All we gotta do is be brave and be kind (baby, we'll be fine) - part two (a)
MASTERPOST # PART ONE
Part Two
"After today's announcement from Governor of Michigan George Martenson (R) that he's going to run for president in next year's election, I think we can say that the season has started. I believe that in the next few weeks or maybe even months we will see new candidates throwing their hats in the game, both Republicans and Democrats. Who will that be? Will there be any surprises? Ana, what do you think?”
"Thank you, Vanessa. Yes, Governor Martenson's hat is first in the game, but soon there should be many more. Apart from Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio is also the obvious candidate for the Republicans. There are rumors about California Governor Michael Tanning and Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland, but nothing is confirmed. When it comes to the Democratic Party, the only obvious choice is Vice-President Anthony Miller, but some sources suggest that Senator Patrick Stewart of New Jersey may join the race.”
*
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, because Brad couldn't say no.
It wasn't like he didn't know that Nate wanted this. He did. But it was just one of those things. You can't like everything about the other person. Some people didn't like their partner's cleaning habits or lack thereof and Brad didn't like the fact that Nate's dream was to become the fucking president of the United States.
Yeah, one of those things.
.
"Well, if anyone in this country can become the first gay president it's the LT." Poke didn't even blink. Brad hated Poke. "It sure ain't gonna be easy, though."
No shit.
"Well, maybe he should have fucking thought about it before getting involved with me. With a nice girl he wouldn't even need to try," he said and downed a shot.
Poke looked at him incredulously. Brad signaled to the waitress that he wanted two beers.
"First of all, don't flatter yourself, your dick and charming personality didn't turn Nate gay. Second, dog, I hope you didn't tell him that."
"I'm not that stupid." Or that masochistic.
"Yes, you are. But he would have to punch you in the face and he would walk away, and the press would just love that."
The thing was, Nate would not walk away. He would get pissed, he would punch him, maybe, but he would not leave Brad. He was a stubborn motherfucker and he would stay, if only to prove Brad wrong.
The thing was, Nate had never even mentioned Brad leaving the Corps. Never. Even if that would make their lives much easier. But they wouldn't be where they are (together, married, in politics or in military), if they were any good at making their lives easier, right?
"Besides," Poke continued, "you knew who he was. That guy who wants to fight for a shot at becoming the president is the same guy that fought with the stupid command in Iraq to make sure we do the right thing and get out alive. That guy was meant for shit like this and you know it. Don't be stupid, Iceman."
It wasn't like Brad forgot the OIF or Nate there. It was just that his Nate, present Nate, both was and wasn't like Nate from Iraq and it was sometimes difficult to remind himself about that past version of him.
"He could hire you to write his fucking speeches, he will need those."
And that was that.
.
Brad woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. He looked at the clock and frowned. It was a little after five and if someone was supposed to get up early today, it was him. He had been dreaming about surfing for weeks. And now when they were in California for a few days and the beach was right outside their doors, literally, Nate was up before him?
He went to the bathroom first, then to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The house was quiet and empty. He went outside on the porch and saw Nate sitting on the sand so close to the ocean that every time a wave came, his feet were getting wet.
Brad nudged him with his foot when he got closer.
"What are you doing up?" he asked, sitting beside him.
Nate nudged him back with his knee and shrugged.
"Just thinking." After a moment when Brad didn't say anything, he continued. "The polling numbers came in."
"And?"
Brad believed that whatever Nate wanted, Nate would get, but he also thought that this country had too many stupid people to get something done most of the time. So it could go both ways and he didn't know which one was the cause for sitting on the beach before dawn.
"They're good. They're not amazing, but they're really good," Nate said, looking at him. Brad put his hand on the nape of Nate's neck and squeezed, his thumb stroking softly behind the ear.
"That's good," he whispered.
Nate leaned into his touch.
"That's also terrifying."
"A little, yeah," Brad had to agree. Because it was, when he really thought about this. "But that has never stopped you before."
"It's not stopping me now, either." Nate kicked him lightly. "I'm just saying. I woke up, I called, they told me and suddenly it all became so real." A pause. "I know it sounds stupid."
Brad shrugged.
"It doesn't. I understand. When you join the Marine Corps, you don't know it's real until you're ready to pass out during the basic training."
Nate chuckled at that.
"Thanks for the analogy, I can't wait for all the passing out and being dead tired."
"Dead tired, yes. But I wouldn't recommend passing out, that could scare your constituents off."
"We wouldn't want that," Nate smiled.
Brad looked at him and tried to imagine Nate as the president. He tried to picture him in the Oval Office, making decisions he would have the final say in. Sending them to war or not. Approving the military and intelligence reforms he had been thinking about for years. Being the person he had wanted to be most of his adult life, maybe longer.
"No, we wouldn't," Brad said finally, kissing him on the ear.
*
BALTIMORE, Maryland (CNN): Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland announced this morning that he's going to run for president in 2024 election.
In his home state, where he has served as a senator for over nine years now, he told thousands of people that although "the time has come for a Republican to come back to the White House," he truly believed that "Americans are more than ready to look above the dichotomy and work truly together." "There are causes that affect us all," he said, "like national security and education of our children. These are causes that are important and reforming them is long overdue. Now is the time."
If he is elected, the 46-year-old Fick will become the first openly gay person to become the president of the United States.
Other Republicans that publicly announced their start in the race are: Michigan Governor George Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio and former Senator Keith Marlow of Texas. California Governor Michael Tanning is expected to announce his candidacy next week.
*
The campaigning was crazy. Rushed phone calls, tired voices, not enough time together and not enough sex reminded Brad of the time when he was still active duty and they had to hide who they were. In other words, not the time he wanted to repeat ever again. But he also couldn't - and didn't want to, really - travel around the country with Nate, so they didn't have much choice.
Nate was still a senator, so he was coming back to D.C. as often as he could. But the time they had was seriously limited and Brad's co-workers started to notice that he was a bigger asshole than usual. They could go fuck themselves, as far as Brad was concerned.
He joined Nate on a campaign trail a few times, never for long, never to be seen on a stage or wherever else. Martha, Nate's campaign director, was probably plotting his murder already, after figuring out that Nate would be better off a mourning widower than a husband of an invisible and uncooperative Bradley Colbert. He would tell her to go fuck herself, but she was one of the five women that Brad considered to be fucking scary from time to time. Also, she and Nate got on like a house on fire and if they were going to take over the world, he preferred to be on her good side.
If Nate won the nomination, Brad should probably try to do just that. But for now it was more like this:
"You could show yourself on the stage," she would start.
"No," he would say and end the conversation as soon as possible.
Or like this:
"Could you stay tomorrow for dinner?" she would ask.
"I leave at sixteen hundred hours tomorrow," he would remind her.
"I know, I'm asking you if you could stay and go to the dinner with the senator. You could talk with those guys about the programs you work on and..."
"I have things to work on, exactly," he would say, "and that's why I can't stay longer."
Or like this:
"I thought you were going to come to us this weekend," she would say.
"I was going to, yes, but then you changed your plans and instead of going to Cleveland, Ohio, you decided to go to Dicksville, South Carolina. And do you really want me to come there?" he asked, not really waiting for the answer. "No, you don't. You want me with Nate when it's good for the campaign and I get it. It's your job. But those homophobic assholes would not appreciate Nate bringing in his husband and you know it."
All in all, it was always a pleasure to chat with her.
*
"America - ready or not?
submitted by Jeanette A. Markel, September 24th, 2023
With what will most probably be an easy win for Vice-President Anthony Miller in the run for the Democratic Party's nomination, all country looks closely at the other side of the fence. Governor Martenson is the frontrunner, but both Senator Willow Stern and Senator Nathaniel Fick are still very much in the game.
But as we all know, a little competition isn't the only reason we watch the news almost religiously now. Or maybe I should just speak for myself, maybe I'm the only one who is looking at Senator Fick and thinking 'Are we ready?', 'Are we not?'. If I even have to question that, does that mean we are not ready? If he has been a well-known and liked senator for years now, does it mean that we are? I don't know.
What I know is that if the program and the ideas for the country were the only deciding factors (naïve, I know), Senator Stern would be out of the race already and Governor Martenson would be just someone who doesn't know how to quit (*coughs* Marlow *coughs*) or whose party doesn't want to look like the party with only one legitimate candidate.
So tell me, America, are we ready?"
1746 commented on this
*
In November they were still hanging in there and they were starting to become stronger and stronger, coming in second or close third in polls. Nate was doing great in the debates and even if his views were more moderate than some of the most conservative Republicans would like, it didn't matter that much, as those people would not vote for him even if he decided to buy every American a gun and go from church to church on his knees. He was also liked by the media, which didn't surprise Brad all that much. Nate was the youngest of the candidates, he was handsome, smart and funny - everything journalists could want from the future president, Brad was sure.
And that was when the fucking hate mail started to arrive.
.
Brad was in the middle of the training session, when two men in black suits came in and stood by the door. And it didn't matter that Brad was seeing guys like that almost on a daily basis or that it looked like the scene from the fucking movie, there was a moment when he thought... There was a moment of blind panic and fuck, but Brad wasn't ready for it. Years ago he had been taught to survive almost anything people could throw at him, but he never felt quite like that. He froze.
It took him a couple of long seconds, but then he was moving, fast but controlled. He took his phone from the bench on the way to the door and could see three missed calls from Nate.
"What happened?" he asked the men, looking from one to the other and clutching his phone to the point of pain.
"Could you please..." started the one on the left, but the other one interrupted him.
"Senator Fick is okay, sir."
Brad liked the other one. The air, too, Brad liked the air and he was glad that his lungs started to work again. He took a deep breath and nodded.
"Okay, so what happened?" he asked again, this time directing the question to the guy who he believed could give him the answers he was looking for and not waste his time. He was the younger of the two, but apparently smarter. Brad led both agents to the empty office right outside the gym.
"The last couple of days there was an alarming increase in the amount of hate mail directed to the senator's office and..."
