counting the steps between us [2/4]
Title: counting the steps between us [2/4]
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: AU: Rachel is the President's daughter. Puck is a Secret Service agent.
Word Count: 41,700 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She can't sleep, and it's not rare, but she can hear other people up in the house. It was unnerving at first and she hated it. That dates back to when she and her dads all still lived here permanently. There was always Secret Service around, or senior staffers or what have you. It bothered her that there were people she didn't actually know wandering around her house. Now she's older and she understands the amount of screening and psychological testing and training all these agents go through. She's never felt safer in her life than she has with these people around. Of course, living in the White House is different because it's practically a fort, but still.
Lying in bed is driving her crazy and just becoming frustrating, because it's obvious she won't get back to sleep at this point. It's not even 4:00 in the morning, though. Thank goodness it's a Saturday and she doesn't have plans to be anywhere or do anything. She has an assignment due in one of her classes on Monday, so she'd blocked off this day to do it. At least she'll be able to take a nap and not worry about any public engagements.
She walks into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and finds Agent Puckerman standing there in a white tee shirt and grey sweatpants that are so low on his hips she can see a sliver of skin when he moves, turns around to see who's awake with him at this hour.
He's holding a coffee mug in his hand and he looks at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"
She almost wants to laugh. "I can't sleep. You?" He shrugs, nods his head. "Is that coffee?"
He smiles sort of proudly and tips the cup forward to show her the coffee inside. "Figured it out."
"I'm impressed."
"I'm not one to let a machine beat me at anything. It's why I'm such a good shooter." She looks at him, then, and blindly switches the element on after setting the kettle on the stove. "There's a lot of simulated training, and…I'm kind of competitive."
Rachel smiles at him, because that makes sense. She sits down at the breakfast bar and reaches for a banana, though she shouldn't eat anything at all if she wants to go back to sleep. It's looking more and more hopeless as the minutes pass.
It's early October and she thinks they've all settled into the school schedule. She doesn't want to do too many appearances, and Dad and Daddy both want her to focus on her schooling as well, so it's not an issue with them. She thinks, sometimes, about how she's sort of become boring, but there's just no way the agents would be okay with her going to a frat party or to slam poetry nights at a dive bar in Brooklyn named The Lair, even though she kind of wanted to go to that one when the invitation was handed to her.
She's pretty comfortable with Agent Puckerman, and they even have conversations as they walk across campus. It makes it look like they're friends, though she's one hundred per cent sure that it's obvious to everyone who sees them that he's part of her detail. He dresses like any other average student, though, and that helps. It also makes her feel better about the stares and the fact that she can't walk anywhere without someone whispering her name or taking her picture. For years she's had it sort of drilled into her that anything can happen and she can't trust strangers at all, and having him there, close enough to touch most of the time, is really calming.
Which is why it's awkward to be around him at the house. Because it's different here. It's like he keeps his distance on purpose and she barely sees him within these walls.
"What's your given name?" she asks, brows furrowed, and then gets up when the kettle whistles. "I think I've heard someone say it before, but…"
"It's Noah."
He obviously realizes it's strange that she didn't know, too. They've been here how long? Now that she's heard it she remembers one of the agents calling him that a time or two, but usually they just call one another by their last names, or some nickname. His is Puck. She doesn't actually accept that as something she should have to call him.
"Noah," she sort of whispers, dunking her tea bag in her water a few times. "Isn't it silly that I didn't know that?"
He laughs a little and then sits down next to her. "Not really."
She wants to tell him that wasn't actually a question, but more of a statement, but it seems pointless to argue over such a thing. Bratty, too; he doesn't always have to agree with her. In fact, she hates yes people. She knows enough of them.
"Sometimes I just feel like everyone around me knows my entire life story, but I don't know anything about them."
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "What do you wanna know? I mean, within reason."
Obviously she knows there are lines and boundaries they can't test, even if they're sitting in her kitchen at four in the morning and it's all really harmless. She's not about to ask him his relationship status or his dating history. She just wants to know more about him. She's not about evening the playing field, but there's something to be said for knowing the people who are around you all the time. If it were Agent Donovan in the kitchen with her right now, she'd likely ask him the same thing.
"Why did you become an agent?"
He laughs sort of indignantly and takes a long swill of his drink. "Basically wanted to be the opposite of my father."
"What is your father?"
"A criminal." She just stares at him, because she was not expecting that. "Theft and robbery, mostly. Nothing violent, but I mean, shit, nothing to be proud of."
"I don't…" she starts, but then really, how does one actually respond to that? "I wasn't expecting that."
He chuckles a little. "I wasn't expecting it from my dad, either, but." She bites her lip and he sort of smiles at her. "It wasn't even about proving I wasn't him, it was just…I dunno. You're around that so much and you just want to get as far away from it as possible."
She's never heard him say so much, and he's clearly comfortable being honest with her, and it makes her happy to know he's not afraid to do it. They work closely together, and she seriously believes this will only help their friendship and their working relationship, or whatever you'd like to call it. Of course she trusts him, but it's nice to know he trusts her, too. She doesn't think this is the kind of thing he's told everyone around him, and she's not about to repeat it to anyone else, either.
