Saturday's sessions went much the same as the first two days of the conference. The fragile peace McKinley and Price had forged in their jointly-written directive was quickly lost when the next crisis hit and they were back to bickering over hostage extractions, trade embargos and food shortages. By the end of the day the chair and his staff were exhausted from trying to moderate the debate, as were Price and McKinley from spending so many hours arguing.

Still, Price would have preferred to stay in committee than go out that night. He never enjoyed the nightclub events at these conferences. A shady club full of hundreds of pent-up college students who had spent eighteen hours over the last three days role-playing discussions of international affairs was a terrifying prospect, a veritable minefield of bumping and grinding and incomprehensible attempts at conversation shouted over the blaring music. But he went each time because that's what you do, because socializing is a necessary part of the Model UN experience.

That Saturday night was no different that any other Saturday night at any of the myriad other conferences Price had attended. The music was booming and he could barely hear himself think. The club was dark save for the flashing, pulsing lights that disoriented him and made it difficult to focus. He stuck close with some of the other students from his school, making exceedingly awkward attempts at dancing.

A shock of red hair caught his eye and Price saw the Minister of Foreign Affairs, McKinley, across the dance floor. He was…wild, totally uninhibited, smiling with intense joy, arms in the air. How? He pulsed with the music, gyrating as the bass throbbed, in a tight black vest over a white dress shirt. And tight dark jeans…very tight… Price couldn't look away. The sight was mesmerizing, intoxicating…it was surprising and intriguing, it was…

Entirely sinful and wrong and terrible and confusing and oh goodness, what was he thinking? Price flushed and he shook his head, trying to dispel the wholly inappropriate and immoral thoughts that had just crept into his mind. He snuck nervous, guilty glances back at McKinley, then to the floor, then back at McKinley, then back at the floor. "Oh no, not again," he muttered to himself, sufficiently freaked out that he was not…totally…uninterested…in that whole situation.

He had to get away. Price fought through the crowd, trying to make it to a side wall, but he was funneled toward the bar instead. Not where he wanted to be. He was backed against a group of people when he felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around to see a bartender waiting impatiently. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Oh, no, I'm not—" he stammered. But then he thought differently, and with a split-second change of heart, he pointed to the cluster of young women to his left who had just slammed down empty shot glasses onto the bar, and said, "Uh, no, I mean… That. But three." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and set it on the bar, taking one of the shot glasses in his hand. "This is what college students do to deal with things, right?" he thought to himself.

He closed his eyes and, with only a moment of hesitation that maybe it wasn't such a good idea, downed the first shot. He coughed and winced as the alcohol burned his throat. "Ugh, awful," he cringed, but he drank the next two in quick succession and pushed himself away from the bar. He wandered through the crowds, trying unsuccessfully to find his delegation. The effects of the alcohol hit him almost immediately. The lights made it hard to see straight and the chatter and the music and the movement was distracting and disorienting. He stumbled and faltered; he felt strangely buoyant, both agile and uncoordinated.

After a while Price found a small group of schoolmates and sidled up to them, swaying, still uncomfortably, to the music. The crowd pitched back and forth, and he found it difficult to keep his footing. At one point he was pushed backwards and heard a familiar voice yell, "Hey! Watch it!"

Price spun around to see, of course, McKinley.

"Hey!" McKinley shouted over the booming music.

Price leaned in too close. "Hey! Whas going on?"

McKinley stepped back, looked Price up and down, and cocked his head, confused by something. "Are you—you're drunk! You totally are! How did you even…? Why?"

"No I'm not!" Price retorted, following with, "Wait…how can you tell?"

"Hah, I just can."

"I may have…had a few of something, yes," Price acknowledged, nodding. "It's Canada. It doesn't count if it's in Canada. That's…the rules."

McKinley crossed his arms and sported a self-satisfied grin. "I can't believe it. I mean, why—you know what, no, don't answer that yet, don't even tell me. I just want to savor the absurdity of this." McKinley keeled over laughing, holding his sides. "Ha! I can't fucking believe it. Fucking hilarious. I don't even want to know why."

