A/N: Thanks for all of your thoughts and ideas on the last chapter! I've been trying to reply to all reviews this time around (if I missed replying to you specifically I'm sorry!) If you want to chat or have a question, be sure to sign in so I can reply :)
Mini warning that there are some left-side bills that Erik is looking to push. Once again, not trying to push anything on you readers - it's his way of trying to push his agenda (you know...like a politician... haha).
Here's a lighter chapter for you. You deserve it ;)
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was on their third day back in Washington that the video of Christine singing at Walker's deathbed was leaked. It took two hours to reach a million views on its original release site. By morning, every news station was playing it, some of them wanting to take moments of silence following the song. The internet was exploding and Meg had taken the day off from her job at the Harold to try and keep up for Christine's Twitter account. It seemed that everyone had something to say about their thoughts. All the while, Christine had taken to sitting in on an orchestra rehearsal at the Kennedy Center.
She stuck to the balcony with Clara and some other security members. By that point, she had learned everyone's name, a little on their families and where they went to school. There were plenty of people suddenly wanting to talk to her, but all she really wanted to do was have others talk about trivial topics instead. That was her way of coping with things.
That evening, Meg met her back at the White House for dinner. They sat in the private quarters of the suite with vegetable soup and bread made by the chef downstairs.
"I take it Erik couldn't make it?" Meg asked between bites.
"His meeting ran over," Christine replied lightly.
"Have you thought about making appointments with him?"
She laughed, "What's the point? He's doing so much and I'm hardly doing anything. He doesn't like to talk about any of it and I can't blame him."
"Well," Meg said casually, "Start doing something. You've been at orchestra rehearsals for three days. You clearly don't think that's doing enough."
"That's not doing anything. But still…with the video leaking today and being back in town… What's there for me to do anyway?"
"Maybe we can figure something out. Charity or something. Everyone loves volunteer work. Or the wedding. That's a distraction."
Christine put her head in her hands and moaned, "Oh don't remind me."
"Okay, so no to the wedding. We can go back to that later. Have you looked into any of the news about the video today?"
"No. I'm honestly afraid to."
"Come on, chica, look," Meg slid her chair over to Christine's and pulled out her phone. She started to read, "Huffington Post has called you a 'light in the darkness.' Washington Post said you're 'what the country needs.' And can you believe it? Even conservative Christian forums are posting how strong and courageous you are! You've never even come out on having a religion. That's huge! Then there's Twitter. I honestly lost track. Everyone is bawling and thanking you for your service to the dying president. There are people on YouTube videoing reaction videos. You should make a statement."
Christine's eyes eventually stopped moving so quickly over the screen and soon froze into one place. "How can I respond to all of this?"
Meg took her phone back in a clear attempt to get Christine to calm down. "A tweet should work. Hmm. How about 'I'm grateful for all your kind words?'"
Christine tucked her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "I'd rather not get any more attention. Can I crawl into a hole?"
"Can't write that." Meg winked at her friend with a smirk, "It wouldn't make sense. How about 'Please remember the Walker's in this trying time.'"
"Maybe…Um. Okay here is something, 'Thank you for everyone being so kind, but I don't want to take any credit. I did the only thing I knew to do. It's Walker that should be praised for his sacrifice for our country.' That's diplomatic, right?"
Meg paused to think before she replied, "We'll throw in some hashtags."
"Hashtags?"
"Yeah, there are some floating around. We want to be sure everyone knows."
"If you say so," Christine sighed and looked back at her food. She had not been eating as much food as she had normally eaten before the shooting. There was hardly any time to really look in the mirror to see if her figure had changed at all. She hoped that it hadn't. That was was she didn't need. Something else for the press to snoop in on.
"Yep. Cool, I'll post once I leave." Meg's tone changed to that of gossip, "So tell me. What's it like being with the President?"
Christine wouldn't admit it, but for the first time that day she felt present right where she sat. "Oh my god, Meg! You make it sound like we're doing something…something! Besides, we talked while I was at Camp David."
"Yeah, but we both know that wasn't a private line." Meg paused, but Christine did not continue. Instead, she picked up her slice of bread to tear a piece off for herself. Meg pressed on, "Admit it. You're sad that Erik can't be here."