"Do you like it?" she asks, and then immediately realizes it was a silly thing to say, because she's the President's daughter and the chances of Noah telling her if he didn't like his job are likely slim to none.
But he says, "I can't really see myself doing anything else," and he's so nonchalant about it. It almost makes her wonder if he just thinks he's not capable of anything else, or… "I don't have any complaints."
She smiles at that, sips her tea. "Have you ever shot anyone."
"Once," he says, and the look he gives her…She can't read it, really, but it makes her mind race, wondering if it was because one of her fathers was in danger, or if she was, and she never heard of anything like that happening, but there are obviously a lot of things her daddy doesn't tell her. "I'm not allowed to talk about it."
"Of course." She'd bet there are a ton of things he's not allowed to discuss with anyone. "When we were in Texas before the primaries Dad and I went to this shooting range and they taught us how to shoot a shotgun."
Noah just looks at her. "President Berry is the most pro-gun control President in…ever."
"I know. There was some political motivation behind us going to that while Daddy was in meetings with the Senator. I can't remember what it was. Maybe to show how badly people can shoot if they're not properly trained." He laughs again. "I'm serious. I had a bruise on my shoulder for a week. Isn't it terrifying that anyone can walk into a store and buy a gun with absolutely no training on how to actually fire it? Let alone safety measures and…"
"You're preaching to the choir, Rachel."
She smiles, looks down at her lap. He's never called her that before.
Agent Donovan comes into the room around 6:00 in the morning and Rachel really hopes Noah won't get reprimanded in any way for speaking with her more than was really necessary. They've been talking the entire time they've been sitting here.
"How's that paper going?" he asks, and heads for the refrigerator. She realizes for the first time how at home these men are here, and she actually likes that. She's nothing if not accommodating, and if she thought they were uncomfortable she'd want to do whatever she could to change that. The situation isn't typical, of course, but that's no reason for them to feel like this isn't their home, for the time being, too.
(It's sort of funny, actually, that she knows things such as the fact that Agent Donovan only has one cup of coffee a day, and it's always with lunch, whatever time it is he breaks for that. It's orange juice every morning, and the only thing she's seen him drink other than that is water.)
"I'll get to it," she says, and he just laughs. "You both have the day off, right?"
"Well," Noah chuckles, then looks over at Agent Donovan, who's dressed in sweats and grinning as he sips his juice. "We're going to the field office so he can kick my ass." Rachel's confusion must be all over her face. "We spar."
"Spar?"
"Muay Thai, Krav Maga. I wrestled in high school," Agent Donovan supplies.
"A billion years ago," Noah mumbles.
Agent Donovan ignores him, though. Their rapport is entertaining to her. "Plus there's a shooting range in the building."
She doesn't want to get in their way or hold them up, so she stands and sets her mug in the sink. "Have fun. Don't hurt each other."
She's serious about that, too.
"Get some sleep," Noah tells her, and he sounds concerned, so she just nods her head and smiles before heading for the stairs to go back up to her bedroom.
… … …
He scares the hell out of her when she's working on an assignment in Daddy's study in the house. It's just quieter here, with fewer distractions. The room is mostly soundproofed and there are books lining the walls and a big cherrywood desk with the most comfortable leather chair she's ever sat in.
She's got her headphones plugged in to drown out what little noise is drifting through the house and from outside. She doesn't need quiet, she just needs something constant. So she's got this playlist of some really great ballads that don't interfere with her attention span.
She's halfway through a Gladys Knight song when she notices Noah standing there, the door closed behind him, and she nearly jumps out of her chair. She pulls out her earbuds and presses her hand against her chest.
"You scared me," she gasps, and he's just staring. "What?"
"You can sing," he tells her, like it's something he's never even though she could do. There is, she supposes, no reason for him to believe she could. She's never done it before, not anywhere anyone might hear her. Well, some theatre productions in high school, but not in the past few years when anyone would have cared about who she was; her schedule with the campaign was too crazy and she couldn't commit.
"I…I like to."
"No," he says seriously, then crosses his arms and sort of smiles at her. "There're people who like to sing and are terrible. Then there's you. Where'd that come from?"
She shrugs her shoulder and sets down her pen. "I've always sung."
"You're amazing." She can't fight her smile. "Like…"
"What?"
"Just…People in this city who can sing like that usually don't go to Columbia and plan on being in school for like 12 years."
She furrows her brow. What's he trying to say? "You heard me sing a few lines from someone else's song. It's not a big deal."
"Okay," he says, but he's looking at her like he doesn't believe it for a second. "It's not a big deal."
He's somehow managed to understand exactly what she's trying so hard not to say. That's making her heart beat faster than it did when he scared her in the first place. She's terrified.
… … ...
They go back to DC for the weekend and she has this incredibly sobering moment as she's sitting on the charter plane at JFK. She looks out the window and sees Noah walking across the tarmac towards the plane, open suit jacket and blue tie blowing in the wind, and his head turned to the side as he observes what's around them.
What started out as just her registering that he's an attractive man has turned into her genuinely being attracted to him.
He doesn't sit near her on the plane, which is just fine. Preferred, even. She sips sparkling water because someone brought it to her without her asking for it, and reads a few articles for her classes on her iPad. The flight is short and she texts Daddy when she arrives, even though there's no doubt in her mind that some staffer has told him the exact flight plan and he'll be briefed as soon as the plane touches down.
