A/N: This is a crack AU in which Elders Price and McKinley never met in Uganda. Instead, they meet three years later at a collegiate Model United Nations conference in Montreal. There is a fair amount of Model UN jargon here, but knowledge of this subject is not in any way necessary for the story.

Primer: Model UN is an academic simulation of United Nations deliberative bodies or another committee of governing officials in which participants (called delegates) role play as members of that body (as representatives of nations, government officials, etc.) and deliberate on topics relevant to the committee in a one- to four-day conference. Here is a pictorial representation of Model UN (bit . ly / nTiVSf). that can help to better set the scene for this story.

The young man in the gray three-piece suit was holding up a sheet of paper, gesturing at it forcefully with his free hand while addressing the twelve others seated around the conference table. "…This directive currently on the floor seeks to do great harm to the stability of our relations with our allies and the solubility of our already fragile economy. If we pass this, we will most certainly not have the international financial and political support we'll need to sustain a ground conflict for more than two weeks, tops. We cannot afford to expend all the political capital we've built up on a foolhardy incursion without having proper information about a perceived threat."

Another young man, wearing a navy blue suit accented with a tiny flag lapel pin let out an incredulous laugh and flicked up his placard. "On the contrary," he began, leaning forward, "The threat against our nation is very real and by ignoring credible intelligence the respected Minister who has just spoken is asking us to leave our border unprotected and vulnerable to attack."

"The 'threat' to which the Minister of Defense refers is unsubstantiated at best and at worst it's a ploy to draw us into an unnecessary conflict that we will not win using resources that we simply don't have."

"The Minister of Foreign Affairs is being dangerously short-sighted in his appraisal of the current crisis and I, for one, question his capability to uphold the duties of his ministry."

"Question my abilities? Without my ministry we'd already have lost public support to a populist uprising and have been bombed into the stone age! The tenuous support of our neighboring allies is the only thing that is keeping us protected right now!"

"How dare you imply that our esteemed armed forces are incapable of protecting our nation! That is near treasonous language, sir. Mr. President, I request a right of reply to these charges on behalf of my office and an inquest into the loyalties of the Minister of Foreign Affairs if he continues to speak so ill of our country."

"Are you kidding me?"

The Chair banged his gavel forcefully against the table. "Okay, okay! Order! Cool it down gentlemen. Mr. Defense Minister," he said, turning to the young man in blue, "You know that requests for a right of reply must be made in writing. And we're not doing any…treason investigations at this juncture. In any case, the time for this session has expired. We'll pick this back up and vote of Directive 2.1 when we return tomorrow morning. Ladies and dudes, maps for the pub crawl are in the hallway outside of the ballroom, just make sure you have your wristband on you. If you don't have one, check with Con Services before ten tonight so we're not totally swamped."

The young man in gray gathered his stack of notes, communiqués, press releases and intelligence reports into his portfolio and stuffed it into his bag. With a frustrated sigh, he adjusted the credentials clipped onto his suit coat: Connor McKinley, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Colombian Cabinet, McGill Model United Nations Conference. Junior at William and Mary, major in International Relations, current nemesis of one Kevin Price, acting as Minister of Defense in the cabinet, a junior in Government and Political Economy at Georgetown.

By sheer awards-to-conferences-attended ratio, McKinley and Price were among the most successful delegates in the North American collegiate Model United Nations circuit—not a terribly significant accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but among their peers (i.e. university student foreign policy wonks, role players, and political nerds) it was a laudable achievement that garnered them considerable admiration from other delegates. The two young men hadn't really crossed paths before, though. They had attended many of the same conferences, but had never participated in the same committee. Now that they were stuck together in a conference room for three days, they realized just how lucky they had been to have never before been forced to work together.

Their negotiation and debating styles couldn't have been more different (or very much the same, depending on who was making the observation), and they clashed almost immediately. The two quickly emerged as the most capable, persuasive and cunning delegates in the committee, but their policies differed so significantly and their methods varied so greatly that it left the committee in a continual stalemate as the two quarreled and refused to compromise. Price was ambitious, charismatic and aggressive, what the regulars called a 'gavel hunter', a seasoned Model UN competitor determined to capture the top honor in his committee—a 'best delegate' gavel—by any means necessary. McKinley was equally as ambitious and arguably as stubbornly aggressive in debate, particularly with Price egging him on, but he was more calculated and open to working with others.

Suffice it to say that they did not get along well.

