A MUCH LIGHTER CHAPTER - THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME!


Russell wondered why his wife was never happy that he wasn't getting enough exercise – the walk through the White House never ceased to invigorate him. The walk into the space, quick running from meeting to meeting, the cardio workout his heart got with each development on things that could go wrong – he should be the healthiest person in the place.

"Little late this morning, Mr. Jackson."

Looking at his watch as he walked past his secretary's desk, "I'm sure you have something more important to do than see that I'm three minutes late." 5:03. Still much earlier than most of the others.

Used to his banter, Margaret said, "The reports are on your desk. Any scheduling changes have been updated and are on your desk as well."

"Thank you." He said, "And the OEOB report?"

"Right here for you." And she handed him the file.

Short and sweet – just how Russell liked it. Information, then done. "Thank you."

He opened the door to his office, flipped on the light, juggling his briefcase, file, and coffee in his hand. Calling out to Margaret, "Will you have Counsel's office send up the next…"

The minute he glanced up from the document in his hand, he saw her. And almost dropped his coffee. But couldn't keep from exclaiming, "Fuck!" When he caught his breath, he said, "What the fuck are you doing in my office?"

The girl sitting in his desk chair didn't move. "Pay up."

Setting his stuff down on his desk, he shook his head, "Emma, you can't just…" Popping his head back out the office door, he said, "Margaret, what the hell is she doing in here?"

"Who?" Margaret's honest answer convinced Russell that she'd not led an ambush on him.

"No one." And he closed the door behind him and turned to the kid. "How did you even get in here?"

"Ghosts have a way of getting around." She said, raising her eyebrows. "We had an agreement, dude."

Russell couldn't figure out if she was playing the part of a ghost, mob boss, or a classic witch sitting there waiting for him in his own office. Messy curls moved slightly as she turned the chair lightly side to side, a turtleneck and the classic overalls that everyone had become accustomed to seeing on the President's youngest daughter, and then the black cat, who was at least four times the size he'd been when Russell had bought him – the cat was sitting across her lap, while she ran her fingers through his long fur. Methodically. Like a crazy woman about to do an incantation and then send her cat out to terrorize the village people.

He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "It hasn't even been 24 hours, Emma."

She turned her head and the chair to glance out of the window for a second before she looked back at him. "There wasn't a timetable. I want it now."

Gosh. "You have to give me time, Emma. There's only so much I can do right away." He hated how he sounded like some shopkeeper from the Godfather. "I am dealing with things a bit more complicated than this."

"I did what you wanted." She said, her tone starting to bite. "And I want to go today."

He should have realized this was how the whole agreement would go. Should have seen it playing out like this. But her request had been so small with such a large payoff if she agreed. He huffed and said, "It isn't even six in the morning. So since we left the party last night, I haven't exactly had the ability to check with anyone about it yet. You should know that – your parents aren't even up yet." He hated to ask for more time. But he knew it would take more than one conversation to get them to agree.

And, from the tight-lipped teenager in front of him, Emma knew it too.

"I want to add something to the agreement." She said plainly.

Never ceasing to be amazed at the audacity and whit on this child, Russell folded his arms across his chest and said, "You know that's not how agreements work."

"Especially when you promised something you don't even think you're going to get." Emma shot back with a twinge of humor to her words.

She was right. "You're right." He capitulated. "What's your proposal?"

She looked up at the ceiling and said, "I want Henry to come with me."

Ignoring as he had on multiple occasions the awkwardness that Emma brought up each time she called her dad "Henry," he said, "You want me to get him to go?" That actually wasn't going to be hard. If he got that far.

She nodded.

He tried not to think about how different from the standard operating procedure this was for Emma. Everyone knew how she avoided her family, preferring to be alone. And Russell was one of the people who knew about the agreement between mother and daughter. So for Emma to want Henry to go with her was, perhaps, a step in the right direction.

"Why?" He probed. Something didn't feel right.

She looked at him. "I want to talk to him."

Something about this scrawny kid tore at Russell. Maybe it was from walking through the entire mourning process with Elizabeth. Watching her go from the mother focused on finding her daughter to the emotionless robot that had flipped the President onto his back without a hint of remorse. The way she'd without thought of the political repercussions had resigned as Secretary of State – despite how much Russell hated to lose her, he could respect that. And then watching how she'd campaigned, caring for people and speaking about what she believed in. How she'd won a presidential election by telling the truth.

And when Emma had been rescued – Russell had been broken with joy. Watching the impossible happen for two of the most deserving people – even he had a soft spot.

And watching how much Emma had struggled. How it had been touch and go from the start. He'd been through tough times. He could see the way that trauma pressed each one against each other – while all they needed was each other. And healing.

Watching Emma navigate what must have seemed like a foreign culture to her had made him – feel something. He wanted to make it easier. And since he was often the one pulling Elizabeth away to deal with countless problems, and Henry's place in Emma's life must have been so complicated, he thought she should have something that would make her feel better. And, from the cat there in his office, he was pretty sure he'd figured it out correctly.

And another reason he felt connected to Emma was because she didn't need to say a lot of words. He knew that her wanting to talk to Henry was more than just asking him how his day was going. And he knew the emotion behind the words. But from what he'd seen and personally heard of the many fights between Emma and Elizabeth, Emma didn't need him to respond to her emotions. And, on that level, he was more than comfortable to be the person she could cynically respond to the world around her, and he wouldn't judge her.

He took a deep breath, "I promise I'll talk to Henry today." He waited. Until she was looking at him, and he said, "I promise."

"Thanks, dude." She said. Then, lifting her cat off her lap and setting him on the floor, she was off. "Come on, Zazu." And just like that they were gone out of the office. Her walking quietly and the cat following behind.

And he sat down, took a sip of coffee, and said, "That was weird."