Chapter Thirty-Four

Itsy was going on about all the options for table toppers and center pieces for the reception that was to be held behind the White House. Meg was following gossip on Twitter but always managed to butt in at the right moment to stop Itsy from making too many gaudy decisions all at once. Christine was looking off towards the Washington Mall as people continued to stop at the gate at the edge of the property to take photos of them. It had been two weeks since the funeral and this was the first chance Christine had been given the allowance of sitting outside. Every so often a scream of admiration would be heard from far off. Whenever this happened, Clara would raise an eyebrow. Those were the people with the more impressive lenses on their cameras and who could see from so far away. From across the green, Christine only saw tiny shapes peering back at her life.

"Christine," Itsy said as she began to fan herself with one of her notebooks, "It is so hot out here. Don't you want to go inside?"

The woman in question took a big breath and could feel the heavy Washington humidity go straight into her lungs. It wasn't yet ten-thirty in the morning. Her back was sweaty against the cushion of the wicker chair, but it didn't matter. She was outside. Even within the fence, she felt so much better to be able to breathe the same air she used to breathe every day on the Hill. Itsy had taken this for granted and it was not up to Christine to try and explain that privilege to her.

"I like it out here," was all she said.

Itsy huffed, "I hate to do this but I may have to cut this meeting short. I don't have enough powder to fix my face once it's completely melted off and First-Lady-To-Be or not, you're not my only client today."

Christine saw Meg snicker from the corner of her eye but didn't say anything.

"That's too bad," Christine said wistfully as her attention went back to the tourists.

Itsy began to put things in her large pink designer bag, "You've been my toughest client yet."

"And you biggest," Meg muttered.

"Still," Itsy stuck up her nose, "It wouldn't kill you to corporate."

"But being First Lady might."

Christine did not look up to see the horrified look on the wedding planner's face. She did, however, notice Meg stopped typing and look at her in concern. Even Clara, from her place at a nearby column, peered over for a moment before turning back to her position with a heavy sigh. Rather than take any of their reactions in, Christine looked back at the people. She had been one of them a year ago. She used to wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of the political elite in their day-to-day casual existence. She had never wanted to present that side first hand. Life was so strange.

"Christine?" Meg asked quietly.

"Itsy, is there anything else I can answer for you today?" Christine asked looking diplomatically back at the woman in her customary form-fitting pink dress.

"Everything that needed to be decided quickly has already been covered."

"Good. Send me an email next time if you don't want to meet outside."

"I tried that over a month ago and you never responded."

"Was that before or after my apartment blew up?"

Finally, a moment of stunned silence.

"Itsy," Meg jumped in and put her phone down, "How about you CC me onto the next email and I'll make sure she answers back?"

"Good," was all she said as she stood. It appeared that she would leave immediately once she had her bag, but she stopped before backing out of her own chair, "I know you don't think what I do is important, but you could at least be nice to me. I didn't choose who you would marry and what all that would mean."

Christine looked over and their eyes met. She could feel Meg about to answer for her, but she stepped in and stood herself, "I didn't choose to marry a president either." Christine took a moment to breathe before she continued, "But you're right. I shouldn't be mean. I'm sorry. I'll answer your email when it comes. I just wanted to be outside today. I haven't been out since…since I can't remember when."

Itsy seemed to consider her words then said, "I didn't realize that. Enjoy the rest of your day then."

Christine watched as a member of security escorted Itsy through the french doors of the far hallway before she sat back down and reached out for the glass of peach tea that was dripping off the coaster and onto the glass of the table between her and Meg. She saw Meg was staring at her, but she didn't let it phase her before her sight went back to the green. There were fresh flowers out under the bushes. The gardeners had put them in the day before, something Christine had seen them do from the West Wing.

"Hey, chica," Meg started slowly.

Christine finally vented, "I'm just so tired of being cooped up. I didn't want to go in."

"And that's fine," Meg replied, "but what's with the comment on, well, all the death?"

"I'm not wrong," she stated.

"You've been hanging out with Underwood too long. C'mon, girl, that's not you."

Christine's eyes looked over the nearby columns, "I just never saw a prison being so nice."

"It's temporary," Clara commented without averting her gaze, "And we have plans for Jamaica in three years. You're doing well."

