As the summer looms ahead of him Aaron finds himself wondering if he should have taken Kirkman's advice more seriously. The press's initial reaction to his and Emily's relationship was swift and negative. Nothing they hadn't seen before, really more of the same from the last year, but nonetheless it cut Emily deeply. And even when the press more or less moved on to the next story, it didn't matter. As far as Aaron could tell, Emily had already taken every word to heart, and was holding them there. He even found her a few times listening to the 911 tape of her calling an ambulance, her face drawn, almost blank. He's tried talking with her about it, but she's totally closed off. He'd do anything to help her feel better, but instead he felt like he was just watching as she retreated further and further into herself.

He didn't think having Jo stay with them over the summer was helping matters to be honest. Jo was just as sullen and angry as he remembered her over Christmas, even more so actually, having been, in her mind, torn away from her friends. Aaron didn't try to, but he clashed with her, every conversation he tried to start ended in an argument. And if they weren't arguing she was ignoring him. Although he was finding that Emily did somehow have a way with Jo. Aaron wasn't sure he'd say they got along, he didn't think anyone really got along with Jo these days, any adults anyway, but still night after night Aaron found the two of them in the living room playing cards; Emily keeping up a courageous attempt at conversation, Jo occasionally forgetting herself and cracking a smile. It was certainly more than he was managing. Emily also kept up a steady stream of activities for the three of them to do, which he was deeply grateful for seeing as it was his niece staying with them, so really he should probably be doing more of the heavy lifting.

Emily's latest stroke of genius, as she calls it, is ice cream for dinner one hot July night. She claims that everyone should have ice cream for dinner at least once a summer. Aaron's just happy to see her in a good mood. And he can't help but tease her over her ice cream selection.

"I didn't even know they made food that color." He says laughing at her pink monstrosity, which is made all the more ridiculous by the gummy bears adorning it.

"It's bubblegum, two treats for the price of one." She says, almost too cheerily.

"You would think yours was ordered by the fifteen year old girl." Which gets Jo to smirk ever so slightly into her coffee ice cream. Which would have been a much more reasonable flavor for Emily to order.

"At least my dessert wasn't selected by committee."

He'd like to say something back but instead takes a bite of his strawberry shortcake. Which isn't bad, it's actually quite good, but it did indeed take four of his staff to work out what he should order. He'd always tried to stay out of that side of politics, let the Lyors of the world decide what condiments the president could use, he had real work to do. But as an elected official he's resigned himself to letting other people make these kinds of decisions for him. As long as they don't expect him to join in the debate over the relative merits of Blackberry Chip, he's fine letting them get on with it. Just like he's fine ignoring any suggestion that they could find him a 'more appropriate' woman to date. Because while he is sure there are plenty of women out there that would make a more appropriate Second Lady then Emily Rhodes, he's not sure any of them would order Bubblegum ice cream with gummy bears on top. And really, where would that leave him?

He listens as Emily explains to Jo how her grandfather used to take her out for ice cream for dinner on special occasions, and is more than a little surprised to hear Jo offer up that her grandfather taught her how to play soccer. His dad taught him and his sister to play as well, but Aaron at the end of the day was always more interested in school and books, and Selena had shown neither interest nor natural talent. But he remembered his Dad gleefully telling him that Jo was going to be a star. He lets Emily and Jo continue the conversation without joining in, he's sure he would find some way to turn it into a fight and is pleasantly surprised with how the evening passes. Granted the second they are in the car on the way home, Jo's nose is back in her phone, but it was a nice, if short, interlude.


Emily's good mood lasts slightly longer than Jo's but later that night it's about gone as well. Aaron should be concentrating on his notes on the speech he will be giving tomorrow, but he again and again finds himself distracted, watching Emily grade papers instead. He prides himself that he has gotten quite good at reading Emily's face these last months, the slight curve of her lip when she is truly pleased with a students work, her furrowed brow when she is presented with an absolutely illogical argument, but doing her best to find something redeeming in it, the quick roll of her eye when she finds something utterly absurd. Tonight, she is still looking over her first essay after forty minutes and keeps letting out long sighs, red pen hovering over the page, yet to make a mark.

"You might want to rethink your approach on shunning your TAs if it takes you that long to grade." Every other politician turned professor Aaron knows has really kept the title in name only, but he's not remotely surprised Emily has not done the same, and has instead thrown herself into the minutiae of it, even going so far as to volunteer to take on a Freshman survey course.

"What?"

"Your grading. Isn't that still your first paper?"

"Oh, is it?" She asks absentmindedly.

"It is." He gets up from his desk and joins her at the side table she has unofficially made her's. "So is the paper too good, or too bad to put down?" He asks her jokingly.

