March 1964
The Friday before Easter was quiet across campus. Spring flowers were pushing up in their beds, little bursts of bright yellow and dark purple, half-hidden beneath a layer of leftover autumn leaves the groundskeepers had yet to clear away. The buds were forming on the trees and the concrete walkways were still damp from a late afternoon shower, but the sun was peeking out from behind threatening clouds once more. The silence was cut only by the occasional birdsong and the distant roar of a passing car headed down Main Street towards the highway. It felt sacred, the silence-marking the transition between the seasons, from the death of winter to the riot of early spring.
In the silence, Senator Ben Solo found deep comfort and a sense of rightness. Right that he should be here now, the youngest man in Congress and looking towards the White House in the fall. Comfort that this last stop signaled a least a short break from the madness of the campaign trail. At first he had loved the uneven rhythm of it, the late nights and long days and last minute strategizing about how and where and when to appear, but it was taking him away from his duties to his constituents, no doubt. He needed a rest.
In the faculty bathroom next to the auditorium, Ben flicked the excess water off his hands and ran them through his hair, taming it to one side before drying them and straightening his tie. It wouldn't do to look like he was coasting, even if he was already thinking about his mother's glazed ham and glasses of scotch with his father. It would be good to see them, he nodded at his reflection. It had been too long since he'd gotten back to his family's place. They didn't care for Washington-who did, really- but they'd been in town for Christmas on their way to Florida for the winter months and were only recently back in state.
He nodded to his friend and stepped into the front of the room.
The bedlam was instant.
"Senator!"
"Senator Solo?"
Senator, I have a question!"
The men's hands shot up in unison through the smoky air and he smiled broadly at them.
"Take it easy, ladies," Ben stooped slightly as he adjusted the microphones at the podium. "Not all at once now."
A low-pitched murmur of good-natured laughter rippled through the room. The afternoon sunlight was strong through the tall windows in the lecture hall.
"Nice of you all to come out this afternoon," he began. "It's been a whirlwind these past couple months."
He was used to this by now, and with his recent sweep of the early primaries, the press sessions had become freewheeling, jovial events that were more joking than journalism. The same reporters came to each one, and they'd heard his spiel a million times. At this point he could repeat their questions, and they his answers. He'd shaken hands and kissed babies and mugged for the camera, and now he could enjoy the spoils of being the front runner, at least for a little bit.
They wound slowly through the standard topics. The reach of the federal government vs. states' rights, a perennial favorite. Of course he honored the structure of government the founding fathers, in their infinite wisdom and foresight, of course he recognized their genius and that of the Constitution. But their vision was to continually reinterpret the principles of the nation and its laws as it made sense for modern people. No sense living in the past when the nation needed to plan for the future.
Foreign policy- or, his relative lack of hands-on experience with it. The economy. He favored development of new, industries over propping up old, dying ones, like any sensible person would. He believed in the power of American freedom to foster innovation and the best, brightest minds at their universities. How was that even a question?
He caught Hux's eye at the back where he scribbled notes on the questions as fast as they were flung at Ben. The ginger tapped his pen on his notepad. Wrap this up, man- it's Friday and I'm thirsty.
"Senator, did you know there's never been an unmarried US president?" It was John from the Cleveland Plain Dealer. Portly. Always sweating. Liked scotch. Liked scotch perhaps a little too much.
"Interesting," Ben nodded. "I've heard that, but why does that matter? What should matter is a man's experience, and I've gained a lot of that over the last five years in office."
"Outside it, too!" A gruff voice barked from one side. William at the Jackson Register. Right on schedule. The man loved to bring up Ben's reputation at every turn, a tired move he chalked up to aged jealousy of his youthful appetites. Jealousy, and a wife who looked sturdy enough she could play linebacker any number of college football teams in the southeast division.
Ben feigned contrition. "You boys know what President Harding said, right? That it was a good thing he wasn't a woman, or else he'd have been pregnant all the time. He just couldn't say no."
Guffaws went up around the room.
"Not that I'm suggested President Harding is my mentor," Ben clarified with a grin. "At least… not for politics."
A steady, but higher-pitched voice cut through the ensuing laughter. "Senator, what can you tell us about your grandfather's business ventures in England that profited from appeasement of the Third Reich?"
The voice was unmistakably female. Ben ducked his head and fished for his glass of water on the shelf, stalling. He took a leisurely drink of water and squinted through the cloud of cigar smoke in the direction from which the question had come. He could barely make out the form of the speaker, hidden in the back row behind the men in hats.
A scoff echoed in the room and some of the men twisted, trying to see the source of the voice.
"Alright then, nothing else?" Ben pretended not to hear her. "I know how you hate when I keep you from the bar. Have a blessed Easter with your families."
The reporters chuckled in agreement and chairs began scraping the floor, signaling the end of the conference. The din rose and nearly drowned out her follow-up question, but he heard it clearly as he turned his back on the room.
"Do you maintain ties with Anakin Skywalker?"
He was nearly to the door to the adjacent office when he glanced back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her.
It was a slender young woman, a plain brunette with freckles and an eager look that immediately irked him. She sat forward on the edge of her chair with her long legs tucked under her crossed at the ankle. She had no discernable breasts beneath her blouse.
And she was wearing pants, even on this unseasonably warm day before Easter.
Their eyes met for a split second before he turned away and hurried through the door to the adjoining prep room.
Hux was at his side in a flash.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph- what was that ambush about?" Hux's eyes glittered and he seemed amused at Ben's discomfort.
Ben stopped short and turned on his friend. "Who the fuck was that… that… girl?!" He gestured angrily towards the door. "You're my campaign manager, you're supposed to know who's here and we've never had a lady reporter at a press event before! What is she, some lunatic Commie from a conspiracy theory rag?"
Hux looked taken aback at his sudden vehemence. "I don't know," he admitted. "Let me check the register, alright?"
He disappeared back to the lecture hall and Ben paced.
"This can't be right," Hux returned, shaking his head as he flipped the pages of the sign-in sheet. "There's no woman on-" He stopped short and glanced up at Ben.
His stomach sank further. "What?"
"Rey?" Hux pronounced the name and furrowed his brow. "Is that a woman's name if it's spelled with an 'e'?"
"How the fuck would I know?" Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. "Who does she write for?"
Hux's lips formed a thin line.
"Well?" Ben took a step closer and made a grab for the papers to see for himself.
"The Times. The New-York-Fucking-Times." Hux held the sheaf gingerly out of his reach. Hux knew his friend could be destructive when the mood struck him.
He could've sworn his heart stopped in that moment. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared and he tugged his hand through his forelock.
"The Times?" He repeated it in disbelief.
"I mean," Hux tried to mitigate, "Some people probably consider it a rag?"
He was in no mood for Hux's joking. "Find out everything you can about that bitch, and destroy her. She'll wish she wrote for a rag if she ever comes sniffing around here again asking about Grandfather."