"What's this Jamaica?" Meg snorted bitterly.

"I figured you would be with us," Clara laughed warmly.

"Okay, that sounds good to me." Meg smiled at the guard, "What's the reason?"

"Vacation," Christine commented lightly.

"What's that?' Meg asked sarcastically making all three of them smile. "By the way, does Erik play golf?"

"Um," Christine looked back to Clara who shrugged, "I don't think so? Why?"

"Every president I've ever heard of in the last a hundred years only goes off to vacation to golf. If he doesn't golf what's he going to do?"

"Not vacation," Christine said dully.

"Good point." Meg concluded, "He doesn't even believe in weekends."

"Or sleep," Christine shrugged.

Meg glared mischievously, "So what's he up to all night? You?"

Christine's mouth dropped, "Meg! Stop it!"

Clara laughed quietly before covering her smile with her hand.

"You stop it too!" Christine snapped through the heat in her cheeks that the humidity had not caused. A little wind picked up and it was nice for a little relief.

The laughter stopped short at the sound of a sharp crunch of glass being punctured behind Christine. Before either she or Meg could look, Clara's voice was heard loud and clear, "Get down!"

Another pinch against the glass and there was a small outcry of security team yelling out codes and orders. Three people, Clara being one of them, quickly surrounded Christine and began to walk her towards the nearest door. A shot was heard from the garden. It was from their side - a retaliation. People began to scream from the Washington Mall. So much screaming. Christine was being moved but she too reached out her hand and yelled, "Meg!"

"She's behind us," Clara said and pushed her on.

"Get Meg!" Christine said again.

"We have her!" Clara yelled, "Keep going!"

Within seconds Christine was inside the White House and she continued to be moved forward. People inside were scurrying all around trying to figure out where the noise had come from. Christine dug her heels in the cold tile floor. She had had no time to put her sandals back on.

"Meg!"

Christine turned around to see Meg.

"I'm here, I'm alright," she said out of breath.

Clara urged Christine on, but she fought her, "No, Meg!"

Meg looked at Christine in confusion for a moment before her gaze followed what Christine was looking at. Her upper arm was bleeding.

"Oh god," Meg gasped.

"Christine, we have to keep going," Clara said grabbing her arm.

"Meg!" Christine reached out for Meg's unstained arm and pulled her forward. The two continued to walk until they were out of sight of any windows.

Clara first made a check of Christine then turned to Meg to inspect her arm. "It's a surface wound. Might not need stitches."

"We have a doctor here," Christine said holding her friend's hand, "I'll take you."

"Bastards," Meg said bravely though clearly shaken, "Mom'll kill me if this leaves a scar."

"Nothing else hurts?" Christine asked, still clutching her best friends hand.

"Beats me." Meg slyly smiled and said, "I didn't even feel this."

"Let's go," Christine said walking forward. Clara was close behind speaking into her earpiece.

"An assassination attempt has been made against the First Lady to-be. Shots fired. Christine has been cleared of the location. Her accomplice suffered a surface wound on the upper arm from a bullet. Shot fired into the crowd from our side. Over."

The words didn't seem to connect with Christine until they were in the West Wing. The doctor had been called and a sanitized washcloth was being held to Meg's arm. Clara continued to speak into her earpiece from across the room. The words were blurred together. Finally, the doctor came and looked a look at Meg's arm. It needed three stitches after all. Christine held her friend's hand but couldn't look at the simple procedure. All the while, Meg was insisting she take photos for her soon-to-be featured story for the Harold (or so Meg said). By the end, Meg had a photo with a thumbs up from the doctor. She even joked about how not to bother billing her health insurance as she was sure she wouldn't be able to afford a federal level doctor. Christine marveled at the strength of her friend.

Clara walked closer and Christine asked, "Where is Erik? Do you know?"

"He's safe." Christine noticeably sighed in relief and Clara continued, "He had business at the Pentagon today and they went on lockdown forty minutes ago as a precaution."

"Will he be coming back soon?" Christine inquired.

"As soon as he can, but from the looks of things," Clara paused before carefully continuing, "They weren't after him today."

Christine looked down, the weight of guilt was destroying her stomach.