"Increase? What the fuck do you mean by 'increase'?" Brad was going to kill Nate.
"Almost every politician gets a certain amount of hate mail. Comes with the job, I suppose." The older agent shrugged. "And the higher position he holds, the greater is the chance that it's going to happen. And in the case of the senator..." he waved his hand as if that explained senator’s case.
"As far as we know, Senator Fick had been getting some hate mail since the beginning of his presidential campaign, but nothing like that," the younger agent took over, before his partner could bury himself even further in Brad's eyes.
"Like what?"
"The last two days the senator's office, along with the campaign headquarters and the campaign offices in the cities the senator will visit soon, received over four hundred letters. Last week it was almost five hundred. And while most of them are harmless, there were a few that raised some red flags."
"You mean serious threats."
"A few of them, yes. We don't know if something's going to happen, but better safe than sorry. It was decided that Senator Fick will be given basic Secret Service protection from now on. We're here to..."
"Is there an investigation into who sent those threats?"
"Of course there is," the older agent said, looking slightly offended. "But now we wanted to talk to you about your protection."
"I don't want any," answered Brad shortly.
"It would be wise..."
"... to spend your money where it's needed. And I don't need protection. No one was threatening me, I didn't receive any letters from fans and I don't want anybody to follow me around."
"Of course it's your right to refuse protection right now, but I would recommend..."
"No. And now excuse me, gentlemen, I need to call my husband," Brad said, almost challenging the older agent to do something, anything that would justify Brad breaking his nose. Or arm.
Yes, he was mad.
Unfortunately, it looked like both men decided to back off and leave after a quick goodbye, so Brad had to come up with a different idea of how to let go of that anger. But first he had a phone call to make and a senator to kill.
Although it looked like he had to stand in line for that last thing.
And wasn't that a comforting thought.
.
"Apparently a priest from Alabama decided to preach about the devil that's coming to the White House and suggested that the righteous people of God should not allow that to happen." Nate sounded tired on the phone, but lately that was a norm, so Brad decided to let it go. Trying to make Nate get some rest was a lost cause anyway. "Some of those righteous people decided to go further than others."
"Isn't inciting people to commit a crime illegal?"
"It is, but you'd have to prove that he wanted them to do something more than simply vote for one of my opponents or write a letter saying that God hates my kind."
They were lucky - Brad was an atheist, Nate an agnostic and their families, although religious, would pick either of them before any god they believed in any day. But things like that still weren't nice to hear.
"They arrested a few that were the most...graphic in their letters. I think that will be enough, but Secret Service will stay with me anyway."
"That's good."
"Says the man who refused the protection."
"Hey," Brad protested, "I wasn't the one they were threatening to set on heavenly fire or whatever."
Nate let out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh.
"Wouldn't hurt to have someone there."
"Don't tell me you're surprised I didn't want anybody to follow me around. It was hard enough to get rid of Person, it took years and moving to the other coast. And he still calls me."
Now he got a laugh.
"How is Ray, by the way?"
"Still collecting his First Lady jokes. I think he's preparing to publish a collection after you become the president."
*
"Let's look at Senator Nathaniel Fick's current situation. He lost the Iowa caucuses and came close second in Wyoming. After that it was almost fifty-fifty: he won in New Hampshire, lost in Michigan, narrowly won in South Carolina and Florida, lost in Maine. I may be wrong, but I think it's safe to assume that the Super Tuesday will be all about Governor Martenson and Senator Fick. Dorothy, would you like to comment on that?"
.
"The Super Tuesday came and went and we saw George Martenson still in the lead, but he is not an obvious frontrunner anymore. Nathaniel Fick is still fighting hard and he managed to win some of those battles. What do you think, Brian?"
.
"Willow Stern and Keith Marlow both withdrew from the race this week, leaving only George Martenson and Nathaniel Fick still in the game."
*
Brad liked Nate's mother, he really did. Apart from being somewhat scary most of the time (especially when she would team up with Brad's mom) and fucking teary this one time (namely: a whole month between their engagement and the wedding), she was a wonderful woman.
He would prefer to spend Saturday at home, though, but she was also a master in guilttripping Nate to do almost anything she wanted, so Brad should probably be glad she wasn't using it more often. One family party every three months he could do, especially if the next day they had to be in Baltimore anyway for a rally.
"Come on in, guys." It wasn't a surprise to anybody that Brad's favourite member of the Fick family, aside from Nate, was his father - a former Marine, quiet and stoic, but with the same dry humor that the rest of them had.
"Uncle Nate!" Chloe was five years old and she wanted to marry Nate one day (or at least that was her plan on Christmas). Brad could admire her good taste in men.
"My favourite little girl!" Nate had her in his arms even before the rest of the family got to the hall.
Technically, they were uncles of Chloe's mother. Brad still remembered Emily as an eleven-year-old and now she had two kids. He was old.
And yes, he had that epiphany every time there was a family gathering, so what.
"Glad you could join us, Senator." Beth had been calling her little brother that for years now and it never stopped being funny for Brad. Nate just rolled his eyes and hugged her, conscious of Chloe still in his arms.
"Are you going to continue to call him that after he becomes the president?" Nate's mother joined in, hugging him next.
"I'll call him 'mister president, sir', of course."
Brad laughed.
"I would pay to see that," he told her and she grinned.
"You're on. And I'm wondering how are you going to call him, you know."
"Oh, God."
"Aren't you a little too old for jokes like that?" asked Nate, putting Chloe down.
Beth smacked him in the head. She apparently wasn't too old for that.
"I'm not old at all. And boy, I hope you aren't too old, because..."
"Dinner, anyone?" Nate's dad interrupted. Another reason why Brad liked him.
.
"I think you should focus more on education than military reform tomorrow," said Diane, Beth's younger daughter, sitting next to Nate on the couch after dinner.
"That's the plan," he said, turning to her with a smile, but Brad could see he tensed a little.
"People here are more interested in their children's education anyway," she went on. "Nobody wants to hear about war."
"Diane," Beth said with a warning in her tone. "Let's not talk politics anymore, okay?"
It wasn't about politics, if you asked Brad, it was about being rude. But Nate obviously couldn't let it go.
"I'm going to talk more about the education reform, but the military and intelligence are also on my agenda. We need to change some things..."
"Many things."
"...and the whole country should think about that."
"The majority of this country doesn't want to go to war anymore."
She hadn’t been like that on Christmas. She had been perfectly happy with Nate and didn't challenge his political views, or, well, him in general. Apparently three months in college could change a lot of things.
"It's not only about going to war. Our military needs an internal reform, in terms of leadership and in terms of offering valuable things to recruits, soldiers and veterans alike. Our intelligence agencies need better accountability and better tactics and strategies. We can make our country a safer place just by doing that."
Nate was a politician with years of experience, not to mention he spent a majority of the last year convincing people of what he believed in and debating with people that didn't agree. He could probably do that in his sleep (as he did, a couple of times). But it was clear to Brad that he didn't want to do it here, in front of the family, with Diane, who was so set in her ways that she forgot how to behave.
"Okay, how about we all take a break from politics? If you tire Nate down tonight," he looked at Diane and tried to be nice and play it down, "he won't have any energy left for tomorrow".
"Excellent idea," Beth agreed immediately. She was trying not to look upset, but she was always one of Nate's biggest supporters and she always respected his and their father's military service, the same way she later came to respect Brad's. Having her own daughter speak like that was clearly painful for her. For all of them, really.
.
The next day the whole family joined them at the rally and Martha and Joey, the communications director, were almost ecstatic because of all the family pictures. It was another weak point for Nate - not having children. People, as Martha explained to Brad while trying to convince him to be more visible in the campaign, were used to seeing politicians with their spouses and children. Apparently it made a person look more human and closer to the general public.
Brad stopped trying to understand the whole election process a long time ago.
Nate had a husband (who started to be more visible, thank you very much), but he didn't have children. He had siblings with kids and grandkids instead, though, and from the way the media kept taking pictures and filming the whole family, it was clear that, as Martha said, it was "good enough for them." Brad shrugged. "Good enough" was as far as they could go in that area anyway.
.
They were driving back to D.C. the same night, Brad half-asleep and Nate staring absentmindedly through the window. The glass between them and the agents in the front seats was up, separating them from the world outside of each other.
"How much time do you think I have," asked Nate, turning to look at him, "before Diane will get caught on camera, protesting against the war, with a big sign telling the world where exactly she has my opinion about it?"
Brad couldn't stop laughing for a couple of miles. Then he kissed Nate stupid for the rest of the trip.
*
#Sarah: Church is so obviously for Martenson, it's sick. Where's the separation of church and state??
#_Karl: @Sarah: In the Constitution. lol
#P@ula: priest in our church was almost preaching the gospel of martenson yesterday. wtf. isn't it illegal or sth?
#Pam: @Paula: and what can you do, tell on him to the Pope? He's probably for Martenson, too.
#MollyR: @Pam: Pope is cool for now, he's not saying anything. It's how it should be. Not his bussiness (no offense).
#bishopp: FICK IS HOT!
#Pam: @bishopp: don't we know it. :P
*
When the news came, they were both home, watching Die Hard (and no, Brad didn't have anything to do with this, it was one of Nate's favourite movies and Brad could indulge him sometimes) and drinking beer. Nate was lying on the couch with his head in Brad's lap and Brad's fingers were running through his hair.
Brad was about to bend over and kiss Nate's ear, bringing his attention from John McClane, who already lost his shoes, to him, who would very much like to have sex, preferably before the end of the movie, when Nate's cellphone started to ring. It was Martha's ringtone and Brad could see Nate frowning. He was supposed to have a free night.
"Hello?"
Brad couldn't understand the words, but she was definitely using her outdoor voice.
"What?!" Nate got up quickly and changed the channels. MSNBC was showing video of Martenson from the last week meeting in Ohio, but the speaker was talking about a defraudation and Brad could clearly see SCANDAL spelled in big, red letters at the bottom of the screen.