She sees a hint of a smile on Noah's face when she walks into the residence and then, fine, runs towards her dads and sort of tackles them in a three person hug. But then the door is shut and she can't see him anymore, and as happy as she is to see her fathers, it feels a little strange to have Noah so removed from her like this. She's being silly.
The reason she's here is because there's a performance taking place in the White House and she didn't want to miss it, of course, but it's also important that the people see that the First Family is still as close as ever even though she's away at school. It's why she still does a few appearances here and there in the city. Not everything is about politics, but her father's approval rating hinges heavily, it seems, on how his family behaves and what they do. She's not going to jeopardize anything for him. She's happy to be here.
And really. Beyoncé and Jay-Z performing a full set together in the White House? As if she would miss this. They're two of her father's biggest supporters, first of all, and yes, she's met them both before, but still. Beyoncé. Jay-Z.
They all have dinner together. Well, sort of. Apparently there's a situation unfolding in Africa and Daddy's called away to the Situation Room halfway through their meal, but that's nothing new. Dad just rolls his eyes and continues eating. Then he asks her if she's met any boys, but it's not to get gossip, she can tell. He really just wants to know she hasn't, and talking about this has always been so uncomfortable for him that it's really funny for her.
"As if Daddy wouldn't have a file on it if I were seeing someone. You really think the Secret Service wouldn't report to him?"
Dad grins, takes another bite of his salad. "That's what we're counting on."
"Knowing Daddy, he'd promote one of them to Secretary of National Defence if they could successfully stop me from going on an actual date." She's sort of joking. Mostly not.
"That's not fair. He wants you to date."
Rachel tips her head to the side and raises her brow. "Sure he does. Finn Hudson, or some other diplomat's son. He sent me an email about the Mexican ambassador's son. He's 17!"
Okay, that's not that much younger than her, but she's not going to date him.
"Well, what do you want?" Dad asks, and she's not in any position to complain about her life and she knows that, but it's very rare that anyone actually ask her that question.
She doesn't know how to answer.
… … …
When she learned she'd be coming to this event, she set out - in New York, naturally - to find the perfect dress. She has to be appropriate, of course. Not just because of who she is, but because of where this concert is taking place. You don't show up at the White House in leather leggings and a bra top like some of the girls were wearing the last time Rachel saw Beyoncé at MSG.
She found this dress at BCBG, and while there are no less than ten others hanging on the door of her closet when she gets back from the ridiculous press session Santana insisted she do, she's sticking with what she found. No offence to any of the designers who sent over things in her size in hopes that she'd wear them, but she just really likes having control over what she wears. People can advise her, but the choice is up to her.
So the black lace mini with long sleeves and a V in the back is the one. She's got red Louboutins she's worn before and loves, and she's leaving her hair down, curled a bit at the ends, and her eye makeup light.
"What's that?" Daddy asks when he sees her. He's still been dealing with the crisis in the Congo, so they're literally just about to walk into the hall and have their photos taken with the night's performers.
"What?"
"It's a little short," he says, and Dad chuckles while Rachel rolls her eyes.
"It's a concert, Daddy." He gives her this little glare. "Stop."
"I don't know why you're so hell bent on giving me a stroke. Only President in history to die in office 'cause his daughter's too beautiful and he worries too much."
She leans up to kiss his cheek. There's a little lip gloss there as the doors open, and they're all laughing - everyone - as she wipes it off with the palm of her hand.
She sees Noah when she's got a glass of sparkling cider in her hand. He's standing along the wall and they're all just waiting for the show to start. Most people are finding their seats and watching the stage.
Noah's staring right at her. She notices the way his eyes travel up her legs and then meet hers. Her face feels warm, but she offers him a little smile, and he scratches his jaw and looks away.
Her life feels entirely different in Washington than it does in New York, and she's trying to decide how much of that has to do with the fact that she barely sees him at all here.
… … …
"You know, most people don't have to come to New York City for a slower pace," she says conversationally, and Noah chuckles.
"Most people aren't you."
She shouldn't find it a compliment, because she knows exactly what he means.
… … …
"I got you a tea," he tells her, and she's just coming down from what felt like a panic attack, because when she left class she couldn't see him, and in her experience if you can't see an agent that means they're taking out a threat. She was half scared for herself and half scared for him.
"Thank you," she says, voice shaking.
He looks at her strangely. Or, rather, she recognizes the expression as worry. "Are you okay?" She just nods, quickly, and blows steam off the top of her cup as they walk across campus to her last class of the day. "You sure?"
"Positive." She smiles for good measure, waves at a few girls who are obviously talking about her and smiling as she passes them.
She tells him to sit next to her, which he does only sometimes. She's not an outcast at this point, but she's finding it hard to trust people. At the beginning of the year, no one talked to her. Then people started talking to her, but only so they'd be seen talking to her. She's got a couple acquaintances, but she can count them on one hand, and they're the ones who weren't too freaked out when Secret Service approached them and asked for their names and social security numbers. Background checks are run on anyone who comes to the house, so Rachel hasn't bothered inviting too many people. It can't be easy being friends with her, and she really can't blame people who don't want to jump through all the hoops if they don't have to; they don't know her yet and building friendships is hard enough without being watched the way these people are.