For a moment, Christine's mouth fell open as if to contradict her friend, but when she looked back at Meg, she froze, promptly closed her jaw, and stared out onto the back lawn in bewilderment. "How can you tell that?" she whispered.
Meg smiled in her clear victory then shrugged, "Part of my job is reading people. What's happened? Do you like-like him now?"
"Like…like? Well…he and I have, um…we've uh…"
Meg gripped both sides of the table and leaned forward seriously, "What?"
Feeling very small, Christine shrank even further into her ball, her chin tucked behind her knees with arms snug around her legs in the dining room chair. She looked away from her friend as heat rose in her cheeks, "We've… hugged."
"…Hugged?" Meg repeated slowly.
Christine's voice got smaller, "Yeah…a few times…actually."
Meg cocked an eyebrow, "That's it?"
A little angry at how unimpressed her friend was at finding out this development, Christine sat up and snapped, "What more should we be doing?"
Not wanting to close the conversation, Meg took a different approach, "Did you…hug in public?"
Christine seemed to think a little on that, "Not really."
"Wait," Meg leaned forward again, "Oh my god - in private?!"
"Yes," Christine whispered, her timidness returning.
"Now I understand! That's different! That's not expected for the agreement. OH MY GOD! Okay. Okay! Spill!"
"Spill what?" Christine laughed nervously, "There's nothing to spill. It just sort of happened."
"Erik Underwood hugging anyone, even his fiance, is a story. I need details."
Christine frowned a little, "I feel like I need to remind you of our off-the-record friendship, Meg."
She waved her hand, "Of course, of course, now tell me."
"Well…um…there was the other night before we left for Camp David…and once at the hospital…and at Cherry Springs."
"How did it happen each time?"
"Um…I was crying."
"So, he hugged you because you were sad?"
"I guess?"
"That's…nice?" Meg offered.
"Yeah, it was nice of him."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but did he seem cold about it? Like, sorry, but was it one of those 'I'll hug her so she'll stop' things?"
"Maybe…I don't know. See, well, at Cherry Springs we hugged twice, technically, but it was both within a short time span. I mean, it had started to rain and we had to go inside. Actually, the reason we hugged the first time I told him I was happy…but I was crying so I could see why that was confusing to understand."
Meg's eyes narrowed as she closed in on the scoop, "So you hugged again when you got inside? And you were completely alone? No chance of anyone seeing… Then what?"
Christine started to pull at the material of her pants awkwardly, "Um…well it sounds a little um…"
Meg leaned forward over the table, "Yes?"
"Well, I didn't have any other clothes except for the ones I was taking back and we were both soaked…"
Meg's hands fisted the napkin on the table as she lost her patience, "Yes?"
"I…" Christine managed to shrink a little more behind her knees, "I may have been…" Her last words were a mumbled whisper, "Wearing his shirt…"
"Oh. My. GOD!" On the last word, Meg sprung up from the table.
Christine followed the reaction by standing as well, this time putting her hands out in front of her as if fending off her friend, "Only because it was so cold and he started a fire and I didn't have anything else! I felt really bad for asking!"
Meg's hands raised to the air, "Scandalous!"
"Is not!" Christine cried as she reached out to pull Meg's hands down.
Meg lost herself in a fit of giggles as the two stood so close to each other.
"You are too much!" Meg laughed unable to control herself, "This is the most wholesome relationship I've ever heard of."
"Thanks?" asked still unsure of whether the physical advancement was appropriate or not.
"So I understand why you hugged at the hospital." Meg said as she led the two of them into the center den to sit on the couch, "That's normal. I just hope some of the staff saw and talked about it enough." They both sat down and Christine resumed her position in a curled up ball at the edge of the sofa, "What happened the other night?"
"It was dumb." Christine groaned into her hands.
"Come on?"
"I was sad because of well, everything and I told him he didn't have to listen to me like that when he's the President and all. But, well, yeah it happened again and well, he said it was okay."
"Just okay? As in you're just okay at hugging him?"
"Oh my god, no! I don't know what I am! As in, it was okay to be hugging."
"Wait…" Meg took a second to process before continuing, "Were you initiating this whole time and thought it wasn't being reciprocated?"
