Chapter Text
“It’s smart. Really. 42 put a movie theater down here. 44 an indoor basketball court.”
“47 doesn’t hoop.”
“No. But he does know how to handle a pool cue.”
Dorian didn’t jump at the sound of 47’s voice. He was trained not to be startled so easily. He was also trained to know where his chief was by hearing alone, whether his eyes did or not. It was a reflex, by now ingrained in every instinct in his body to know 47’s footsteps from that of someone else’s.
Dorian and Hale, the other agent that he split shifts with, both turned around to address the man.
“Mr. President.” Dorian nodded. “Of course your pool game isn’t as good as mine, Sir.”
President Shelton chuckled, clapping both men on the shoulder as he passed.
“One day, Dorian. I’m gonna shut that smart mouth of yours up.”
“Good luck with that, Sir.” He replied, grinning from ear to ear. The middle finger thrusted up into the air was entirely expected but never not surprising. 47 was the only president that truly didn’t care for formalities and allowed everyone serving under his detail and beyond the leeway to interact with the man as if he was just another guy off the street.
“You want to get a drink when we’re off?” Hale asked him.
“Sure. Let me tell Ally before she has a fit.”
Hale smirked. The two went back to surveilling the room, eyes on the President when he wanted them to be, and off when he didn’t. The man had hosted a boy’s night for some of his closest friends and confidants. The get together had dwindled down around midnight, his guests leaving one by one as their cars were pulled around to to the garage for them. It was another hour that passed when finally, the night looked like it was truly coming to an end, the President’s best friend the only guest left.
“One more time! One more time, come on, B. We’ll place bets.” Mr. Bradley hounded the President, grabbing onto his dress shirt as the leader of the free world laughed and clutched his best friend to him, somewhat drunkenly.
“No, no, no, no, no. I gotta get to bed. Josie will have my ass if I stay down here any longer. Another time.”
Mr. Bradley sighed and tried to get him to change his mind but the boss wasn’t budging. “Brad, I can’t. I have a country to run in the morning. Come on, I’ll call you a car. Go home before Stephanie kicks your ass too.”
Both men leaned on each other for support as they set their pool sticks down and made their way back upstairs. “Hale, get me a glass of water will ya?” The President asked him.
“Right away, Sir.”
Hale went back downstairs to fetch the glass and Dorian followed the two men up to the main floor. He made sure another agent got Mr. Bradley to the car safely as he focused on President Shelton’s journey back to the East Wing.
“You’re a good man, Dorian.” 47 told him as he walked him down the various residence hallways.
“Thank you, Mr. President. Not as good as you though.”
He slung an arm around Dorian, and the younger man thought it was more for walking support than anything else. “Good answer. Hey, I want to stop by the kids’ rooms before I go to sleep.”
“Yes, Sir.”
It was a common ritual for the President to visit his children in slumber before he too retired for the night. They stopped by Jackson’s bedroom first, Dorian nodding at the agent that was standing guard outside of it.
“Mr. President.” The guard bowed his head.
President Shelton nodded back and opened the door. The ten year old was sleeping half off his bed, the covers laying at his feet as his body was hanging off the bed at an awkward angle. He watched his President walk in quietly and move his son back to the middle of the mattress, pulling the covers over his body again. He stroked the boy’s golden-brown, unruly, curly hair and walked back out. Theodore's room was right across from Jackson’s and Dorian nodded at the other agent that was standing outside of his younger son’s door.
Teddy was tucked underneath his space blanket per usual, sniffling softly in his slumber. President Shelton sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, leaning down the next second to plant a soft kiss on the eight year old’s temple. Unlike his brother, he had red and brown curls that fell into his eyes whether he was awake or dead to the world. His boss pushed them back from his forehead. It was several minutes before President Shelton exited the room.
“All good, Sir?” Dorian asked.
He nodded. “All good.”
They walked the rest of the way to the President’s private chambers. Hale was standing there with a cold glass of water. Dorian smiled when he saw that there was no lemon in the drink--since President Shelton had to have it prepared that way per the First Lady’s request. As Dorian stopped dutifully outside of the door, 47 opened it and took the offered glass, bidding him and all of the other agents assigned to the First Lady’s detail a good night.
“You as well, Mr. President.” They responded at the same time.
Dorian turned his back to the wall beside the door and canted his head to the ceiling. He looked down at his watch only once that night, and it was five minutes before another agent was supposed to come and relieve his position. He always seemed to know when he was about to be able to go.