McKinley threw his bag over his shoulder and jogged out of the conference room after Price, yelling out, "Hey, wait up a minute. Can I talk to you?" He caught up to Price and stopped him by the elevator. "What are you doing in there? You know we can't make any progress toward freeing the hostages if we get drawn into a conflict with the guerrillas."

Price shifted his attaché between his hands impatiently, annoyed at the accusation. "I'm sorry, but I can't ignore that threat. We've been too cautious in the past, and the Minister of Defense has always been a hard-liner when it comes to this. Besides, I don't think we're working off of the same intel."

McKinley cocked his head to the side. "Do you have information you're not sharing with the cabinet?"

"I have a lot of information, not all of it is in the interest of national security to share. Plus, I know how easily information leaks out of your office."

"How—I don't have any leaks in my ministry. And…are you having me wiretapped?"

Price shrugged noncommittally. "I can't say. I will say that legal surveillance is necessary to prevent illegal activity within our government."

"But I'm not doing anything illegal!" McKinley shrieked.

Price smirked with smug satisfaction. "Well then you have nothing to worry about."

"And only the Minister of Information has that jurisdiction! How are you even getting this info?"

"Maybe the Minister of Information owes me some favors. Maybe I have incriminating photos of him. Maybe I get relevant intel passed onto me."

"You've got to be kidding me," McKinley said, shaking his head.

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep our country safe and it seems like the Ministry of Defense is the only post that can be trusted in the cabinet to do that. It's my responsibility to maintain peace and security and if that means-"

"Oh will you just shut the hell up for one minute!" shouted McKinley, exasperated. "Look, enough with the rhetoric. We need to work together to get something passed through on this issue. I can't get my directive passed without the support of your…faction. We're clearly the frontrunners in this committee and nothing's going to get done unless we start the ball rolling. So why don't we just try to compromise. I know your guy's a jingoistic, hard-headed hawk who's vying for the President's job once he inevitably gets shot, but there has to be a way that we don't get drawn into a full-out jungle war."

"Speaking on behalf of my 'faction'," Price said contemptuously, "I don't know if we can consent to any course of action that would not sufficiently address the current threat."

"Oh, come on."

"Fine, fine, let me see what you've written up."

McKinley sat down against the wall and took a netbook out of his bag. He motioned for Price to sit, and pulled up a document he and some of the other delegates had been working on, holding it out for Price to read.

"Well, this here, this clause," Price said, pointing to the screen. "It's way too weak. Leaving it that vague will open it up to criticism and misinterpretation and it'll never get passed that way."

"So change it then." McKinley passed the computer over to Price.

"Okay… And this part here. Do you want to give the President absolute power over military spending with no checks or balances? Because that's what this does."

McKinley looked at him slyly. "Well I'd rather he than you."

Price grinned. "Touché. That's probably wise from your perspective, considering."

"Yes, exactly. You'd take a military junta over any form of parliamentary-controlled spending, wouldn't you?"

"Hah, in a heartbeat! I mean, if it was me at the top, of course. But, I mean that's just being in character."

"Of course. In character."

"But I'm willing to compromise…I suppose, in order to get something passed through. But I don't know how much power I can cede to an oversight body just to monitor spending."

"You have to," McKinley huffed. "You and the Vice President are the only hold outs on this. And we all know how unreliable his word is, particularly when it comes to doling out weapons contracts and allocating government funding, so we just need you two to sign onto this."

"With everything I have going for me, why should I sign on to your plan? With the things I know…"

"Hey," McKinley interjected defensively, "Don't think I'm out of the loop. I've got my irons in a lot of fires, too. You forget that my guy is a good friend of the President."

"And you forget that mine is his son-in-law."

"Yes, but that doesn't hold much sway when his legitimate son is the Vice President."

"Legitimate?" Price asked enigmatically.

"No way," McKinley gasped. "Do you know something that I don't?"

Price smirked proudly. "I might, but surely that's not relevant to this directive, is it? Let's just say it looks like the crisis staff has some tricks up their collective sleeve." He turned back to the computer, reading on. "Okay, so let's look at this part about readiness. This needs to be a lot stronger to get my support."

McKinley put a hand on Price's shoulder and leaned in close, pointing a finger at the preceding paragraph. "It is strong. Look here, this is much stronger that the directive we passed yesterday, before we had this most recent intel, before the bombing."

Price flinched at McKinley's touch, just the slightest bit put off by the physical contact. He shook his head and refocused on the screen. "Well, obviously, the Defense Ministry is going to need greater leeway with regards to recruitment, training and conscription."

"You can't possibly be serious about wanting to re-implement a draft. I though we went over this in the first session? That just can't be done, there's zero public support for it."

