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On Saturday morning, Blake found himself filing reports in the outer office while he awaited the arrival of POTUS.

He couldn't help but think about how grateful he was that he was a natural multitasker, because honestly, he couldn't stop thinking about Friday night.

He'd told the president the truth on Thursday that he was happy for her, but that didn't stop him from worrying too. If anyone deserved a second chance at love it was Elizabeth Adams, but he'd always wondered who could possibly be trusted with her heart?

For years she'd been the most powerful woman in the country, and now she was the most powerful person in the country, arguably the planet. There were people left and right who wanted to take advantage of that power or screw her over in some way or another. Not to mention the fact that she was, by American standards of beauty, objectively speaking, gorgeous as well. Which meant that she had many people out there who just plain wanted to take advantage of her or screw her.

Pigs. Blake thought. All right calm down, Blake. The woman has a small army protecting her. Not to mention she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Anyway, it was her heart that he was more worried about. Sure she could defend herself easily against physical harm, but what about emotional damage? Forget walls, this was a woman who had built up a fortress over the years in order to protect herself. But by definition, loving someone meant dismantling all of that. Letting them in. You can't have it both ways. Blake sighed. That was the problem with love. It was risky.

And yet, at the end of the day, Elizabeth was the only one who got to decide when she wanted to take those risks.

But he could trust Henry McCord, right? He was Stevie's dad. She'd never had any complaints about him—well, any more complaints than a person typically had about their parent.

Although, even if Henry McCord was a good man, that didn't necessarily mean that he was right for the president. What if she got attached, but it simply didn't work out for reasons beyond her control?

Blake was shaken out of his thoughts when he heard footsteps approach and eventually stop next to his desk. His back was to the door, but without turning he greeted the young woman who'd just arrived. "Good morning, Emma."

"Dang it, Blake," she complained. "How do you do that?"

With his typical brand of deadpan sarcasm, he simply responded, "With my spidey senses."

The truth was that all of the assistants in the West Wing each had a very distinct walk. After two years, he always knew which one was approaching. But he liked to keep them on their toes. To keep up the appearance of the near-omniscience of ROTUS. There was after all, a reason he was running the show around here. At least, at the assistant level.

For her part, Emma managed to time her eye roll perfectly so that Blake wouldn't be able to see it before he finished turning around. However, the smirk of victory on her face gave her away.

Blake stared her down as he informed her, "Don't you roll your eyes at me, missy."

She apologized with a laugh, still amazed at Blake's uncanny ability to read a room. "Sorry, boss. Anyway, here are the reports POTUS took up to the Residence last night, and here's her morning muffin. It's cinnamon today. Her ETA is three minutes. Jay left the Oval to take a phone call, but Cassie's already in there."

"Alright, thanks," Blake responded, already reading the names of the reports to see which ones she might want to see again later and which ones he could file.

As promised, Elizabeth arrived after the three minutes had passed. Blake grabbed the muffin from his desk and began to greet her, but stopped mid-sentence when his eyes met the president's and he noticed the look on her face.

"Good morning, Blake," she replied, sailing right past the fact that he hadn't finished what he was saying. "Is there perhaps something you've forgotten in the last couple days?"

Blake had no idea what she could mean. His mission in life was to always stay five steps ahead of whatever she might need. What could he have possibly forgotten? "Ma'am, I assure you everything in the office is running as it should be."

Elizabeth smirked. He clearly had no idea what she was talking about, but she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. "Something you've forgotten to tell me, maybe. Ringing any bells?"

"I apologize, Madam President, but I don't know—"

Alright he's panicking now, time to reel it back, she thought. She chuckled, "Blake, you didn't think to mention that my," she paused to look around, and mouthed the next word silently, "date last night was your best friend's father?"

"Oh thank God." Blake breathed a sigh of relief.

"Blake?" Elizabeth pressed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's just you had me thinking I destroyed NATO or something."

Elizabeth paused to consider this. "I'm sorry, you're right. That would've been worse."

"Wait," Blake thought about what she was asking him. "How did this come up?" Were they talking about him last night?

"Well we did talk about our children. We are in our fifties. It's not like we felt the need not to mention them for a few dates. Besides, I think the ship probably already sailed on me hiding that one," she remarked jokingly. "Anyway, I figured out that Stevie is his daughter. And Blake, you're important to me. I do know who your friends are."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, ma'am. I guess it just didn't seem that important."

"It's fine. Just tell me," Elizabeth asked looking rather nervous, Blake noted, "how much do you, you know, talk about me to other people?"