That drink with Hale was only fifteen minutes away.
=
His alarm clock went off at six in the morning, sharp, everyday except for the weekends. Blake Tollison Shelton hated mornings, even more so since he got elected for a second term. You would think that four years of practice--experience--would have prepared him for another four, but it never got any easier waking up before the Sun did.
Blake rolled over from turning the alarm off and looked at his wife beside him. She had her mouth closed, soft breaths were coming from her nose and her chest rose softly up and down as if it was on some kind of timer. Her brown hair was the color of warm mocha. When her eyes are open at approximately seven on the dot, they’re a glazed cinnamon color with swirls of honey, the same as Jackson’s. Everything about her was perfect. Even the freckles that littered her nose and cheeks were a certain distance and exact size from the next. Perfect. It used to alarm him. He guessed it still did judging by the way his gut contracted and his heart felt heavy everytime he looked at her.
Blake rolled back over and saw the clock now read 6:06. He exhaled and sat up, the covers falling away from his bare chest. He stretched and grabbed a shirt from the side table, pulling it over his head. He stood up and crossed the room to the bathroom. The routine was precise and mundane: brush teeth, wash face, wet hair, contemplate a trim, and lastly, put his eye contacts in. From there, he would change into shorts and running shoes and greet his detail outside by the door. This morning, it was Frank and Tom, already dressed in their running uniforms. He greeted them both.
“Ready?”
“Yes, Sir.” They said in unison.
Blake ran every morning except for Wednesdays and Fridays. Running always made him miss breakfast with the kids, so he was limited--by Josie--to only five days a week.
As the men walked outside from the back entrance, Blake leaned down to check his laces.
“Mr. President, I’m to inform you by your chief of staff that you have a video call this morning before the debriefing. Which means--”
“Our run is cut short for the day.” He stood up and checked his watch. “Let’s get to it then.”
“Ready when you are.” Tom told him.
“Sure you guys can keep up?” He asked.
They laughed and as Blake set off running, his men followed behind him. His running route consisted of the White House gardens mostly. They would do several laps around the perimeter and he would stop only to take a drink that Frank had already prepared and held for him conveniently. Blake had stopped by the rose bushes and was wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt when another agent caught up to them.
“Mr. President. Mr. Young needs you to return back to the House. I’m afraid it’s an urgent matter.”
Blake was still breathing heavily. He rolled his eyes at the agent’s news. “Tell Charlie, I’m running.”
“I mentioned it, Sir. He said it was important.”
“Then, tell him again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Blake shook his head and planted his hands on his hips. He was staring up at the sun, eyes squinting as it burned.
“Mr. President. We have fifteen minutes to get back.” Frank informed him.
He sighed, realizing how much of his life was invaded by other people’s voices.
Blake handed his water bottle to Tom this time and set off down the trails again without another word.
=
“Can I tie it?”
Blake was looking at his collection of bow ties when Jackson wrapped his arms around his stomach from the back and poked his head out from the side. Their eyes locked briefly, and Blake smiled at his oldest.
“This one is harder than the others. You sure?”
Jack nodded.
“Ok. Which one? You pick.”
“No! Let me pick. Jackson always picks.” Teddy whined from the bed, which he was jumping on. If Josie was there and not already busy with getting ready for the dinner, she would have snatched the boy up by his ear and scolded him. Blake didn’t much care if he jumped or not. Kids were meant to do kid things.
Blake gave Jackson a look that said let your brother choose and the older boy sighed. “You can pick Teddy.”
The eight year old jumped off the bed and bounced his way over to his brother and father. Blake picked him up so that he could see and reach the neckties easier. Teddy bit his lip in concentration, something that he got from his mother, and scanned all the different colors and designs. “I like that one.” He pointed to the blue bowtie with the small white dots scattered on it.
Jackson made a face and Blake found it adorable.
“That one it is.” He grabbed it and set Teddy down. Blake sat in front of the mirror on the floor and crossed his legs, something that his sons mimicked.
“Alright, you remember how I showed you?” He asked Jack.
Jackson nodded and flipped his father’s collar up, taking the silk from his hands and wrapping it around Blake’s neck. Teddy watched in awe as his big brother looped and pulled the fabric until it eventually resembled a bow. Unlike Theodore and Josie, Jackson concentrated just like his dad, with his eyes locked and his lips pursed.
