fic: THE BIG RED BUTTON
THE BIG RED BUTTON
veep, selina meyer/kent davison, r.
he knows her just a shade too well.
note: spoilers for 2.01
look at the wonderful mess that we made
we pick ourselves undone
BASTILLE
“POTUS is bringing Kent back in,” Amy tells her the day after it happens because, well, Selina’s got no time to worry about what’s wrong with Amy right now, “Head of Strategy.”
“Really? I was hoping POTUS would realise his potential as a fucking bell boy.”
Amy eyes her. “Maybe he’s mellowed with age.” She ventures, when they are alone. She’s insisted in meeting in the ladies to avoid Dan or something, and Selina can’t quite believe that she’s having this conversation now, perched on a lowered toilet seat.
“He’s not fucking chardonnay, Amy.”
It takes three attempts to finally get him properly alone. Since Clinton there’s always interns sniffing round the Oval Office, dreaming of being the next Deep Throat, in either sense of the word. So Selina has to wait until its gone fucking three am, and he’s still holed up in his ex-toilet with his graphs. “So spill, what the fuck are you doing back here? Truthfully." She says, and she’s trying to sound threatening but it’s coming out all husky and raw and wrong.
“I’ve got a mortgage to pay, just the same as you. Truthfully.”
“Don’t you dare brush me off.”
“Why? Cause you’re busy playing little miss Veep now, think that gives you the right to demand I come over all George fucking Darcy in your presence, Tess of the Brontes?”
She pulls her lip up, “Not a single one of those was correct.”
“Do I look like I give a fucking shit?” She starts, slightly, and he takes a breath, “I don’t have time to play. I want to go to bed. Go do your job, Selina.”
“It’s Ma’am to you.” She turns on her heel and then stops abruptly. “You stand when the President comes in here?”
“That’s different.”
“Only to you. Only ever to fucking you.”
He shouts after her, “Always had to have the last fucking scream.”
“Fuck you!”
Somehow Jonah's still around, and he sidles up to her when she’s making her way back through the White House. Her shoes are pinching and she’s half tempted to ask him for a piggyback when he pipes up, “So, what’s the deal with you and Kent, then?”
“Mutually assured destruction,” she deadpans, and it strikes her as a surprising truth. She’s too fucking exhausted to give a crap, though. “Stop fishing Jonah.”
“Part of my job involves fishing Ma’am. I am the West Wing’s chief fisherman. I am their Moby Dick.”
“That was the whale’s name, Jonah.”
“Right.”
He’s in her office the next day, sitting at her desk with a nasty green bruise above his eye.
“My, Madame Vice President, you do look beautiful today.” She says, with a smile that stays fixed at her lips.
He stands, slowly, and rounds the desk. “I’m booked with NBC tonight. I need you to go instead.”
Sue’s voice floats through the open door, “They specifically asked for you.” She shouts, and Selina finds herself wondering how big, exactly, that woman’s advance for her memoirs will be.
Kent’s gaze stays fixed on hers, though, “Some of us have busy schedules. I have work to do.”
“Well, you never were any good at finishing the job on time.”
“Whereas you always got it done?”
Amy clears her throat gently and Selina’s suddenly aware that everyone’s there. “Do you guys want us to wait outside?”
“Stay!” They both say simultaneously.
“That’s jinx,” Jonah takes a break from his banana to offer, “Neither of you can talk now.”
She sees Amy murmur under her breath out of the corner of her eye: “Well thank fuck for that.”
Later she’ll slip into his office. “Selina,” he gruffs. “Can I - Am I? What can I do for you?”
“You could apologise for the endless stream of pain and misery your conception has caused me, but that would be boring and twee and too fucking Aaron Sorkin for you, wouldn’t it?” She spits, then bites her lip. That always was her tell, with him, and she wonders if he can remember. “You used to come to see me not just because you wanted a favour.”
“I kinda did, if I remember.”