Price shrugged his shoulders and put his hands up. "I jus figured 'Why not?' Y'know? Why. Not."

"I guess that's as good a reason as any."

A line of people passed by him and Price stumbled to the side.

"Whoa, there. Be careful," McKinley said, putting a steadying hand of Price's arm.

Price recoiled, yelling "I'm fine!"

"Hah, no, you're not fine," McKinley said with a smirk.

"I'm totally fine. You are. What?"

"What?"

"What?"

McKinley shook his head. He leaned in again and shouted, "Where are your friends?"

Price looked around. "Well, I was with some people, and…I seem to have…lost my delegation. I was…trying to find them. They're in there," he gestured toward the center of the dance floor. "In that place."

"You should go find them."

"I couldn't find them. They're in there somewhere, but I couldn't find them. Besides, they don't need me."

"Why don't you—you should get some air."

"You should."

"What?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"What?"

"Oh good lord, just—come on." McKinley huffed, grabbed Price's sleeve and dragged him toward the front of the club. "Your ticket," he demanded.

"What?"

"Your coat check ticket, you have one?"

"Oh, yeah." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a numbered slip of paper. "Here."

McKinley tossed Price his overcoat and the two pushed their way outside. It was snowing lightly. Price shivered and rubbed his hands together. "Gosh, it's freezing out."

"I'm surprised you can even feel it."

"Well…" Price poked at his cheeks. "I can't really feel parts of my face…My head's still kind of swimming."

"I figure." He let out a resigned sigh. "Come on, let me buy you some food."

"Why?"

"Because food is good for you. And it will make you feel not quite so shitty in the morning." McKinley chuckled to himself, smiling ever so slightly at Price's discomfort. "Mormon's first hangover! That is absolutely precious. And anyway…also I feel almost a little bit bad for tipping off the American Ambassador and Human Rights Watch about your 'reeducation camps' in committee today. Not really all that bad. But a little bit, I guess."

Price gasped, aghast. "That was—that was you!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at McKinley."Aw man, I knew it!"

McKinley laughed contentedly. "See, that's what you get when you underestimate me. Now are you going to just stand there or are you going back inside or are you coming to get some food?"

"I guess…I guess food sounds okay."

"Okay, then come on, we're in walking distance of the hotel and there's a really shitty—but cheap—pizza place on the way."

McKinley put two cups of coffee and two paper plates holding large, greasy slices of pizzas on the small table and sat down across from Price.

"Go, ahead, eat up."

"I…heard you ordering. I didn't know you spoke French."

"French and Swahili and I just started studying Kinyarawanda. There's a lot you don't know about me, kiddo." He took a bite. "Let me guess…you studied…Latin? In some expensive prep school? And then Greek in uni? Something biblical or wholly outdated."

Price laughed. "Not even close. I have two semesters of college Spanish. That's it. I'm terrible with languages."

"Huh." He took another bite. "So…I don't get it. Why Georgetown? Why didn't you go to BYU? My parents were always expecting me to go out there."

"I wanted to be in D.C. so I could make contacts and get a good internship, y'know, prepare for law school. Also…I just wanted to get out of Utah."

"Haha, well that part I can understand. It must be stifling out there. But the intensity and competition of D.C.—I don't know, that stuff really bums me out. It's just so cutthroat and vicious, and it's not like I ever want to run for office or have a federal job, so I don't even want to get involved in all of that."

"But that's not—that's just giving up. That's not even trying. You have to if you want a job in IR or government or any form or foreign service, even if you're just interested in non-profits or NGOs. You have to play the game, y'know…you have to be ambitious and aggressive."

"Is that the way you think of pretty much everything? As a game?"

"Isn't it?"

"No, I don't believe so. If the game sucks, you don't have to play along just to get ahead."

"But you do. You do. In the short run, going against the system is not going to benefit you. Like it or not, you have to follow the rules and go through the motions up to a certain point if you want to actually make it in American politics."

McKinley shook his head in disgust. "It is…absolutely repulsive that you believe that."

"Hey, I'm just being pragmatic," Price said defensively. "You've got to do the networking and the schmoozing and meet the right people and moderate your views or else you're never going to get in."

