Dan had expected Amy to be upset about the picture, but she was actually kind of entertained by it. "Staff gossip spreads like herpes around here; I'm getting so much attention," she had marveled when he came by the White House to warn her. (Even as they spoke, he could see whispering interns peeking curiously around the corner of the hallway.) "It's like, regardless of how much they want you to rip people's throats out with your teeth, they still need to reassure themselves that you secretly want to wear a tiara and show off your living room in Vanity Fair."

He didn't need to worry about anyone seeing the picture. His family was so far removed from politics, they barely knew who the Vice President was, and while Mary-Ann encouraged his passion, she didn't care much for the details. If someone were to see it, he could easily play it off as a business meeting. Mary-Ann trusted him implicitly.

He saw Amy again when he brought the website materials to the main Communications office. He had also emailed them, but always good to have a hard copy, just in case, he had said, winking at the web tech and scanning the halls. He heard her before he saw her, on her cell phone outside the office. She was firing off a rapid string of insults to some fool on the other end of the line who, judging by her side of the conversation, had made the poor life choice of telling her that something she wanted couldn't be done. By now, Dan had figured out that if he hadn't been with the congresswoman-elect the first time they met, Amy would have certainly verbally castrated him in a similar fashion. He knew because she had said so the other night, one of her hands choking him while the other grabbed his ass to push him deeper inside of her.

Coming around the corner as she was ending her call, he saw her face was red with a simmering rage.

"And the next time your troglodytic brain tells your flaccid mouth that it's a good idea to speak, I want you to find the stone club you used to get your wife to sleep with you, and then beat yourself with it repeatedly until you remember that you are mistaken."

Dan smirked at her as she hung up. "You forgot to tell him where to shove the club when he was done. People might start to think you're getting soft."

Amy eyed him up and down, ire still flaring beneath her skin. Turning away, she walked down to a private bathroom, opened the door, and threw him a look before closing it behind her.

He followed.

.

.

The way they moved together was so natural and all-consuming, Dan sometimes thought that he existed just to fuck her. He had thrown her up on the countertop and by the time he had pushed up her skirt and shoved her panties down her legs, she had undone his belt and zipper and was pulling his hips forward to meet her. She was so eager and wet that he couldn't contain the moan that echoed against the bathroom walls when he finally slipped inside her.

He caught the reflection in the mirror as he thrust into her, his face buried in her neck. Her skirt was bunched around her waist and he could see her ass bouncing rhythmically on the cold granite slab. He dug his fingernails into the flesh, and Amy cried out. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but instead he fell down to his knees and jerked himself off onto the floor while he made her cum. She tapped a heel near his head as he cleaned it up.

.

.

The last time he saw Amy before he left for the holidays was their third date. At least that's the way he thought of it. A few other staffers turned their heads when the two walked into Lounge 201 again, and Dan felt a surge of pride.

They sat at a table this time, and Amy was more open with him in their conversations and interactions. He knew it was probably because people were interested in their relationship. He had started to get some name recognition himself, and even had to demur when another senator had asked what he could do to take him away from Mrs. Hayes.

"So have you dated a lot of other guys in D.C.?" he asked her tentatively.

"Number one, we're not dating, and number two, no. I don't date D.C. guys."

"How about D.C. women?"

"Nope, not them either. Everyone in this city is an asshole," she asserted, her voice dripping with boredom.

"So you like me because I'm not from here," Dan teased.

"Liking you and wanting your cock inside me are two completely different things – "

"But it is my cock that you want, is what you're saying?" he cut in. She didn't answer, so he forked some steak into his mouth and gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

Amy stabbed at her own entree and ignored him. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if you're from here, because you're here now. It's not a place, it's a cult."

"Well, why are you here then?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she gestured around with her utensils, "I'm just as shitty as everyone else here."

"I don't believe that. Sure, you can be an uptight bitch" – she raised one unamused brow at him – "and you need to be in control all the time, both of which are often very enjoyable for me. But I don't think you're a piece of shit, I think you're a fucking goddess, and that's exactly what makes it so irresistible for you to roll around in the dirt."

Amy's eyes glimmered knowingly. "That's the first time I've heard you curse in normal conversation. I told you, Dan… this place is going to turn you."

Dan leaned forward, a flirtatious grin spreading across his face. "That's the first time you've called me by my name in normal conversation too. So what does that mean?"

Amy's mouth was a straight line as she contemplated the drink she was now holding up in front of her. "Not a goddamn thing," she said.

.

.

It had just started to snow when his plane landed in Albany. Mary-Ann had driven from Columbus so that they would have a car and be able to transport Christmas presents, timing the drive so that she could pick him up. She wore a salmon-colored knit cap, and her pale green eyes lit up when she saw him. He gave her a small smile and a chaste kiss from the passenger seat. They would spend a couple of days with his family before heading to hers.

In the rearview mirror, he could see the Christmas presents piled up in the backseat, neatly wrapped and tied with ribbon. A new electric mixer for his mother, she told him, cigars and a whiskey decanter for his father. New snowboarding gloves for both his brother Hugh and Hugh's fiancée Marlie.

They arrived at his family house, at the top of a wooded hill, having had minimal but pleasant conversation. Mary-Ann got out of the car and had started to gather the presents from the back when she noticed Dan hadn't moved.

"Is everything ok?"

.

Through the windshield he saw a white expanse, dotted here and there with the gray-brown trunks of trees stripped of their leaves. Years ago, a stream of red blood had interrupted the same tranquil canvas. They had dared him to kill the stray dog that they had already kicked into submission. He was six. On TV, nothing ever really died. They handed him a knife. They smiled and laughed at him, telling him how fun it would be. The blood spurted and then ran, across the matted fur, down the snow-covered incline. Underneath his hand, the pulse quickened, lessened, and stopped.

His parents took him to therapists, who concluded he hadn't had the maturity or understanding to know what he was doing. He cried and apologized. He really hadn't understood what he was doing. They put him on medication for years, until he was 14. But the thing he never admitted was that, as much as he had scared everyone else, he had scared himself more. He relived that moment over and over, a deep self-loathing taking the place of everything else he was afraid to feel. Twice he had cut himself, but he stopped when his mother had questioned the scar.

By the time he got to high school, he was cheerful, friendly Dan. Overcompensating, all-American Dan. Charming, sure – but not malicious. His anger was channeled into debate, hockey – always controlled, always productive. He kept himself surrounded by people and distractions until he no longer went to the dark places in his mind every day. He kept faking it until he believed it.

.

He turned to look at Mary-Ann, her nose turning pink as she leaned into the backseat, still looking at him, still grasping the expertly wrapped presents. Light blue paper with white glitter-speckled snowflakes. An electric mixer for his mother and gloves for his brother. They would sit around the fire in Christmas sweaters, and Mary-Ann would help his mother make oatmeal raisin cookies. They would go to her family's house where she and her sister would play the piano and sing carols. Her mother would continue to mention how cute it was that their names rhymed. They would drive back to Columbus and drink hot chocolate, flipping through reruns until the ball dropped in Times Square. He would kiss her like he always did and 12:01 would look exactly the same as 11:59.

She was still frozen there in the backseat, smiling at him.

"Let's not go in yet," he said.

"Ok, where do you want to go?" she asked.

"I don't know. Let's go have a drink. Wherever."

"Alright," she said, climbing back into the driver's seat. "I heard they opened an Applebee's back in town?"

"That'll work," Dan said. They backed down the drive and Dan stared ahead at the muddy tracks the car left in the snow.