“Shut up.” She raises a hand. “You valued my opinion, even if you pretended you didn’t. You used to not humiliate me in front of my staff. And then you go and put me up on stage dressed like the girl on fucking fire with my ex-husband. Was it all just to spite me or did the once-great Kent Davison actually have a plan?”
Kent’s head ducks, and he suddenly looks a lot older with his face cast in shadow. “If I told you I did you’re still gonna tell me to go fuck myself, aren’t you?”
This was always Selina’s trouble with Kent: he knows her just a shade too well.
And so she says, “Go fuck yourself.”
And he laughs, “There’s the money shot.”
Later again she’s back in his office, emboldened by three whiskeys while she’s been working. “Not like you to be up for a reprise so soon.” Kent drawls. He’s been drinking, too.
“Fuck you,” she says.
And then she does, true to her word, pushed up against the flimsy partition wall between him and the President with his hand knotted in her hair and half their clothes still on like fucking teenagers. Almost literally.
“How do sharks mate?” He breathes against her neck. His beard grazes, and she pushes his head down to beneath her shirtline. “Carefully.”
She pulls back a second to look him in the eye. “That’s porcupines you half-wit.”
“I’m distracted.”
“Oh, grow a pair.” She says, and his free hand shifts under her thighs to lift her slightly so he can hit her where she likes it. Her stockings snag on his watch, and she comes swearing harshly in the vague direction of fat wolverine.
“I heard you were at the White House last night,” Amy says lightly.
“I’m a fucking heartbeat from the presidency. I’m not going to sit at home and marathon Real Housewives, Amy.”
What she was saying about the Oval Office interns? Totally true. CNN have it, but sit on it until FOX somehow get wind and really, she should’ve fired Mike around the time they crucified Jesus. Come to think of it, maybe she'll crucify him and call it poetic justice.
The President summons her and Kent to the Oval Office at the same time. Outside she looks up at him and he looks down at her.
“Can we just enter at the same time, maybe?”
Jonah snorts in the background, “That’s what she said.”
“No, Jonah,” Selina sighs, turns back to Kent.
“Mutually assured destruction,” he says and she can only laugh.
end.
veep, selina meyer/kent davison, r.
he knows her just a shade too well.
note: spoilers for 2.01
look at the wonderful mess that we made
we pick ourselves undone
BASTILLE
“POTUS is bringing Kent back in,” Amy tells her the day after it happens because, well, Selina’s got no time to worry about what’s wrong with Amy right now, “Head of Strategy.”
“Really? I was hoping POTUS would realise his potential as a fucking bell boy.”
Amy eyes her. “Maybe he’s mellowed with age.” She ventures, when they are alone. She’s insisted in meeting in the ladies to avoid Dan or something, and Selina can’t quite believe that she’s having this conversation now, perched on a lowered toilet seat.
“He’s not fucking chardonnay, Amy.”
It takes three attempts to finally get him properly alone. Since Clinton there’s always interns sniffing round the Oval Office, dreaming of being the next Deep Throat, in either sense of the word. So Selina has to wait until its gone fucking three am, and he’s still holed up in his ex-toilet with his graphs. “So spill, what the fuck are you doing back here? Truthfully." She says, and she’s trying to sound threatening but it’s coming out all husky and raw and wrong.
“I’ve got a mortgage to pay, just the same as you. Truthfully.”
“Don’t you dare brush me off.”
“Why? Cause you’re busy playing little miss Veep now, think that gives you the right to demand I come over all George fucking Darcy in your presence, Tess of the Brontes?”
She pulls her lip up, “Not a single one of those was correct.”
“Do I look like I give a fucking shit?” She starts, slightly, and he takes a breath, “I don’t have time to play. I want to go to bed. Go do your job, Selina.”
“It’s Ma’am to you.” She turns on her heel and then stops abruptly. “You stand when the President comes in here?”
“That’s different.”
“Only to you. Only ever to fucking you.”
He shouts after her, “Always had to have the last fucking scream.”
“Fuck you!”
