Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
Need to Know
Rain was hitting the windows in short waves, their panes black mirrors against the stormy, overcast night outside. The light from the single lit lamp on the huge desk was glittering unsteadily in the water drops pooling along the window frames. Drawing a deep breath Dylan finally averted his eyes from the dark silhouette he cast in the wet glass.
Instinctively his hand found its way in the inner pocket of his expensive dinner jacket and he pulled out the folded campaign brochure tucked inside. After straightening the old, worn paper he simply stood for a moment and looked down at it, turning it slightly so the light behind him fell on Gary Jennings's handsome face beaming up at him.
For more than twenty-five years that campaign brochure had been his constant companion. It had been in his pocket the day he got married. The day his daughter was born. It had been there as he stood at his father's grave and when he made his decision to run for Senate. It had sat with him in committees and debates both hot and boring, had traveled with him around the world.
Not as a perverse kind of role model or out of some twisted sense of guilt because he had blown the whistle on him – as political opponents still hinted from time to time.
No.
He carried Gary Jennings photo with him … to not forget. To always and everywhere remind himself that in politics there were no lasting secrets. That every dark spot, every misstep was bound to come out one day. That you always got caught. To remember – always – that he had sworn to himself he would never become like that man he had once admired. To never disappoint anyone the way he had been disappointed.
A respectful knock at the door broke through the sound of the rain and Dylan inhaled deeply, turning around just in time to see his secretary poke her head in.
"Mr President? It's time."
Dylan gave her a smile and a nod as he tucked the brochure safely back into his pocket, fingertips lingering on it just a moment longer.
"Thank you, Ronda. I'm ready."