less for it.”

He strolled the length of the stage as he spoke, pausing intermittently to shake the hand of someone on the ground.  Hillary matched faces to names and nodded at positive acknowledgments. They’d come in handy later. It only took a moment to make an ally. It only took a single anecdote to carry forth a banner. She was as steeped in this history as its founder, as steeped as the man who now wore it like a shield.

“This story is as long as it sounds and it has as many players are you can imagine. Most of them are gone now, even some of the biggest, but I have not forgotten any of them or the lessons they taught me. The lessons my old friend, Bill, drilled in the hardest was this one: Do not ask what the People can do for me. Ask what I can do for the People. So, I am asking you now, ‘What can I do for you?’” He stopped at the center of the stage, hands spread in deference and consideration.  “I’m listening.”

Hillary exhaled softly, relieved. They were getting off on the right foot. There were worst thing he could be called than the Listening Liberal. If she had her way, eventually he’d be called the President.