As a reward for reaching the 100 review mark (sometimes I thought this day would never come), here is the next chapter, a day early.

You two just can't keep away from each other

Will rubs tired eyes, scratchy with a day without rest, stretches, then sips his cold coffee. He stares at the offending mug for a second, then pushes it away, and returns back to the figures which have been sent to his email account, pages and pages of polling data, scrolling across the screen. Suddenly the phone buzzes its way along the table, flirting dangerously with diving off the edge. He snatches it up, flips it open, sighs, then says, "Yeah?"

"Were you asleep?"

He sighs. "No George, I wasn't."

"Why the hell weren't you?"

He looks at his watch, winces, then slowly calculates. "It's pretty early for you to be calling."

"Will, it's seven here. Early for me, I'll grant you, but it's three there! THREE!"

"I realised," he says, looking blearily again at the watch face. "Why were you phoning at three in the morning?"

"Took him long enough," mutters his sister, then she sighs. "Because," she says "I wanted to see if you were awake, and then chastise you for not being asleep."

"And if I had been asleep?"

"I was pretty certain."

He rubs his eyes, stands up slowly, drains the coffee mug into the bathroom sink, then walks downstairs.

"You still there?" Georgiana asks crunchily, clearly through a piece of toast.

"Yeah," he says. "Just making coffee."

"Will!" she says, exasperated. "You shouldn't making coffee. Make a camomile tea, or hot milk or something, and then go to bed."

"Yeah maybe."

Neither talks for a few minutes, but Will can feel George's eyes narrowing. Finally she says, "you just made a coffee didn't you."

He shrugs, useless down the phone. "I'm not going to bed right now."

"It's three in the morning! When are you going to bed?"

He shrugs again. "Sometime soon? I will. I really will. I just had to get this done."

"Hm," she says, clearly unimpressed. "Fine. But you had better."

"I will," he says softly. "Look, George, I've got to go, all right?"

"Fine," she says again, "but you'd better not have chosen this moment to start lying."

Will smiles. "Yeah, OK."

"OK," she replies. "Love you dude."

He smiles again. "Love you too. Bye."

A week later

"No, it freaking won't do!"

I wince, get up from the edge of my hotel bed, then get to the door, just in time to see Charles' door slam, and Viv's back retreating down the corridor, shoulders low, feet stumbling. I jog after her.

"Are you all right?"

She draws a hand over her face, and looks up, slightly nervous. I guess I haven't exactly been Uncle Cuddly to these guys over these last months, but I'm not a monster. Exactly.

"Yeah," she says, and shrugs. "It's hard on all of us, I know. It's just getting so much harder, you know?"

Heck, do I ever. "Yeah," I say. "We've all got mammoth work loads."

She smiles slightly as we get to the elevators. "You more than anyone."

"I don't know about that. The Senator is taking on quite a massive amount."

She nods slowly. "It's unnecessary, right? I mean, he could have hired any number of people by now."

"I guess," I say, "but speeches were his thing, and there are very few people who write as well as he does."

"Yeah," she says, and nods slowly. "I guess," she repeats, then reaches out and presses the down arrow for the elevator.

I sigh. "Well, chin up," I say, cheesily enough to make even me nauseous. "The end is in sight."

She smiles. We both know that it's bull. The end is in sight, true. We're just not sure what that end will be right now. Damn it.

"OK," she says as the doors ding open. "Well, see you later."

"All right then."

Her resilient smile suddenly drops, milliseconds before the doors close, and I see the real Viv. The one who right now, feels just like me. Feels like dropping, like falling asleep. Like going home. And I realise that I'm going to have to do something, whether Charles pulls himself together or not.

I've always hated public speaking. It's the main reason that I'm not running. I don't have the magnetic personality. I'm the one who says the stupid thing, and makes half the secretarial staff walk out. I'm the one who unintentionally alienates the entire financial team. I'm the one who would probably end up being deported, not made President. So, it is with trepidation that I gather the staff, sans Charles, in the conference room, and stand at the head of the table. They crowd in, perched on window sills, leaning against the door (rather unhelpfully as the last few people are trying to get in), whispering amongst themselves, shooting me nervous looks. They really do think I'm a monster. Well, it's too late now to amend that. Now, all we have time for is some motivation, however saccharine and hideous.

