Disclaimer: As utterly awesome as that would be, I don't own Commander in Chief. Sorry. I wish I did… maybe it would have higher ratings. Who knows? Anyway, here we go with Chapter 3.
In the last chapter, we witnessed an argument between Mackenzie and Rod, and it made Rod appear to be the "bad guy". Don't worry, that's not how I intend to portray his character throughout the story. The following is a bit of "Rokenzie" (or Mackenrod, whichever you prefer) fluff.
Mackenzie walked slowly back downstairs, where Rod was sitting at the table, staring vacantly at absolutely nothing. She smiled, remembering full well the very day she met him, and how cute she found his vacant stare to be…
November 1984 (or something to that effect; presuming the pilot takes place in 2014):
It all began with one suggestion. Doesn't everything?
It wasn't quite a dark and stormy night… at least, not yet. In fact, it was barely noon, but the sun was hiding behind a thick layer of menacing grey clouds. The wind was unbelievably strong… so strong, in fact, that steel-bodied Mackenzie Allen was having trouble keeping warm under five layers of winter clothing and Superwoman skin as she quickly hurried to Duff and Deann's, her favorite coffee/sandwich shop within walking distance of the Yale campus. It was the day before Thanksgiving, which was by far Mackenzie's favorite holiday. The delicious food her mother would cook, the beautiful autumn color palette, the relatives, the patriotic spirit, and the break from her schoolwork all factored into a downright enjoyable time for the ambitious law student.
This year, Mac was waiting until the last possible moment to take off for her parents', as there were a few loose ends she needed to tie up at school before fizzling into full-fledged vacation mode. Everything was just about done when she decided to take a coffee break, seeing as her most recent intake of caffeine was over twenty-four hours ago. Mackenzie was an addict (as she often freely admitted).
The November "breeze" whipped at Mac's long red hair and she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. Few sane pedestrians were out and about; save for the lame comedian in front of her pretending to be forced backwards by the heavy, wet winds. Mackenzie rolled her eyes and focused her eyes on the Duff and Deann's neon "Open" sign just over a block away.
Suddenly she heard the raucous thud of metal hitting concrete coming from behind her. Mac whipped her head around, only to find that the wind-battered clown had toppled over a nearby bench. Smooth move… dork, she thought ruefully, fighting back laughter. Mackenzie Allen never "giggled", but if she found something worth chuckling at… there was no telling how hilarious she would deem it or how hard she would guffaw.
"Are you laughing at me?" came the male voice from behind the bench. Suddenly a sandy-haired head popped up and eyed Mackenzie suspiciously. "You know, that wasn't very fu-"
She couldn't take it anymore. Peals of laughter escaped from between her clenched teeth before she could stop it and within seconds Mac was bent over clutching her abdomen. As soon as she regained control of herself, she wiped her eyes and glanced at him."Come on, that was undeniably hilarious and you know it. Besides, I'm not laughing at you…"
The boy on the ground glared at Mackenzie. "Help me up, will ya?"
As she pulled him into a standing position, she noticed that he was tall. Very tall. Being six feet herself, often Mac felt like a tree around her girlfriends and "just one of the boys" among men. This mystery guy, on the other hand… she hypothesized that he could easily rest his chin on the top of her head. Mackenzie blushed in spite of herself.
"Thank you," he said graciously, dusting himself off. "My name's Rod, in case you care to share this embarrassing tale with all of your friends."
Mac smiled mischeviously. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be very popular at parties after this," she paused. "Are you all right, Rod?"
"Well, ego is slightly bruised, but the rest of me seems to be intact."
"Do you have a last name, or do you fancy yourself marrying Cher?"
"Calloway. And I'd rather marry Cher than marry a smart-ass," he grinned to let her know he was joking. "What is your name, my dear? Are you having an identity crisis?"
"Oh, be quiet, Rod. You're looking at Mackenzie Allen, also known as Mac to those closest to her. If you call her Kenzie, she can't be held responsible for her actions."
"Doesn't seem like she's close to anybody, seeing as Mackenzie talks about herself in the third person…"
Mac rolled her eyes. "Are you a student?"
"Oh, gee, of course not, I'm just wearing a brightly colored sweatshirt with YALE CLASS OF 1985 plastered across the front for the heck of it."
Feeling her cheeks redden, Mackenzie opted for a quick cover-up. "Well, fellow sufferer, I'm heading down to that coffee shop over there. Why don't you join me? Or would you prefer to improve your crash landings?"
Rod laughed. Mac found herself loving his laugh, and she instantly cursed whatever gene gave her the red hair that resulted in obvious red cheeks and absolutely no ability to tan.
The pair walked in silence before reaching the end of the block, where the light was red. As they stood silently, waiting for the signal to change, Rod struck up a conversation. "I once knew a Mac…"
"Oh, really?" Mackenzie replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep… of course, it was a guy…"
"Rod!" she pushed him playfully.
"Hey! It's true, I swear," he said, holding up his hands. Suddenly he cocked his head and looked carefully at Mac. "Are you flirting with me?"