She spends time with Tina outside of school, too. She's been over to Tina's place, and they've spent a few afternoons shopping. They had a movie day when Tina was sick in bed, and Rachel went over to dinner when Tina's parents were both in town and insisted she go. But Tina's college experience is different than Rachel's, in that she can actually go out to parties and on dates with boys without it being a huge big thing.
Rachel actually doesn't know how dating someone would even work for her. Not even just the Secret Service aspect of it, but the photographers and the insanity. If anyone could even put up with that long enough to get to know her, she's not positive she'd want to…She doesn't want everyone to know her private business. Sometimes she thinks there's no keeping secrets and the easiest way to avoid having her face on Page Six is to not have any private business at all. If there's nothing for people to find, eventually they'll quit snooping.
"You've been in a mood since this afternoon," Agent Donovan says on the way back from campus to the house.
"I have not." He sort of grins at her. Maybe she sounded a touch more indignant than can be considered normal. Noah's watching her, too. "I haven't. I'm fine."
Agent Donovan nods at her, then checks his watch. "Want to come to the gym with us?"
They do this a few times a week. There's a gym down the street here that she and her dads belonged to for years, before it got too crazy for them to actually use it. It's hard to run five miles on a treadmill with people continually coming up to you and starting conversations or asking for autographs. The Secret Service field office has a massive gym that's well-equipped and not one person has ever said a word about her being there. Once, it was 11:00 p.m. on a Friday and Rachel had spent three hours reading tiny print from a textbook and just needed to do something other than sit around, so she had Agent Phillips arrange for her to go to the gym and she was there for over an hour.
Anyway, she changes at the house and gets back into the SUV, drives downtown. They stop for protein shakes from this place she's got them all hooked on, and she doesn't like the way Noah's looking at her like he wants to be let in on what's bothering her.
The problem is, she wouldn't be able to explain it if he asked. She's just having an off day. That's allowed, once in a while, even for her.
"You ever lift?" he asks after she's finished her run and she's sweaty and drinking water and someone told her he was in the weight room.
"No," she sort of laughs. He looks at her arms. "Pilates."
He gets off the bench as he chuckles, wipes it down and then says, "Sit," and she doesn't know what to do other than listen.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"I'll show you."
She swallows and nods, and he sits down on the bench opposite her after handing her two five pound weights. "I feel ridiculous already."
He laughs again. "No one here cares what you look like." She could be offended by that, couldn't she? "Watch me."
She almost wants to tell him she usually can't stop.
He does a few bicep curls and then nods at her and she copies him. She feels it after a few reps, but ploughs through and does 25. Please. Men think Pilates isn't a serious workout, but she'd beg to differ, and invite any of them to try.
After that he has her lie back on the bench and he puts 20 pounds of weights on the bar and instructs her how to lift properly. She can't imagine she'll ever do this again, but she doesn't hate having him as a teacher. Of course she's focused on lifting the weight above her (and since when did 20 pounds feel so heavy?) but she notices him, too.
"What's next?" she asks after, sipping her water, and trying to catch a towel when he tosses it at her. She fails, but bends down to get it, then wipes her face. "Are you going to teach me how to shoot, too?"
His brow goes up and his eyes linger somewhere around her clavicle. "Wouldn't be the worst idea."
She rolls her eyes at him as she smiles, and they leave to find Agent Donovan and go home.
… … …
It's the middle of the night and the door to her room opens, and whoever it is is holding a flashlight and saying, "Shh," and she's terrified until she sees, in the dim lighting, that it's Noah. She's sort of frozen in place, sitting up in bed as he pulls the curtains closed as far as they'll go, then peeks outside through them. He curses under his breath and rushes across the room to lock the bedroom door, and she's never been more scared in her life. Not even that night at the White House, the first time she noticed him because he pushed her to the ground.
"Noah," she says weakly, and he's just standing there by the east-facing window, looking through a crack in the drapes. She's going to cry any second.
"There was a breach."
She's hugging her knees to her chest and she figures she's likely safe not only in this house, but in this room, with him. Even so, she can't shake the fear that comes along with all this. That someone would try to get into the house that's obviously well-guarded just makes her terrified about what someone would try to do to her when she's out in plain sight. She knows this is what Daddy's scared of. Frankly, she's surprised he didn't push harder for her to go to Georgetown and stay in DC at the most secure house in the country.
It's probably only two minutes, but it feels longer than that, and then Noah says, "We're clear," and she figures he's gotten a signal from someone outside. He looks at her when she doesn't respond. "Rachel."
"I'm okay." She's crying, but other than that.
She doesn't think he'll sit down at the edge of her bed and put his arms around her, but he does. And it's awkward because she's still hugging herself, too, but she takes her hands and ends up grabbing onto his arm with both of them.
"Shh," he repeats, and she nods, for whatever reason. "It was nothing."
"You don't crash the house for nothing."
He puts his hands on her head, smoothes back her hair and says, "Go back to sleep." She opens her mouth to ask if he's insane, because she doesn't know what's happened, and the odds of her getting back to sleep are about one in seventy trillion. "I'll be right outside your door."
She nods her head again, but the word, 'stay' is in her mouth; it'd come out if she let it.
