A/N Calls back to We Were the Clock Hand at Midnight
Additional note regards that fic: You're not supposed to know what Lee said. Thats kinda the point.
The hatch was open. That was his excuse. It was open. It was open and he was standing in its mouth, clamped by invisible teeth, unable to move. Before him, his father with the President (how wrong it felt to call her that when she was like this, but he knew whatever claim he may have had to call her Laura had been slapped away). They were dancing, a waltz of sorts, all meandering steps, too close for the formality of the actual moves. She was on tiptoes of bare feet, dressed in her suit pants and a tank that was clearly too large to be hers. Lee felt an unexpected ache. It was her frame that was the wrong size (small, too small, too delicate).
His father was smiling. His hand released hers to relocate to her waist. Hers travelled up his arms, thumbs hooking into the collar of his uniform at the back of his neck. Her fingers drummed a beat along with the words she was whispering. Small laughs escaping them both. His father kept stealing kisses from her while she was talking, she was sighing in mock exasperation at not being able to finish a sentence on her own, but stealing chasing his mouth with her own when he moved back.
Lee was accosted by memories of his childhood, of those rare times when his father was home with his mother. They had never danced that he had seen. His father had never smiled like this. Had never seemed so relaxed. So happy. But he realised then that there was something off between the two of them. Something...not right. Something┘the balance. They were dancing, his father leading but doing so much more - he was carrying her, holding her weight.
Lee had come to apologise or at least to clear the air. Tory had been trying to schedule him on the President's behalf all week but he'd avoided her, begged off. Run. He couldn't outrun his own words. He couldn't outrun the ghost of her hand impacting his face. He couldn't outrun how wrong he'd been.
He looked at them now, dancing and happy and facing death. His father holding up the strongest woman he had ever known (how strong his father must be himself). His father's hand rose to stroke her face, his fingers slipping up into her hair - no - Lee saw then - beneath her hair. A wig. A wig. A wig. How close to death was she? (were they?) It was too personal, too intimate; he felt like a voyeur, a blasphemer on sacred ground. He turned to go, to leave them to this time. He'd schedule with Tory.
The comm rang, startling them all.
Bill moved to answer it as Laura caught sight of him, her body tensing. Her gaze unblinking, he was pinned, no running. He found his voice in some unknown depth of courage. "I'm sorry."
She took pause and he felt as if she were looking right into him, taking his measure. "Ok." Her body relaxed, her tone still serious "Me too."
He nodded, made to speak but refrained as he saw her glance over her shoulder to see if his father was still on the comm in the other room. "He knows that I..." her voice wavered slightly "...slapped you." She glanced again. "But I didn't tell him what you said. I'd prefer it if you didn't either."
Lee opened his mouth. Closed it again. Took in this woman before him. Not the President, but the woman. She who stood by (danced with) his father. She who his father helped carry through darker moments than Lee himself could imagine. The shame he felt at his earlier words. He'd been so wrong. She hadn't told his father. She'd admitted her sin and omitted his. His father wasn't the only one carrying weight. He saw that now. He'd been so wrong.
He looked at her, to her. Held her gaze as forcefully as he could, trying to convey beyond words of apology how deep his regret ran (he himself would no longer run. He had been wrong, so wrong). She closed her eyes briefly and her lips curling upwards softly. He knew he was not forgiven completely, not yet. He knew that if she and his father had not been she and his father that things would be different. He knew that this would heal. For all of them.
Bill reappeared at her shoulder; Lee felt the (warranted) sting of reproach in his father's eyes. Protecting your family sometimes meant protecting one member from another, he knew in this instance that his father stood with Laura. He was not offended.
"You two alright?" His father asked, looking between them.
Laura grinned at him, wide and easy, she was letting him know that sides did not need to be taken, that he should stand with them both. "Yes."
"Good. Was worried I'd have to referee." His hand squeezed Laura's arm. "Tory's on her way."
"Ok. Guess the relaxing part of my evening's over." She girlishly hit her forehead against Bill's shoulder. "You" She dragged the word out slowly, smiling around it "are going to Joe's with your son."
Lee saw his father attempt to speak but she cut across him before a word could be uttered. "Don't argue. You'll hover for the entire time Tory's here and complain about me overdoing it."
"You are."
Lee allowed himself a small grin as she rolled her eyes in his direction, including him in what was obviously an old argument.
"Go to Joe's." She pushed him gently in towards Lee. "I'm not going anywhere. Go spend time with your son."
She walked them both through the hatch, Lee spying her hand rubbing his father's back, the easy comfort between them. Everything they were saying, everything they weren't. Everything in between. He had been so wrong.
He had the forethought to cast his eyes away as they kissed goodbye, was startled when he felt her lips on his own cheek (a kiss to heal a sting, apologies and blessings without words). His father's eyes were a whirl of love for them both.
They made to leave as she stepped back inside. They were almost to the top of the stairs when he heard his name ring out from below. "Lee, so help me, if he's drunk when he comes home you're going out an airlock."
He choked around his laughter as his father sighed in exasperation, a murmured one time escaping his lips.
"Yes Ma'am."
"Goodnight Lee."
"Goodnight Madam Pres...Laura."
His father clasped his shoulder and they continued on. He had been so wrong.