Mackenzie's cheeks turned a lovely shade of crimson. "I clearly remember you saying 'I would never marry a smart-ass.'"
"Hey, who's talking about marriage? We met two minutes ago."
She laughed. Mac and Rod stood in an awkward silence. The only sound was Mac stamping her feet against the cold. As soon as the light changed she welcomed the chance to move and warm up. Soon, however, she felt herself alone in the middle of the street.
Mackenzie turned around, only to see Rod still on the street corner, his eyes transfixed on a random patch of air. "ROD!" she yelled over the din of traffic. He glanced up quickly, embarrassed, and sprinted after Mac, who shook her head… a faint smile playing across her lips.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Mac smiled again at the memory. She cleared her throat, and began to speak, but was interrupted.
"You know, you were popular at parties after that," said Rod, turning his gaze to Mackenzie.
"Aww… Rod, you were remembering that too?"
He nodded. "I still have that sweatshirt, too."
Mackenzie wrinkled her nose. "Rod, I was under the impression that you got rid of that… so all these years I was living with the satisfaction that that sweatshirt was a heap of ashes…"
Rod laughed. "Sit down, Mac," he said, gesturing to the seat she had previously vacated.
She sat.
Rod stared at the ground.
"So," started Mackenzie. "I'm sure you'd love to hear about the Templeton encounter."
"Well, Mac, you suggested it. Do tell."
"Oh gosh, where do I begin? The closed-mindedness? The homophobia? The sexism? The arrogance? The prejudice? That conservative jackass…"
Rod nodded sympathetically and chuckled at the last comment. "Mac, the donkey is the symbol of the Democratic party. Democrats are generally known for being liberal…"
Mackenzie kicked him playfully. "See? Now you're being something I like to call a smart-ass."
"Ow," said Rod, wincing slightly. "I thought that's why you married me. You're the smart-ass. And also, Mac, don't wear heels when you kick me. Ouch."
"Would you rather I take them off and throw one at your head?"
"Ah, no thanks."
"Shall I continue with my story?" asked Mac, rolling her eyes. Now she remembered why she had fallen in love with him.
Rod nodded, still nursing his bruised shin.
"Basically, after the arguing, debating, lecturing, swearing, seething, grinding of teeth, rolling of eyes, bribing, insulting, and otherwise being political enemies… he said he wouldn't. Templeton won't support the Bridges Initiative. I was sent on that little excursion for absolutely nothing."
"Funny, I thought Templeton and Bridges were golf buddies," Rod mused. "That poker party Grace tried to invite you to… "
"… was the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard old Teddy come up with. Can you imagine me at a poker party?"
"Well, if we're talking about strip poker, that's a different story, but—"
Mac, who was still wearing her pointy heels, kicked Rod again in the same shin, causing him to moan in pain and rub the new bruise. When the throbbing subsided, he finished his sentence. "But I think the thought of you playing strip poker with Templeton, Teddy, and Jim Gardner—"
Another kick, this one inflicting pain on the first bruise. (The author is sympathetic towards Rod, because bruises hurt like hell when someone kicks them again).
"All right, Mac, I'm guessing we fully agree here that this whole situation is too disturbing and disgusting to think about it," Rod paused, and then grinned and asked brightly, "Coffee?"
It was amazing, really, how without Mackenzie even answering, Rod knew exactly what she would have said. Before Mac could even utter the words "I'd love some", he had crossed the kitchen and retrieved the coffee.
There they sat. Silent, save for Rebecca's music upstairs. Minutes passed. To Mac, it felt as though an eternity had passed before she finally broke the ice.
"I hear Rebecca, but where's Amy?"
"You do realize that her bedtime is at eight-thirty…" Rod sighed. "I hate to say this, Mac, but the only time she's seen you lately is after you return from jogging and before you take off for the office. If all Bridges needs you for nowadays is grunt work, bribery, and covering for him when he suffers from a tragic golf accident, then… well, I'm not asking you to resign, but do you think there's room in your schedule to spend some quality time with the kids? Amy's only five. I mean…"
Mackenzie sighed sadly. "I know. I understand your point exactly. Isn't that why we went down to Mom's?"
Rod shook his head. "Unfortunately, that might not be enough."
Mac suddenly found herself feeling like she would burst into tears… again. Keeping her composure, she heard a small itch in the back of her mind. Did Horace feel that his mother's absence justified the procrastination and the forged essay? If Mackenzie had stuck around more frequently, would she have been able to read past the false smiles and fake reassurances?
Not your fault was the mantra she repeated to herself in her head, to cover up the other voice, the louder one, the shouting in her mind that overtook the mere itch. It didn't work. Even though it couldn't be completely her fault…
If you had stuck around more frequently, would you have been able to save your relationship with Becca?
Chapter 4 will definitely be up sooner than Chapter 3 was. After I finish that, the exciting, present-day climax of the story will arrive. Unless I'm sidetracked again. Cross your fingers and hope that I won't be.