Note: for the purposes of this story, the age to be qualified for presidency has been changed to 25, for characterization purposes. Also, amodo is spanish for 'darling'.

o.O.o

Nick sat on the porch of his apartment, listening to the persistent din of rain hitting his terrace. His skin was clammy and wet, but with the heady scent of a thunderstorm surrounding him, he was content to sit. He closed his eyes while thunder rumbled in the distance. Nick tried not to let the memories overwhelm him, but when it stormed like it was storming tonight, he usually failed.

The porch door opened behind him. "I know that face, bitch. Tell Momma Max what's wrong." When he didn't respond, not even to roll his eyes, her face melted like butter.

Max spoke again, her voice almost as warm as the blanket she draped over his shoulder as she sat beside him. "Are you thinking about her?"

"I always am," he replied, noting that the words came out as fact rather than the morose sigh they had been years ago, when his mother's death was still a fresh wound.

Nick looked over to the girl beside him, taking in her warm brown eyes, honey blonde hair, and soft features. He had gotten his looks from his dad, that much was obvious, but if he didn't know better, he would have said Max was his mother's daughter. The woman looked so similar to Tara Fang that Nick briefly felt an ache every time he looked at Max. He was long used to it.

If the two women had just looked similar, he may have been able to have brushed it off. However, Nick saw Tara in everything Max did. When he first met Max- at twelve years old and only four months after his mother passed away- he wondered if the magic he had thought Tara possessed when he was younger was somehow real. If it had procured this girl to help heal him or to give mother and son another chance at happiness.

But as he grew, the harsh, but needed, reality set in. He came to see the differences between the two women; where his mother was soft spoken, Max was often brash; Max loved sweets whereas his mother had detested them; he could soon write pages on the various differences between the two, both miniscule and large. He realized it was not fair to either of his loved ones for him to think that they were the same person.

The one thing that solidified his knowledge that Max was not his mother come back to him was the simple fact that she hated storms. His mother had loved them. The two would sit outside, much to his father's disapproval, as she awed him with stories of the ordinary magic that occurred in his city.

Lightning streaked across the sky, a brilliant flash of purple, and Max flinched. He pulled her closer and rested his head on her's. "I remember, when we lived in Philly, how she would tell me about how Franklin caught lightning on a kite. We used to walk around the city, and even though history bored me to death, the happiness on her face when she talked about it was good enough for me."

Max took his hand in her smaller on. "She'd be proud of you Fang. Tara would love that you're helping shape history."

"She would be- if I could actually manage to do that."

A crease formed between his friend's eyebrows. "What do you mean by that?" When Nick remained silent, she grew stern. "Come on, Fang. Don't hold out on me."

Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose and heaved a great sigh. "Honestly? This campaign is a disaster. There is so much wrong that I'm not even sure what to fix."

Max patted Nick's shoulder. He side-eyed her for the condescending gesture. He looked back to the sky as Max tried to hide her smirk. "If anyone could manage to put this train back on it's track it's you, Nick."

"I don't know. Their office is in the seediest part of D.C., they have no funding, the staff is a mess, and then there's Lissa herself; she'd be the youngest president to date, female- I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with that, Max, just that it stacks against us- and she hasn't even decided on a VP yet."

Nick's best friend's smile was as crooked as the lightning flashing behind her. "Well, if you need any help, you could always ask daddy dearest for a little political advice."

The twenty-eight year old scowled. "Ugh. Don't even bring him up. He hasn't talked to me since I brought Ivan to that congress re-election party last month."

"What?!" Max's face was full of indignant outrage on his behalf. "I thought your dad loved Ivan."

"Oh, he does. But he's only okay with Ivan's gender when there aren't cameras around. Ivan told my father off in Russian and I haven't heard from him since."

Max muttered something and Nick shot her a curious look. "I said, 'and I thought I had daddy issues'."

The sound of thunder rumbling at the mention of Jeb Batchelder was like a bad omen. Fang knew all about Max's problems with her father. Whereas Tara had tried her hardest to outgrow her destitute upbringing and fit into high society life, Max was clawing at the bars of the figurative cage that came with being daughter of a billionaire.

"What has he done now?"

Nick had seen many of Max's eyerolls; this one was at least a nine. "Oh, the usual- he's got it in his head that he's going to be the next president."

Nick opened his mouth, but no words came out. Max continued. "Yep. Daddy decided that genetic mutation wasn't a big enough pursuit for him and wanted to try running a country."

"Damn."

They clinked mugs at Nick's utterance. "And he actually expects me to support him publicly. Like I'll be doing that, let alone voting for him."

"All right, Max," Nick said, fishing around in a flower pot and pulling out a small flask. He poured clear liquid into Max's cup. She sniffed it warily before shrugging and taking a sip. "You win the crap parent contest."

"Mhmm," she grunted. "Still, it's a shame about Ivan. He was pretty hot."

Nick nodded mournfully. "Hey. Weren't you supposed to be off with your boy toy tonight?"

"Don't you keep up with the gossip? I broke it off with Sam the other day. And I told you to stop calling him that."

Nick gave her a look. She glared back at him defensively as he began a tired lecture. "Come on, Maxie. He's the third guy in the past two months."

"Save it, Nick." She attempted a jerky shrug. If Nick didn't know better, he would have said she looked vulnerable, and almost… sad. He pulled her closer to him and whispered into her hair.

"It's alright, amado. You'll find them someday."

For a short moment, she leaned into Nick, straightening up before he could be sure whether she actually had or if he had imagined it. Max stood in one quick movement, leaving him sitting alone on the hard cement of the patio. Nick noticed that it had stopped raining.

He could hear Max puttering around in their shared apartment. "I'm going to leave you to mope while I sing loudly to Hasley and see if I can get the neighbors to complain or if they're too afraid of our fathers. Oh, and I can bring you lunch from that one pizza place you like tomorrow. Or we could go to this new steakhouse I heard about, but it's over on Pennsylvania avenue and I kind of wanted to meet your clients after hearing you complain about them."

Max continued to talk, until the loud sound of guitar came out of the speakers in the house. Nick shook his head as he went inside to write apology notes to the other tenants, all the while knowing that the next day would be nothing less than interesting.