"That's such a spineless way to make a name for yourself, though."

"You may not like it, but you have to agree that it's effective."

"It may be effective, get you a job, get you elected to some backwater state rep seat back in Utah, but what's the point?"

"The point is that you have to play along so that you can get to a position where you're the one directing policy. Making policy. That's the point."

"That's just—augh—I just don't understand how you can actually believe that that is an acceptable way to lead your life. And you've got it all planned out, haven't you? Graduate with honors in four years, law school, get headhunted by some top lobbying firm, then run for office?"

"That's not exactly it…but it's wise to have a plan. What are you going to do after you finish school?"

"I don't know." McKinley paused, thinking. "Maybe grad school for Development or Human Rights. Maybe Peace Corps or something like that. I'd like to get back to East Africa sometime within the next few years."

"Really?" Price asked.

"Yeah. Is that surprising?"

"I guess not. Do you want to, like, live there?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Nothing really keeping me in the States."

"Oh."

McKinley pushed a cup toward Price. "Here, drink some coffee."

"Oh, no, I don't—thank you."

"Are you serious?" McKinley balked. "You're going to get boozed up but still refuse coffee? Don't be a baby. Drink it. You'll thank me tomorrow. You won't spend the morning in committee wishing you could curl up under the conference table."

"How do you even…?"

"I told you, I take care of the other people on my team, I'm used to this kind of stuff. Whatever they want to do to have fun, I don't judge. But I'll be there to help out if they need it. So what I'm saying is: just man up and drink some goddamned coffee."

Price took a cautious sip and grimaced. "Oh gosh, this is awful."

"Better or worse that the mystery booze from earlier? Do you even know what you drank?"

"I have no idea. I just pointed to something. It was clear? I think?"

"Why did you even do that?"

Price grinned, laughing at himself. "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?"

"It seems like…less of a good idea? But…not the worst. I guess."

"Well I guess that's something then." McKinley paused and looked around. "So what's your plan now?"

"I don't know. I think I'm just going to go back to the hotel. I'm pretty tired. Except…I'm not exactly sure where we are."

McKinley sighed. "Fine, I'll take you back."

"Okay, what floor are you on?" McKinley asked as they approached the bank of elevators.

"Fourteen. …But I don't have a key. …And I'm pretty certain no one is there right now."

"Are you kidding me? Why don't you have a key?"

"We're six to a room with only two keys, and I gave mine to one of the other guys at dinner. …And I can't get one from the desk because then they'll change the other two keys."

"Great…just great. You are absolutely hopeless tonight, aren't you?"

"Seriously, you don't have to do anything, I'll just hang out in the lobby."

"No, no, I don't want you to do that... Okay…you can—augh—you can stay in my room until someone from your delegation comes back, okay?"

"Okay."

They rode the elevator up in silence and McKinley let them into his room, surprised that none of the other occupants were back yet. Price flopped down on one of the twin beds. McKinley sat on the end of the bed and took off his shoes. He took a water bottle from the dresser and tossed it to Price. "Here, drink this."

Price obliged the command. "Why are you…why are you helping me out?"

"Because it didn't look like anyone else would."

Price leaned back against the headboard and said sadly, "I don't think anyone notices me…outside of committee anyway."

"Oh, cut the self-pitying bullshit. That's never constructive."

"I'm not wrong. …I'm awesome, but…I don't think my team likes me very much. I mean…they think I'm awesome…they respect me…but they don't really like me…I don't think."

"Well you can kind of be a stubborn ass sometimes."

"Yeah…I know," he said in an acquiescent tone. "You're not perfect either…you're kind of…bitchy."

"Okay…unprovoked but accurate, I guess." McKinley sat crosslegged at the foot of the bed and opened his computer.

"What're you working on?" Price asked, turning over onto his stomach and resting on his elbows, propping up his head in his hands, watching McKinley type.

"Just archiving," he answered distractedly. "Work for a professor."

"Why're you working now?"

"Because this needs to be done on Monday and as much as I like taking a four-day break from work, I can't. It's not like I'm getting any money from my parents to pay for school, so I can't afford to take time off."

