Disclaimer: I don't own "Designated Survivor" or any of the show's characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I wanted to write something about Tom Kirkman's thought process during the first episode.
Warnings: drama, angst, disaster situations, emotional trauma.
Those days (these days)
"Sir, place your left hand on the Bible and repeat after me. ...I, Thomas Adam Kirkman, do solemnly swear..."
"I, Thomas Adam Kirkman, do solemnly swear…"
"...that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States..."
"...that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States..."
"...and will, to the best of my ability..."
"...and will, to the best of my ability..."
"...preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."
"...preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States...so help me God."
He was the man who burned the pancakes.
If he were to ever write a memoir - which was probably a requirement by now - that was how it would start. At least until some editor gently browbeat him into something more presidential. Whatever that meant.
He breathed unsteadily. Living through a slow building anaphylaxis as Aaron tugged him away. Away from Alex who had that look in her eyes. The one where she was afraid for him. The one he hated. The one that knew this wasn't what he wanted. The one that didn't know if he could take it - this - on the best of days and certainly not when the entire country might as well have been on fire.
He squeezed his eyes shut when they piled into the elevator. Crowded by Aaron, Mike and a crush of other Secret Service he didn't know. Stomach dropping along with everything else as they arrowed down to The Presidential Emergency Operations Center. Which he hadn't known existed until five seconds ago.
The learning curve was always going to be cut-throat, but this was flat out murder.
How could they expect him to-
He opened his eyes again. Disassociating. Seeing that morning so clearly he almost turned around to see the kids exchanging snarky glances. Being the man who burned the pancakes was all he ever wanted. He wasn't this kind of ambitious. Not ever. He had his passion projects, like the HUD, but he'd never looked for more. He wasn't interested in the political rat-race. The games. He never wanted it. He cared about his job. He cared about people. About safe housing. Affordable housing. Housing near social amenities and decent school districts.
That was who he was.
The Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.
The newly fired Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.
The dad who burned the pancakes.
And now, now he was afraid that would change.
Afraid that even if he could do this, it would change him in a way he wouldn't be able to come back from.
He'd rather be a prisoner of hope, than a cog in the machine of willing cynicism.
He had a moment in the council room, when everyone was talking over each other, yelling. Before he ran to the bathroom and threw up everything he'd ever eaten into that disarmingly clean toilet. Where he made the first in a long line of decisions.
If he ever wrote a memoir, the bit about the pancakes would be the first god damned line.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.