… … …
Daddy, of course, insists she come to DC while they investigate the breach, and she doesn't argue with him too hard, even though she'll be missing three days of classes. He just says her name in a stern tone and she realizes how stupid it would be to tell him she's not leaving school.
Noah stays in New York to continue with the investigation and re-securing the house, but Agent Donovan travels with her to brief her father.
"I'm fine, Daddy," she promises as soon as she walks into the Oval and he gets up to come towards her. Santana is there, along with the entire senior staff, and they're all watching as her dad crushes her against her chest.
"We don't want the public to know," Santana says, after Daddy has let her go and they're all just standing there. "There's no reason to do it and we really don't want to give off the impression that any drunk college kid can…"
"Santana," Daddy warns. Everyone in the room freezes at that tone, Rachel included.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President. We just feel it's best if this stays quiet."
Rachel nods and pushes her hair back. She feels like this is so much fuss over her, but she understands it, too.
"Where's your panic button?" Daddy asks.
She rolls her eyes. "In my bag."
"Where's your bag?"
"Someone took it to the residence for me." Daddy gives her a look like he wants to make a smart remark about how it's not going to do her much good if she doesn't carry it on her at all times. Which she does, usually. "I'm inside the White House."
"So?" he asks, irritated.
She puts her hands on his chest and looks up at him. "Daddy, I'm fine. Nothing happened. Noah was right there, and the whole team…"
"Noah?"
"Agent Puckerman," she corrects.
Later, when no one else is around, he'll ask her about the slip, and she'll say something about how since he's her 'companion' at school, she thought it might be best if she know his actual name. It seems to make sense to him. And really, that is the reason she asked in the first place. Now she just feels like they're close enough that calling him anything different would be really strange.
… … …
She misses him. It's completely ridiculous, but it's true. She supposes anyone who spends that amount of time with any one other person would start feeling the same kind of thing, but it feels different than that somehow.
It's like she's become dependent on him for conversation and companionship. It's nothing deep or inappropriate, but he's funny, and he laughs at her sometimes, too. They're friends, she thinks. Except that they can't be and there's a strong likelihood that he'd deny it if anyone - herself included - asked. He'd say he's just doing his job, and he wouldn't be lying about that. It's not him making her feel this way, it's herself.
She doesn't have a lot of male attention. Well, she has the internet. She knows what people say about her online. Young men around the world seem to think she's beautiful. The problem is no one in her real life is prepared to take it any further than that. She's intimidating, she gets it. And as much as she says dating would be a hassle, it's obvious to her, especially in Noah's absence, that she does want a guy in her life she can do things with. Somehow Noah has become that person. By default, really, and he most likely has no idea she sees him that way. He's doing his job and she's the one making him her friend, or whatever she's doing. She just likes the company. That's the root of all of it.
She tries to keep her distance once she gets back to the city. Or at least not allow herself to think of him the way she was before. It's insane, because she was only gone four days, but it feels like she's got to change everything now.
She's got a pretty good excuse, because finals are upcoming, then the holidays, and she knows he put in a request for time off to spend her entire break with his family in Ohio. She thinks that time apart will be good for her. And she'll be so busy in DC that she won't have time to miss him.
This guy in one of her study groups asks if she wants to get together and do their mock exams together and then go through and mark each others'. It just sounds like a great way to study the material and make it fresh. It takes her at least two and a half hours to realize he's actually sort of asking her out on a date.
It makes her nervous for something she has no business being nervous for. They're studying, and that's her main priority. She's about to take her first set of college finals and she's not going to let herself get some distracted by this - or any other - guy.
The night she's supposed to go to his place, she dresses in jeans and a sweater, pulls a bulky knit scarf around her neck and places all the things she might need into her black Longchamp bag. She's never done this kind of thing before, so she texts Tina and asks if she should bring anything, and she basically gets laughed at and ridiculed, which maybe she deserves.
Noah is waiting by the SUV at the curb when she steps outside, which surprises her.
"I thought you were finished," she says, and maybe it comes out rudely, but she didn't intend it to.
It bothers her, though, that he'll be there with her tonight. Even if he's in the hallway on the opposite side of Ian's apartment door, she'll still know he's there. She's being stupid, because it shouldn't matter.
He just says, "Nope. You ready?" and then ignores her entirely as she gets in and he tells whoever he tells that they're on the move.
The drive over is completely silent, which is incredibly irritating. The motorcade cuts through the park, but the drive still feels long and she spends most of it wondering if she should have told Ian they should work at the library on campus. She might have been more comfortable there. After all, she can't actually remember the last real date she went on. There's a very good chance being alone with him in his apartment will just leave her completely frozen and unable to focus on studying. Which, god, maybe that's what he wants, you know? She certainly doesn't know. When people go on dates, what do they do? She might try to guess, or Google it, if she had more time.
And now, as they pull up in front of his nice Upper East Side apartment building, all she can think about is how sad it is that she's a freshman in college and she doesn't know how to go on a date.
Noah's giving her that look that he has for when he's two seconds from asking if she's okay.
"I'm fine," she says, and pushes out of the vehicle.