He looked at Nate, who was staring at the TV and listening to Martha on the phone. Then he turned and looked back at Brad, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.
"I can't believe this," he said, as if confirming Brad's thought. "I can't fucking believe this."
.
During the week after Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours all together. There were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.
Countless sheets of paper were lying all over their place and that whole situation was starting to look more and more like Nate's college days to Brad. Not that he was around a lot then, but he caught a few things here and there. And finals time looked almost exactly like that.
.
Eight days after The Story, Brad was eating pepperoni pizza and reading a report about the US-Mexico border that Nate left on the coffee table this morning, when his beloved husband came home. Brad lifted his head from the couch and caught sight of Nate going straight to the bathroom. He left the slightly greasy report on the coffee table and went after him.
"Hello to you too, darling," Brad said coming into the bathroom. Nate was standing in front of the mirror and not moving. He blinked at Brad.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Nate came closer to kiss Brad. "I need a shower really badly."
"And bed. You need our bed." Nate shook his head, but Brad didn't let him say anything.
"No, Nate. It's late and you're exhausted. You haven't slept in forever and now it's time to do just that. You don't have to keep watch 24/7."
Brad put his hands on Nate's head, slowly threading his fingers through Nate's hair. Nate made an encouraging noise and leaned into his touch.
"I really should..."
"He had already lost, Nate. Nothing short of you having some kind of illicit affair would change the fact that you will win the primaries. You will win the fucking nomination."
"Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair," Nate said quietly.
"That's because you're an outstanding human being. And because I would kill you if you had one."
"You'd have to do that before the announcement, if I win. After that, I'll have more than a couple of agents, I'll have a full Secret Service team and it won't be so easy to kill me."
"I'd just have to step up my game a little."
"Well..." Nate murmured, kissing Brad's jaw and wrapping his arms around Brad's waist. "We could play a different one right now."
Brad smirked.
"You're lucky I'm easy. Your sex talk is really, really bad."
Nate moved his hand to Brad's cock, palming it through two layers of clothes.
"Come on, shower with me," he said, kissing Brad's neck.
"One day we will be too old for the shower blowjobs, I'm afraid." Brad stepped back to undress and watch Nate do the same.
The big cabin was one of the best things about their apartment, in Brad's opinion.
"Today is not that day. And when it is, we will figure something out. Marines make do, Brad," Nate looked up at him from his knees. "Today is the day I could fall asleep if you'd want to have sex in our bed, though."
Brad spread his legs and put one of his hands on Nate's head.
"You say the sweetest things," he groaned when Nate's tongue touched him.
.
So, during the week after the Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours altogether, because there were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. And Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.
That's why it took Brad over a week to notice. He should have noticed it the night before, in Nate's quiet words when Brad told him he was going to win.
Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair.
Brad should have noticed, but there was Nate, close and willing, touching him, so he didn't. Not until the next morning, when he was eating breakfast in the living room and absentmindedly surfing channels until he heard Nate's name.
"The only winner here is Nathaniel Fick, who will get the nomination he wanted so badly. And let me tell you, he should be ecstatic, because the only reason he gets it is the fact that he doesn't have an affair with his assistant and he doesn’t steal money from the government. He would never win this otherwise."
"The polls..."
"He's young and handsome, and he's not stupid, so he did good in those polls. But it's not a Miss America pageant, it's politics. The Republican Party would not nominate him as their candidate, but now..."
Brad sat there, almost mesmerized. He silently dared the stupid motherfucker to go further, to just come up and say it outright.
"Apparently I should be ecstatic that being gay is better than having an affair and stealing money."
Brad turned his head towards Nate who was standing in the doorframe. He still looked so young and never more so than when he just woke up.
Right now he just looked pissed off and sad.
"He's an idiot," Brad said and wished he could say something different. Something better. He just didn't know what that could be.
"He's not completely wrong," Nate said quietly, turning around.
"What?"
"I need to go to the office."
Nate was already back in their bedroom before Brad caught up to him.
"It's Sunday, Nate."
Nate shrugged, looking for new shirt.
"Nate."
"Brad," Nate sighed, but didn't turn around. "I have things to do."
"You can do them tomorrow."
It was over a week of basically no sleep and a couple of months of barely sleeping. Nate wasn't in a fucking war and Brad had enough.
"Tomorrow I have even more things to do."
"Tough shit. You'll find the time. Stay home today, Nate."
"I can't."
Fuck it. It was time for extreme solutions. Brad fucking hated it, but he knew it would happen one day, knew it from the beginning of this fucking campaign.
Knowing didn't make it easier, though.
Nate always had workaholic tendencies, to say the least. But since he decided to run, he was tying himself in knots over every fucking thing and the Martenson scandal, which was supposed to help, just made it worse. Nate had to vent, had to let go and just be. And for the first time Brad felt that it wasn't something Nate could fuck out or run out of.
So Brad had to play dirty. Really fucking dirty.
"You will never be perfect, Nate. You will never be straight."
Nate froze.
"Fuck you, Brad," he said quietly, turning around. He was angry, but not enough.
"That's what I'm talking about."
"Shut the fuck up," Nate raised his voice, almost yelling. He never yelled. Brad couldn't back down now. He just stood there and watched Nate take a breath. "It wasn't me who... I don't have problems with being gay and you know it! So don't stand here and tell me this bullshit."
"You don't have any problems with being gay. You have a problem with not being perfect."
"I'm not perfect."
"Of course you aren't! You can't be. But that's the problem, isn't it? You would like to be perfect. You would like to do everything right. Nathaniel Fick doesn't make mistakes." Brad hated doing this, hated looking at Nate while he was doing this. But he didn't allow himself to look elsewhere. That was his punishment for saying all this, even if he knew he had to do it. "But if you wanted the whole party to love you, you sure as hell made a few mistakes along the way. And I was your biggest one."
Nate didn't punch him in the face even if it was obvious that he wanted to. He put his fist on Brad's chest, not punching, but more like putting pressure, hard, but probably not enough to even leave a mark.
"You would never be a mistake, you fucking idiot."
And Brad knew that, he really did. He was years past being insecure about him and Nate, but they both still remembered when he wasn't and Brad was using it right now to make a point.
"Fuck it," whispered Nate, breathing harshly. "Fuck it."
He turned around to put some space between them, but Brad stopped him.
"Don't run away from me, Nate."
Nate looked at him incredulously.
"Don't run away from me? Are you kidding me? I am the runner all of a sudden? It's you, who was always running away, Brad! You! So don't put that shit on me."
"You don't run away? Nate, maybe you don't get up and run away literally, but you're shutting off. You can't even get mad at me and just fucking ride it out! Yell at me, punch me, don't just turn around and leave the room."
"You are a hypocrite, I hope you are aware of that."
"I am. But listen to yourself. Why aren't you yelling at me? Why do you always have to be so collected and stoic? We can fight dirty, Nate. We can get ugly with each other once in a while..."
"No, we can't, Brad!" Nate raised his voice and tried to get away, but Brad just tightened his hold.
"Why not?"
"Because... we just can't, okay?"
"No, that's not okay at all. Shit, Nate, why can't we do this?"
"What happens next?" Nate sagged in Brad's hold and his eyes were locked on the cabinet behind Brad. "What happens after we get ugly with each other, we yell, maybe punch each other for a good measure. What's next? What if..."
Brad had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad fucking feeling.
"Nate?" he asked quietly.
"What if you leave?" Nate said softly. "What if I say something that..."
"Stop it."
"No, you wanted to hear this." Nate was breathing faster, and if they were a little closer, Brad could probably feel his heart going crazy.
Brad didn't want to hear this at all, but he had to.
"What if you leave? Or what if I leave? What if we just don't bounce back from it the way you apparently think we would? What if we say some things we can't get over?"
"Nate." Brad shook him a little. Nate looked at him for a brief moment, then came back to admiring their fucking cabinet. "Nate, look at me. Look at me and believe me when I tell you this. I'm not in this for the rainbows and kittens, okay? I'm not in this only when it's good and you should fucking know this and I can't believe you don't, after all the shit we went through."
"I know. It's not..."
"Are you sure? Because if you think I'll take my bike and just go, and don't come back home to you..."
"It's not that, Brad!" Nate put his hands on Brad's neck and for a moment hid his face there, too. Then he lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. "I just don't know how to do this. At all. It's not only you, it's me, too. What if I can't handle this? I'm not... It's not easy for me, I can't fight like that."
"Fuck, LT, why am I only hearing about this now?"
"And what I was supposed to say, exactly? 'Hey, Brad, next time we fight, make sure we don't hurt each other's feelings'? I know we'll sooner or later fight about something, I just don't want it to be ugly, okay? We can have ugly from other people, and we do, but..."
"We're not exactly careful with our language, you know."
"It's not about calling me a pussy civilian or a dumbass motherfucker or whatever term of endearment you come up with. It's the other stuff."
Brad kissed his forehead while Nate continued.
"It's not that I don't want us to fight. I don't like it, but I'm not stupid, sometimes we have to. But I don't want us to hurt each other on purpose."
The way Brad did just a couple of minutes ago. Brilliant.
"We're not saints, Nate. And I'm not talking about getting ugly or hurtful every time we fight. But, fuck, I can't have you thinking that I could leave you, if you'd say something I don't like. I'm not leaving you, you stupid shit. I married your ass."
"My ass is very grateful for that. It cares for you deeply." Nate tried his small smile, but Brad wasn't in love with that man since yesterday.
"Nate. Under no circumstances would I leave you. There's nothing you could say - well, aside from 'I don't want you anymore', but I'd probably just kill you then - that would make me leave you. Bad, ugly, hurtful, nothing. We'd fight, both of us would say some shit we don't mean and then we would make up. As always."
"It's not that easy."
"It is! Nate, how do you think we lived with each other for all those years? We weren't always gentle and proper, you know. And we didn't split. We won't."