"We caught him though," Clara continued and both women looked up, "It goes against protocol to fire into a crowd of civilians but the sniper saw who did it and went for his knee. No one was close enough to be injured as they had scattered after the second shot."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Meg asked.

"No,"

Christine spoke slowly, unsure of her own feelings, "They didn't kill him?"

"No," Clara clarified, "We want answers."

"Well, I'm ready to testify against him." Meg went on, "If he had been any better at his job-"

"He was a very good shot to shoot from that distance with a silencer and a smaller weapon." Clara said seriously, "If the wind had not picked up when it did you would be in the hospital right now."

Silence fell over the room. Christine reached out and grabbed Meg's hand. Meg squeezed back, "You're okay, chica. You're okay."

"Meg, you're the one that got shot!" Christine's voice was shrill.

"And what more can I do as a best friend?" Meg smiled then winked, "I can now say I took a bullet for you!"

"That's not funny at all, Meg!" Christine shook Meg's unharmed arm, "How are you so calm right now?"

"Don't you know me? I'm at my wittiest when I'm scared shitless. The shock will set in later."

Clara sighed, "I believe it."

"See, Chris? Clara believes it. I'm fine."

Before she could say any more, Christine pulled Meg into a hug across the couch.

"You should stay here tonight." Christine said holding her friend tight, "We'll have someone get Cloe and bring her here."

Meg's voice was mischievous at the idea, "Erik will hate that."

Christine pulled away and looked at her friend again, "I don't care. I want you here."

"Fine, fine," Meg stood up, "Just let me call my mom before this breaks and she brings that tank of hers down here and starts a war."

"Good idea," Christine nodded.

The phone in the main room began to ring and Christine went to pick it up as Meg went to her purse.

"Christine?"

The familiar voice washed over her fear and temporarily quelled it.

"Erik!"

"You are truly unharmed?" He asked, uncertain.

"Yes, yes, but Meg," More realization began to sink in, "Oh Meg was shot in the arm."

Meg called from across the room as she held her phone away from her ear, "And I'm fine! Please tell my mom I'm fine!"

"Christine?" he asked pulling her attention back and she held the phone closer, wishing it was him in the flesh. She could hear the muffled sirens from beyond his phone. He was traveling.

"Yes?" she asked.

Erik's voice was low, "I didn't want to let you out. Do you…do you understand now?"

She replied slowly, "I know, I know, I just didn't think it would be so serious-"

"If anything had happened…" his resolve seemed to shake.

Christine gulped and waited.

"I just wanted to go out," she murmured.

"I wanted a bullet-proof glass screen to be put out in front of the porch and was shut down." In his anger, he reminded her of his old House-Whip self, "This won't happen again. I had the foresight and every person who took me for a fool is going to pay."

There was a brief pause. The siren's continued. Christine could hear him breathing heavily on the other side. He was not in the same headspace he normally was. He truly seemed frazzled.

"Erik?" Christine whispered timidly as she held the phone even closer to her ear with both hands.

"Yes?"

She felt the need to breathe before finally asking, "What are they going to do to that man?"

He laughed bitterly, almost strangely, "Not 'they,' dearest. Me."

"Erik-" she began.

"Listen to me." His tone drove her to silence, "No one will hurt you. Ever. I swear it. They will pay. And they will pay so dearly that no one will ever attempt this against you again. This will never happen again."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"I'm headed to where they're keeping him now. I will retrieve the answers."

"I want you here," she said pitifully.

Her words seemed to bother him, "Christine, no. Not now. I will handle this."

"Erik, please, I…" she tried again.

"Listen to me. I will come back. I will come back and we'll discuss what we need to, but now I have to ensure our longevity. It was not anticipated that we would have someone alive for questioning. It is unprecedented. He will not be shown any mercy."

"Erik-"

"I have to go. Christine, I…" There was a pause long enough for him to take a full inhale and exhale. She held her own breath. "Christine, take care. I will take care of you."

"I…" It was her time to breathe slowly, "Okay."

And with that, he sighed and then hanged up.

He had used that word again. It whistled through her mind.

Dearest.

