Fanfic: The Stranger
The Stranger

Jane Harper

RATING: PG-13
SYNOPSIS: Two people have an illicit relationship that holds them both in thrall and threatens their marriages. Note: I've played a bit fast and loose with canon here, in more ways than one. Hoynes is supposed to be fifteen years younger than Bartlet (Enemies); Bartlet was born in 1943 (The Short List); but there's no way John Hoynes was born in 1958!! So the timeline is a little off.
ARCHIVE: sure. let me know where. HTML version on request
DISCLAIMER: These characters are owned by Aaron Sorkin/John Wells Productions/Warner Brothers' Television/NBC. You guys wouldn't sue a crip on a pension, wouldja? Lyrics ©1977 Impulsive Music and April Music, used without permission.

The petite brunette slipped out of bed and tiptoed over to where her dress was hanging over a chair. Having second thoughts, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

I'd better clean up before I go back, she thought. If he actually got to bed early he might be awake enough to notice. . . . As she scrubbed off the evidence of their mutual satisfaction, she noted her body with some pride: Not too bad for a middle-aged broad. Standing with her head under the shower, she heard the shower door open and felt the cold air on her back, followed by a pair of warm and wet hands.

"You should have known better," the tall, dark figure said, pressing his naked body up against her back and slipping his arms around her. "There's no way you could have snuck out of here without my knowing."

"Well we all have a face that we hide away forever
"And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone
"Some are satin, some are steel, Some are silk and some are leather
"They're the faces of the stranger, But we love to try them on." It had all started at the Convention. Her husband was, as usual, spending 23 hours a day huddled with the players and power brokers and the 24th hour trying to sleep. She was bored and tired of being ignored or patronized or pawned off on other political wives.

On the night before the Convention when the final deals were made and the former favorite released his delegates to the dark horse nominee, she was sitting in the hotel bar nursing a scotch and water, when he came up and sat next to her. She was surprised to see him without his customary escort.

"Alone at last, eh?" she said to him with a broad grin.

"Yeah, I guess I won't have to worry about the Secret Service for another few years." Turning to the bartender, he ordered a club soda and hoisted it to his companion with a wink. "Here's to oblivion."

"Being a member of the United States Senate isn't exactly oblivion," she responded.

"It is now," he said softly.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she responded with an intense stare. "You're a dozen years younger than he is. There's time. And you're already too old to be the youngest nominee." Her stare became a smile.

"Yeah, well, we know what happened to him."

"That didn't have anything to do with his age."

They sat silently next to one another.

She came to the bottom of her glass and swirled the ice around thoughtfully.

"Want another?" he asked.

"Sure."

He beckoned to the bartender, then continued talking. "You know he was my hero."

"He was everybody's hero."

"Well, not everybody. Certainly not where I grew up. I remember the day he died, there were people cheering and hoisting drinks."

"How did you know? You were what, twelve?"

"Fifteen."

She grinned again. "And you were already going to bars?"

"That day. I had to cut school because my mother was frantic, my dad was on a bender and hadn't come home. I found him in a cowboy bar, holding up the wall in the men's room." He looked down into his glass. "'Course, then ten years later I was doing the same thing."

She reached over and put her hand on his. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

He shook his head as if to toss something away. "You're right. Being a morbid loser is not only tacky, it's downright unattractive."

She smiled. "You've never been what I would call unattractive."

"Why thank you, ma'am," he replied in his best cowboy accent. "Would you like to join me for a late dinner?"

"Here?" She waved around herself.

"Well," he said softly, "this is all right, or we could find someplace quieter."

"Well we all fall in love but we disregard the danger
"Though we share so many secrets there are some we never tell
"Why were you surprised that you never saw the stranger?
"Did you ever let your lover see the stranger in yourself?" As they finished dinner in his suite, she asked him, "Where's Marjorie?"

"She's not coming in until Wednesday. She's totally worn out from the campaign." He folded his napkin and put it back on the table. "I don't have to ask where your better half is."

"No. He's up to his ass in speechwriters and policy analysts and strategists."

"He really was born to do this," he said.

"Ya think?" she responded, grinning.

"I wonder if the electorate understands, though – you vote for one, but you get both of them."

"They are inseparable. If I didn't know better I'd think there was something funny going on!" she laughed. "But they've been that close for years. Some mornings I can't remember which of them I'm married to."

"If that's the case, then one of them is spending too much time away from you. You don't deserve to be shortchanged like that." He looked at her intensely.

Squirming slightly, she stood and put her napkin down on the table. "I should go – they might be looking for me."

He stood and walked over to her. "Right now, they couldn't care less where you are." Reaching out and putting his hands on her shoulders, he added, "Why don't you stay here?"

Heart pounding, she tilted her chin up to receive his kiss.

They spent every free moment of the next three days together, in the kind of out of the way places that every large city holds. Both appeared at the obligatory moments, trotted out for public approval, pack mules for party loyalty, but their secret moments were spent in passionate embraces between shadow and silence. Then one afternoon just before the final prime-time show he called her.

"I have to talk to you," she heard him say, with urgency in his voice.

They met in his limo; it was one place they were sure they could be alone.

"What is it?" she asked. "You sound upset."

"They called me," he said.

"They're going to offer it to you, aren't they?"

He nodded.

"Do you want it?"

"Hell no! Johnson was right, it's not worth a bucketful of warm piss."

"You'd be the anointed heir," she reminded him.

"It would make things much more . . . complicated."

"They're going to be complicated enough if Jed wins. We'll all be living in more of a bell jar than we are now." She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. "What are we going to do?"

He put his arms around her and kissed her gently. "What we have to."

"You may never understand how the stranger is inspired
"But he isn't always evil and he isn't always wrong.
"Though you drown in good intentions you will never quench the fire
"You'll give into your desire when the stranger comes along." The afternoon before the inauguration they met in an apartment that he had surreptitiously taken in Bethesda . They needed a safe place to be together, they had decided: one that wasn't associated with either, and that would provide a refuge for both of them, separately and together.

"We can't let this be the last time we're together," he said after their passionate coupling.

"We'll have to lay low for awhile." She was pensive as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't think so," he answered. "The first hundred days of any new administration, the press pretty much leaves well enough alone. Now is the time we have to put together all the support we'll need for later." He turned toward her and kissed her again. "You leave it to me."

Later, after they were showered and dressed, each left separately to go back to the merry-go-round that was Inauguration Week. She was the first one out the door, with a smile and a carefree wave.

As she left, she heard him whisper, "I love you, Abbey."