Epilogue

"After their eleventh hour reconciliation, President Elizabeth McCord and her husband, First Gentleman Henry McCord, have been speaking out today about the pressures that led to their separation and how it was a 'search for the truth' that eventually brought them back together again. In an interview that aired earlier this morning, the first couple also talked about their working relationship and how, as in any democracy, the act of governing is a collaborative effort…"

Henry was sitting on the couch in the living room of the Residence, the report in his hand forgotten, its pages wilting, as he stared up at the TV screen on the wall.

The news anchor, Ginny Zhang—young and pretty, with a sharpness to her eyes that dared people to underestimate her—continued, "Some critics have already suggested—"

But before Ginny Zhang could repeat what some critics had already suggested or invite the convened panel to join her in a discussion which would no doubt distort what had actually been said in the interview beyond all recognition, Elizabeth strode through from the adjoining bedroom, snatched the remote control from where it rested on the arm of the couch and zapped the TV screen to black, leaving the Residence basking in a much-welcomed silence.

"Aren't you concerned?" Henry said, clearly concerned.

Elizabeth chucked the remote onto the nearest armchair, and sank onto the cushion beside him. With her arms resting on her thighs, her hands folded loosely between her knees, she twisted to face him. "We've done all we can by telling them the truth"—about how she and Henry worked together and supported each other in their separate and overlapping roles, not about the tablet and the app. Never about the tablet and the app. (Though, physics departments across all fifty states were now receiving extra funding…)—"now we just have to hope they're willing to listen."

"And if they're not?" he said.

The same worry he'd worn at the horse farm crept into his eyes once more, a stain seeping in from the edges. But before it could bleed into the centre, before it could cloud his vision and make him believe maybe she and her presidency really would be better off without him, she laid her hand on his wrist and fixed him with a firm look.

"Then we keep on telling them."

For success had many definitions, and to her, speaking out against media-spun false realities and showing the world that a woman could lead without sacrificing her marriage or being no more than a puppet for a man was one of them—and if that's all she achieved with the rest of her presidency, she would be happy. No regrets, no lingering 'what-ifs?'.

She squeezed his wrist, then with a playful smile, leant in and pecked him on the cheek, near the corner of his lips.

"Date night tonight," she reminded him, as she rose from her seat. "Don't forget."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured.

Then he rose from his seat too and took her hand, and together they walked down the marble staircase, out from the Residence. "So," he said, shooting her a glance between every step, "what are we thinking? Burgers and bowling?"

"Bowling, yes," she said. Then, tugging on his fingers, she pivoted to face him. "But you know what I really fancy?"

He answered before she could, "Grilled cheese?"

A flash of surprise at him reading her mind lit her for all of half a second before it swiftly melted into a grin.

Yes, she thought. No question.

Definitely soulmates.

Definitely 'meant to be'.

Note: The prompt for this story was: "You knew how I feel about you. You have to have known."

Thank you for the request, anon!

And thank you if you've left a comment, or if you've been reading along silently. I hope you enjoyed this story. :)