Nate was almost trying to climb him by now. His face tucked in Brad's neck, his arms holding him tight.
"We won't," he murmured against Brad's skin.
Brad pulled him even tighter.
"Nate, I need... I need to know that I can say all kinds of things to you and not have you running away."
He got a nod as an answer.
"Nate, I need you to tell me I can say shit to you and you won't leave me for it."
Nate lifted his head, kissing Brad's neck once. He looked him in the eyes.
"Okay. Okay. No matter what you say, I won't leave you. I couldn't. Unless you would directly tell me to."
Brad closed his eyes and put his chin on Nate's head.
"Yeah. Not going to happen."
They stood like that for a few minutes. Brad's arms were keeping Nate close to him, but Nate didn't fight it at all, he just tucked his face in Brad's neck and wrapped his arms around his waist.
"I love you," Nate whispered. "I'm sorry."
"I love you too," Brad moved a little to look at Nate and smirked. "I'm not sorry about that."
Nate smiled and Brad put his thumbs on the wrinkles around his eyes to smooth them out a little.
"I've obviously had a few bad days," Nate said, making a face. "Sorry I was an idiot."
"I'm used to it by now, don't worry," Brad said, grinning.
Nate elbowed him lightly.
"Shut up."
"Okay," Brad moved away and started to steer Nate in the direction of their bedroom. "And now we're going back to bed."
"Brad."
"Shut up, Nate. We're going back to bed and tomorrow you can go back to being the future president, but today you're here, with me."
Brad had missed his husband home. So what.
Soon after they were lying in bed, their limbs tangled together. Nate was drawing circles around Brad's navel and Brad's dick was starting to take notice, when suddenly Nate chuckled.
"What?" Brad pulled Nate's hair.
Nate lifted his head from Brad's chest and smiled at him.
"Who would have thought that there would be a day when you would be the more secure one."
Brad would maybe take offense if they hadn't had the history they had. He just smirked.
"American people should know you're an idiot."
Nate chuckled.
"You could tell them, if you would do one of those interviews people want you to do."
*
"This is DCAC live, you're on the air, speak your mind."
"Hi, I'm George. This campaign is ridiculous or what? First Fick, but, you know, we could deal with it, Martenson was going to win anyway. But no, he had to have an affair! Was he out of his mind? Not to mention the fraud, you know, seriously. What is wrong with the Republicans that those two were ever the best candidates? One cheats and steals and the other..."
"Oops, I think we've lost the connection. Sorry, George. Next call in, then, hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks. But George, if you're still listening... You know, nevermind, it's not worth it, you're obviously an idiot. So. Moving on. Sorry. My name is Paul and I didn't want to talk about the campaign, because, damn, I'm tired of it, but the dude provoked me. So. Did you all see the clip from the Fick's meeting with those children from second grade? I mean, how adorable was that? And amazing, he explained his whole education reform plan to them using stick figures and diagrams. I mean, what the... Even my roommate understood that. I'm impressed, really, I am."
*
This wasn't like any roadtrip Brad had ever been on. Or wished to be on.
.
There was no anonymity, because at least half of any given town knew that they were coming. They had friends and enemies there before they even arrived.
In Cleveland, Ohio, Willow Stern came to support Nate, but in the end it was more like we-used-to-date-and-now-you-are-here-with-your-new-girlfriend painful, but with a couple of thousand people watching.
In Somewhere Along The Way, Michigan, a small group of teenagers threw eggs on their car from the side of the road. Brad thought the kids were lucky Secret Service agents didn't shoot any of them, because in their line of work? When somebody was throwing something, it could be anything from fucking flowers to fucking Molotow cocktails and agents were often allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.
Those kids were also lucky he didn't have his gun with him, because Nate didn't speak a word the rest of the way.
In Charleston, West Virginia, when after his speech Nate was shaking hands with people from the crowd, an approximately five-years-old girl hugged his legs and didn't want to let go. Nate lifted her to his arms and got a kiss on the cheek before passing her back to her mother. Brad was smiling like an idiot probably, he could feel it. He wanted his inner bastard back, so he looked around for Martha, who was probably over the moon about the perfect photoshoot opportunity, but when he found her, she got a soft smile on her lips that he had never seen before.
.
There was no driver versus shotgun debate that Brad could win, because they were being driven or flown everywhere.
His whole body ached from hours spent in his seat.
He missed his bike.
.
There wasn't a lot of free time or a lot of alone-with-Nate time, because they were accompanied by dozens of people. Nate's staff and Secret Service were with them all the time, but they also had temporary guests endorsing Nate.
And don't even ask Brad about the media people.
Martha was glued to Nate's side all the fucking time and although Brad started to really like her, sometimes he wanted her to just go away. And help Joey deal with journalists, most preferably, but really, he just wanted her gone. For her not to be with them. To leave them alone. To detach from them. To...
"Yes, Brad, I think I've got it," Nate said with a smirk. Apparently Brad was thinking aloud now. "You're tired of Martha always being around."
"That works, too," he shrugged.
They were driving to the airport, alone in the backseat of the car. Nate shifted closer to him and Brad put his hand on Nate's thigh.
"I know it's not easy," Nate said, threading his fingers through Brad's hair, "but I'm glad you're here with me."
Brad leaned into the touch a little and smiled. "Where else would I be?"
.
Brad was wrong. He was on a roadtrip a little like that, long time ago. It was called Operation Iraqi Freedom.
He was also wrong about not wishing to be on it. He might not like it much, but he still wouldn't miss it.
*
"It looks like we are saying this every eight years now, John, but history is being made, again. Sixteen years ago we had our first African American president, eight years later first woman to be ever elected president of the United States, and now, with the Republican National Convention starting in three days, we will witness the first gay person to be nominated. And who knows, maybe in less than three months, we will celebrate the first gay person to become the president of the United States."
*
The big stage and the thousands of chairs in front of it reminded Brad more of a rock concert than the national convention. Why, he couldn't really say, it wasn’t like he went to a lot of them in the past. But there was something unreal about this, him standing on a stage where Nate would be accepting his nomination in two days. Nomination for the fucking president of the United States.
Over a year of campaigning and all the craziness that came with it did not prepare Brad for this.
"If not for the flags and the Secret Service agents, it would almost look like a Rolling Stones concert, right?" asked Nate, coming up beside him.
"I don't know, are you sure there were no flags at those concerts?" Brad smirked.
"None that I remember," Nate smiled back. "Fuck, Brad. Approximately twenty thousand people will be here tomorrow."
"I know. I hate them all already," he deadpanned and moved a little closer to Nate, just so their shoulders were touching.
"Many of them hate me, so I think it will even out."
Many of the delegates did hate Nate. Brad wouldn't be surprised if some people decided not to come to the appointment of the nominee, but he preferred empty chairs over open hostility. When Martenson's scandal broke, the GOP had no other choice but to give the nomination to Nate and as happy as Brad was that some of those morons had to swallow the hard pill and smile for the cameras, he also knew that there were people who would do anything to stop it.
There was a reason why Nate had Secret Service agents following him for months now. And why the number of them at the convention was higher than usual. And why Brad was on his way to having an ulcer or a heart attack, whichever would come first.
Nate put his hand on the back of Brad's neck and squeezed a little, as if to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. Apart from the thing after Martenson's scandal, it was usually like this, Brad being reassured by Nate, not the other way around. I'm okay, don't worry, Nate would whisper into the kiss. I can't protect you from this, Brad would think, but not say it out loud, tightening his grip on Nate's hips.
.
Brad would later wish that he wasn't in the shower when the waiter brought the note with the dinner.
When he exited the bathroom, he saw four Secret Service agents checking the room or talking on the phone and Martha casting worried looks at Nate, who was sitting against the headboard, legs crossed, silently revising his speech for tomorrow.
She handed him the card.
You'll burn in hell, faggot. You deserve to burn.
"Fuck," Brad said quietly. He wanted to punch somebody. Hard.
"They are looking into this," Martha whispered, with the nod to the agents. "They are talking with the waiter who brought it here; they will check the cameras, too. But I'm worried about the senator," she tilted her head in the direction of the bed. "He hasn't said more than five sentences since I got here."
"I will take care of this, after you guys are done here." He wasn't subtle in the least, but he suspected she understood the bluntness for what it was.
When she and the agents left the room, Brad sat beside Nate and laid his hand, palm up, on the mattress between them, nudging Nate's thigh with his thumb. Nate put the papers down and entwined his fingers with Brad's.
"I'm really pissed off right now," he said, squeezing his hand.
"I know." Brad was drawing circles around Nate's pulse point. "That's good."
Nate nodded and rested his head on the headboard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.
"They can fuck with me all they want. I will show them."
Brad brought their entwined fingers to lie on his thigh.
"I know you will."
They ate dinner in bed, watching in silence a documentary about Spartans. Brad would love to say that it was the end of the day, that they were taking a break until tomorrow, but he knew better. Soon enough Nate was collecting the discarded papers and getting up.
"I'm going to take a shower. Could you read the speech again? I've made some changes, I want you to tell me if it's better or not."
Brad took the papers. It was the best way to help Nate right now.
"Sure."
.
"With great pleasure I introduce to you the next president and vice-president of the United States - Nathaniel Christopher Fick and Steven Joseph Winston."
The applause was deafening. Brad stood on the side of the stage with Steven's wife and kids, and watched Nate shake hands with the chairman of the Republican National Committee and make a victory gesture to the crowd.
With hundreds of balloons falling down from the ceiling, it was easy to miss thirty or forty empty chairs. Brad noticed, but didn't care.
There was Nate on the stage, in one of the happiest moments of his life.
"With a great honor, I accept the nomination..."
Nate's speech was great, maybe the best he had ever given, but if it was Brad's job to write it? He would have only one thing to say:
Deal with that, America.
*
PART TWO (B)
Part Two
"After today's announcement from Governor of Michigan George Martenson (R) that he's going to run for president in next year's election, I think we can say that the season has started. I believe that in the next few weeks or maybe even months we will see new candidates throwing their hats in the game, both Republicans and Democrats. Who will that be? Will there be any surprises? Ana, what do you think?”