"What do you—oh, because of the—oh." Price looked around anxiously as McKinley focused on his work. "So how do you think awards will go tomorrow?"

"Do you ever not talk shop? Didn't I tell you my 'no MUN talk from midnight to six' rule already?"

"Come on. Who do you think will win? My delegates in the GAs are looking solid, except Yale's Russian Fed's have been pretty much running DiSec and SocHum. West Point is looking good. Our guy in the DNC has a lock on best. Michigan State has a new kid in the Ad-Hoc that's been pulling some crazy awesome stuff; looking really promising, could be an upset for Benedict."

McKinley sighed and leaned back from the computer. "I don't know. I haven't been paying much attention to that stuff. My two in the WHO were having problems with the chair, and everyone in SpecPol seems to be complaining about a bunch of delegates being off-policy, but that's usual stuff. Aside from that, my delegates are happy, so that all I'm really concerned about."

"Well…who else is going to win in our committee?"

"The Minister of Environment is doing well; he picked up the pace today. The US Ambassador has been consistently on policy. The, uh, the Minister of Interior has been writing some good directives, I guess—"

"Directives don't win awards, though," Price corrected. "And she barely spoke during the whole last session. Maybe she could get a verbal comm. Maybe."

"So…who's winning best?"

"Well…I don't want to be rude," Price said, "But I don't think there's really a question about that."

McKinley spat out an affronted laugh. "Of course. Of course you think that."

"What? You don't—I mean, you don't really think that you're going to win best, do you? I mean, you've been doing well, but I mean, come on. Outstanding is still really good, it's just a slightly smaller gavel."

"Oh please, I got us out of today's mess while you were dicking around with the whole Vice President thing."

Price sat up on his knees. "You mean how I traced the attempt on the President's life back to the Vice President and had him arrested and he's now awaiting trial? Minor stuff, I guess. And, yeah, you handled that Chavez situation really well, we didn't come out looking like the bad guys at all."

"It was a no-win situation; we made the best of it."

"I don't know, if I were in your position I think I would have handled it more…diplomatically."

"Oh, would you have? Well, it's good to hear that you would be able to do everything perfectly by yourself. Augh, why are you like this? You know, you'd be a lot cuter if you weren't such an egotistical asshole all the time."

The perfunctory compliment behind the insult was completely lost on Price. "What? Well you'd be a lot nicer if you didn't use sarcasm and vulgarity all the time to mask your insecurities and bitterness."

"Ooh, look, it's Mr. Psychology Minor, getting all psychoanalytical on me. Spare me."

"I think you just proved my point."

"And I think you should just fuck right off."

"See? There it is again."

"I hate…so many things about you," McKinley seethed.

Price just smirked. He chuckled smugly as McKinley continued to scowl, then in an instantaneous decision, fell forward and kissed McKinley sloppily on the lips.

McKinley leaned back and said steadily, "What…in the fuck…are you doing?"

"I…I don't know," Price stammered.

"You're drunk."

"No I'm not…not anymore…not as much…I think." He looked around nervously, then threw himself forward with renewed confidence and kissed McKinley again, harder.

McKinley pushed Price back and shook his head in confusion. "And yet you did it again. What is your deal? What are you eve—" Price shut him up with another deep kiss and McKinley, with a snap, returned the sentiment, gripping tight onto Price's shoulders, pressing his mouth forcefully against Price's. He pulled back and asked provocatively with a snarl, "So is that how this is going to go?"

"Yeah," Price said with a cheeky grin, "that's how this is going to go."

"Fine." McKinley pushed Price back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, lowering himself down and ravishing Price's mouth with his own. He trailed his lips down Price's chest as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"Y'know," Price said, looking down at him, "I'm winning best tomorrow."

McKinley popped his head up. "Like hell you are. You'll watch me walk up and get that gavel and you'll fucking like it."

Price smirked. "Is that so?"

McKinley leaned down and let his lips hover tantalizingly just above Price's. He flicked his gaze up and stared Price in the eyes. With a flirtatious, challenging glint he replied, "Yeah, yeah it is."