"Oh, but it can be done, and it's necessary if we're going to engage with the guerillas. It's imperative to national security that we have a strong and ready standing arm—"

"Oh my God you are absolutely infuriating," McKinley cried in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. "We can't have a draft. Only you and the Vice President and the Army Chief of Staff support that."

"And doesn't that tell you something about its necessity?" Price retorted smugly.

"No one else in the cabinet supports it. None of our allies support it. It's never going to pass so why can't we just drop it?"

"Because it's a reasonable demand when we may soon be involved in two border conflicts."

"No it's—it's not reasona—augh, I know it's your policy but how can you be so goddamn inflexible, you are so frustrating." McKinley exhaled slowly and looked at his watch. "Okay, look, I really want to get this done and ready to introduce for tomorrow morning. I have a team meeting in an hour and I didn't have time to get dinner in between the last two sessions, so can we grab some food and hammer this out and be done with it?"

"Yeah, sure, let's just get this over with."

"Okay, I think that's good," McKinley said, shutting his netbook and sliding it into his bag. He set it on the red plastic diner booth seat and returned to his food.

"Yeah, looks good."

"And you'll support this tomorrow when I introduce it? And we can get a quick and painless unanimous passage?"

"Yes."

"Good, thank God. Finally, we'll be able to move forward." McKinley took a bite of his pita wrap. Price looked around awkwardly, not sure what else to say once they had concluded their committee business. The intricacies of small talk unrelated to politics and foreign affairs often eluded him. "Y'know," McKinley said, breaking the silence, "I've heard a lot about you. Allegedly, you're kind of a superstar around here."

"Well, I don't know about that," Price said with a dismissive wave, his feigned bashfulness barely masking his pride. "I mean, I win a lot of awards, our delegation usually wins best large…okay, maybe. What exactly have you heard?"

"I heard you made an AC cry when you were Thomas Jefferson in the Second Continental Congress at CMUNNY last year."

Price laughed. "Haha, yeah…that was a good time."

"I heard you singlehandedly got NATO to authorize a multilateral attack on China in some future crisis at Harvard."

"Yep, and we won, too."

"I heard that you successfully played both sides in a joint US-Soviet crisis at ChoMUN and you flipped a bunch of spies in CentCom and then got them arrested and executed."

"That is true, yes. The crisis staff was having a field day with that one."

"I've also heard that you're a real dick in committee."

Price let out a knowing, only slightly embarrassed laugh. "Well, yeah, probably also true. But that's how you get things done. You can't dally around trying to get everyone on board with something. I mean, come on, if I had to wait around trying to make the other ten people in that cabinet who barely understand what their policy is let alone how to negotiate and politick and use their powers to their advantage—if I had to waste time making them happy we'd never get anywhere."

"Yeah…sure…definitely..." McKinley took a sip of coffee. "Oh!" he exclaimed and slapped his hand on the table, realizing something he'd forgotten. "I also heard you're a Returned Missionary!"

"Yeah, I—wait, where did you hear that from?" Price gave him a confused look.

"Grapevine. So am I."

Price's confusion deepened and his expression turned incredulous. "But you can't—I mean you're not—you're not serious, are you?"

McKinley nodded. "Mhmm. Doing the Lord's work, bringing Christ to the heathens, etcetera, etcetera. Two years, just like you."

"But how did you—I mean, I heard you were—I mean, being—"

McKinley chuckled and set his cup down. "Do you mean to ask how did they let me be a representative of the Church? Me, being what I assume it is you heard? Y'know, you can say it, right?" He paused. "Well, I didn't tell them I was a big ol' homo until I came back, wherein I was subsequently swiftly and unceremoniously 'let go' as a Latter-Day Saint."

"Gosh," Price responded with a frown, for lack of anything better to say.

"You're not hiding your disapproval very well," McKinley chided. He changed tack and gave Price a brief half-smile, meant to be reassuring. "It's okay. I can understand it. Obviously you're still with the Church. So where did you serve?"

"Orlando, Florida."

"No shit. Hah! That must have been just—just fucking magical," McKinley effused with heavy sarcasm. "Man, Disney World and sun and palm trees and old people and all that—must have been quite something."

Price smiled wide, reminiscing. "It was really great. Really, really great," he said dreamily. "Where did you serve?"

"Northern Uganda. Moved around a lot, but mainly near the South Sudanese border."

"Holy cow!" Price was taken aback. He grimaced. "That must have been…that must have been tough."

McKinley shrugged. "It was… But it was rewarding. I met a lot of good people. That's where I became interested in development and IR. I was originally planning to study astronomy. Things change."

