A/N: Happy Inauguration everyone! I haven't posted in a while, since I was busy. Anyway, in the spirit of the inauguration, here is a chapter concerning our political friends.

Disclaimers are illogical.

Enjoy.

President Barack Hussein Obama was the president of the United States. He'd realized long ago that this title was what got him and his family special privileges. This, of course, could range anywhere from having a private jet to skipping the lines at the grocery store (not that he ever actually BOUGHT anything at the grocery store- only for good press, of course). Although his job was the epitome of stressful, it did have its perks. His personal favorite was an array of personal chefs, brought in from various 5-star restaurants. In the past, Michelle had cooked, but this was much better.

So why, he asked himself, am I the one in this hell-hole they call a "kitchen," on this GODFORSAKEN island.

Just because he was from Hawaii didn't mean he liked to spend his time on islands. Hawaii was populated and sunny with good restaurants.

Hawaii also didn't have Mitt Romney sitting at a bamboo table, chowing down fresh-caught Mahi Mahi while he was scrubbing dishes.

Apparently the people on this island didn't understand that presidents got special privileges.

This was made apparent earlier that day, soon after that so-called "Doctor" (Obama wanted to see that man's credentials) had saved the blonde's life.

Of course, Romney, being the pompous ass he was, had already picked a fight with Mr. Howell. After the fight had been resolved, Obama decided there needed to be some sort of order on this island.

All he'd done was merely suggest that he should lead the island and pandemonium broke loose.

Actually, Romney was the only angry one- throwing a rock at a tree and yelling that he needed a good massage.

That Professor soon spoke, saying that the island had no designated leader and that it would remain that way.

Lucky for Obama, he wasn't the only one bothered by this. The Captain, who said nothing, nodded his head, finally saying that he respected this statement, but he wondered how that would settle with the others.

Ever so eloquently, the Professor replied that "to get along, there must be no leader, since this island has experienced neither total anarchy nor dictatorship throughout the time we have been here, and, based on my observations, this system of equality must continue."

And Obama didn't understand a damn word of this. That man said something about a "system of equality," and that's when the wheels in his head began to turn.

An election, he thought, is always the most equal system of electing a head. With this number of people, total chaos and anarchy will surely erupt!

It'll also be a way to settle this battle with Romney, once and for all.

It was a win-win situation- after all, who else could these fools elect but the president of the United States?

He decided to begin his campaigning straight away. Even if there wasn't an election, in the case of an emergency, making friends would end up protecting him in the long run.

He turned to the Captain, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"So, Mr. Kirk, is it? How long have you been a starship captain?"

Kirk did not answer- all he did was stare off into the distance. Obama decided to try another question.

"Where were you born? America, I suppose?"

"Riverside, Iowa," he mumbled.

Obama smiled- this was something he could work with!

"I bet your folks are proud that someone who's come from so little has made it so far!"

This got Kirk's attention, "What?"

"Well, Captain, I asked if your folks are proud, since you've made it so far with so little?"

"Little what?"

Obama sighed- did this man know ANYTHING? "Money, of course! It's just wonderful when someone from a small town makes it in this big world, with so many with more oppressing-"

"Excuse me, but I'm not quite sure what you're implying-"

"No no! I hope I haven't offended you! I just meant to say that boys like you from the Midwest don't often make it so far, especially with members of the upper classes beating them down into the gutters!"

Kirk looked at Obama in disbelief. "Boys like me? Beating in the gutters? That was a very nice speech Mr. Obama, but it's quite ineffective. I assure you that this is the first time I've ever been called a small Midwestern boy, and I certainly hope it's the last. I know you didn't mean any harm, but you must remember that much has changed. Don't forget it- I've seen corners of the galaxy with creatures you couldn't even dream of- I've been through Hell and back. So don't try to fool me- you cannot, and will not, buy my vote."

Obama was outraged- this was the president of the United States he was talking to!

"I hope you can reconsider this rash decision-"

Kirk was polite but firm. "No thank you, Mr. President. If you don't mind, I'd just like some time to think."

Obama took this as a discreet way of saying shut up. Indignant, he got to his feet, calmly walking away, but not before he could yell, "Good luck with Romney as your leader, then!"

Kirk's head snapped up once more, "Romney, leader, what? There won't be any election, despite your counting on it."

"There may not be, but that won't stop Romney from campaigning. And I warn you, he won't be as polite as I was!"

Obama started off down one of the many paths leading away from the table.

"33."

Obama turned one final time, "33 what?"

"33 years. If that's what you consider a boy, I wonder what you consider a man."

At this, Obama spun on his heel, speed-walking down one of the unknown paths. He knew Kirk hadn't meant to be rude- after all, Obama had been the one to make the mistake of calling him a "boy." Still, he though, he could've been better about the whole election business. He'll rue the day Romney-

But he stopped there, not wanting to think grisly thoughts.

His therapist (don't tell the press!) had told him that, in order to be the best leader he could possibly be, he needed to face his fears. Yet the moment that one awful thought came into his head, he pushed it as far away as he could.

He was a coward- he could not imagine the shame, the hatred, the never-ending sentence of failure he would be forced to live with for the rest of his life, if this nightmare was turned to reality.

The dream he had once had would be turned into one never-ending Hell.