"Um. No. Like, uh, I thought that might have been it, but when I thought it was and started to pull away, I asked and he said it was okay and didn't really let go. I don't know how he afforded to stay with me for so long. He has so much to do and all."
"What do you mean?"
"I feel asleep like that. Like…beside him…on his shoulder."
"Hugging him?"
"I guess."
"I think the proper term for that is cuddling."
"Stop!"
"Don't knock me for knowing my terms. That's what it is and you know it."
"Ugh! I don't know! This is all so stupid. And confusing. Everything! Ah!"
Meg laughed full-heartedly. Not knowing what else to do, Christine clutched a pillow and swung it over to hit her friend in the face. Meg didn't stop her laughing and instead moved to wipe a tear from her eye. Christine raised her hands to her face to hide again, but not before she noticed Meg's attention move to something behind her. On full alert, Christine turned to find Erik Underwood standing in the middle of the entryway staring at them. Releasing a sigh of both relief and anguish, Christine fell over into the back of the sofa with an exasperated "Hmf!"
"President Underwood," Meg smirked to hide a smile.
"Ms Barnes," he returned unenthusiastically before looking to his fiance, "Christine. I trust you already ate…seeing the state of the kitchen."
Christine stood and took a few steps to Underwood, "Oh! I'll clean it up. We just were talking."
"It's no matter. I don't have an appetite. Long day."
"Have you…eaten anything today, Erik?" Christine asked timidly.
He looked away, "I've been busy. There is more work to do."
"There's some soup left for you on the stove. I… I think you ought to have something."
Meg's eyebrows rose in interest as Erik looked back at Christine. There was a glimmer of appreciation in his expression that wasn't missed by the young reporter.
"If you insist, Christine," Erik said gently and Christine smiled.
Meg let out a burst of laughter, "You two are a riot!" This time, two sets of angry eyes met hers, but she continued with her hands up in defence, "Hey, I'm leaving. You two can have your time. I know Mr President didn't come to his private wing to see another reporter." She got up and picked her phone off the side table near the door where she had left it on aeroplane mode for security. As she crossed she looked at her friend and winked, "I don't want to interfere in any more scandals happen."
"Meg!" Christine seethed.
"What now?" Erik asked, exasperated.
Christine moaned and stomped her way back to her room, "Meg, you're the worst! That's the last time I-" Remember Underwood was still in the room, Christine caught herself before she continued. Rather than say any more, she moaned.
"What scandal?!" Erik barked again.
Meg smiled warmly, "Just girl talk. I'm joking. For once, President Underwood, you don't have to worry." She looked back at Christine, "I think things are going to be fine. Goodnight!"
Erik looked back at Christine once they were alone, "What was all of that about?"
"Nothing," she replied sheepishly.
"I don't believe that for an instant. Couldn't you have made a less nosey friend?"
Christine shrugged, "She is what she is."
"Indeed." Erik cleared his throat, "Have you…made any further plans for the wedding?"
"What? No! It's - ugh - should we really be talking about that after… after, well, everything?"
"Why not? It's the only thing that kept my popularity rating from being the lowest in history."
"Great," she moaned sarcastically.
Erik took a step forward, "So to speak, yes, 'Great.'"
"Can I just take this one step at a time? Please? The video just went out today and -"
"About that," Erik started slowly.
She looked up and on alert, "What?"
"You may want to consider sitting, Christine."
"Oh, no." Christine crossed her arms over her chest, "Tell me and I'll go from there."
"Very well," Erik took another step towards her, but still kept a respectful distance of a few feet, "How is your Italian coming along? Can you converse with Clara yet?"
"Possiamo ordinare i ravioli," Christine mumbled.
Underwood rolled his eyes slightly, "Ordering food is a start, I suppose."
"Does she get her trip to Italy now?"
"In three years, yes."
"So…there is time?" She offered.
"For her, yes," Erik took another step towards Christine and she looked up when seeing an unfamiliar uncertainty in his eyes, "Christine, you've been asked the Walker Family to sing The Prayer with Josh Groban at Richard's funeral."