"Huh?" She says, clearly still not following the conversation. He follows her gaze which is currently transfixed on the vase of flowers sitting in the middle of the table.

"Do you like the flowers?" Maybe it's fishing for a compliment, but he really just wants to see her smile.

"Mmm, lilies are my favorite." She says with half a smile, and then adds, "Thank you," kissing him gently on the cheek.

The lilies were a helpful piece of intel from Kirkman. Aaron was honestly surprised how many little facts and tidbits about Emily the man had stored away in his mind, no major revelations, but just small things, her favorite wine, her taste in jewelry. But it underscored to Aaron just how close they once were, and made him all the more confident that repairing whatever rift there was between the two of them would help Emily. "What would you think about dinner with Kirkman next week?"

"Why?" She asks sharply.

"Just thought it might be nice. You know you've been a bit down lately."

"God Aaron. I don't need you to fix me."

"I'm not-"

"No! I know the way you see me, some pathetic little project for you. Just another thing on your list to fix and sweep under the rug."

"What?"

"You don't- You know what, never mind." She says, shaking her head. "I think I should just go home."

"Em." He reaches his hand out to her. "Don't go. Talk to me."

"What are you worried you might have to interact with Jo if I leave? Can't lose your babysitter can you?"

"No, I just want to talk."

She glares at him, clearly unimpressed.

"And it's late, you shouldn't be driving home alone this late." He tacks on.

Emily snorts. "Really? That's the best you got?"

"What? It's almost eleven." He says looking down at his watch.

"We used to work all hours of the night, I don't remember you worrying about me driving home back then." She doesn't sound quite so angry anymore, maybe even a little amused.

He scowls. "Times change." And then for good measure adds, "And you got shot."

"At like 6pm. In Kendra's house."

"Still you got shot."

She rolls her eyes at him, "Well I suppose I should head to bed. It is almost eleven after all."

"Wait, can we talk?"

She shoots him a look of pity. "Another time?"

"Another time." He agrees, giving her a weak smile. And then pulling her in for a hug he whispers in her ear, "I love you."

She almost squirms at his comment. "I- I really should get to bed."

He nods. It's close to nine months into their relationship and she still looks like a deer in the headlights anytime he says he loves her. They've reached an unspoken agreement that they just won't discuss it, which he knows is unhealthy, but he thinks it's still better than hearing her tell him again just how much she 'cares' about him. He considers following her to bed, but he thinks they could use a little space, and he could use some time to think. So he sits back down at his desk and goes over his speech again.

Two hours later, he's no more confident that this speech will do anything for immigration reform that a million other speeches haven't accomplished, but he's feeling pretty bad about Emily. She's at least partially right that he's been trying to fix her. Not that he wants to change her, but he's always been a person of action, and it doesn't sit right with him, just watching her struggle along, and not being able to do anything to help her. And if she's partially right about that, she's fully correct that he's failing in his role as uncle. Every lame excuse, that Emily just gets her better, or that no one should expect him to relate to a teenage girl, sound hollow to his ears. It's his family, and he needs to do better.

With that on his mind he heads upstairs to bed. He's wondering if he should wake Emily up because while she said she'd like to talk another time, he's pretty sure that on her schedule that would be sometime between one to five years from now, but he finds her awake, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling.

He lies down next to her, and finally breaks the silence, saying, "I'm sorry."

"No. You're-" She pauses, and leans over to look at him, "I'm-" But then she stops, apparently at a loss for words.

"Anything I've ever said or done that's made you think I want to change you, I'm sorry. I love you exactly like this. I just want you to be happy." At least taking some time gave him the opportunity to get the words straight in head. Talking like this has never been his strong point.

She sniffles a little and wipes what he thinks might be a tear from her eye, but when she finally answers him, it's about the last thing he expects her to say, "He didn't even call when I got shot, my Dad." And then with a bit more steel in her voice, she repeats, "I got shot. It was on the news. And my own Dad didn't call."

"I'm sorry. That's shitty." In four years of friendship and close to a year of dating, Aaron had never even heard Emily mention her father. Really all he knows about him is gossip he picked up from Seth, but Emily's silence spoke volumes anyway.

"He's never going to call, is he?"

"I don't think so." Normally he would refrain from talking about someone else's family, but this feels clear as day.

"I'm done with him."

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what 'done with him' means in the context of someone you already don't have a relationship with, but there is a harsh finality to Emily's voice, so he can tell this is serious to her. He reaches out an arm, and she inches closer to him and then lies in his arms. As they lie there, neither of them speaking, he thinks about how lonely it must be, having what seemed to amount to no family. His family might drive him up the walls some days, but he doesn't know what he would do without them.