XVI
"Hey!" Danny came bounding up to her, annoyingly cheerful as always. One small blessing - at least he hadn't seen the president close up for long enough to notice his state of mild intoxication. Most of the partygoers probably wouldn't even have spotted anything amiss, but Danny was sharp. Plus, he knew the president far better than most people in the room, after following them on the campaign trail. She knew there'd been a reason they hadn't invited any press.
Well, okay, that had been more to do with the Swedish Ambassador's propensity for causing a scene - he tended towards a much more loud and obnoxious form of drunkenness. He'd behaved himself tonight, at least, insofar as there had been no blows exchanged and he hadn't thrown up on anybody. All in all, apart from certain red-headed reporters bugging her, the evening could probably be counted a great success.
"So... I never got that dance," Danny observed chirpily. CJ, perhaps just a tad tipsy herself, reminded herself to play it icily cool.
"Imagine my distress," she brushed him off casually.
"Thank Josh for the invite for me," he said, undiscouraged.
"Oh, I'll be talking to Josh about this. At length," she prophesied darkly.
"Have dinner with me again tomorrow night?" he interjected optimistically.
"Okay," she accepted before her brain caught up.
"Great!" He sauntered off into the distance, whistling.
Nice deployment of the icy-cool defence there, Claudia Jean, she reflected.
Abbey had to smile as Charlie brought her husband stumbling over to her. He'd dipped down from the more manic stage of his intoxication, and gave her a sweet, goofy smile. Jed had never been much of a drinker, but when he did go over his limit he was a silly, sappy drunk, dopey but very tractable. It was hard to be anything but affectionately exasperated with him.
She sighed, and folded her arms. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked rhetorically. He just blinked at her, big blue eyes all innocence.
"Just pass him over here, Charlie," she directed. The young aide had been surreptitiously supporting and guiding the president in case of sudden staggering. Abbey took his arm, and he immediately rested his chin on her shoulder, a complete dead weight. "Oh, dear God," she sighed. It was going to be a long, long walk back up to the Residence.
Obviously sensing this, Charlie lingered; she shooed him away. "You can go now, Charlie. You should get on home to Zoey, you look exhausted."
Indeed, he seemed uncharacteristically reticent; tired or not, she'd have expected him to be highly amused by the display her husband was currently putting on. Instead, his face was etched with frown lines, and he just nodded. "Goodnight, ma'am."
She sensed that now was not the time to be chiding her son-in-law for over- formality. "Goodnight, Charlie."
"G'night, Charlie," Jed mumbled in echo against her shoulder. Abbey ruffled his hair absently and sighed.
"Come on. Let's get you up to bed."
They made their slightly unsteady way towards the Residence. Fortunately, there was nobody left to see but the Secret Service agents, and they kept their own counsel.
"You smell good," Jed suddenly felt the need to inform her, apropos of nothing.
"Well, that's nice, babe," she said tolerantly, "but do you think you could stand to take a little of your own weight there, pumpkin? Thank you."
He screwed up his face in concentration as they entered the Residence. There was a lingering pause while they both waited for the incoming thought to line itself up. " What was that with... Sam and Steve?" he asked finally, having difficulty with the sibilants.
Abbey had to smirk. "Sam's all freaked out because his boyfriend thinks you're cute," she informed him as she helped him tug off his jacket.
He blinked. "Oh." He contemplated this drunkenly for a few moments. "I am cute," he finally pronounced, with a decisive nod.
Abbey rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, honey, you are," she sighed.
She pulled him close to her, and helped him into bed.
"Dad told me about the death threats," Zoey said without preamble as her husband walked in. He looked exhausted, and she almost regretted starting this, but she knew that if she didn't, he'd just let it fester.
"So what's new?" he said, sounding bitter and resigned. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"You know what's new."
Charlie sighed heavily as he fumbled his shoes off, and then gave her a dark look. "What do you expect me to say?"
Despite herself, she felt her own frustration building up into rising anger. "I expect you to say 'Hey, Zoey, I'm your husband, do you want to maybe talk about this?'" Why did he always have to shut her out when he was pissed about something?
He stood up to shrug his jacket off, not entirely coincidentally turning his back on her. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Well maybe I do," she countered.
The look he turned on her was not even angry, just earth-shatteringly weary. " Zoey, there's just- There's nothing to say, okay?"
"Charlie-" she said, abruptly shifting from irritated into pleading.
"No, Zoey, what is there to say, what are you gonna say?" he demanded. "This just... is, okay? This is what we get. We should both be more than used to it by now," he added bitterly.
It broke her heart as much as it drove her crazy to see him in this kind of dark mood. "Charlie, you can't-"
"It is what it is, Zoey. And nothing we say tonight or any night is going to make a damn bit of difference."
She reached out to his beseechingly. "I know, but can we just talk-"
"Yeah, I don't want to talk about it." There was a long pause, until final he said brusquely, "I'm working early tomorrow morning. I need to get to sleep."
He walked past her into the next room, and she knew there would be no more talking with him that night.
"Look, I already apologised."
Silence.
"I'm not going to do it again."
More silence.
"It was a perfectly innocent comment. And it's not like he's your dad."
Still no response. Steve rolled over, and prodded Sam in the back. "Listen, I know you're still awake. You're not snoring."
He didn't even rise to that old familiar bait. He must really still be sulking. Steve lay back, and chuckled faintly to himself.
"I can't believe you're this wound up just because I called the president cute."
Sam remained silent, but Steve could see his shoulders tense. "C'mon, talk to me!" he whined. He sighed heavily. "Oh, this is ridiculous. You're a grown man, just accept that your boyfriend has a perfectly innocent crush on the president, and move on."
Sam yelped and sat bolt upright. "It's a crush now?"
Steve couldn't help giggling at his expression. "Oh, Sam." He patted the side of his face. "Sam, Sam, Sam."
"It's not funny," his boyfriend pouted. "I find this very... very disquieting," he grumbled.
He rolled his eyes. "I honestly don't see what your problem is. I'm not allowed to think the president's good looking?"
Sam spluttered, apparently looking for an appropriate point to make. "He's the president!" he came up with finally. "And he's, he's, he's- he's married! Not to mention old enough to be your father. Or, indeed, my father."
"Oh, well, in that case he's ancient." Steve leaned back to cast his eyes heavenwards. "I just said I thought he was being cute back there, Sam. I didn't say I had plans to leap on him and-"
Sam yelped in distress, and physically cut him off with a hand across his mouth. "I beg you, do not finish that sentence, or I will be forced to move out of this bedroom and, you know, live out in the hall. Forever. Possibly rocking back and forth, whimpering."
"Whatever," Steve sighed. "All right. In deference to your delicate sensibilities, I will never again to refer to this or any future president with any terminology that might suggest they could be considered in any sense whatsoever physically attractive."
"Thank you."
"Of course, you realise this will have an impact when you unexpectedly rise through the ranks to take the White House in 2026."
"Somehow I'll survive," he said sardonically. Steve just smiled at him, and leaned over to give him a kiss.
"Go to sleep, Sam," he advised.