Christine looked back over to Meg who was repeating the same few words over and over about being fine, how she wasn't going to drive up to Annapolis, how her mother did not need to come down and have a conversation with the President, how she wasn't going to stop seeing her friend, and so on. At one point, Meg looked back over to Christine and dramatically rolled her eyes. Christine smiled sadly for her benefit. Clara continued her conversation on her earpiece.

Finally, all conversations with others quieted. Clara was on her phone typing.

"Clara," Meg asked and Clara raised her eyebrows to show she was listening while she continued to type, "Let me know when I can make a statement for Christine. Twitter will be the fastest, as much as I hate to say it."

"Copy that." Clara said plainly, "Not yet."

Meg looked around and held her phone up, "Um. Do I get my purse back or does it have to be investigated?"

"It should be coming up shortly," Clara mumbled as she continued typing.

"Got it." Meg looked over to where Christine now sat on one of the couches, "Leave it to me to have a grip on my phone even after being shot."

Christine stood suddenly and Meg quieted for a sudden moment. In the next moment, Christine was crossing the few feet over to Meg and held her tightly in her arms. At first, Meg seemed surprised, but once she came-to, she hugged her friend back just as strongly.

"I can't lose you, Meg." Christine whimpered with her head resting on her friend's lean shoulder.

"You won't, okay?" Meg said as gently as she could have, "Give me more credit than that."

"You got shot because of me," Christine said as she hugged her friend even tighter and shook from the threat of tears.

"And what a great story that will be to tell one day." Meg said honestly before laughing a little, "There's no one I would rather take a bullet for more than you. Maybe Chloe. She's pretty great. But really, you mean that much. I would."

"Don't say that, Meg! I'll have nothing left without you, you know that."

"Christine, hon," Meg pulled away far enough so that they could look at each other. She smiled as confidently and kindly as she could, "Two years ago that would have been true, but it's not anymore. You have so much and so many people that care about you. You don't have to worry about me like that."

"But you're still my best friend."

"And I always will be, chica. No crazy extremist is going to stop that, okay? Look, we're going to have a sleepover tonight and start to put this behind us. I don't want you to worry about me. I always end up okay. I've got great luck."

Christine pulled her friend close again, "Meg you're the best."

"I love you too, girl."

"Christine?" Both women looked over to Clara who was now giving them full attention. They stood back from one another to listen. "Security has already made a statement that two shots were fired, no fatal wounds occurred, and that the First Lady to-be is unharmed. You may now make a social statement."

"Thank you, Clara," Christine said. The woman nodded and was about to return to her phone when Christine continued to speak, " And Clara? Thank you. Thank you for…for everything."

The tall woman half-way smiled and said simply, "Meg isn't the only one in this room who would take a bullet for you."

Christine wiped a tear away from her cheek, "Thank you."

Clara waved her hand, "I don't do tears. I'm a little sore that it wasn't me. I could have gotten a medal for it."

"Sorry to steal your thunder," Meg laughed.

"Okay," Christine put her hands out, "If you two could not go back and forth about who would rather get shot that would be appreciated."

"Meg's her own kind of soldier, I think," Clara responded, "This is what we do."

"Not in front of me, then?" Christine asked putting her hand to her forehead.

"Deal," Meg said confidently then nodded to Clara, "And thank you for the compliment."

"It's a mentality." Clara continued, before shrugging and going back to scrolling through a recent message on her phone, "Some people require training, others have it without trying."

"I am honored," Meg said and Christine could feel her head getting larger with the compliments.

"Hey," Meg said turning her attention back to Christine, "I'm going to call my dog-walker and see if she can bring Chloe over. I'm pretty sure she has a car in Silver Springs. She's totally going to flip at the chance of coming to the White House."

"Alright, I'll let security know. Not sure if she'll be let in right now."

"If she comes in two hours, she should be fine," Clara remarked without looking up from her phone.

"Copy that," Meg said in a straight tone and Clara raised her eyebrows.

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Clara said lightly, but with a tone of irritation, "I still consider you a private."

"Fair enough," Meg laughed before turning to Christine to ask for a statement for Twitter. A few minutes later they had one.

ChristineGallagher: Thank you for your good thoughts and well-wishes. I am safe and with my best friend MegBarnesMedia . I am very thankful to the team of security who acted quickly to protect everyone here. There is no need to fear and I am looking forward to my next day outside.