"Oh god," Christine lost the feeling in her knees and slipped down the frame of the door to her room. Erik knelt beside her and placed a supporting hand under her nearest elbow. She looked up to him with a haze over her features, "I thought the video would be enough on its own!"
Erik sighed, "I did too,"
"Erik, I can't…" Christine's hands went to her face in defence, "How am I?" She shook her head then cried, "For a..a funeral? I…no! "
"Christine," Erik said soothingly as he took her forearms in his hands gently, "I will not force you. This is your decision."
"No. No, this is…" She took Erik's arms and clutched the fabric of his name-brand suit jacket desperately, "This is a democracy! Who says no once they've been tasked to do something like this? Who shows that kind of disrespect to a president's family?"
"Dearest, you still have your choice in the matter. You can turn this down if you wish."
"Clearly, I can't! I have no…" Christine slowed her words as reality began to replay the last few seconds, "No…" She blinked and looked up to his mismatched eyes, "What? What did you say…?"
Erik stared at her sceptically then appeared to try and recover, "I… said you don't have to sing if you don't want to."
"No…before you called me-"
Erik suddenly stood, "I think I should eat something after all."
Christine stood too, "Erik-"
"Let me know what you decide by tomorrow morning. If you decide not to I believe Kelly Clarkson is going to be asked. Imagine that. She's not a soprano. The Walkers always supported the arts but I'll be dammed if they know anything about vocal types."
Christine stared blankly at her husband-to-be, "Dearest. You said, 'Dearest' just now."
The President pulled at the back of his neck with his hand tiredly and mumbled, "Let's hope I don't let a Nuclear Code slip out next."
The woman's eyes went wide, "I don't think that's on the same level as what you said."
"Might as well be." He looked back at her, "I'm…very tired, Christine."
She nodded slowly and looked down.
"It's…it's okay I won't take any…any meaning or anything…" she mumbled slowly.
"That wasn't my point."
Christine looked up again and they locked eyes for a moment before he said quietly, "Let me know your decision. It's up to you."
And with that, he left for the kitchen. Christine sighed heavily and moved to where the phone was charging on the nightstand in her room. The phone buzzed from a text. Meg.
You know I love you, chica XOXO
Christine smirked and replied, If I didn't need your help right now I'd be angry with you.
What's up, hon?
Christine moaned again and fell face-down into her pillow.
I don't know which is more concerning. The fact that Erik just called me "Dearest" just now or that the Walker's want me to sing with Josh Groban at the former president's funeral.
OoO
XXXII
Popularity was never something Erik Underwood had cared about unless it had to do with votes. His prerogative in life was not to be liked. It was to be respected and feared as a leader. That was it. He expected his Executive Action in declaring a Federal State of Emergency in order to put a temporary restriction on gun sales to be taken poorly. When was the last time a president was referred to as a dictator by the general public? Was it for a good reason? Probably during a war when an acting president could get away with as much as they wanted in the name of peace… But this wasn't war. And yet, the general populous didn't feel at peace either. They felt better to protect themselves rather than trust the government to protect them.
Ironically enough, Congress was more easily swayed. In a matter of days as the public cried over guns, Erik was able to work to get a number of trade deals through as well as strengthen military enforcement in the Indian Ocean. He would not look weak in his new position. The rest of the world was watching and holding their breath all the while American citizens couldn't seem to shut their traps long enough to see what was really unfolding around them. Erik wondered if he would be able to rise in such a way in any other country. Likely, not. As much as he loathed the general populous for their short-sighted blindness, he revelled in his ability to control the masses. Maybe with more education, things would change. He had developed an education bill that would help break up the main textbook monopoly as well. He smiled at the likelihood that it would be passed by the end of the week. So much done in so little time all over an outdated amendment. It was too good to be true. The dramatics would die down. His real achievement would be to take out the lobbyist funds and dark money that went to making Congress ruled by business and for business… All in good time. Erik smiled. The time to finally flip things upside down was finally at his fingertips…but not without Christine.
What had he been thinking letting a word like that slip out of his subconscious and out his deformed mouth? He never even recalled thinking the word in his head. How had it fallen out as it had! And what else had he managed to let slip during the day? The Nuclear Code?!
He sighed.
No.