"Guys," I call and clap my hands a few times. It's entirely unnecessary. I appear to have fostered such a terrible reputation amongst my staff that they all immediately shut up. "Oh good," I say, and have a go at smiling. It feels like all my facial muscles are cracking with misuse. "Well," I say, "I had an email from Josh Lyman, the Chief of Staff for President Santos, I'm sure you all know, and he said in it that the end was in sight, so I thought now would be the perfect time for a whole staff meeting."

Chris, leaning his head on one hand, elbow on the table, raises the other hand wearily. "Where's the Senator?" he asks. Damn it. I should never have let him become my second in command. He got cocky. Why couldn't he also fear me?

"Uh," I say. A convincing beginning. "I thought this should be for the staff that work together. The team, if you will." The team if you will? I'm considering shooting myself after this ordeal.

"OK," he says, wearily.

Oh. Good. Well, moving on. "Yes," I begin, "well as I said, the end is in sight. I mean, let's be honest here. We don't know what will happen. Just as before we didn't want to be too cocky about the whole thing, now that it's looking a lot tougher, I think we should maybe all sit down, take a breath, and realise that maybe it's not looking so bad."

A room full of raised, cynical eyebrows meets my speech.

"Look, here's the thing. We have all been working our asses off these last months. Don't think I don't know that. But you know it's not enough to be industrious. As Thoreau said, so are the ants! What are we industrious about?"

Silence hangs for a second before they start shooting nervous glances at each other, clearly asking, 'has he finally cracked?'

"This is bigger," I continue, taking pity. "We're not just here because we want to win. We're here because winning means that important things will change. We're here because we believe in the changes we could implement. So, let's remember that, in these last weeks of work we have ahead of us."

Matt raises a hand.

"Yes?"

"What if we win?"

What? "I'm sorry?"

Matt shrugs. "What if we win? Then we don't have these last few weeks. We've got, like, another eight months."

Damn. "That's true," I say, trying to sound considered and measured. I'm pretty sure that I'm failing on both counts. "Well, things will change if we win. It's not us on our own. It's us with the full party backing, so it's not like we'll be stretched so thin."

"And will the Senator actually hire speech writers?"

I'm not sure who it was that called that out.

"That's not for me to say. I would hope so…"

"Course he won't," calls out someone else, and a murmur of discontent circles the room. I've got to do something or we may have some kind of mutiny.

"OK," I say. "How do you guys really feel like this is going?"

"Badly," drawls Caroline, unfairly really seeing as she hasn't been around all that much recently.

Chris winces. "Pretty bad, Will. The Senator is just going to burn himself out at this rate."

"Is this how you all feel?"

A murmur circulates the room again.

"OK," I say. "I'm doing what I can, and I know you are too, but right now, the last thing we need to do is pile more on his desk. From now on, there are no direct remarks about anything save important ones, or the actual speeches, all right? The bare minimum of meetings including the Senator, the bare minimum of interviews, photo opportunities…pretty much everything. We'll throw ourselves into press releases, leaking old footage, old memos, OK?"

Caroline raises one manicured finger. "Um, William, this sounds like more work, not less."

"Yes," I say. "I realise. But let's be realistic. We're working not to get ourselves to the White House, but to get the Senator there, all right? We're working to get his issues out there, his beliefs. While it's not particularly comforting for us, we are all expendable."

A somewhat louder murmur goes round the room. I'm not sure, but I may have just lost them.

"Well," I say. "I think that's enough for one day. Keep up the good work, and we'll all get there."

It's a good thing I wasn't expecting much of a response. There is a half hearted applause, led by Chris, rather sardonically for my tastes, then they all slope out of the room, leaving it incredibly big, and incredibly empty.

Caroline pauses in the doorway, and bats her eyelashes. "Is there anything I can do, for you," she says, pouting slightly.

"Just carry on with your good work. Oh, and I know you all became good friends, but try and keep his sister and brother-in-law away right now, all right? The less distractions…"

She looks a little disappointed. Well if she was hoping for some other kind of help, probably the stress relieving, bedroom-based kind, then she will be sorely disappointed. For all time. "Fine," she says. "You know, we're totally screwed right?" Then she flashes her perfect smile at me, and walks out of the door.

"Hell, don't I know it," I mutter to myself, then stand up, and walk back to my office, a headache building.

My twenty-eighth birthday arrives with an almighty thunder storm. I know this because I, along with Jane and Charley, am sitting on the porch when the grandfather clock in the hall is drowned out by the thunder.