Erik looked at the man with the shattered knee as he lay slightly sedated in a secure room in beneath the White House. He was twenty-one, caucasian, a first-year drop-out from a university in Tennessee, had his license taken away after two DUI's, had mental health concerns from his high school guidance counselor, and had gotten his hands on advanced untitled weaponry which he had clearly practiced with at a long-range. There was a two-way mirror between them as it could not be known that the may be performing the interrogation would be speaking Erik's words through an earpiece. The FBI agent and pawn entered and took in the assassin as he sat handcuffed to a chair as his leg was elevated to sit on the table between them. A doctor had been brought in to stop the bleeding and numb the pain, however, the shattered knee cap would have taken too long to fix. Erik wanted answers immediately. There was no time for this domestic terrorist.

"Maxwell Clark," Erik spoke and heard the agent speak for him, "Are you in pain?"

The beady-eyed boy looked up at the IV that ran from his right hand and up to a numbing solution that would not affect the man's mind.

"Aren't you going to fix me up first?" he asked dryly in a thick accent.

"If that is what you would like, cooperate and we will not be here long."

"Gimmie some representation."

"You attempted to assassinate the next First Lady. Treason is one of the worst crimes a citizen can commit. The rules and rights are different. You want to keep your leg, give me straight answers."

He crossed his arms, careful of the needle in his hand, "You can't take me away from going to the hospital. I've got rights."

"And how do you intend to leave?"

Clark was silent as he thought.

Imbecile.

Finally, he spoke, "I'll tell if you don't let me go now and get represented. Make you feds look even worse."

"Cold lips can't talk. We will stay down here as long as you choose."

"They'll do an autopsy."

"Why would they? You may have bled out before getting to the hospital."

"I'm not-"

"You could be. It would be easy to cut what's currently holding you together. Look at where you are. No one is coming to save you."

"You kill me and you look even worse."

"You're no one, Maxwell Clark. You're a low-lying hill-jack coward who went after an innocent woman for her affiliation with the president. The public is likely to demand your permanent removal from society."

"What do you out here know about what we think? That gold-digging bitch should have died and I bet that if the wind hadn't come up the way it had she' would have."

Erik clenched his fist. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears. He wanted to slowly let the air fall from his worthless mouth until he begged for a faster death. Seconds were passing and the agent inside the room was waiting on his cue. He breathed and continued.

"Was she your original target?"

"What's it matter? I missed."

"Is she in danger?"

"I got beat but there are more of us who think she's trash."

Erik was losing patience. He told the agent to pinch the IV tube.

"Hey - what're you doing?" Clark asked with concern underneath his anger.

"Here are your options…"

Clark hissed. The pain was beginning to affect him.

"One: you can tell me what I need to know, keep your leg, and likely spend life in prison. Two: You can slowly and painfully feel as your leg let begins to bleed out. Following this, you go to maximum security location in a United States territory where you will never see anyone you care for ever again. Three: You go to the hospital after your leg loses all motor-function. You're put to sleep and operated on without any painkillers. You feel everything. Every prick of the needles, every cut of the knife, even the saw as it begins to make a clean cut through your muscles, tissue and bone. You'll feel all of this. Your body will not be able to respond to allow you to pass out. Only wave after wave of pain until you die. And no one will know. No one will care. Your story never gets told. You become little more than a conspiracy theory that is forgotten of in a few weeks time. Take your pick. One, two, or three. I will not have my time wasted."

"You…" he had trouble speaking over his pain. His eyes were welling with tears. Weakling. He spoke slowly, "You can't…" He reached out to the agent who pinched the tube, but the handcuffs snapped him back to the table, "Stop pinched in the tube!"

"Then you're willing to corporate?"

"I'll tell everyone you fucks did this to me!"

"Ah, no, you won't. That's not one of the options available to you."

"Fuck you-"

"Number three it is." Erik spoke to the agent, "Pull the IV out." On command, the agent popped the tube and the needle in Clark's vein ripped out causing his hand to bleed as well. Clark yelled.

"You can't do this!"

"This will not be a quick death, Mr Clark."

"You have to save me!"

"Rethinking your decisions, Mr Clark?"

"I'll tell everyone-"

"You only need to tell me what I need to know and we will never have to speak again."