(There's that whole thing, too. Maybe if he wasn't acting strangely, or if things weren't so bizarre between them because of how attached to him she is, she might have been able to ask him for advice. She might have asked Agent Donovan, if he were here; she can trust him and while she knows he'd laugh, she doesn't think he'd actually make fun of her or anything like that.)
They're in the elevator, Rachel, Noah and Agent Lewis, and she's got her back to Noah. She just asks, randomly, "Do I look okay?" and hates the way her voice shakes.
Noah doesn't say anything, and neither does Agent Lewis. She looks over her shoulder at Noah and he just nods a little, says, "Yeah," on a breath that's so quiet Agent Lewis might not even hear.
They get to the door and she's not even the one who's allowed to knock. That's of course Agent Lewis, though she sees two other agents on this floor alone; one at either end of the hall.
"May we look around?" Agent Lewis asks, and Ian just nods and looks at Rachel, and it's pretty clear that he's trying his best not to seem intimidated.
Rachel glances at Noah and sees that he's doing his absolute best to be intimidating. It bothers her and she wants to call him on it, but it'll be embarrassing for all of them and she's generally trying to avoid that kind of thing. And anyway, after Agent Lewis walks back out of the apartment, Rachel walks in and the door is closed (but not locked) behind her.
"Hi," she says quietly, and Ian smiles. "I'm really sorry about all that. I just…"
"You're the President's daughter. I get it."
He's being nice, but she'd really like for even just one person in the world to see her as something other than that.
He gives her a tour of the apartment. It's bigger than it needs to be, really, given that it's just two bedrooms. Or anyway it feels too big to be just two bedrooms. Ian's dad is a real estate magnate or something of the sort, and bought this place when Ian was 14 and said he wanted to go to Columbia. Of course the value of it has already increased by almost a quarter, and Rachel is definitely interested in all this, until she realizes that he's just showing off. Or maybe he feels like he needs to talk up his family and the amount of money he has just because she is who she is and her dad is who he is. She can't really tell, which bothers her.
He asks if she's hungry or if she wants anything to drink, and once he's gotten her a bottle of sparkling water from his fridge, she gets nervous because he's just looking at her.
"Should we start?" she asks, and feels silly for playing with the bottle the way she is.
She sits on the floor in the living room, because that's how she's comfortable and it allows her to sit across from him instead of next to him on the sofa. She's not uneasy or anything, but she's very conscious of the fact that she doesn't really know him that well. Maybe it's the years of Secret Service protection or that for at least the last year and a half all she's heard are things like "anything can happen" and "you can't just inherently trust people", but she's wary of putting herself in a position where something could happen that she might not be okay with.
Things are fine, really, until they're marking one anothers' tests and chatting, and she's moved to the sofa so they can compare notes.
He leans over and kisses her when she's trying to explain to him that of course spelling and grammar will count on their final exam and he's arguing about that. He doesn't exactly surprise her - his hand is on her face first, and he looks into her eyes and gives her a second to pull away if she wants to. She realizes that too late, though, because frankly she's too surprised that anyone actually wants to kiss her to have much of a reaction at all.
"Ian," she breathes out, and god, how could she have let it get this far without realizing she really has no interest in…Was she just so blinded by the idea of an actual date that she said yes before really considering whether or not she might actually be interested in dating him. And it's not that she's not, it's just he's kissing her, and it feels really fast.
"Sorry," he says, sort of laughing, and his hand is sliding down her arm and he's smiling and shaking his head. "I saw an opening and…"
She couldn't honestly tell you what he means by that.
"I…I'm sorry. I'm making this so awkward."
"It's okay." But it doesn't sound like he means that. Not even a little bit. "Seriously. We'll just go back to studying."
As opposed to…?
He turns back to his work, and she doesn't think he's actually upset or anything, but she can see how his ego might be bruised, even though she doesn't really believe she gave him any indication that she wanted to be kissed. Does accepting an invitation to study at a guy's apartment just automatically mean you're willing to do more than just study? Since when? Why should she feel as though she has to be okay with that?
"I think I'm going to go," she says, and starts gathering her things.
"Okay." He sounds confused. Maybe it would make sense if he was. "You don't have to. Just…Stay, Rachel, and we'll finish this."
She sounds horribly snotty, even to her own ears, when she says, "No, thank you," and grabs her bag.
She didn't mean to brush him off that way, but the more she's thinking about it, the more she's wondering why he or any other guy would just assume it's okay to kiss her or any other girl without any warning. God, she barely knows him! They've never actually had a true conversation about anything real, other than earlier this evening, and even that all just felt like small talk. She's never found herself actually flirting with him, and…
Now she's worried she's a tease, or something, because is she really so naive as to not know this was going to happen tonight? Maybe on some level she wanted it to, until it was happening and she realized she didn't.
Her mind is a mess of a hundred different thoughts she can't sort through.
She pushes through the door into the hall and walks towards the elevator without even a look to the agents, including Noah.
"Are you…" Agent Lewis starts, but she stares straight ahead and cuts him off.
"Don't."
"Rachel," he tries again.
"I'm fine. I just want to go home."
"What happened?" Noah asks, once they're in the car, as though he has a right to know.
Maybe he does. Or he would, if it were anything more serious than it was, or she was something other than just embarrassed.
"Nothing happened." No, she's not looking at him. She doesn't see why she should. They're driving through Central Park and it's nice at this time of night.