"Wow," breathes Charley, looking like a little kid, all except the massive rock on her third finger. "I love a good thunder storm."

"Me too," chirps Jane, and she kicks off her shoes, and curls up on the swing seat, our old and reasonably smelly cat (who is deaf, happily) sleeping with impressive abandon across her lap.

As a matter of fact, I despise thunder storms. The build up to it, with the air all crackly and the horses acting crazy makes me skittish, and apt to break things. Then when it happens, I just can't calm down. Each flash of lightning, each roll of thunder, makes me leap up like a startled cat. I curl further behind the old cushions I was already holding (for warmth, more than anything else) and decide that Charley with her glasses, or Jane carrying a cell phone and pager are both more likely to be struck by lightning than me, so I'm safeish. For the moment. At least until they're both taken out.

"So how's the campaign going?" Charley asks Jane. The thunder crashes, and I instantly loose the thread of the conversation.

"Yeah?" Charley's saying. "And the people are all right?"

"They're great" says Jane. "It's a real privilege working there."

"And you've met anyone?"

Another crash.

"How come? You're not exactly a troll."

How did I miss another entire line of conversation? It's like I genuinely black out during thunder storms. I'd better be sure to never drive during one.

"I'm just not quite ready. Not after…" Jane fades out, looks down, and distractedly strokes Jelly's ears.

Charley shoots me a look of surprise and why-didn't-you-tell-me-this which changes after a second to incredulity. "You're not still scared of thunder storms?"

"Um…yeah."

Jane grins. "You're a grown up."

"Shut up. You carry a My Little Pony."

She grimaces. "For luck."

"Yeah, OK."

Charley looks between us, bemused. "Wait," she says. "You are scared of thunder, and you carry a toy with you."

"Good luck charm" says Jane between gritted teeth.

"Riiiight."

"You're not one to talk," I tell Charley. "You still wet the bed."

She looks at me with an expression of revulsion and confusion. "No I don't."

"Yeah, I know. It was a good try though."

"Oh, I know," says Jane. "She's watched every Disney animation, ever."

She shrugs. "So? They're good films."

"Yeah they are. I like Robin Hood the best."

Jane shakes her head slowly at me. Oh right. Sisterly bonds and all that.

"I mean…" I amend, "they're lame. Lame, lame, lame."

"Thanks Liz. Smooth."

I shrug.

"Maybe I should never have scored you a free holiday after all."

What now?

"Yeah" continues Jane. "I went to see Uncle Phil and Aunt Al a few weeks ago, and they were telling me how they had planned this big old holiday around the UK this summer, taking Aksel, as a kind of, welcome to your last summer of being a kid, except now he got accepted for early admission."

"Yeah I know" I cut in. "It's really great, isn't it?"

"Lizzie, you're not listening. With early admission, they would have had to cut the holiday short by two weeks, and they were going to do it, until it turned out that his girlfriend, Amy, and her family were inviting him for a summer holiday with them which wouldn't overlap."

"Right?"

Jane turns, exasperated to Charley. "Do you want a go?" she asks.

"Sure." She turns to me. "Lizzie, you incredible retard, your aunt and uncle are taking you to the UK in the summer." She grins.

Oh. "Wait, are you sure?"

"They're going to phone in the next few days."

"But why me?"

Jane shrugs. "Their other lot were all going to camp, and they couldn't very well take one and not the others. I'm working, Mary's working, Kit or Lyds might have gone, but frankly, they want you. I think it's a birthday present."

Oh. Wow.

"The only minor down side," Jane continues, "is that it will probably include a visit to Will Darcy's house."

Wait. "What?"

"Yeah," she says. "Uncle Phil is, you know, a big fan of all things political, and he had heard that Will's family owned a really great house in Wales that was worth a look, so pretty much the whole holiday is based around that."

"Will Darcy?" I ask, somewhat stupidly.

Jane smiles. "I know, it's not ideal."

"Wait, why is this not ideal? Is there something going on here?" asks Charley.

"Oh, he told me he loved me, we fought, I may have told him to go to hell. I don't really remember."

"Seriously," mutters Charley. "You get engaged, you spend just a little time away from your friends, and then this happens."

"It was nothing," I say. "Just the result of long hours and weird temperaments."