Clark wailed.

"What is it?" he cried out.

"Why did you do this?"

"Underwood should have never been president. He wasn't elected. And that whore is even worse for sleeping her way up with him. They both deserve to die. Can I have the drug back?"

"I'm not a medical professional. One will need to be called."

"Then call 'em-"

"Not yet. Was your original target the President?"

"It didn't matter. Shoot him and he's gone. Shoot her and he loses his mind. I wish I had got her instead. Watch that ugly fucker go crazy."

"So you intended to kill them both?"

"Give me the drug!"

"You want to kill Underwood and Gallagher?"

"I can't think!" Clark put his head on the table and covered himself with his hands as best he could, "The pain…ah!"

"Answer the question."

"It hurts!"

"Do you want to kill Underwood and Gallagher?"

Clark sat up, "Yes! Everyone does!"

"Who is everyone?"

"On Facebook. On the news. Everyone. Give me-"

"But only you tried to follow through?"

"There will be more. They'll remember me."

"Not likely. The national media has not reported anything about you. We may not ever release your name."

"You can't-"

"Who are you to say we can't? You are no one, Maxwell Clark. No one. You're a product of cowards who were waiting for someone idiotic enough to actually follow through with their consumeristic-fueled rhetoric. No one cares about you. You're a tool for those who won't act for themselves. Where you fall more will fall and none will succeed. You will die alone having forgotten your name because it belongs to the U.S. government. Even now your poor efforts today are creating sympathy for Gallagher. You are no martyr. You come from nothing and remain nothing."

Satisfied, Erik told the agent to continue to question him on other specifics of his ill-planned idiocy. He then told another to look into Clark's social media accounts, affiliations, likes, and so on. His job was done there and he would see Christine. The man would never be seen in public again. That much was sure. The options were never actually options. He was always going to wind up in the max in the Caribbean. Another face disappeared. The nation would be told he got away. Some weeks later an item of his clothing would wash up from the Potomac. He would be marked as dead. A no-name, no-one. It was almost too easy.

He would have Doug put out a press release. People were talking to him as he made his way through the White House towards the West Wing. He answered what he wanted to. He nodded appreciations towards the staff that were clearly still shaken, but who had not left work. Everyone was told to wait for the press release and that no one was in immediate danger. An elderly janitor, Harriet Freeman, who he typically saw dusting the paintings and who had always been the first to greet Ms Barnes whenever she came by - which was far more than Erik enjoyed - stopped him in the corridor that led to the stairs of his apartment.

"Is Ms Christine okay?" She asked, her deep raspy voice just as prevalent as ever.

Erik took a moment to collect himself. While not being of small stature and no good at sneaking around, she had managed to catch him off guard. He had caught her eye staring before, but she had never approached him.

"She is fine, Mrs Freeman," Erik said back with a sigh. He knew she wasn't actually fine, far from it, but he thought it was a decent answer for a janitor. He made a move to step around her and was countered.

"Mr President, she is not okay."

Erik turned to look at her fully, "Excuse me?"

"She's not okay. She needs to be outside. She's been sad, you know."

"Mrs Freeman, I would like to think that I know my fiancé better than you."

"Not sayin' you don', sir. I'm sayin' she's unhappy. Where she's happy," she pointed at her head, "She's safe."

Erik took a moment to take in what this woman was saying. She had never been so forward and he wanted to be furious at her…but she was right. Christine had been cooped up inside the walls of the West Wing and reduced to watching gardeners for entertainment. She had all but begged to be let out onto the patio for weeks. He was doing a shitty job of keeping her physical self contained and letting her mind wander. When he finally consented this happened. He looked back at the woman before him. She had worked at the White House for thirty years. She had seen more from the corners and shadows than most people would ever recognize and she clearly didn't say more than what she ever meant to say. Respect began to grow for the woman and he relaxed the anger from his eyes.

"I will take your words into consideration, Mrs Freeman. Thank you."

She nodded and he began to make his way up the stairs. He slowed when she spoke again.

"I like you, President Underwood." He turned around and looked down to her, "Didn't think I would, but I do. I think you really care for her. Nice to see a president really care about something besides power and sex. Hope you don' mind me sayin' so."