Once, about two weeks ago, he'd let the thought travel farther into his mind than ever before. He'd been sitting alone in the Oval office, after a new survey had come in about the possible election results, and he'd had a terrible day.

He thought he'd hit rock-bottom, and saw no way out.

But death would bring even more shame.

He remembered what the therapist had told him. He had decided to give it a try.

But he was unprepared for the tsunami of anxiety that soon hit him after he let the possibility cross his mind.

What if- his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, desperately trying to grasp the mahogany desk with his scabbed fingertips. He lay on the rug, head on the newly-cleaned carpet, gasping for air.

Pull yourself together, Goddammit! You're the damned president of this country-

Tears began to stream down his face- as he sobbed, a grown man, he finally got a glimpse of what utter failure would feel like. He now understood what those who were laid off felt like, or those evicted from their houses.

He now knew that it wasn't the house that mattered, or even the status that came with the house that mattered to those previous owners- in those last months, when you knew the sheriff would knock on your door any day, all that mattered was avoiding the failure that came with being booted out. At the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was pride.

The Secret Service men had already come into the office, lifting him off the floor.

He told them he'd just been killing a spider, that was all.

And, surprisingly, they believed him. And neither Michelle nor the girls nor anyone in the whole world ever heard about the incident.

Here he sat, in the sand on some strange path on some island, stuck with the Devil himself.

He got up and continued on the path.

He wouldn't face his fears, at least not now.

Obama smiled- he'd been doing much better than he had this morning. He had seemed to earn the respect of the big one called "Skipper," along with rallying support against Romney by helping out Mrs. Howell with chores this afternoon.

Mr. Howell had just walked in the "door," and Obama didn't know what to expect.

"Lovey, darling, how nice! You've finally gotten us a butler!"

"Now look, Mr. Howell, I'm no butler! I was just-"

"Yes, darling, Mr. Obama here was nice enough to volunteer for the position."

"No-"

"Shh! Now how about a maid?"

"Howell, listen here, I will not listen to this, I'm not a-"

"I was thinking that one who wears-"

"Ooh yes! She'll be perfect!"

"Is this because I'm black-"

"Oh dear, Lovey, I just remembered! I promised the girls that I'd send help for them cooking dinner."

"You know, hiring me because I'm black is a very racist and wrong-"

Finally Mr. Howell turned to Obama, "This is the sixties. It's perfectly fine!"

"Look, we hired you since you were the ONLY one on this island who has ever tried to help me and hasn't refused the position right away. Along with that other-"

"Yes, but-"

"Now Mr. Obama, it's okay if you don't have much experience. As long as you're better than Gilligan- although even a monkey would probably be better- you'll do just fine. It's an easy job, really! It's only 4 days a week, and those are only 5 hour days!"

Obama sighed, he'd probably be better off humoring them for now and settling this later.

"Mr. Howell, Mrs. Howell, where should I start?"

Mr. Howell pat him on the back, "That-a-boy! Just follow us..."

And that was how he'd ended up toiling over the open fire in the "kitchen," alongside three girls he'd never met before.

Of course, two of them had left, leaving him and one of Kirk's crew members alone, washing the black mess of ashes off the stones in the fire pit.

She'd been friendly, introducing herself as Nyota Uhura.

She didn't have much experience cooking, and they'd been the two lucky ones stuck on cleaning duty.

Either because they were new. Or because they were black.

He assumed the second.

"Ms. Uhura, do you see what they're doing to us here?"

She looked up, her face smudged with soot, "Making us clean this?"

"No. Can you not see how these people so blatantly tread on the feet of our enslaved ancestors, slapping the chains on our wrists once again by making us clean this fire pit?"

She wiped her forehead, spreading the soot out even more. "Enslaved ancestors, chains, I'm not sure I understand."

Obama's eyes practically popped out of his head, "Slavery? The Civil War?"

Uhura began to chuckle, "Sir, I think there might've been a misunderstanding. I remember learning about your country's Civil War and history, but that's not where I'm from. I'm from the United States of Africa."

"Oh. My mistake."

They cleaned in awkward silence for a few minutes, when Obama decided to speak up again.

"But can't you see how blatantly racist these people are?"

"This might be hard to understand, but racism is extremely uncommon in the world I'm from."

"So you've never felt oppressed?"

"Haven't we ALL felt oppressed at sometime in our life? I certainly have, but not because of racism or hate. It's a natural feeling."

Obama shook his head. "You're lucky," he said in a defeated voice.

Sensing his disappointment in being wrong, Uhura quickly added, "But it's not like they're the most accepting people either. Especially the Howells. But it's not only to us- they called Scotty a drunkard and only the Professor and Skipper can stand to be in the same room as Chekov."

She was right, of course.

"Then why are we the ones cleaning up?"

"Perhaps because Christine is barely alive, Spock, Sulu, McCoy, and your friend are tending to her, the hosts and hostesses have cooked dinner and provided us with a place to stay, Chekov is hiding in the woods somewhere along with the Captain, no one wants to upset Romney, Romney's girls are too busy massaging him, Scotty apparently suffered some sort of traumatic experience today, and since I volunteered-"

"You volunteered?"

"Yes. And so did you, in a way."

"When?"

"When you helped out the Howells. I think it's been a long time since someone's been that nice to them."

"As the president, I try to do all I can."

This got another laugh out of Uhura. "It's almost like you're campaigning or something!"

Obama chuckled- if only she knew.