"Thank you, Vanessa. Yes, Governor Martenson's hat is first in the game, but soon there should be many more. Apart from Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio is also the obvious candidate for the Republicans. There are rumors about California Governor Michael Tanning and Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland, but nothing is confirmed. When it comes to the Democratic Party, the only obvious choice is Vice-President Anthony Miller, but some sources suggest that Senator Patrick Stewart of New Jersey may join the race.”
*
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, because Brad couldn't say no.
It wasn't like he didn't know that Nate wanted this. He did. But it was just one of those things. You can't like everything about the other person. Some people didn't like their partner's cleaning habits or lack thereof and Brad didn't like the fact that Nate's dream was to become the fucking president of the United States.
Yeah, one of those things.
.
"Well, if anyone in this country can become the first gay president it's the LT." Poke didn't even blink. Brad hated Poke. "It sure ain't gonna be easy, though."
No shit.
"Well, maybe he should have fucking thought about it before getting involved with me. With a nice girl he wouldn't even need to try," he said and downed a shot.
Poke looked at him incredulously. Brad signaled to the waitress that he wanted two beers.
"First of all, don't flatter yourself, your dick and charming personality didn't turn Nate gay. Second, dog, I hope you didn't tell him that."
"I'm not that stupid." Or that masochistic.
"Yes, you are. But he would have to punch you in the face and he would walk away, and the press would just love that."
The thing was, Nate would not walk away. He would get pissed, he would punch him, maybe, but he would not leave Brad. He was a stubborn motherfucker and he would stay, if only to prove Brad wrong.
The thing was, Nate had never even mentioned Brad leaving the Corps. Never. Even if that would make their lives much easier. But they wouldn't be where they are (together, married, in politics or in military), if they were any good at making their lives easier, right?
"Besides," Poke continued, "you knew who he was. That guy who wants to fight for a shot at becoming the president is the same guy that fought with the stupid command in Iraq to make sure we do the right thing and get out alive. That guy was meant for shit like this and you know it. Don't be stupid, Iceman."
It wasn't like Brad forgot the OIF or Nate there. It was just that his Nate, present Nate, both was and wasn't like Nate from Iraq and it was sometimes difficult to remind himself about that past version of him.
"He could hire you to write his fucking speeches, he will need those."
And that was that.
.
Brad woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. He looked at the clock and frowned. It was a little after five and if someone was supposed to get up early today, it was him. He had been dreaming about surfing for weeks. And now when they were in California for a few days and the beach was right outside their doors, literally, Nate was up before him?
He went to the bathroom first, then to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The house was quiet and empty. He went outside on the porch and saw Nate sitting on the sand so close to the ocean that every time a wave came, his feet were getting wet.
Brad nudged him with his foot when he got closer.
"What are you doing up?" he asked, sitting beside him.
Nate nudged him back with his knee and shrugged.
"Just thinking." After a moment when Brad didn't say anything, he continued. "The polling numbers came in."
"And?"
Brad believed that whatever Nate wanted, Nate would get, but he also thought that this country had too many stupid people to get something done most of the time. So it could go both ways and he didn't know which one was the cause for sitting on the beach before dawn.
"They're good. They're not amazing, but they're really good," Nate said, looking at him. Brad put his hand on the nape of Nate's neck and squeezed, his thumb stroking softly behind the ear.
"That's good," he whispered.
Nate leaned into his touch.
"That's also terrifying."
"A little, yeah," Brad had to agree. Because it was, when he really thought about this. "But that has never stopped you before."
"It's not stopping me now, either." Nate kicked him lightly. "I'm just saying. I woke up, I called, they told me and suddenly it all became so real." A pause. "I know it sounds stupid."
Brad shrugged.
"It doesn't. I understand. When you join the Marine Corps, you don't know it's real until you're ready to pass out during the basic training."
Nate chuckled at that.
"Thanks for the analogy, I can't wait for all the passing out and being dead tired."
"Dead tired, yes. But I wouldn't recommend passing out, that could scare your constituents off."
"We wouldn't want that," Nate smiled.
Brad looked at him and tried to imagine Nate as the president. He tried to picture him in the Oval Office, making decisions he would have the final say in. Sending them to war or not. Approving the military and intelligence reforms he had been thinking about for years. Being the person he had wanted to be most of his adult life, maybe longer.
"No, we wouldn't," Brad said finally, kissing him on the ear.
*
BALTIMORE, Maryland (CNN): Senator Nathaniel Fick of Maryland announced this morning that he's going to run for president in 2024 election.
In his home state, where he has served as a senator for over nine years now, he told thousands of people that although "the time has come for a Republican to come back to the White House," he truly believed that "Americans are more than ready to look above the dichotomy and work truly together." "There are causes that affect us all," he said, "like national security and education of our children. These are causes that are important and reforming them is long overdue. Now is the time."
If he is elected, the 46-year-old Fick will become the first openly gay person to become the president of the United States.
Other Republicans that publicly announced their start in the race are: Michigan Governor George Martenson, Senator Willow Stern of Ohio and former Senator Keith Marlow of Texas. California Governor Michael Tanning is expected to announce his candidacy next week.
*
The campaigning was crazy. Rushed phone calls, tired voices, not enough time together and not enough sex reminded Brad of the time when he was still active duty and they had to hide who they were. In other words, not the time he wanted to repeat ever again. But he also couldn't - and didn't want to, really - travel around the country with Nate, so they didn't have much choice.
Nate was still a senator, so he was coming back to D.C. as often as he could. But the time they had was seriously limited and Brad's co-workers started to notice that he was a bigger asshole than usual. They could go fuck themselves, as far as Brad was concerned.
He joined Nate on a campaign trail a few times, never for long, never to be seen on a stage or wherever else. Martha, Nate's campaign director, was probably plotting his murder already, after figuring out that Nate would be better off a mourning widower than a husband of an invisible and uncooperative Bradley Colbert. He would tell her to go fuck herself, but she was one of the five women that Brad considered to be fucking scary from time to time. Also, she and Nate got on like a house on fire and if they were going to take over the world, he preferred to be on her good side.
If Nate won the nomination, Brad should probably try to do just that. But for now it was more like this:
"You could show yourself on the stage," she would start.
"No," he would say and end the conversation as soon as possible.
Or like this:
"Could you stay tomorrow for dinner?" she would ask.
"I leave at sixteen hundred hours tomorrow," he would remind her.
"I know, I'm asking you if you could stay and go to the dinner with the senator. You could talk with those guys about the programs you work on and..."
"I have things to work on, exactly," he would say, "and that's why I can't stay longer."
Or like this:
"I thought you were going to come to us this weekend," she would say.
"I was going to, yes, but then you changed your plans and instead of going to Cleveland, Ohio, you decided to go to Dicksville, South Carolina. And do you really want me to come there?" he asked, not really waiting for the answer. "No, you don't. You want me with Nate when it's good for the campaign and I get it. It's your job. But those homophobic assholes would not appreciate Nate bringing in his husband and you know it."
All in all, it was always a pleasure to chat with her.
*
"America - ready or not?
submitted by Jeanette A. Markel, September 24th, 2023
With what will most probably be an easy win for Vice-President Anthony Miller in the run for the Democratic Party's nomination, all country looks closely at the other side of the fence. Governor Martenson is the frontrunner, but both Senator Willow Stern and Senator Nathaniel Fick are still very much in the game.
But as we all know, a little competition isn't the only reason we watch the news almost religiously now. Or maybe I should just speak for myself, maybe I'm the only one who is looking at Senator Fick and thinking 'Are we ready?', 'Are we not?'. If I even have to question that, does that mean we are not ready? If he has been a well-known and liked senator for years now, does it mean that we are? I don't know.
What I know is that if the program and the ideas for the country were the only deciding factors (naïve, I know), Senator Stern would be out of the race already and Governor Martenson would be just someone who doesn't know how to quit (*coughs* Marlow *coughs*) or whose party doesn't want to look like the party with only one legitimate candidate.
So tell me, America, are we ready?"
1746 commented on this
*
In November they were still hanging in there and they were starting to become stronger and stronger, coming in second or close third in polls. Nate was doing great in the debates and even if his views were more moderate than some of the most conservative Republicans would like, it didn't matter that much, as those people would not vote for him even if he decided to buy every American a gun and go from church to church on his knees. He was also liked by the media, which didn't surprise Brad all that much. Nate was the youngest of the candidates, he was handsome, smart and funny - everything journalists could want from the future president, Brad was sure.
And that was when the fucking hate mail started to arrive.
.
Brad was in the middle of the training session, when two men in black suits came in and stood by the door. And it didn't matter that Brad was seeing guys like that almost on a daily basis or that it looked like the scene from the fucking movie, there was a moment when he thought... There was a moment of blind panic and fuck, but Brad wasn't ready for it. Years ago he had been taught to survive almost anything people could throw at him, but he never felt quite like that. He froze.
It took him a couple of long seconds, but then he was moving, fast but controlled. He took his phone from the bench on the way to the door and could see three missed calls from Nate.
"What happened?" he asked the men, looking from one to the other and clutching his phone to the point of pain.
"Could you please..." started the one on the left, but the other one interrupted him.
"Senator Fick is okay, sir."
Brad liked the other one. The air, too, Brad liked the air and he was glad that his lungs started to work again. He took a deep breath and nodded.
"Okay, so what happened?" he asked again, this time directing the question to the guy who he believed could give him the answers he was looking for and not waste his time. He was the younger of the two, but apparently smarter. Brad led both agents to the empty office right outside the gym.
"The last couple of days there was an alarming increase in the amount of hate mail directed to the senator's office and..."
"Increase? What the fuck do you mean by 'increase'?" Brad was going to kill Nate.