"Rachel."
The way he says it annoys her. It's like he's set out to prove how well he knows her, or how much he cares, or something else equally as stupid and borderline unprofessional. It's his job to look out for her. It's not his job to question her moods and why she's in them.
So yes, she looks at him then, and she thinks there might be something there on his face. Something genuine and...It's not good, and she shouldn't actually know him well enough recognize it.
"He tried..."
And she wants to be honest, but his nostrils literally flare, and his hand balls into a fist and he mumbles something that sounds like, "Fuck."
Which is also unprofessional, but the funny thing is she actually likes the way the word sounds coming from his mouth.
He ruins it by saying they need to turn around, and Rachel feels like an idiot for thinking even for a second that he was that upset over just an attempted kiss.
He thinks something else happened. Something she needs or needed protection from.
"He just tried to kiss me, you idiot," she snaps, and yes, fine, she's disappointed that he's not showing some kind of jealousy or...
He narrows his eyes in her direction. Then clenches his jaw, and; "Tried?"
She wants to strangle him. Not in a real way, she just has that urge you get when someone is frustrating you. Maybe she just wants to shake him, or punch his arm, or kick his shin. Nothing enough to hurt him, but just enough to get his attention.
"I didn't let him," she says, and then goes back to looking out the window and hopes he'll get the message and drop the whole thing.
He does. She wishes, an absurd amount, actually, that she could stop wondering how much of his concern was for the First Daughter and how much was for her.
… … …
"I'm going for a run."
She doesn't even look up from her notes to say, "Okay," but then she hears him make some absurd noise. "What?"
"Nothing," he says, and drapes the cord for his headphones over his shoulders.
And honestly, few things are more annoying to her than responses like that to simple questions. Obviously something is bothering him, but he's just lying to her and giving an answer like that in hopes she'll drop it, when clearly there's a conversation to be had here.
"Noah."
"Look," he says, and finally he looks at her, "you've been weird for days."
She laughs incredulously. "I'm studying for finals"
It's the truth, and it's completely like her to fold in on herself and retreat into a world where everything is schoolwork and little else, other than food and sleep, matters. Secret Service agents aren't her friends, so she hasn't felt, until now, like her process is any of their business, or like she's being rude for not carrying on conversations the way she was earlier in the semester.
Plus there's Noah, and that whole thing, and the fact that she still thinks he may have looked relieved that nothing worked out with Ian.
"You're ignoring me." God, he almost sounds smug. Like he feels as though he's got her against the ropes. He doesn't.
"I've been ignoring everyone." He scoffs. "I don't understand what the issue is. You don't need my permission to go for a run."
Wow, she sounds snotty. Feels it, too, when Noah sort of looks down his nose at her with this little smirk on his face. She feels as though he's had some notion about who she is and she's proving him right with her current behaviour. Funny, isn't it? You can spend months revealing yourself to someone in a truthful way, and all it takes is one bad conversation for them to start convincing themselves it's all been fake.
"I wasn't asking permission, Rachel, I was giving you the courtesy of letting you know." Then he feels the need to add, "I don't actually answer to you."
She's got so much work to do, and a final in 18 hours, and she just doesn't have the time or mental capacity to get into a ridiculous fight with him.
"This conversation is no longer productive," she says, and gets up to refill her water glass.
Noah's hand sliding across her stomach stops her in her tracks as she tries to move past him. It stays there for a second, then he pulls it away as he sighs.
"If something's going on with you, I need to know what it is." At least his voice is softer now, and devoid of what she perceived to be anger.
She looks up at him, lets her eyes meet his, and lies through her teeth when she says, "It's just school."
He nods without saying anything, looks away first, and leaves her in the kitchen feeling no less confused about their relationship than she was before.
… … …
"You haven't gone out with that guy again."
"What guy?" she asks, and passes a $5 bill to the coffee shop cashier.
"That Ian guy," Noah says, and she gives him a look, because honestly, he's trying to play it off like he doesn't have a file on Ian? "I'm just asking."
"No you're not. You made a statement. I don't know how you expect me to react."
He rolls his eyes like he tends to do when she's exasperating him. Knowing his mannerisms makes her smile now. Like this, or the way he adjusts his sunglasses when he's holding the car door open for her, every single time. She knows some things, too, are Secret Service codes or signals or whatever, like when he adjusts his tie it means there's a suspicious person in his line of sight, or if he tugs on his sleeve that means Rachel's on the move and the other agents need to watch him.
"I guess I'm asking why, then."
She gets her latté and shrugs her shoulder. "I didn't even actually realize it was a date until I was in his apartment and…" Noah's just looking at her as she fumbles for a lid for her cup. People are taking photos. She doesn't care; she's used to it. "I don't even know what I was thinking."
Noah's smirking now. "You actually thought he just wanted to study? That's like, the international codeword for date."
Rachel scoffs and he holds the door open for her so they can step back out onto the sidewalk. There's an SUV waiting and she wants to go to a bookstore downtown, but this is her favourite coffee shop, so they stopped here first.
"Well, those aren't exactly the sort of codewords I grew up memorizing," she says, and slides into the car. Once he's sitting next to her, she adds, "It's not like I've ever dated."