Annoyed, he responded, "Don't think we're on friendly terms due to my agreeing to your advice on one matter."

"Never said we were, sir. That's why Christine is so important to us."

He nodded, huffed and continued up the stairs. At the door, he was met with Clara who opened it for him. He stopped short. She had very well saved Christine's life that day. Emotions began to pull at his brain and he hated it. A clenching in his gut, a reaction he had only ever noticed when Christine was in pain or danger, began to grip him anew. He pushed it down and swallowed hard. Clara seemed to pick up on this and spoke first.

"Christine is safe, Mr President."

Erik put out his hand and she met him immediately with her strong grip from her long thin hands.

"Thank you, Clara. Thank you."

"All in a day's work, sir."

He let go over her hand, "I'd rather it not be. We will discuss provisionary measures and put them into effect at the first opportunity. Create a structure that needs to be added to the one we have already discussed. This will not happen again."

"I already have one drafted, sir."

"Very good." He closed his eyes and sighed, "You will be repaid for this, Clara. Make no doubt of that."

"I have none. I'm honored to serve."

"Erik?"

He looked past the tall study guard towards a timid thin young woman who stood with one arm crossed and holding the other arm by the elbow. Clara made her leave. Christine was back in her father's shirt and yoga pants, an outfit he knew well that made her feel some kind of comfort. A comfort he had continuously failed to give. Without further thought, he closed the distance between them but stopped short once he was only inches away. Failure gripped him. She was alive, yes, but that damned janitor was right. She was unhappy and trapped and it was all due to his failure to recognize that her physical form being "safe" was hardly anything in comparison to her soul and spirit remaining intact. For once he did not have enough he could say.

"I asked Meg to stay over." She said looking behind her, "I didn't want her being alone. She got…she was…"

"I know," He sighed. Having Christine's best friend killed would have completely destroyed everything. Christine only considered her own health when it involved the welfare of others. She had lost everyone who was ever truly close to her and if Barnes had been terminated on his watch everything would be over.

"Erik…" Christine's eyes began to water and her voice was faint, "Erik, I'm scared."

"No," he rasped.

"I just wanted to go outside."

"I know,"

"I thought it would be okay to bring her but if being with me makes her unsafe I…I don't know what…"

Christine noticeably trembled and a tear quickly made its way down her cheek. Impulsively, Erik reached forward and caught it with his thumb and wiped it away. He noticed how she seemed stunned into stillness at the intimate contact as his hand kept light contact with her jaw. Just as he was about to remove his hand, she reached up and took his hand.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Erik," she whimpered.

"Christine, look at me," he said suddenly and even leaned down a little to catch her wonderful blue eyes. She appeared to struggle to keep his gaze and so he moved her jaw up only a little. Her hand over his wavered a little. "I have taken care of everything. This will not happen again."

"But how do you know that? How do you really know that?"

"That man will never harm you again. He won't ever be able to attempt to harm anyone ever again. As far as the public is concerned, he died of his injuries from the bullet he took to his leg."

"But why? Why would he want to hurt me? What did I do?"

"Christine, you did nothing. They never want you. They only ever want to get to me. Christine, dearest, you… you," He always had such trouble with words when it came to what he felt with her. He never felt anything emotional for anyone. Neither hatred no love, only something centric that allowed him the ability to think clearly. She never let him think clearly and she never even knew she was doing it which made the effect even worse. He put his other hand on the other side of her face. He wanted to grip her, to know she was right there, but she was so very delicate in his hands. He lowered his forehead to hers and felt the mask crush against his head. If she made any movements, any expressions, he would not feel them and could no longer see them either. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. She did the same somehow. Her act of tranquility steadied him.

"You are…" He spoke softly, his words only for her ears, "You are the most precious of things. I will not lose you. And I will not let you lose that which makes you thrive. Goddamn me, I will not lose any part of you."

His words seemed to have an effect on her. Very lightly, he felt as her free hand went up to his face to mirror the way he held her. His immediate reaction was to flench, but the sound of his name was whispered on her lips stilled him. There was a current between them, a sort of energy he had felt in times before and had managed to shove down. Images of the past began to present themselves. Her wrapped up in a quilt asleep next to the fire in his study. Her holding his hand before he left her for three months earlier that year. The way she greeted him once he came back. How she looked at him that last day at Cherry Springs. And there it was again. He didn't know what it was or how it formed or if she felt it, but as much as it warmed him, it unbalanced him. He wanted more. More of it, more of her. All of her.