"Almost every politician gets a certain amount of hate mail. Comes with the job, I suppose." The older agent shrugged. "And the higher position he holds, the greater is the chance that it's going to happen. And in the case of the senator..." he waved his hand as if that explained senator’s case.
"As far as we know, Senator Fick had been getting some hate mail since the beginning of his presidential campaign, but nothing like that," the younger agent took over, before his partner could bury himself even further in Brad's eyes.
"Like what?"
"The last two days the senator's office, along with the campaign headquarters and the campaign offices in the cities the senator will visit soon, received over four hundred letters. Last week it was almost five hundred. And while most of them are harmless, there were a few that raised some red flags."
"You mean serious threats."
"A few of them, yes. We don't know if something's going to happen, but better safe than sorry. It was decided that Senator Fick will be given basic Secret Service protection from now on. We're here to..."
"Is there an investigation into who sent those threats?"
"Of course there is," the older agent said, looking slightly offended. "But now we wanted to talk to you about your protection."
"I don't want any," answered Brad shortly.
"It would be wise..."
"... to spend your money where it's needed. And I don't need protection. No one was threatening me, I didn't receive any letters from fans and I don't want anybody to follow me around."
"Of course it's your right to refuse protection right now, but I would recommend..."
"No. And now excuse me, gentlemen, I need to call my husband," Brad said, almost challenging the older agent to do something, anything that would justify Brad breaking his nose. Or arm.
Yes, he was mad.
Unfortunately, it looked like both men decided to back off and leave after a quick goodbye, so Brad had to come up with a different idea of how to let go of that anger. But first he had a phone call to make and a senator to kill.
Although it looked like he had to stand in line for that last thing.
And wasn't that a comforting thought.
.
"Apparently a priest from Alabama decided to preach about the devil that's coming to the White House and suggested that the righteous people of God should not allow that to happen." Nate sounded tired on the phone, but lately that was a norm, so Brad decided to let it go. Trying to make Nate get some rest was a lost cause anyway. "Some of those righteous people decided to go further than others."
"Isn't inciting people to commit a crime illegal?"
"It is, but you'd have to prove that he wanted them to do something more than simply vote for one of my opponents or write a letter saying that God hates my kind."
They were lucky - Brad was an atheist, Nate an agnostic and their families, although religious, would pick either of them before any god they believed in any day. But things like that still weren't nice to hear.
"They arrested a few that were the most...graphic in their letters. I think that will be enough, but Secret Service will stay with me anyway."
"That's good."
"Says the man who refused the protection."
"Hey," Brad protested, "I wasn't the one they were threatening to set on heavenly fire or whatever."
Nate let out a sound between a chuckle and a sigh.
"Wouldn't hurt to have someone there."
"Don't tell me you're surprised I didn't want anybody to follow me around. It was hard enough to get rid of Person, it took years and moving to the other coast. And he still calls me."
Now he got a laugh.
"How is Ray, by the way?"
"Still collecting his First Lady jokes. I think he's preparing to publish a collection after you become the president."
*
"Let's look at Senator Nathaniel Fick's current situation. He lost the Iowa caucuses and came close second in Wyoming. After that it was almost fifty-fifty: he won in New Hampshire, lost in Michigan, narrowly won in South Carolina and Florida, lost in Maine. I may be wrong, but I think it's safe to assume that the Super Tuesday will be all about Governor Martenson and Senator Fick. Dorothy, would you like to comment on that?"
.
"The Super Tuesday came and went and we saw George Martenson still in the lead, but he is not an obvious frontrunner anymore. Nathaniel Fick is still fighting hard and he managed to win some of those battles. What do you think, Brian?"
.
"Willow Stern and Keith Marlow both withdrew from the race this week, leaving only George Martenson and Nathaniel Fick still in the game."
*
Brad liked Nate's mother, he really did. Apart from being somewhat scary most of the time (especially when she would team up with Brad's mom) and fucking teary this one time (namely: a whole month between their engagement and the wedding), she was a wonderful woman.
He would prefer to spend Saturday at home, though, but she was also a master in guilttripping Nate to do almost anything she wanted, so Brad should probably be glad she wasn't using it more often. One family party every three months he could do, especially if the next day they had to be in Baltimore anyway for a rally.
"Come on in, guys." It wasn't a surprise to anybody that Brad's favourite member of the Fick family, aside from Nate, was his father - a former Marine, quiet and stoic, but with the same dry humor that the rest of them had.
"Uncle Nate!" Chloe was five years old and she wanted to marry Nate one day (or at least that was her plan on Christmas). Brad could admire her good taste in men.
"My favourite little girl!" Nate had her in his arms even before the rest of the family got to the hall.
Technically, they were uncles of Chloe's mother. Brad still remembered Emily as an eleven-year-old and now she had two kids. He was old.
And yes, he had that epiphany every time there was a family gathering, so what.
"Glad you could join us, Senator." Beth had been calling her little brother that for years now and it never stopped being funny for Brad. Nate just rolled his eyes and hugged her, conscious of Chloe still in his arms.
"Are you going to continue to call him that after he becomes the president?" Nate's mother joined in, hugging him next.
"I'll call him 'mister president, sir', of course."
Brad laughed.
"I would pay to see that," he told her and she grinned.
"You're on. And I'm wondering how are you going to call him, you know."
"Oh, God."
"Aren't you a little too old for jokes like that?" asked Nate, putting Chloe down.
Beth smacked him in the head. She apparently wasn't too old for that.
"I'm not old at all. And boy, I hope you aren't too old, because..."
"Dinner, anyone?" Nate's dad interrupted. Another reason why Brad liked him.
.
"I think you should focus more on education than military reform tomorrow," said Diane, Beth's younger daughter, sitting next to Nate on the couch after dinner.
"That's the plan," he said, turning to her with a smile, but Brad could see he tensed a little.
"People here are more interested in their children's education anyway," she went on. "Nobody wants to hear about war."
"Diane," Beth said with a warning in her tone. "Let's not talk politics anymore, okay?"
It wasn't about politics, if you asked Brad, it was about being rude. But Nate obviously couldn't let it go.
"I'm going to talk more about the education reform, but the military and intelligence are also on my agenda. We need to change some things..."
"Many things."
"...and the whole country should think about that."
"The majority of this country doesn't want to go to war anymore."
She hadn’t been like that on Christmas. She had been perfectly happy with Nate and didn't challenge his political views, or, well, him in general. Apparently three months in college could change a lot of things.
"It's not only about going to war. Our military needs an internal reform, in terms of leadership and in terms of offering valuable things to recruits, soldiers and veterans alike. Our intelligence agencies need better accountability and better tactics and strategies. We can make our country a safer place just by doing that."
Nate was a politician with years of experience, not to mention he spent a majority of the last year convincing people of what he believed in and debating with people that didn't agree. He could probably do that in his sleep (as he did, a couple of times). But it was clear to Brad that he didn't want to do it here, in front of the family, with Diane, who was so set in her ways that she forgot how to behave.
"Okay, how about we all take a break from politics? If you tire Nate down tonight," he looked at Diane and tried to be nice and play it down, "he won't have any energy left for tomorrow".
"Excellent idea," Beth agreed immediately. She was trying not to look upset, but she was always one of Nate's biggest supporters and she always respected his and their father's military service, the same way she later came to respect Brad's. Having her own daughter speak like that was clearly painful for her. For all of them, really.
.
The next day the whole family joined them at the rally and Martha and Joey, the communications director, were almost ecstatic because of all the family pictures. It was another weak point for Nate - not having children. People, as Martha explained to Brad while trying to convince him to be more visible in the campaign, were used to seeing politicians with their spouses and children. Apparently it made a person look more human and closer to the general public.
Brad stopped trying to understand the whole election process a long time ago.
Nate had a husband (who started to be more visible, thank you very much), but he didn't have children. He had siblings with kids and grandkids instead, though, and from the way the media kept taking pictures and filming the whole family, it was clear that, as Martha said, it was "good enough for them." Brad shrugged. "Good enough" was as far as they could go in that area anyway.
.
They were driving back to D.C. the same night, Brad half-asleep and Nate staring absentmindedly through the window. The glass between them and the agents in the front seats was up, separating them from the world outside of each other.
"How much time do you think I have," asked Nate, turning to look at him, "before Diane will get caught on camera, protesting against the war, with a big sign telling the world where exactly she has my opinion about it?"
Brad couldn't stop laughing for a couple of miles. Then he kissed Nate stupid for the rest of the trip.
*
#Sarah: Church is so obviously for Martenson, it's sick. Where's the separation of church and state??
#_Karl: @Sarah: In the Constitution. lol
#P@ula: priest in our church was almost preaching the gospel of martenson yesterday. wtf. isn't it illegal or sth?
#Pam: @Paula: and what can you do, tell on him to the Pope? He's probably for Martenson, too.
#MollyR: @Pam: Pope is cool for now, he's not saying anything. It's how it should be. Not his bussiness (no offense).
#bishopp: FICK IS HOT!
#Pam: @bishopp: don't we know it. :P
*
When the news came, they were both home, watching Die Hard (and no, Brad didn't have anything to do with this, it was one of Nate's favourite movies and Brad could indulge him sometimes) and drinking beer. Nate was lying on the couch with his head in Brad's lap and Brad's fingers were running through his hair.
Brad was about to bend over and kiss Nate's ear, bringing his attention from John McClane, who already lost his shoes, to him, who would very much like to have sex, preferably before the end of the movie, when Nate's cellphone started to ring. It was Martha's ringtone and Brad could see Nate frowning. He was supposed to have a free night.
"Hello?"
Brad couldn't understand the words, but she was definitely using her outdoor voice.
"What?!" Nate got up quickly and changed the channels. MSNBC was showing video of Martenson from the last week meeting in Ohio, but the speaker was talking about a defraudation and Brad could clearly see SCANDAL spelled in big, red letters at the bottom of the screen.
He looked at Nate, who was staring at the TV and listening to Martha on the phone. Then he turned and looked back at Brad, looking like he couldn't believe what was happening.
