It was April 3 when Sara was nominated at the Democratic Party presidential primary. For three weeks, as the Republicans hadn't yet chosen their candidate, the press focused exclusively on her, which Kellerman said they had to view as an opportunity.

"Interviews," he said, the morning after she learned the news, after her celebration with Michael in their hotel room. "Lots and lots of interviews. Talk shows, Sara, conferences. In the following few months, people have to think you're everywhere, that you cover every issue. You don't have to worry too much about women, work on getting other communities. Showing at a pro-choice demonstration protesting the lack of clinics is good, but a picture of you with a group of skinny refugee children would be better."

Sara pinched her lips at Kellerman's suggestions, tried to relax and had a sip of water, struggling to unscrew her clenched jaw.

She hated this sort of talk. It wasn't new to her decision to become President, but there did seem to be so much more of it now.

In truth, though Paul had been the one to help her get where she was now, had been the first person to believe in her, Sara felt if her affection wasn't so secure, if she were to meet him now and this were a stranger saying these things to her, she would dislike him immediately.

Politics was a performance. No denying it. But it wasn't, it shouldn't be, just that. Or what would be the point?

Certainly, Sara wasn't sacrificing a normal life with Michael all for a puppet show.

"That being said," Kellerman went on, "I don't think we should take the women electorate for granted. There's the Me Too movement to consider – I was wondering if you'd thought about taking a stance on that."

"I have. Repeatedly."

"You haven't shared a personal story." He quickly added at Sara's arched brow, "I'm only saying, vulnerability is good in a female candidate. You may not think that's true, but people are distrustful of overly strong women. Just look at what happened to Hillary Clinton. Not smiling enough. Not genuine enough. People are used to politicians being only façades, but it hasn't been proven to work for women. A woman they don't know is dangerous. Whatever could be hiding behind it?" He shrugged. "I'm not making this up, Sara. Hillary was actually called a witch."

"I know that. I denounced that. But I'm not going to make a show of my private life. I'm not going to shed a few tears in front of a camera to reassure people that I'm a proper woman."

Kellerman smiled at her anger. Sometimes, it was still hard to tell when he was testing her – impersonating some insufferable journalist just to see what her reaction would be.

"Good." He said. "There're plenty of angles we can work from. I just want a little indication. Until the Republicans elect a candidate, the spotlight's going to be on you. What image should we go with? Ice-queen toughness? Thatcher-style grit? A softer tone, maybe?"

"Me, Paul. We're going with me."

He sighed, looking at her very much earnest. "You think I'm bad, don't you? Well, just you wait until you see what candidate the Republicans come up with. Then, see if fighting fair is still an option."

Sara laughed, almost out of despair rather than amusement. "They can't do much worse than the last one."

That turned out to be an inaccurate prediction.

Sara knew she was going to dislike the candidate from the first, when she learned that he was calling himself Theodore II.

She was actually with Michael, lying naked under bleach-white sheets, enjoying a cold takeaway dinner – the food was always cold by the time they got to eating it.

They didn't usually turn on the television during their time together, but discovering the Republican nominee was a good enough incentive. At Michael's side, with his hand on her hip, their thighs brushing against each other's, Sara felt less desperate than she would have alone, or even with Kellerman. In the protected haven of the hotel room, it was like the woman who would have to fight against this man wasn't her exactly, had momentarily ceased to exist.

And how sorry Sara felt for that woman.

"Theodore II?" Michael chuckled, too taken with the program to resume eating his Chinese noodles.

"We got a clown for the last election. Now, we're getting a monarch."

Sara meant to sound light, though she wasn't happy at all with her main opponent. Emerging in the world of politics some six years ago, Theodore Bagwell had stood out in the state of Alabama by becoming Senator and giving a strong, sadly popular voice to everything Sara hated about US government. With a pleasant smile and the full force of his southern charisma, Bagwell promoted tougher borders, stricter laws on immigrations, and a pity-proof way of fighting crime – harsher sentences and less hesitation towards capital punishment. "Those who come into our country, take advantage of our Christian hospitality to hurt our women and children, are animals, my fellow citizens. And I won't be lenient to a dog that bites innocent people. In fact, I'll make a fair use of our dear second amendment."

That was another thing he stood for. Guns. More, more, more, no matter how many school shootings, how many teenage protests tried to soften the heart of rich corporations.

Theodore was both different and similar to the last Republican candidate and current President. For one – and Sara admitted that was a difficult standard to meet – she disapproved of him even more. One big and non-negligible difference was that Theodore Bagwell – she refused to consider calling him Theodore II – was intelligent. He'd done the smart thing trying to secure conservative voters, basing himself on religion and knowing his business; he could quote just about any part of the Bible on the spot. Not exactly handsome, he was nonetheless extraordinarily charming, not only in the way he smiled to a crowd and managed to make each person think the smile was just for them, but in the way he talked – clever and articulate, but down to earth, and saying what a lot of people wanted to hear.

America for Americans.

Like every promoter of racist policies, redefining the American people as largely white and heterosexual.

He was, to put it differently, everything Sara was not.

"Can you believe they picked him?" Michael sighed. "Senator Bagwell, of all people –"

"It's not a bad choice." Sara remarked. "It's even a safe choice. People like Bagwell are great at making people afraid – making them think the real problems don't exist. Racial inequalities, sexual oppression, hell, global warming. He takes a more pragmatic approach. Makes people feel like immigrants are thirsting after their jobs." She shook her head. "Switch this off. He disgusts me."

Michael complied, smiling softly. "You think you're going to be able to stand meeting him face to face without being sick?"

Again, it didn't really feel like this was really going to happen. While she was there, next to Michael, eating cold Chinese food in bed, she felt completely safe from the craziness of the outside world and the rush of her Presidential campaign.

"Are you kidding?" She said, her brow arched with attitude. Theirs was a rather sarcastic humor. "He won't stand two minutes of debate. I'll eat him up alive."

Michael slid his hand around her naked waist. "I can't wait to watch."

End Notes: I'm having so much fun with this story I want to thank Miss Bastique again :D. See you soon with a next update.