"Clearly they do."

"Do I detect a hint of derision? Don't worry your pretty little head about it, I don't need to be saved, I'm not a total godless sodomite. I still believe in God. I just don't believe in magic plates and personalized planets and crazy stories about ancient races of people and a Church that actively hates me."

Price looked away, embarrassed. He fumbled for something to say. "I guess…I guess that's fair."

McKinley pursed his lips and said dryly, "No you don't."

There was an awkward silence. Price shifted uncomfortably in his seat and changed the subject. "I've heard a bit about you through the circuit grapevine, too."

"Oh yeah? What'd you hear?"

"You're an up and comer," Price began, ticking off facts. "You got a best in a GA in your first conference and you've won best or outstanding at your last five conferences. Head delegate a couple times, new Vice President of Membership for your club, predicted to be president next year if Munim doesn't stick around for a fifth year."

"Well, I can tell you right now that Moon isn't sticking around and I don't want to be president." McKinley leaned back in the booth, cupping his coffee cup in both hands. "That's a little creepy that you know all that… Oh God, are you the type that keeps stats and tracks win records? Trying to scope out the competition? Learn their weaknesses?" He shook his head in disgust. "Ugh, you are, aren't you? Well… if you're worried about me being competition, I just started last year, so I've still got the rest of this year and next to surpass whatever your record is. Which, again, I don't really care about."

"Is that a challenge?" asked Price, raising an eyebrow.

McKinley shrugged. "Sure, why not. I'm not too humble to say that I'm pretty damn good at this. I don't take it as seriously as you do, and I don't really care about the awards, but I do enjoy it."

"Hey, I don't do it for the awards. It's about the education, it's a teaching tool to get people to learn more about international affairs, critical thinking and cooperation. I'm the chair of our club, on staff for NCSC since I was a freshman, I'll be Sec-Gen of NAIMUN next year. I even work for UNA-USA. I wouldn't be doing all of this if it was just for me. I do it because I believe in its educational value."

"Of course you do," McKinley said with a condescendingly sardonic smile.

"I do! I've been doing this since high school."

"Oh yes," McKinley nodded, "And it shows."

Price eyed him questioningly. "I'm not sure if that's meant as a compliment or an insult."

McKinley shrugged again and took a long sip. "Just an observation."

Later that night, Price was struggling through a throng of people to exit the pub. He pushed his way through a crowd at the front entrance, tripped down the stairs and ran smack into McKinley.

"Oof, sorry," Price apologized, regaining his balance. He looked up, recognized McKinley and muttered under his breath, "of course." "Sorry," he said again, "I was just trying to get out and get some air. Good evening, Mr. Foreign Affairs Minister."

McKinley nodded deferentially. "Mr. Defense Minister." He was standing near a heater on the sidewalk outside of the bar in a black wool pea coat and a bright blue scarf, chatting with an older couple to his left. He turned and said something to the couple that Price couldn't hear, then turned back to Price.

"Are you here with your team?"

"A few friends, but they're still inside. I can only do so many of these bars full of drunk, screeching 18-year-olds who are just so psyched to be legal here. Like, OMG you guys we can drink in Canada LOL! I'm glad they're having a good time, but yikes."

Price let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"And then someone inevitably fucks up and gets into some kind of trouble and I'm the sober one to swoop in and fix things because I can't help but play 'team dad' to all these rookies."

Price looked genuinely surprised. "That's…unexpectedly compassionate of you."

"Hey, I can be a good person when I'm not dealing with inflexible, self-important Defense Ministers. …Eh, it is a gift and a curse, I guess," McKinley said with a shrug. "Also it's kind of my job as the VP of Membership to keep tabs on everyone since the rest of the executive board is probably out of commission by this point."

"Wait, so, you're not—you don't drink? I guess I just figured with the not being…anymore…"

"You figured incorrectly. I have a number of vices, but no, that's not one of them. Never have. Hanging out in dark, loud basement bars with terrible music and drinking away my rent money isn't really my scene."

"Mine either." He looked around awkwardly. "Well…I should go back in and find my people."

"Okay."

"I'll, uh, see you in committee in the morning."

"Yep."

Price started back toward the entrance, then turned on his heel and eagerly asked McKinley, "Hey! How are you going to vote on that immigration bill if it comes up on the next session? It'd be good if we can get as much support as pos—"

McKinley put up a gloved hand to stop Price. "Hold it right there, buddy. No shop talk between midnight and six a.m. I need to draw the line somewhere between committee and actual life." Price pouted faintly. "I'll see you in session tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."