She narrows her eyes. "Fine," she says, "but…wait, was this at Christmas?"

I wince. "Yes?"

"I WAS THERE?" she practically yells.

"Yes," placates Jane, albeit, not very well, "but let's keep our voices down. It is, after all, late."

Charley shifts to a hoarse whisper. "I was there?" she repeats. "And you didn't tell me?"

"You were busy," I say, "and I was confused."

She narrows her eyes again. "Not good enough," she says.

"I know, and I suck, but it happened, all right?"

"Fine."

An uneasy silence settles broken suddenly by another crash of thunder, at which I leap what feels like a foot into the air. "Geez" I mutter. "I hate thunder."

It seems that the last crash of thunder let loose the rain as it pelts down, the yard in an instant turning to one great sea of mud.

Jane sighs. "Let's go get some sleep" she says. "I've only got tomorrow and then I have to get back to the campaign."

We nod and stand up together. Charley rolls her eyes at me, then sighs, and pulls me in for a hug.

"Sorry," I mutter, muffled by her hair.

"It's all right," she replies, pinches my arm, then grins. "Happy Birthday."

And then, we go to bed.

"Lizzie, it's your aunt on the phone."

This has already gotten me once today. I answered chirpily, only to hear my Aunt Adelaide (middle-named after her, worst luck) croaking down the phone to me about how I wasn't going to stay youthful and exuberant for long. Yes. Apparently soon my 'dewy glow' will change, over night no doubt, to a 'sweaty sheen'. Her words. So. I answer cautiously. Not that I have any more aunts, but you can never be to careful.

"Lizzie, it's Aliz."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh, good," I say. "Hi."

"Hello sweetheart. Happy birthday, from all of us."

At this, the other end of the phone erupts into song, as that side of the family is apt to do. Jane walks past whilst they're in full song, and mutters "act surprised" before she sneaks out the back door. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

They finish with great harmonies and sung bass drums. "So," says Aliz, mid laugh, "have you had a lovely day?"

"Oh, yes thank you," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Really? Are you all right? You don't sound yourself."

Rats. "No, no, I'm fine. Had a late night, last night."

"Right," she says. "That'll do it. Look, sweetheart, I'm phoning mainly to say that we haven't sent you a birthday present because we thought we'd give it to you in a few months."

"Really?" I say, carefully confused. "What is it?"

Silence.

"She told you didn't she."

Oh, no. "Uh…well…who?"

Aliz sighs heavily. "Your sister is dreadful at keeping secrets."

"Don't I know it," I mutter.

"So, you know?"

"Yes. Sorry."

She sighs again. "It's quite all right. Certainly not your fault. But you want to come?"

"Yeah!" I say, relieved that she isn't annoyed. Actually quite pleased for a change that someone realised what a fink Jane can be.

"Good," she says. "We've already emailed you all the details. It'll be me, Phil, Aggie and you for pretty much all of August, running around the UK."

"Sounds amazing Al."

I can hear her grinning. "It does doesn't it," she says. "I haven't been there for years, not since I was little, and your Uncle has never been."

"And Aggie?"

She laughs. "Oh, well's she's quite the jet setter. Been back and forth. Round the globe a few times."

"And we're going everywhere?"

"Pretty much. A week in England, mainly London, then up to Edinburgh, across to Dublin then the last week in Wales."

"And Will Darcy's house."

She sighs. "Yes. Your Uncle is very excited about that. He was looking up places to see, found it pretty much as a side note. They have a restricted number of people round each day, and only on certain days, and you know Phil. It made him want to go even more. And then he discovered it belonged to the Darcy family. Well, you can imagine."

I can. "Yes," I say. "You don't suppose…there's no chance of the family being there, is there?"

"No," she says. "Apparently that's why they're only open on certain days, so that it's closed when they are around."

"Oh," I say, relieved. "Good, well, I guess that'd be interesting."

"Good girl," says Aliz. "That's the spirit."

I smile. "OK," I say, "well I'll check out that email."

"Do," she says, "and have a very happy rest of your birthday."

"I will."

"Love to everyone."

"And to all of yours."

"Bye."

"Bye."

I hang up the phone, and take a deep breath. If we can go, then he won't be there. It would just be too weird to meet him there. But it's all right, because he won't be. It's fine.

I take another breath, then sigh, and walk off in search of birthday cake.

Serious, serious thanks for getting this far. You are all golden.