Blake was shocked at the question, "Ma'am, I would never—"

"Ah, don't deny it. Everybody talks about their boss at least sometimes. For crying out loud, she knows my favorite foods. So…?" She asked, gesturing desperately, waiting for him to answer her question.

Blake didn't even know where to begin. If Stevie had noticed the president's favorite foods, there was no telling the information she could've absorbed during their friendship. He also couldn't begin to guess what she could've observed during her time working for Russell Jackson or what she might've learned during her time working for the campaign.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I just don't think I could accurately estimate what Stevie might know. But, while I don't really know her dad personally, I know without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie is a trustworthy person, and loyal to you as well. I mean, we might not even be here if it weren't for her."

"Wait, what do you mean 'we?'"

"The donation."

Blake was still met with a look of confusion on the president's face.

"Martha's Vineyard. Shelton Anderson."

"Stevie helped you get that donation?"

"Helped? What? No. As much as it pains me to admit it, I was so focused on keeping our ride home that I was pretty much useless when it came to getting the donation. That was all Stevie. When Shelton was going on and on making one misogynistic comment after the next, Stevie defended you, and I don't really understand how she did it, but she changed his mind."

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. She had so many questions. And apparently, so did Blake.

"Did Mike B. not tell you?" Blake wanted to know.

"No. No he didn't. And when I met Shelton, he told me that I, 'Was lucky to have a young employee who was so dedicated and loyal to me. I assumed he meant you."

Blake felt guilty. He really should have done more to defend Elizabeth to that creep, but he'd been physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the campaign at the time. And he'd been panicking about making sure Anderson would keep up his end of the deal and fly him back to the campaign trail.

Elizabeth was still confused. "What did he mean 'employee?' She was Russell's intern, not mine."

"Ma'am, I guess you never really saw her because we were traveling so much, but Stevie worked for the campaign."

"She did?" This was definitely news to Elizabeth. She was operating in a fog of exhaustion under a great deal of stress for most of 2020, but she would have remembered that Stevie had worked for the campaign if she had known. Wouldn't she?

"Yes. She spent most of her time working out of the DC headquarters. I mean, you were never there. It makes sense that you never saw her. Like I said, though. I thought Mike B. would have told you who was responsible for securing our campaign-defining donation."

One would think that wouldn't they, Elizabeth thought. She honestly wasn't surprised that that detail had "slipped Mike's mind," so to speak. It seemed that she owed the McCords even more than she knew about. She wondered what else she might discover in the coming days, and God willing, months. Years? No, no, no. That was getting way, way too far ahead of herself.

"Well, he didn't. But I very much appreciate you telling me now. Thank you."

"Of course. Anything you need. And feel free to let me know if you have any other questions in the future. But I should probably point out the daily briefing set to start in ten minutes."

At that, Elizabeth was startled back into the present. "Right. Of course. Are Jay and Mike both in there?"

"Mike is, but Jay has to step out to take a phone call?"

Elizabeth's eyes went wide. "You left Chloe alone with Mike?"

It wasn't that she thought anything catastrophic would happen leaving Mike alone with Jay's daughter, but Mike was far from anyone's idea of the poster boy for the ideal babysitter. It would be awkward for both of them.

Blake was horrified at the notion. "God no. Cassie's in there with them. She's waiting for you to get the chance to say 'hi' before she takes Chloe over to the Residence."

She smiled, relieved. "Great, thanks," Elizabeth responded as she finally took the muffin out of Blake's hands.

Elizabeth opened the door to the Oval and greeted its youngest occupant. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Morning," Mike greeted her, as usual, barely glancing up from whatever he was reading. Only upon feeling Elizabeth's glare did he finally realize, "Oh, you meant her? Fine, whatever."

Chloe was drawing at Elizabeth's desk, but she caught enough of the exchange to roll her eyes at Mike's behavior. Once she reached a stopping point in her drawing, she looked up from her sketchbook and greeted Elizabeth. "Morning, Aunt Bess."

"So," Elizabeth began as she made her way over to sit in the chair next to her desk, "what's on the agenda for today?"

"Cassie's going to take me up to the music room so I can practice for my oboe lesson this week. Then it's lunch with FLOTUS, and then I'll come back down to the West Wing so I can use the big table in my dad's office to spread out all of my art materials to work on my family tree assignment for school."

"Woah, sounds like you've got a busier day than I do, kiddo."

Chloe smiled at her ridiculous statement. "Well I highly doubt that."