"I can't believe this," he said, as if confirming Brad's thought. "I can't fucking believe this."
.
During the week after Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours all together. There were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.
Countless sheets of paper were lying all over their place and that whole situation was starting to look more and more like Nate's college days to Brad. Not that he was around a lot then, but he caught a few things here and there. And finals time looked almost exactly like that.
.
Eight days after The Story, Brad was eating pepperoni pizza and reading a report about the US-Mexico border that Nate left on the coffee table this morning, when his beloved husband came home. Brad lifted his head from the couch and caught sight of Nate going straight to the bathroom. He left the slightly greasy report on the coffee table and went after him.
"Hello to you too, darling," Brad said coming into the bathroom. Nate was standing in front of the mirror and not moving. He blinked at Brad.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," Nate came closer to kiss Brad. "I need a shower really badly."
"And bed. You need our bed." Nate shook his head, but Brad didn't let him say anything.
"No, Nate. It's late and you're exhausted. You haven't slept in forever and now it's time to do just that. You don't have to keep watch 24/7."
Brad put his hands on Nate's head, slowly threading his fingers through Nate's hair. Nate made an encouraging noise and leaned into his touch.
"I really should..."
"He had already lost, Nate. Nothing short of you having some kind of illicit affair would change the fact that you will win the primaries. You will win the fucking nomination."
"Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair," Nate said quietly.
"That's because you're an outstanding human being. And because I would kill you if you had one."
"You'd have to do that before the announcement, if I win. After that, I'll have more than a couple of agents, I'll have a full Secret Service team and it won't be so easy to kill me."
"I'd just have to step up my game a little."
"Well..." Nate murmured, kissing Brad's jaw and wrapping his arms around Brad's waist. "We could play a different one right now."
Brad smirked.
"You're lucky I'm easy. Your sex talk is really, really bad."
Nate moved his hand to Brad's cock, palming it through two layers of clothes.
"Come on, shower with me," he said, kissing Brad's neck.
"One day we will be too old for the shower blowjobs, I'm afraid." Brad stepped back to undress and watch Nate do the same.
The big cabin was one of the best things about their apartment, in Brad's opinion.
"Today is not that day. And when it is, we will figure something out. Marines make do, Brad," Nate looked up at him from his knees. "Today is the day I could fall asleep if you'd want to have sex in our bed, though."
Brad spread his legs and put one of his hands on Nate's head.
"You say the sweetest things," he groaned when Nate's tongue touched him.
.
So, during the week after the Martenson scandal broke, Nate slept maybe ten hours altogether, because there were meetings and talks, refusals to meet and talk, and strategic campaign meetings that lasted till dawn. And Brad rarely saw Nate and most of that time Nate was either on the phone or unconscious.
That's why it took Brad over a week to notice. He should have noticed it the night before, in Nate's quiet words when Brad told him he was going to win.
Because I don't have any kind of illicit affair.
Brad should have noticed, but there was Nate, close and willing, touching him, so he didn't. Not until the next morning, when he was eating breakfast in the living room and absentmindedly surfing channels until he heard Nate's name.
"The only winner here is Nathaniel Fick, who will get the nomination he wanted so badly. And let me tell you, he should be ecstatic, because the only reason he gets it is the fact that he doesn't have an affair with his assistant and he doesn’t steal money from the government. He would never win this otherwise."
"The polls..."
"He's young and handsome, and he's not stupid, so he did good in those polls. But it's not a Miss America pageant, it's politics. The Republican Party would not nominate him as their candidate, but now..."
Brad sat there, almost mesmerized. He silently dared the stupid motherfucker to go further, to just come up and say it outright.
"Apparently I should be ecstatic that being gay is better than having an affair and stealing money."
Brad turned his head towards Nate who was standing in the doorframe. He still looked so young and never more so than when he just woke up.
Right now he just looked pissed off and sad.
"He's an idiot," Brad said and wished he could say something different. Something better. He just didn't know what that could be.
"He's not completely wrong," Nate said quietly, turning around.
"What?"
"I need to go to the office."
Nate was already back in their bedroom before Brad caught up to him.
"It's Sunday, Nate."
Nate shrugged, looking for new shirt.
"Nate."
"Brad," Nate sighed, but didn't turn around. "I have things to do."
"You can do them tomorrow."
It was over a week of basically no sleep and a couple of months of barely sleeping. Nate wasn't in a fucking war and Brad had enough.
"Tomorrow I have even more things to do."
"Tough shit. You'll find the time. Stay home today, Nate."
"I can't."
Fuck it. It was time for extreme solutions. Brad fucking hated it, but he knew it would happen one day, knew it from the beginning of this fucking campaign.
Knowing didn't make it easier, though.
Nate always had workaholic tendencies, to say the least. But since he decided to run, he was tying himself in knots over every fucking thing and the Martenson scandal, which was supposed to help, just made it worse. Nate had to vent, had to let go and just be. And for the first time Brad felt that it wasn't something Nate could fuck out or run out of.
So Brad had to play dirty. Really fucking dirty.
"You will never be perfect, Nate. You will never be straight."
Nate froze.
"Fuck you, Brad," he said quietly, turning around. He was angry, but not enough.
"That's what I'm talking about."
"Shut the fuck up," Nate raised his voice, almost yelling. He never yelled. Brad couldn't back down now. He just stood there and watched Nate take a breath. "It wasn't me who... I don't have problems with being gay and you know it! So don't stand here and tell me this bullshit."
"You don't have any problems with being gay. You have a problem with not being perfect."
"I'm not perfect."
"Of course you aren't! You can't be. But that's the problem, isn't it? You would like to be perfect. You would like to do everything right. Nathaniel Fick doesn't make mistakes." Brad hated doing this, hated looking at Nate while he was doing this. But he didn't allow himself to look elsewhere. That was his punishment for saying all this, even if he knew he had to do it. "But if you wanted the whole party to love you, you sure as hell made a few mistakes along the way. And I was your biggest one."
Nate didn't punch him in the face even if it was obvious that he wanted to. He put his fist on Brad's chest, not punching, but more like putting pressure, hard, but probably not enough to even leave a mark.
"You would never be a mistake, you fucking idiot."
And Brad knew that, he really did. He was years past being insecure about him and Nate, but they both still remembered when he wasn't and Brad was using it right now to make a point.
"Fuck it," whispered Nate, breathing harshly. "Fuck it."
He turned around to put some space between them, but Brad stopped him.
"Don't run away from me, Nate."
Nate looked at him incredulously.
"Don't run away from me? Are you kidding me? I am the runner all of a sudden? It's you, who was always running away, Brad! You! So don't put that shit on me."
"You don't run away? Nate, maybe you don't get up and run away literally, but you're shutting off. You can't even get mad at me and just fucking ride it out! Yell at me, punch me, don't just turn around and leave the room."
"You are a hypocrite, I hope you are aware of that."
"I am. But listen to yourself. Why aren't you yelling at me? Why do you always have to be so collected and stoic? We can fight dirty, Nate. We can get ugly with each other once in a while..."
"No, we can't, Brad!" Nate raised his voice and tried to get away, but Brad just tightened his hold.
"Why not?"
"Because... we just can't, okay?"
"No, that's not okay at all. Shit, Nate, why can't we do this?"
"What happens next?" Nate sagged in Brad's hold and his eyes were locked on the cabinet behind Brad. "What happens after we get ugly with each other, we yell, maybe punch each other for a good measure. What's next? What if..."
Brad had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad fucking feeling.
"Nate?" he asked quietly.
"What if you leave?" Nate said softly. "What if I say something that..."
"Stop it."
"No, you wanted to hear this." Nate was breathing faster, and if they were a little closer, Brad could probably feel his heart going crazy.
Brad didn't want to hear this at all, but he had to.
"What if you leave? Or what if I leave? What if we just don't bounce back from it the way you apparently think we would? What if we say some things we can't get over?"
"Nate." Brad shook him a little. Nate looked at him for a brief moment, then came back to admiring their fucking cabinet. "Nate, look at me. Look at me and believe me when I tell you this. I'm not in this for the rainbows and kittens, okay? I'm not in this only when it's good and you should fucking know this and I can't believe you don't, after all the shit we went through."
"I know. It's not..."
"Are you sure? Because if you think I'll take my bike and just go, and don't come back home to you..."
"It's not that, Brad!" Nate put his hands on Brad's neck and for a moment hid his face there, too. Then he lifted his head and looked him in the eyes. "I just don't know how to do this. At all. It's not only you, it's me, too. What if I can't handle this? I'm not... It's not easy for me, I can't fight like that."
"Fuck, LT, why am I only hearing about this now?"
"And what I was supposed to say, exactly? 'Hey, Brad, next time we fight, make sure we don't hurt each other's feelings'? I know we'll sooner or later fight about something, I just don't want it to be ugly, okay? We can have ugly from other people, and we do, but..."
"We're not exactly careful with our language, you know."
"It's not about calling me a pussy civilian or a dumbass motherfucker or whatever term of endearment you come up with. It's the other stuff."
Brad kissed his forehead while Nate continued.
"It's not that I don't want us to fight. I don't like it, but I'm not stupid, sometimes we have to. But I don't want us to hurt each other on purpose."
The way Brad did just a couple of minutes ago. Brilliant.
"We're not saints, Nate. And I'm not talking about getting ugly or hurtful every time we fight. But, fuck, I can't have you thinking that I could leave you, if you'd say something I don't like. I'm not leaving you, you stupid shit. I married your ass."
"My ass is very grateful for that. It cares for you deeply." Nate tried his small smile, but Brad wasn't in love with that man since yesterday.
"Nate. Under no circumstances would I leave you. There's nothing you could say - well, aside from 'I don't want you anymore', but I'd probably just kill you then - that would make me leave you. Bad, ugly, hurtful, nothing. We'd fight, both of us would say some shit we don't mean and then we would make up. As always."
"It's not that easy."