That was business and politics. He never ever slipped in business and politics.
This was different. These feelings were different. And he needed her. He needed her to marry him and to follow through with the wedding that was far too far away and he needed her to just be there. Why did he put himself in a position to need her so much? And why did she have to be so damned good at clearing his image? No one liked him. That was always the way it was. Liking someone and having them be good at a job were two very different things. But, Christine! Everyone adored her! Everyone wanted to see her. She was always perfect in her little human imperfections and the whole nation would much rather see her face every night on the news than his. Without her standing with him, he would be finished. How had he let that happen? Not just finished politically, but finished emotionally. What were these damn emotions anyway?! Why did they have to show up and hold the clout to quite literally ruin everything?
"Dammit!" Erik exclaimed as he shut his laptop with a snap. Working was useless. It wasn't even midnight and he felt useless. How much had slept in the past week? Had he even slept at all? Without much more thought he was pulling out his violin case from his room, plucking the strings to check they were in tune and finally pulling the bow across the instrument right there in the den.
The song was irrelevant. One song flowed into another and another. Some were pieces he learned ages ago while others were mutations of his own original compositions. His vision blurred and his sense of feel dulled as well. There was nothing but the sound of the music. Song after song after song until the notes infused so far into his head that no thoughts were left. He only stopped when one of the calluses on his finger finally dried out and cracked. Blood and polished wood do not mix. With a sigh, he let his vision refocus and realized he had been playing in front of the large window on the far west side. He smirked and rolled his eyes at the idea of guards silently watching from afar. He was no Bill Clinton with a saxophone. This was as good as they were going to get.
He turned back towards the room and to his complete shock, he found Christine curled up asleep on the farthest corner of the sofa. When had she gotten out there? How long had she been there? And… he continued to stare at her with complex thoughts running through his head. She was in her father's old button up shirt again and yoga pants. The shirt seemed to consume her it was huge over her fit frame. Over her feet were thick fuzzy socks with polar bears on them. Whoever would come up with such a terrible design for an adult woman? And yet… she looked… perfect. Even with her messy bun that was half-way pulled out from the weight of her hair and her ajar mouth and heavy breathing she was perfect.
How would anybody manage to be perfect like that? Why did she have to be everything? Not just to the country but to him? Rather than look at her any closer he stalked away to put his violin away before he did any more damage by letting his waste of bodily fluids warp the wood. As he moved towards his room with heavy unthoughtful steps, he heard a sigh and looked back at her. Christine's eyes opened only slightly under heavy lids and she watched him curiously from the other side of the couch. Her eyes wandered as if she was about to shut them again, but then suddenly snapped open.
"Your hand!" She gasped.
Erik followed her gaze and noticed just how much his finger was bleeding. He cursed under this breath. When he saw her stand he spoke, "It's no matter. I played too long."
"I know what to do," she said moving to her room.
"There's nothing…" he sighed, "There's nothing for you to do. I just need to-"
Christine re-emerged with a washcloth, a box of bandages, and a small jar of petroleum jelly in her arms. She spoke as she walked, "You let your fingers dry out. Dad used to do that all the time in the winter when he forgot his gloves." She smiled bittersweetly, "He was always forgetting his gloves."
Erik cleaned his violin before putting it back in its case. When his cleaning rag came back damp he swore again and threw it in at the closest where he kept his hamper.
"My hands aren't dry. I haven't played since…since everything. A callus broke. I'm fine."
Christine looked down at what she was carrying then swallowed hard. "Right, um, sorry. I… I wasn't assuming you couldn't take care of yourself… I just… I'll go back to my room."
Erik painfully watched as she made her way around the sofa to go back to her room. Before she passed the doorframe he stopped her, "Christine,"
She looked over her shoulder only slightly.
"I…" he sighed and looked at his hand as the blood continued to run down, "I suppose my hands have gotten dry from all the typing…and I've been washing my hands with that terrible soap downstairs. Could Federal Government not afford anything better?"
Christine smiled a little, "You mean they don't have lotion in the men's bathrooms?"
He looked at her suddenly, "There is lotion in women's bathrooms?"
"Yes," she smiled a little wider.