When he was finished, Blake looked at himself in the mirror and was surprised at how good of a job he did. “Not bad.”
“When can I start wearing ties?” He asked.
“You don’t want to anytime soon. When you start wearing them, you’ll have to for the rest of your life.”
Both of his kids made a disgusted face at that.
“Exactly.”
Teddy climbed into his lap and set his head on his father’s shoulder, sighing. “Daddy, why can’t we go to the dinner with you?”
Jackson fidgeted, like he was yearning to be in his father’s arms too. Blake leaned back onto the floor and gestured for Jack to join them. His oldest laid on the left side of his chest just as Teddy laid on the right, and Blake ran a hand through both of their hair. His suit was probably getting wrinkled but he didn’t care.
“You can come to the next one. Just as long as your mom says yes to it.”
They both sighed.
Jackson looked up at him, “When are we going to play football out in the yard?”
Blake honestly didn’t know when he would have time but he stuck to his usual answer and hoped it didn’t backfire in his face.
“You play catch all the time with Uncle Tom and Frank.”
“It’s not the same. You throw deep ones.”
Blake chuckled, imagining his detail going soft to as not warrant any trouble or injuries as they played with his boys. “I’ll play again soon, ok? Dad has a lot on his plate right now.”
Teddy looked up at him now. “Can you tell us a story from when you were younger?”
Blake unwrapped his left arm from around Jackson to look at his watch. He needed to be heading down to the ballroom in a couple of minutes. He was surprised that Josie wasn’t already up there to get him.
“I got time for one. Arizona or Oklahoma?”
“Arizona.” They said at the same time before Jack elaborated, “Those are the funniest ones.”
“Alright.”
He recounted the time when him and his brother Richie snuck out of the house and went to a John Berry concert, underage and completely plastered off their asses. Of course he left that part out and sensored some of the more inappropriate bits as he told the story, but his boys laughed with the kind of innocence that only a child possessed and Blake swore it was the only sound in the world that could make him feel like he was walking on clouds and everything below him on Earth was unimportant.
He was just getting to the part where Richie had punched some guy in the face because he was trash talking the drummer when Josie walked in, a vision in white. She stared at the mess of limbs on the floor with an exasperated expression that she didn’t really mean.
“There you guys are. Valerie is waiting to put you both to bed. Come on, say goodnight to your dad.”
Their kids groaned but knew better than to argue with their mother. They mumbled their ‘I love yous’ and he kissed both of them on the head as he urged them to get up. They walked over to Josie and followed her outside.
“Sweet dreams, guys,” he called to them.
He heard their little voices call back to him down the hall, making him smile.
“Sir, if you’re ready.” His chief of staff popped his head around the corner, as if he was standing there, waiting the whole time.
“Charlie, when am I ever ready for one of these things?”
Charlie grinned and ushered him outside of the bedroom.. “I have notes but I have a feeling that you won’t read them.”
“What gave it away?” He asked, teasing.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe the last four years, Sir.” Charlie retorted.
“When does the Prime Minister show up?” Blake asked as he greeted Frank and Tom at the end of the foyer. “Tom, I thought you only worked the day shift.”
“A little birdy told me you would prefer me back at night, Sir.”
Some little birdy being Andrea. She had a big mouth but Blake was grateful. It meant he had his best detail when he wanted it the most.
“The Prime Minister is scheduled to arrive around eight thirty. Which gives you ten minutes to let me tell you my notes.” Charlie answered, not missing a beat.
The four men fell in sync with each other as they walked down the halls of the White House.
Blake extended a hand to Tom. “Glad to have you back. And that’s fine, Charlie. Hey, Frank, you think you can play catch with Jack tomorrow morning?”
Tom shook his hand, “Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Your wife insisted that the Prime Minister sit at your table, which I strongly advise against but it’s your call, Sir.” Charlie stated.
“I have a family breakfast tomorrow morning, Sir. But I can cancel.” Frank said.
“Whatever Josie wants, give to her. And no need to cancel. Enjoy your family time, Frank.”
“If you insist, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Good evening, Mr. President.” The aid to the ballroom greeted.
“Evening, Samuel. How’s the wife and kids. Jimmy had that basketball tournament, right? How’d he do?”
His aid seemed surprised that he remembered. “They’re great, Sir. And yes. Jimmy and his team won. Thank you.”