There was a pressure over the nose of the mask that was beginning to match the pressure on his forehead. They were unbelievably close. Far closer than they had ever been in that way. He didn't know if he was the one doing this or if it was she, but he dared not moved, dared not end it. She would have to be the one to break them apart. He could not will himself to do it alone. Everything about her felt so nice. So breathtakingly wonderful. And he wanted so much all at once it begged to terrify him.

"Myra said she'll be here in thirty minutes with Cloe-"

Every ounce of goodness that had just swelled within him immediately transformed into hatred as Erik stared daggers at the woman who had just walked out of Christine's bedroom. Barnes had known exactly what she had ruined and what's worse that was Christine was recoiling in… was that embarrassment that shined red across her pale cheeks? The one he wanted most stepped away from him all too quickly to create a publicly appropriate distance.

"Er-" Barnes began as she took a few steps back towards Christine's room.

Yes, go away, Erik thought and propelled that feeling towards Barnes. She clearly got the message and took a larger step back.

"I'll just, uh, be in here whenever you're good…" she trailed off.

Christine spoke up quickly, "No, no, come in. Erik just came back and um, well, what did you just say?"

Christine was breathless. Truly breathless. Had he soiled her? Had he gone too far and read something wrong? Perhaps he had bewitched her with his voice again. She had grown smart to his ways and even went so far as to tell him to stop on occasion. Why wouldn't she speak up if that had been the case? Had he embarrassed her so poorly that the eyes from her closest friend were not acceptable to see?

"Um," Barnes started out slowly, "Did you happen to tell him that, uh, Cloe was coming?"

"Who is this?" Erik barked.

Christine turned back to him, something pitiful in her eyes, "She's really good, I promise she won't bother you. She's better than Roach."

"What is this?" he asked.

"My dog," Meg said and kept her eyes to the ground.

Erik turned to her first then looked to Christine, "Are there no boarding facilities to consult?"

"There are, I just, after everything, I figured it would be okay." Christine stepped forward and the way she smiled as she pleaded was too pretty, "It's just the night. I asked her to stay. It's me. I didn't want her to go after everything."

"I did get shot today after all…" Meg said looking innocently towards the ceiling while shifting her position to reveal her stitches.

"And are you expecting a medal as well?" Erik seethed.

Barnes looked too excited, "Is there one for what happened? For taking one for the First Lady-to-be? Oh! Maybe a Medal Of Freedom! How about one of those?"

Erik was silent. This was not a conversation he would be entering.

"She's just joking, Erik," Christine followed up lightheartedly.

"Sure…" Barnes said unconvincingly as she looked from Christine back to him. He narrowed his eyes.

"That animal had better be clean," Erik said shortly, "And if I step in any mess tomorrow it's going out on the lawn." He turned to Christine, "And this doesn't get you out of lessons. Make sure Barnes and the animal is scarce by eight."

Christine couldn't help but let out a laugh as Meg poorly saluted and answered with sarcastic pride, "Yes, Mr President!"

A/N: Hey. I hadn't realized it had been over a year. I don't know what to say. The USA is in a bad place. I can't tell you how much I would prefer Erik as president right now...even as he is taking a lot of liberties with the law throughout this story. A lot has happened to me personally in the last year as well. People say I'm TikTok famous now. How funny. And not for dancing or anything trendy. People like hearing stories, I guess. Then the lockdown happened you'd think that with unemployment I'd have all this time to write...but there was even more of a block on being creative. Some of Christine's feelings of feeling trapped and depressed have mirrored my own.

Wherever you are, I hope you're taking care of yourself. I hope that you are as safe as you can be and are living as much life as you can while still remembering our duty to be kind and caring for another. I don't know when I'll be updating again, but I will, one day, finish this story. I have an outline of where I want to go and I think you'll all really get a kick out of some plot points along the way. After all, I did give this a romance genre for a reason ;)

To those who have stuck by me this whole time, I really mean this from the bottom of my heart, thank you.