"I thought a new education bill was necessary to pass tomorrow." He threw his hands up, "Clearly, I am in the wrong. What this nation really needs is lotion in the men's bathrooms!"
Christine continued to smile, "Erik, your hand is um."
"Then hand over the towel!"
She held it out to him. He took it quickly and wrapped it around his bleeding finger. She had wet the washrag in cold water. It was soothing against the heat of his finger. The effort, while minimal, made him smile under his mask.
"I know you don't need me to help you, Erik." Christine said quietly, "I didn't really think before I ran and got this stuff. I don't know…I guess I just thought that for once I knew how to handle something."
"If only the rest of United States civilians underestimated yourself as much as you do!"
She gave him a confused look.
"Public opinion believes you have a much better grasp of morality than I ever could. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you are much better at handling tragedy than I am."
Her eyes became large and almost defensive, "We both know that isn't true. They don't know everything."
"The people don't care to know everything. That's why this is a Representative Democracy. People don't want to be bothered with the details. It's my job to know everything and they hate me for it."
Christine smirked and Erik couldn't help but wonder if his mannerisms were somehow rubbing off on her. He surveyed his fingers again. They were dry. Somehow they were dry in the late summer of DC when walking outside was like being in a rainforest…but he hadn't been outside in days. It hadn't been safe for him to travel unless completely necessary. He hadn't told that to Christine.
There wasn't much more to discuss once Erik admitted his fingers were, in fact, too dry. They two of them went to the sofa and he was very still as she held the washcloth tightly around his finger until the cut clotted. From there she expertly dabbed petroleum jelly on his finger then wrapped it up in a practical little bandage. She gave him the rest of the jelly after he admitted to having none himself and gave him strict instructions to use rub it into the pads of his fingers twice a day until there was a noticeable difference. It wasn't that he could not have done that himself without her instruction, but he couldn't help but marvel at her confidence. Whether she realized it or not, Erik was certain that as much as her father had taken care of her, she had taken care of her father. Rather than tell her that her knowledge was wasted on him as he already knew what she had to say, he stayed quiet and listened. He had missed her voice. There was something about it.
Somewhere during the medical lesson, the topic of conversation changed and Christine was telling Erik a story about how she apparently took it upon herself to patch up the Philadelphia City Orchestra's hands during one of the coldest winters the city had seen in years. She negotiated her place as a full-time volunteer as her father played with them for the season. She was nine years old, Even when the managers tried to remove her she had such a good reputation with the orchestra that they threatened to call the union and claim neglect if little Christine were removed. The only stipulation was that she had to keep her grades up through her homeschooling program. She always did.
No matter where she wound up and no matter who was around, Christine Gallagher was a treasure. Everything Erik Underwood wasn't. What did he expect from her? This was supposed to be about music and a legal title. Not something as precious as sharing old stories into the early morning and having his fingers patched up. Who did she think she was? And why was he so entrapped? The word he used earlier haunted his mind as he listened and eventually when her words had run out the word still rang through his thoughts.
He had meant it.
And the idea that he had meant it terrified him.
His feelings could ruin everything if unchecked.
Dearest.
"Erik?"
He blinked a few times and focused on her more fully, "Yes?"
"What are you looking at…?"
"You are important to me," he said straightforwardly.
Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.
"I don't want to make demands of you. You have done more than I could have ever asked for. Thank you, Christine."
"Where… Where is all of this coming from…" she asked, still in shock.
He stood, trying to break the strangeness and give them a little distance, "Nowhere and everywhere, I suppose." He continued to walk to his bedroom and stopped to look back at her before entering, "I swear I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. Right when I got to the point where I had all I ever thought I wanted, I came back here and realized it wasn't much without you." He sighed, "I'm tired, Christine. Perhaps we can share breakfast tomorrow before I go downstairs?"
She nodded.
"Very well, then. Goodnight,"
"Goodnight," came her small whisper from behind him. He stopped for a moment, but rather than face her again, he shut the door for the evening. What was left of it anyway?
A/N: Next chapter is Richard Walker's funeral. Bring yar tissues. :*(
I haven't written the next chapter yet so any encouragement (via reviewss) you want to throw my way to inspire me might just get ya regular weekly update!