“Congratulations,” he patted the man on his arm. “I’ll see you in there, Sam.”
Mr. President. They were the most popular words around the House, especially for any formal event and Blake loathed it with a passion. He felt like he was being pulled in every direction and only stopped once he did the greeting tradition. He would stand at the entrance doors with the First Lady by his side and greet and shake hands with everyone that attended the dinner. It was tiresome standing there for forty minutes, smiling until his face hurt, hand cramping from being gripped too hard and stuck in the same position because it was easier on his arm and shoulder than having to keep moving it up and down as the line grew shorter with every passing guest.
“I want a real smile, Mr. President.”
Blake stopped zoning out to see Bradley coming up to him, next in line for a greeting with the First Couple.
“Brad, get me out of here, please, I’m begging you.”
Josie overheard their joke and slightly nudged his arm, signalling for them to keep it moving. Bradley leaned in as they shook hands. “I’ll see you at the table. Or bar. Whichever’s closer.”
He nodded and let go of his best friend so that he could hug and kiss Josie. Brad’s longtime girlfriend was behind him, dressed in an elegant silver dress that caught the attention of many, including Blake.
“Stephanie, you’re a dream in that dress.” He kissed the back of her hand tenderly.
“Thank you, Mr. President. You clean up nice yourself. Not as good as your wife though.”
“I knew she was the eye candy in the relationship when I met her.”
Josie slapped his arm reproachfully, but she was grinning and blushing in that way she did.
“Eye candy with a Yale law degree. Hi, Stephanie, you look gorgeous, honey.”
The Prime Minister was right after their friends and Blake greeted him and his wife with the strongest handshake and most charming smile that he could manage.
Once they passed, Blake could let out a breath and finish the greetings feeling much more relaxed then when he started. This particular dinner wasn’t even for the Prime Minister but they had business to attend to when it was over and he knew it would be rude to not invite the man when he was staying three whole days in America before departing for England on Friday. The dinner was mainly for honoring the six air force pilots in the KWI Unit that recently carried out and finished a mission in East Sudan that was a matter of national security. The honored guests were seen last, and Blake took extra care in welcoming them to the White House, each one thanking him for his hospitality and the invitation to come in the first place.
One pilot in particular, Wyatt Howlett, was decorated in the most medals, something that caught his eye. He was a tall guy, almost as tall as him, with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes that were the exact shade as his own. But it wasn’t that which stopped the President in his two thousand dollar suede shoes. It was the woman on his arm. His wife, which he helpfully introduced to him and Josie. The woman, in all her efforts to avoid eye contact with him, was trying to appear small, inconsequential next to the decorated pilot. But custom was that she shake hands with the Leader of the Free World and the First Lady next to him.
She latched onto Josie’s soft hands first, rule number one broken, but Blake remembered how much she didn’t like to follow rules when she used to grab for his hands before anyone else's.
And he remembered when he met her, it was so clear that she was the only one meant for him. They both knew it, right away. When her eyes finally landed on his, he tried to remember what they had in the beginning.
“Stella.” He breathed, still shocked. He reverted back to her nickname, the way he used to greet her.
He saw how her chest leaped, how her breath, which was once so steady and controlled, began to falter and pick up speed all at the same time.
“Gwen, honey. Her name is Gwen.” Josie said into his ear.
Blake snapped out of his reverie and smiled. It was forced. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s a pleasure to have you both here tonight. The White House is honored. And Lieutenant Howlett, thank you for your service.” He said the perfunctory statement and nodded them along like he had done for the rest of the guests. Hearing Mr. Howlett's clear and strong thank you, echoing Blake’s sentiment about service back to the President for having served himself. Gwen’s quiet murmur was barely audible.
“You ok?”
He snapped his attention away from her and back to his wife. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She still looked sceptical. “Hey, did I tell you that you look absolutely stunning in that dress?”
Josie grinned. “Several times but I never tire of hearing it.”
He chuckled and kissed her cheek, hating to get lipstick on his mouth.
“Let’s start this dinner off together.” He told her.
Josie was surprised and throughout the entire dinner, he could tell she was confused, trying to figure out what was making him so nice.
Blake kept his eyes firmly away from Gwen. He performed all of his duties perfectly, talked with all the important people, danced with all the right people, and drank with all the vital people in his life. Gwen Stefani--Howlett--was not one of those people.
Not anymore.