Somehow Jonah's still around, and he sidles up to her when she’s making her way back through the White House. Her shoes are pinching and she’s half tempted to ask him for a piggyback when he pipes up, “So, what’s the deal with you and Kent, then?”
“Mutually assured destruction,” she deadpans, and it strikes her as a surprising truth. She’s too fucking exhausted to give a crap, though. “Stop fishing Jonah.”
“Part of my job involves fishing Ma’am. I am the West Wing’s chief fisherman. I am their Moby Dick.”
“That was the whale’s name, Jonah.”
“Right.”
He’s in her office the next day, sitting at her desk with a nasty green bruise above his eye.
“My, Madame Vice President, you do look beautiful today.” She says, with a smile that stays fixed at her lips.
He stands, slowly, and rounds the desk. “I’m booked with NBC tonight. I need you to go instead.”
Sue’s voice floats through the open door, “They specifically asked for you.” She shouts, and Selina finds herself wondering how big, exactly, that woman’s advance for her memoirs will be.
Kent’s gaze stays fixed on hers, though, “Some of us have busy schedules. I have work to do.”
“Well, you never were any good at finishing the job on time.”
“Whereas you always got it done?”
Amy clears her throat gently and Selina’s suddenly aware that everyone’s there. “Do you guys want us to wait outside?”
“Stay!” They both say simultaneously.
“That’s jinx,” Jonah takes a break from his banana to offer, “Neither of you can talk now.”
She sees Amy murmur under her breath out of the corner of her eye: “Well thank fuck for that.”
Later she’ll slip into his office. “Selina,” he gruffs. “Can I - Am I? What can I do for you?”
“You could apologise for the endless stream of pain and misery your conception has caused me, but that would be boring and twee and too fucking Aaron Sorkin for you, wouldn’t it?” She spits, then bites her lip. That always was her tell, with him, and she wonders if he can remember. “You used to come to see me not just because you wanted a favour.”
“I kinda did, if I remember.”
“Shut up.” She raises a hand. “You valued my opinion, even if you pretended you didn’t. You used to not humiliate me in front of my staff. And then you go and put me up on stage dressed like the girl on fucking fire with my ex-husband. Was it all just to spite me or did the once-great Kent Davison actually have a plan?”
Kent’s head ducks, and he suddenly looks a lot older with his face cast in shadow. “If I told you I did you’re still gonna tell me to go fuck myself, aren’t you?”
This was always Selina’s trouble with Kent: he knows her just a shade too well.
And so she says, “Go fuck yourself.”
And he laughs, “There’s the money shot.”
Later again she’s back in his office, emboldened by three whiskeys while she’s been working. “Not like you to be up for a reprise so soon.” Kent drawls. He’s been drinking, too.
“Fuck you,” she says.
And then she does, true to her word, pushed up against the flimsy partition wall between him and the President with his hand knotted in her hair and half their clothes still on like fucking teenagers. Almost literally.
“How do sharks mate?” He breathes against her neck. His beard grazes, and she pushes his head down to beneath her shirtline. “Carefully.”
She pulls back a second to look him in the eye. “That’s porcupines you half-wit.”
“I’m distracted.”
“Oh, grow a pair.” She says, and his free hand shifts under her thighs to lift her slightly so he can hit her where she likes it. Her stockings snag on his watch, and she comes swearing harshly in the vague direction of fat wolverine.
“I heard you were at the White House last night,” Amy says lightly.
“I’m a fucking heartbeat from the presidency. I’m not going to sit at home and marathon Real Housewives, Amy.”
What she was saying about the Oval Office interns? Totally true. CNN have it, but sit on it until FOX somehow get wind and really, she should’ve fired Mike around the time they crucified Jesus. Come to think of it, maybe she'll crucify him and call it poetic justice.
The President summons her and Kent to the Oval Office at the same time. Outside she looks up at him and he looks down at her.
“Can we just enter at the same time, maybe?”
Jonah snorts in the background, “That’s what she said.”
“No, Jonah,” Selina sighs, turns back to Kent.
“Mutually assured destruction,” he says and she can only laugh.
end.