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As the inauguration met its end, the congressmen dispersed, tending to their own business. Elizabeth Hamilton and Owen Bartlet head toward the few talking to the current president. Elizabeth scanned the crowd, writing off all of the familiar faces, including both Shermichael Peterson and the loathsome former president.
Her trusted partner, and brother, Owen Bartlet, headed off to speak to Shermichael, the former runner up.
Owen Park made his way over, lugging along that disgusting confident as ever attitude. Elizabeth squared her shoulders as she prepared for a predictedly heated conversation.
The usual.
“Owen Park.”
“Elizabeth Hamilton, happy now?” He quipped.
“Over the moon.” She bit back, near taunting him to piss her off with her eyes.
Instead, an upheaval of discomfort ran through her veins as he held her stare.
She glanced over at her brother as he reassured (lied to) Shermichael Peterson that he could still successfully run the next term, flailing his gavel like it granted any factuality to the statement.
Now that all of them– sans Shermichael – were out of office, and of jobs, the finality of the recent race had settled.
Jacob Tran was now their official, and first, trans president. His late arrival to his own inauguration became the new talk of the white house, throwing him into controversy with the House. Though with his easygoing personality, Elizabeth deemed that it would not be as big of a mess as Owen Park’s near-tyrannical run.
She narrowed her stare back onto Owen Park, although she was met with a silent look. His eyes almost searched hers for– something. The thought of him getting in her head any further irritated her to her core, so she cleared her throat to speak.
“So, what’s your plan? Now that me and Owen Bartlet have lost our positions I plan to take it easy,” She shifted to glance another look at her carefree brother, fondness seeping through her usually stoney expression. “He seems to still be set on the higher ranks, but the House has never hated him more, so I doubt that’d work to his liking.”
Owen Park readjusted his glasses as he spoke, “Well I have the money to support myself from here on out. Unfortunately, or fortunately so– my team have all abandoned me for Mr. Tran’s party so I’m a lone wolf here on out. It’s a tad freeing.”
He smirked as he said the next bit, “Bet you’re delighted as ever.”
Anger flared in Elizabeth Hamilton, purely to deny the notion that he had any understanding of how she felt after all this time, but then she calmed, realizing he was sort of on the nail.
But also totally off, somehow.
See, the satisfaction of him falling from the top of the ladder to full irrelevancy was a riveting thing, but a part of her soared at the constant challenge he presented. That a woman like her, who had been completely new to the dynamics of white house, had enough influence to derail the literal presidential run. It all felt so invigorating.
But the thought of them separating here felt so wrong somehow.
Almost incomplete.
“I don’t know if I could say that.” She said, in an almost whisper, but loud enough for him to respond if he felt the need to. “You were tyrannical but I somehow always got my job back.”
The man's eyes widened, like she’d said something he never thought she knew.
Was it because he underestimated her? Of course she realized he deliberately offered her back her role as Deputy Secretary of the Interior to knock her down a peg once more when she revolted.
But she looked at his face and noticed it held a warmer hue to it, almost as if he was a bit– flustered? She observed him silently as he tried composing his reaction and failing to do so in the same vein.
Huh, weird... She silently wondered what’d got his panties in a twist.
He cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“That was the house, not me,” He muttered in the exact tone of someone who was the one behind it, not the house. But she let it drop nonetheless.
The two look over at the clouds in the sky, the colors of the dying day wash both of them in warm hues. Elizabeth reasoned that it’s behind why she’s not too angry to be standing next to him for so long. She was too exhausted and ready to go home to try and argue.
“I had fun. You made things- interesting.” He said, voice quiet like he didn’t necessarily want her to hear it clearly.
Her thoughts abruptly became a hydraulic press of confusion as his words settled in the air.
Everything sounded stuffy as she cleared her throat, forehead creasing as she squawked—
“You’re talking to me?”
He made a show of rolling his eyes with a grumble, his fingers messing with his watch as he confirmed. “Yes, I'm talking to you- about you. Who else?”
“Did you hit the ground a bit too hard when you fell off your high horse? Stop messing with me-”
She was interrupted as he grasped her wrist, she instinctively flinched back but his hold was too sturdy to stir.
“Ms. Hamilton,”
He looked into her eyes with that same authoritative look he always had, though this had a tinge of sincerity to it. Like he was finally willing to crumble his unbridled pride for something he viewed to have outweighed it. Enough to render some humility through his stone cold exterior.
No way he really…
“Mr. Park,” Elizabeth said, parroting him.
Her words snapped him out of something because he immediately stepped back, unhanding her. She grabbed her wrist as if to confirm that all of that really just happened.
He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace. If it was that hard to say in the first place, he should've just kept it to himself, Elizabeth scoffed.
“I’m being serious.”
She stared at him for a moment, as if it’d help her figure out what the hell he was thinking.
Then he held out his hand.
“Your phone, lets…” He paused like he was considering backing out now, but he guessed it was too late, because he continued. “Let’s exchange numbers.”
Elizabeth looked around in confusion.
“To torture me more? Am I dead and this is my hell?” Her words toe over ridicule but it's better than ever letting him have an upper hand, especially if it created any chance to humiliate her.
He smiled at her but it’s strained, like he was actually affected by that.
What the hell is going on?
“If you don't, that's fine too. Don’t wanna pressure you, Elizabe-” He's cut off by a phone abruptly shoved into his palm, throwing off his focus as he scrambled to not let it drop.
He’s silent when it finally stabilized in his hands, he looked down at it in silence for a moment.
“Oh.” He sighed, sounding slightly relieved.
Elizabeth ignored the way a part of her liked seeing him so caught off guard— the part of her that thinks vulnerability looked fairly attractive on him.
“Yeah,” She looked away from him. “Don’t waste my time and get it over with.”
Owen blinked in surprise, then his eyebrows lowered as his face smoothed into a playful smirk. He knows her indifferent attitude was only a ploy; something to maintain the front.
A part of them both knew how embarrassing it would be if anyone knew about this after watching them argue for days on end.
Enemies to lovers was never really her style.
“Yes, ma’am.” He conceded, jotting down the numbers in no time.
He passed the phone back to her and they stood in silence for a moment, not really knowing where to go with this new development next.
“So-”
“You-”
They both start, though they’re quickly interrupted by the sound of Owen Bartlet’s resounding shout.
“Elizabeth!”
The two scramble away from each other, tidying themselves up in ways that made them look unnecessarily suspicious despite the generally innocent nature of their conversation.
“Elizabeth, Shermichael proposed another way for me to successfully become vice president again,” He said, tugging Shermichael along.
He spoke some more but she tuned it out as cold relief settled over her dampened skin.
Elizabeth let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she glanced a look at the former president, signalling a silent goodbye. He nodded lightly, a small smile spread softly across his lips, her heart skipped a beat in response.
So fucking weird.
She was being so fucking strange.
She quickly turned to leave with her brother, not sparing the other Owen a glance as she made her way to her car. Her brother trailing behind her exclaiming all the methods he plans to use to get back into office.
She tried to forget the soft look on Owen Park’s face as she started the ignition of her car but her hands trembled at the memory, sweat tumbling down her nape.
“So, what were you guys on about? Are you really running for president again?” She questioned, driving out of the emptying parking lot.
Owen Bartlet went off on his tangent, calming Elizabeth with the change of focus.
She could always think about it later, she thought, ignoring the heavy weight of the phone in her pocket and the implications of Owen Park’s prior words.
She closed her eyes at a stop light, realizing her heart's pace hadn’t been nearly as quelled as she’d like it to be.
…
She’s so screwed.