"It is! Nate, how do you think we lived with each other for all those years? We weren't always gentle and proper, you know. And we didn't split. We won't."
Nate was almost trying to climb him by now. His face tucked in Brad's neck, his arms holding him tight.
"We won't," he murmured against Brad's skin.
Brad pulled him even tighter.
"Nate, I need... I need to know that I can say all kinds of things to you and not have you running away."
He got a nod as an answer.
"Nate, I need you to tell me I can say shit to you and you won't leave me for it."
Nate lifted his head, kissing Brad's neck once. He looked him in the eyes.
"Okay. Okay. No matter what you say, I won't leave you. I couldn't. Unless you would directly tell me to."
Brad closed his eyes and put his chin on Nate's head.
"Yeah. Not going to happen."
They stood like that for a few minutes. Brad's arms were keeping Nate close to him, but Nate didn't fight it at all, he just tucked his face in Brad's neck and wrapped his arms around his waist.
"I love you," Nate whispered. "I'm sorry."
"I love you too," Brad moved a little to look at Nate and smirked. "I'm not sorry about that."
Nate smiled and Brad put his thumbs on the wrinkles around his eyes to smooth them out a little.
"I've obviously had a few bad days," Nate said, making a face. "Sorry I was an idiot."
"I'm used to it by now, don't worry," Brad said, grinning.
Nate elbowed him lightly.
"Shut up."
"Okay," Brad moved away and started to steer Nate in the direction of their bedroom. "And now we're going back to bed."
"Brad."
"Shut up, Nate. We're going back to bed and tomorrow you can go back to being the future president, but today you're here, with me."
Brad had missed his husband home. So what.
Soon after they were lying in bed, their limbs tangled together. Nate was drawing circles around Brad's navel and Brad's dick was starting to take notice, when suddenly Nate chuckled.
"What?" Brad pulled Nate's hair.
Nate lifted his head from Brad's chest and smiled at him.
"Who would have thought that there would be a day when you would be the more secure one."
Brad would maybe take offense if they hadn't had the history they had. He just smirked.
"American people should know you're an idiot."
Nate chuckled.
"You could tell them, if you would do one of those interviews people want you to do."
*
"This is DCAC live, you're on the air, speak your mind."
"Hi, I'm George. This campaign is ridiculous or what? First Fick, but, you know, we could deal with it, Martenson was going to win anyway. But no, he had to have an affair! Was he out of his mind? Not to mention the fraud, you know, seriously. What is wrong with the Republicans that those two were ever the best candidates? One cheats and steals and the other..."
"Oops, I think we've lost the connection. Sorry, George. Next call in, then, hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks. But George, if you're still listening... You know, nevermind, it's not worth it, you're obviously an idiot. So. Moving on. Sorry. My name is Paul and I didn't want to talk about the campaign, because, damn, I'm tired of it, but the dude provoked me. So. Did you all see the clip from the Fick's meeting with those children from second grade? I mean, how adorable was that? And amazing, he explained his whole education reform plan to them using stick figures and diagrams. I mean, what the... Even my roommate understood that. I'm impressed, really, I am."
*
This wasn't like any roadtrip Brad had ever been on. Or wished to be on.
.
There was no anonymity, because at least half of any given town knew that they were coming. They had friends and enemies there before they even arrived.
In Cleveland, Ohio, Willow Stern came to support Nate, but in the end it was more like we-used-to-date-and-now-you-are-here-with-your-new-girlfriend painful, but with a couple of thousand people watching.
In Somewhere Along The Way, Michigan, a small group of teenagers threw eggs on their car from the side of the road. Brad thought the kids were lucky Secret Service agents didn't shoot any of them, because in their line of work? When somebody was throwing something, it could be anything from fucking flowers to fucking Molotow cocktails and agents were often allowed to shoot first and ask questions later.
Those kids were also lucky he didn't have his gun with him, because Nate didn't speak a word the rest of the way.
In Charleston, West Virginia, when after his speech Nate was shaking hands with people from the crowd, an approximately five-years-old girl hugged his legs and didn't want to let go. Nate lifted her to his arms and got a kiss on the cheek before passing her back to her mother. Brad was smiling like an idiot probably, he could feel it. He wanted his inner bastard back, so he looked around for Martha, who was probably over the moon about the perfect photoshoot opportunity, but when he found her, she got a soft smile on her lips that he had never seen before.
.
There was no driver versus shotgun debate that Brad could win, because they were being driven or flown everywhere.
His whole body ached from hours spent in his seat.
He missed his bike.
.
There wasn't a lot of free time or a lot of alone-with-Nate time, because they were accompanied by dozens of people. Nate's staff and Secret Service were with them all the time, but they also had temporary guests endorsing Nate.
And don't even ask Brad about the media people.
Martha was glued to Nate's side all the fucking time and although Brad started to really like her, sometimes he wanted her to just go away. And help Joey deal with journalists, most preferably, but really, he just wanted her gone. For her not to be with them. To leave them alone. To detach from them. To...
"Yes, Brad, I think I've got it," Nate said with a smirk. Apparently Brad was thinking aloud now. "You're tired of Martha always being around."
"That works, too," he shrugged.
They were driving to the airport, alone in the backseat of the car. Nate shifted closer to him and Brad put his hand on Nate's thigh.
"I know it's not easy," Nate said, threading his fingers through Brad's hair, "but I'm glad you're here with me."
Brad leaned into the touch a little and smiled. "Where else would I be?"
.
Brad was wrong. He was on a roadtrip a little like that, long time ago. It was called Operation Iraqi Freedom.
He was also wrong about not wishing to be on it. He might not like it much, but he still wouldn't miss it.
*
"It looks like we are saying this every eight years now, John, but history is being made, again. Sixteen years ago we had our first African American president, eight years later first woman to be ever elected president of the United States, and now, with the Republican National Convention starting in three days, we will witness the first gay person to be nominated. And who knows, maybe in less than three months, we will celebrate the first gay person to become the president of the United States."
*
The big stage and the thousands of chairs in front of it reminded Brad more of a rock concert than the national convention. Why, he couldn't really say, it wasn’t like he went to a lot of them in the past. But there was something unreal about this, him standing on a stage where Nate would be accepting his nomination in two days. Nomination for the fucking president of the United States.
Over a year of campaigning and all the craziness that came with it did not prepare Brad for this.
"If not for the flags and the Secret Service agents, it would almost look like a Rolling Stones concert, right?" asked Nate, coming up beside him.
"I don't know, are you sure there were no flags at those concerts?" Brad smirked.
"None that I remember," Nate smiled back. "Fuck, Brad. Approximately twenty thousand people will be here tomorrow."
"I know. I hate them all already," he deadpanned and moved a little closer to Nate, just so their shoulders were touching.
"Many of them hate me, so I think it will even out."
Many of the delegates did hate Nate. Brad wouldn't be surprised if some people decided not to come to the appointment of the nominee, but he preferred empty chairs over open hostility. When Martenson's scandal broke, the GOP had no other choice but to give the nomination to Nate and as happy as Brad was that some of those morons had to swallow the hard pill and smile for the cameras, he also knew that there were people who would do anything to stop it.
There was a reason why Nate had Secret Service agents following him for months now. And why the number of them at the convention was higher than usual. And why Brad was on his way to having an ulcer or a heart attack, whichever would come first.
Nate put his hand on the back of Brad's neck and squeezed a little, as if to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. Apart from the thing after Martenson's scandal, it was usually like this, Brad being reassured by Nate, not the other way around. I'm okay, don't worry, Nate would whisper into the kiss. I can't protect you from this, Brad would think, but not say it out loud, tightening his grip on Nate's hips.
.
Brad would later wish that he wasn't in the shower when the waiter brought the note with the dinner.
When he exited the bathroom, he saw four Secret Service agents checking the room or talking on the phone and Martha casting worried looks at Nate, who was sitting against the headboard, legs crossed, silently revising his speech for tomorrow.
She handed him the card.
You'll burn in hell, faggot. You deserve to burn.
"Fuck," Brad said quietly. He wanted to punch somebody. Hard.
"They are looking into this," Martha whispered, with the nod to the agents. "They are talking with the waiter who brought it here; they will check the cameras, too. But I'm worried about the senator," she tilted her head in the direction of the bed. "He hasn't said more than five sentences since I got here."
"I will take care of this, after you guys are done here." He wasn't subtle in the least, but he suspected she understood the bluntness for what it was.
When she and the agents left the room, Brad sat beside Nate and laid his hand, palm up, on the mattress between them, nudging Nate's thigh with his thumb. Nate put the papers down and entwined his fingers with Brad's.
"I'm really pissed off right now," he said, squeezing his hand.
"I know." Brad was drawing circles around Nate's pulse point. "That's good."
Nate nodded and rested his head on the headboard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.
"They can fuck with me all they want. I will show them."
Brad brought their entwined fingers to lie on his thigh.
"I know you will."
They ate dinner in bed, watching in silence a documentary about Spartans. Brad would love to say that it was the end of the day, that they were taking a break until tomorrow, but he knew better. Soon enough Nate was collecting the discarded papers and getting up.
"I'm going to take a shower. Could you read the speech again? I've made some changes, I want you to tell me if it's better or not."
Brad took the papers. It was the best way to help Nate right now.
"Sure."
.
"With great pleasure I introduce to you the next president and vice-president of the United States - Nathaniel Christopher Fick and Steven Joseph Winston."
The applause was deafening. Brad stood on the side of the stage with Steven's wife and kids, and watched Nate shake hands with the chairman of the Republican National Committee and make a victory gesture to the crowd.
With hundreds of balloons falling down from the ceiling, it was easy to miss thirty or forty empty chairs. Brad noticed, but didn't care.
There was Nate on the stage, in one of the happiest moments of his life.
"With a great honor, I accept the nomination..."
Nate's speech was great, maybe the best he had ever given, but if it was Brad's job to write it? He would have only one thing to say:
Deal with that, America.
*
PART TWO (B)