As far as Laurel Healy was concerned, Gareth Ritter was the reigning Emperor of the Idiots. She'd voiced this opinion once, in an irritated tone that was completely negated by the fact that it was in between kisses at the door to his apartment and that he'd laughed at her use of the word emperor. He really was, though. The obvious reason, and this is the one she voiced to her brother when he asked again if she was sleeping with him (she vehemently lied and said no) was his irritating conservatism and the fact that somewhere in his brain, the words Ted Cruz and good president in the same sentence made sense to him (he hadn't voiced an opinion on Trump yet, and Laurel was incredibly grateful, because then she'd have to tell him to shove off and he was a rather good kisser). That's the excuse she gave her father, her brother, Scarlett the creepy, half-brained adulteress and anyone else who asked. The reasons she didn't give were far too… bipartisan for Luke's taste. These included, but were not limited to: that goddamn smirk he wore far too often, the whole $750.10 bit, the fact that his ability to make Laurel's mouth go just a little bit dry with the right look (let's be real, she thought darkly to herself, no one stands a chance against the damn blue bedroom eyes) the fact that he had a tendency to put an arm around her and idly trace patterns with his middle finger on her bicep while keeping his eyes on the movie they would inevitably only get halfway through. The one that was really bugging her right now, though, was the fact that not only had he walked into the bar where she and Luke were having drinks were ten minutes after they'd ordered, but he'd winked at her behind Luke's back and currently wore the smug expression that was certain to cause Laurel a great deal of embarrassment in only a few moments. She narrowed her eyes at him while Luke checked his phone and he raised his Old Fashioned slightly – a sarcastic salute to his secret not-quite-girlfriend. Tearing her eyes away, she re-zeroed in on what Luke was on a tear about this time. Unsurprisingly, it was about Red Wheatus and the backlash from his death threats upon the sequestration bill passing.
"- and then she has the nerve to waltz on back to her office humming."
Laurel started. She had not really been paying attention to begin with, and Gareth was only complicating the matter,
"Sorry, what happened this time?"
Luke looked exasperated
"Ella showed up in my office today on a tear about Wheatus and his 'backwards, inefficient, unrealistic' economic policies. When I tried to say I agreed with her, she called me a Nazi and a hypocrite because of the whole cutting the National Endowment for the Arts."
Laurel nodded, knowing full well what was causing Ella's erratic behavior and not having a damn clue as to what to do about it. She still hadn't completely recovered from the shock of Abby's screwworm-induced suicide, although getting drunk while watching Sixteen Candles and then falling asleep on Gareth's lap once or twice had certainly helped. Luke ignored his sister's apathy and continue,
"And she's still no help on the senate floor. We're trying to figure out a permanent solution to avoid another catastrophe and she and Red have both sides of the aisle on the path to shut down again. I'm this close" –he held up his fingers a millimeter apart from one another- "to proposing an expulsion vote for Ella and Red…"
Laurel downed the last dregs of her drink and let Luke carry on. He was building steam and she knew from experience that he was going to get worse before this got better and she could go home. Mercifully, a waiter cut across Luke's stream of consciousness about four minutes later. Unmercifully, he was carrying an Old Fashioned and she knew Gareth was feeling pretty proud of himself then.
"Old Fashioned for the lady, from the gentleman at the bar." He pointed, of course, to Gareth, who had quickly painted his face with a look of indifference and was watching Misty on the TV above the display of bourbons. Laurel fought the urge to both hide her face in her hand and smack the smirk playing at the corner of Gareth's mouth off his face. She thanked the waiter as Luke turned to see who sent the drink. His face hardened,
"Why is Wheatus' Chief of Staff sending you drinks?"
Laurel sighed. She didn't have the energy to tiptoe around Luke tonight and she would be getting Gareth back for this later. She glanced at him. He was watching her again, clearly taking pleasure in watching her dance.
"I don't know, because he's emperor of the idiots and he's trying to bait me into another argument. He's annoying like that."
Luke narrowed his eyes at her,
"Are you sleeping with him?"
Laurel spluttered, her horror at the true accusation disguised as disgusted indignation,
"A jackass buys me a drink and all of the sudden, I'm sleeping with him?"
"Well, I know the two of you had a fling of-"
"We did not have a fling, so cut that shit right now –"
Laurel's interrupted retort was cut off by Luke's phone ringing. He checked it, and got up, saying he had to leave. Important business, apparently.
He turned to go and paused,
"You sure you aren't sleeping with him?"
Laurel's heart skipped a beat. Yes, if you're being crass. Instead, she crossly replied,
"Alright, good night Luke."
Unsatisfied, Luke left. The moment the door closed behind him, Laurel picked up the half-finished Old Fashioned, snuck up behind a still sniggering Gareth and smacked him upside his perfectly prepped hair.
"Ow, what the hell was that for?"
Laurel gritted her teeth and muttered,
"You're a real ass, Ritter."
Gareth looked at the fury on her face and couldn't help himself. He started to laugh for real.
"I don't know why you think this is funny. Luke now officially thinks we're sleeping together."
Gareth contemplates this for a moment, an air of seriousness crossing his irritatingly handsome features,
"Well, then I guess the Democrats got something right for once." He started to laugh again. Laurel, now actually irritated, glanced up at the TV, where Misty was still speaking. She was wearing a very tight red dress that left little to the imagination.
"Well, if you think this is so funny, you can go buy your hoochie girl there a drink because I'm not in the mood." Her tone was cold and she turned on her heel, leaving her drink next to Gareth as the smirk melted right off his face. Paying quickly, he caught up to her just as she got to her car. She heard his footfalls behind her in the parking garage and sighed internally before turning,
"Can I help to entertain you further tonight, Ritter?"
Gareth stopped, slightly winded,
"I'm an idiot."
"This isn't new information."
She opened the driver's door and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat.
"I'm the emperor of the idiots?"
This got her attention and she turned to see the damn blue bedroom eyes alight with a pleading expression. This, for some reason, irritated her more.
"Gareth, I'm not a play thing. You know why I can't tell my brother or my dad and I really don't fucking need you trying to see how closely you can toe the line because you think it's fun."
The pleading expression did not go away at her biting tone, and the body attached to the pleading eyes took a step closer to her, his face softening,
"Look, Laurel, I'm sorry. I really am. I know whatever this is has to be secret, and I don't want to wreck that, because I know at least I'm enjoying it. So I'm sorry."
Laurel said nothing and Gareth took a step closer to her. Laurel screwed up her face for a second, before sighing,
"Fine, Ritter."
The pleading expression was replaced with relief and he made a move like he was going to kiss her. He got a hand on her waist and one on her neck before she stopped him, a delightfully evil smirk alight on her face,
"You can kiss me on one condition."
He pursed his lips,
"What?"
She smiled widely,
"I want to hear you call yourself emperor of the idiots again."
"Laurel, come on-"
She made like she was going to twist out of his grasp but he held fast, and with his lips less than an inch from her ear, he whispered,
"I, Gareth Michael Ritter, am the Holy Emperor of the Idiots," and then, without further conceding, he kissed her.
They broke apart for a moment when he laughed against her lips.
"What now?"
He smirked and Laurel fought the urge to slap and/or kiss it off his smug face,
"If I'm the emperor of the idiots, that makes you the empress."
She stared at him for a moment before finally retorting,
"I hate you."
She clearly didn't hate him that much, though, because, much to her chagrin, the empress woke up next to a sleeping and shirtless Holy Emperor of the Idiots the next morning.