For the lilacmermaid prompt: "President & FGOTUS put on a good act in front of others, but in private, they haven't shared a bed since before moving into the White House."
Their smiles are frozen stiff on their faces as a dozen cameras flash in front of them. Elizabeth's hand is clenched tight inside Henry's and from the outside, no one can tell.
He expels a huff of irritation and she squeezes his hand harder. They're good at the optics, but the cost is high. "Don't," she warns quietly, so that only he can hear. Her smile doesn't budge an inch.
"You told me thirty minutes," he hisses through his teeth. "It's been well over an hour."
"I can't control everything."
"I didn't agree to this."
"Til death do us part, babe."
"Don't tempt me," he growls.
Daisy finally steps in, mercifully steering them out through the side door. Elizabeth and Henry drop their hands the second the door swings shut, sealing them away from the eyes of the press corps. Henry is already striding toward the exit on the other side of the room.
"I know—you'll be in your office if I need to inconvenience you again," Elizabeth says scathingly.
"Don't be a bitch," Henry fires back without even looking at her. The door slams behind him.
Elizabeth kicks off her shoes in frustration, sending them flying halfway across the floor.
"Ma'am," Daisy tries carefully, but Elizabeth holds up a hand.
"Don't," she mutters.
Daisy backs off. "You have that interview with Jane Cooke in a few hours," she reminds Elizabeth instead.
"Thanks, Daisy."
The other woman excuses herself, and then it's just Elizabeth standing there, barefoot and alone.
Well. Greater women than her have done more with less.
Elizabeth collects her shoes, puts them back on even though her feet protest it, straightens her blazer, and holds her head high. She can build this presidency with or without her husband's help.