Elizabeth laughed. She couldn't believe how fast time was flying. Chloe had always been a precocious kid, but she sounded so grown up now.

Cassie hated to interrupt, but she had to inform them that it was time to head upstairs. Elizabeth thanked her and wished them both well for the day.

Finally, Elizabeth turned her attention to Mike. "So," Elizabeth began, attempting to suppress the beaming smile that might give away the answer, "aren't you going to ask me how last night went?"

Mike looked offended. "You know, it insults me that you even think I'd have to ask. I've seen the list of approved visitors today. I know Lover Boy is on it. Not to mention, your face is practically glowing with the sickeningly sweet visage of a schoolgirl in lo—"

"Hey! What did I just say the other day about the "L" word?"

"Fine, fine. I'll drop it." For now, he added silently in his thoughts. "Next order of business, I gotta ask: what gives?"

"Excuse me?"

"How come the kid gets to sit in the chair?"

"Because, she's a kid, Michael."

"Woah, woah, woah. No need to break out the full name. I'm just asking."

"Kids have a time-honored history of playing at and around this desk."

"Yes. And JFK had the political savvy to get a photographer in here to capture the moment to sell the cuteness to the public. Because you know what his image was?"

"I don't know, Mike," she remarked sarcastically, "being the young man who, among many other things, led the country during some of the most significant events of the Cold War, inspired the nation to work to put men on the moon, and then tragically lost his life in a horrific assassination?"

"Yes! Young," Mike pointed out totally ignoring everything else she just said. "And you know what you told me your image was? 'Hey look, the nice lady with the glasses.' Well let me tell you this, while JFK might still hold the record for being the youngest president, you, Elizabeth Adams, are young, you are hot, and the public would love you even more than they already do if you would just occasionally let me show them how awesome you are."

"The Kennedys were pop culture icons. I have learned nothing new about pop culture since my kids moved out."

"The public doesn't have to know that."

He still wasn't dropping it. She sighed "More importantly, I don't care about any of those things, Mike. Hear me when I tell you that I want to be known for more than what you just said. I want to be known as a president who worked her hardest to make people's lives better. And furthermore, five minutes before the daily briefing is not an appropriate time to talk about my image. So zip it."

"So you admit that there will be a good time to talk about your image?" Upon being met with only a glare from Elizabeth, he raised his hands in defense and said, "Hey, I'm just checking. But know this, that protest after the impeachment inquiry might have done wonders for your approval rating, but you used up a lot of political capital getting the ERA ratified.

I know it sucks, and it feels too high school for your taste, but politics is one big popularity contest. Sometimes you have to play the game you're in. And I know you don't want to 'use' Henry. And that's sweet and romantic and all that crap, but I'm sorry, you don't have the luxury of keeping him locked away from the public in some ivory tower. This will change his life. And you need to talk to him about it. Soon."

"Mike, I don't want—"

"Bess," Mike interrupted her, his tone a bit harsher than he meant it to be. "Please listen to me. I would never want to extinguish your passion or your light or whatever you want to call it. But I need you to realize that you are playing with fire here."

"And I have to make sure I don't get burned?" Elizabeth asked, attempting to mock him for his use of the cliché.

"No." Mike responded, emphasizing the word to distance himself from the cliché. "You have to make sure you don't burn down the entire forest. I know you hate this part of the job, but this is bigger than you. And you can't escape it. For the next, God willing, six years, every aspect of your life—every nook and cranny—is bigger than you. Now I know we haven't had to think about this much yet with regards to your personal life—"

"Why? Because up until now I haven't really had a personal life?"

"You said it, not me. We are in uncharted territory here. Ever since the younger one learned his lesson after his Correspondents' Dinner smackdown, your kids have done an excellent job of staying out of the public eye. And as long as they don't instigate anything, the press can barely touch them, because they're 'kids' or whatever.

But Henry? This is a whole new ballgame, Bess. They will not show him any mercy. The press will see him as a grown-ass man who makes his own decisions. He doesn't get to play the sympathy-for-the-poor-kids-who-are-forced-to-live-in-mommy's-shadow card. I need you to be prepared, because when the time comes, we need to be sure that we are out in front of the story, controlling the narrative."

"I hear you," Elizabeth began, getting just a little bit frustrated, "but we have time."

Mike relented for the moment, but he was far from giving up on the issue. If time was what she thought she needed, he supposed he could give her the illusion that she had it. For now.

However, there would be no stopping him from working to protect her from this. He'll just have to read her in whenever she gets ready. Or, more likely, whenever the situation would inevitably demand that she get ready.