Noah looks at her a beat too long, and she feels her face heating up. Why did she say that? What on earth made her do it? It's none of his business, and she feels like an idiot for blurting out something so personal. Then again, he's been with her here for months, so he knows what her social calendar looks like. And he knows things like her shoe size and what she craves when she's up in the middle of the night and when she gets her period. She doesn't have a lot of secrets. It was nice to have that one.
"Well that guy seemed like an idiot anyway," Noah finally says, as he's looking out the window.
"Why do you say that?"
She wants to know. She's also amused by that whole change in his attitude just now. He's back to being cold and acting detached, which he's not, as evidenced by the fact that they're still talking about her lack of a love life.
"I dunno." She stares at him until he turns to look at her again. "I guess I just think you deserve a guy who's got the balls to actually ask you out. No codes."
She can't explain why she feels the way she does. It makes no sense, because there's just no way anything between them will ever be free and clear of codes or signals or earpieces or unmarked black bulletproof vehicles.
… … …
She's humming to herself in a quiet study room in the library, and when she looks up Noah's staring at her with this little grin on his face.
"Sorry."
He shrugs. "No difference to me. I don't actually have to write this essay." Rachel laughs a bit. "And…You've got a good voice."
She blinks and looks down. "Thanks."
"You don't even realize when you're singing sometimes."
"What?"
"You do it more than you think," he tells her, and, no, she didn't know she did that. "Usually when you're studying."
"Music helps me to concentrate," she explains. Noah puts down his iPad (he's been playing a game of some sort) and leans his forearms on the table. That's…attractive.
"You don't need to apologize for it. I actually…" He lets out this quiet laugh, shakes his head a bit. "I don't mind hearing you, is all."
She can't let that slide. She's just…It's not in her personality to let that slide.
"You like my voice." He rolls his eyes, still smiling.
"It's a perk of my job, getting to hear it for free."
She scoffs. He's implying she could make people pay to hear her, or get a job on stage or… "I think you think I'm better than I actually am."
He actually looks kind of angry. "I think you've convinced yourself you're not as good as you are and you don't love it as much as you do."
Oh god. There's a little truth to that, too, but she really doesn't want to let him know it. "Why would I do that?" she asks quietly, and the look she's giving is daring him to say it.
"No one outshines the President, right?" he asks, and that's not even…That's not all of the reason.
She looks back to her computer, finds her place in the article she's been using for research again, and squares her shoulders. That probably gives her away completely.
"We all make sacrifices," she says, and she can feel his eyes on her as she reads. She just confirmed everything he's said is true, but he seems to know her well enough not to push it once she's decided the conversation is over. She really likes that about him.
… … …
Her brain is rattling, full of conspiracy theories, when there's a bomb threat the day of one of her finals and the entire campus is on lockdown and she can't get to her building. Agent Donovan seems confident it's a false alarm, and she should likely be more concerned about that, but she just wants to know what's going to happen with her test, because she knows how carefully scheduled these things are, and she's studied her ass off and doesn't want it all to have been for naught.
Daddy's called her twice, and Dad wants to know how she's doing, and she tells them both their worry is misplaced, because she hasn't left the house since yesterday. She's fine.
Noah and Agent Phillips are laughing at her as she tries to get through to administration and find out what's going on as far as her final goes.
"What?" she finally snaps, then sets her phone down on the coffee table in the living room. They're sitting on the couch and there's a golf game playing on the television.
"You're not gonna get through," Agent Phillips says. Okay, so he's right, but she's…
No, she's not going to play the 'don't you know who I am?' card on this.
"And you're insane." She glares at Noah and crosses her arms. "Every other kid at that school is happy to have more time to study. And I know your mark. You don't even need to write the final to pass."
"That's not…I test well. I could bring the mark up to…" They're laughing again. "Stop it. That's not nice."
They stop, but…Well, not really. And maybe it's that she's been inside doing so much reading and work that she's been looking forward to going to campus to write her tests. Without this one, today, she feels like she's been locked in the house for a week. She needs sunlight, even if it's cold, and fresh air, even if she'll have a scarf up around her mouth.
"Let's go out for lunch or something." Both Noah and Agent Phillips look at her like she's insane. "A walk?"
Agent Phillips just shakes his head, say seriously, "You're not going anywhere."
"Why not?"
Noah tilts his head a little. "Rachel, it's still a bomb threat."
Oh.
"You don't think…" Her voice trails. Agent Phillips is watching golf again, but Noah's looking at her, still. "You don't seriously think it was targeting me."
He just blinks, looks over to the window in a way that's not discreet at all. She walks over and pulls back the curtain, which, okay, would normally be open. Outside, the street is lined with NYPD cop cars and more black sedans and SUVs than usual. There's a barricade blocking anyone from coming down the sidewalk, and then she realizes the entire street is closed off. She sighs and covers her face with her hands and feels her heart rate speed up.
But the two agents that are in the house right now - she doesn't doubt there are 25 more outside than usual - are just sitting there watching golf, of all things.
"Your dad wants you in DC," Noah says, and then she realizes he's standing not too far from her now. He's only doing it, apparently, so he can close the curtain again. "He just knows you won't go without finishing all your exams."
"I won't."
Noah nods, rubs his hand over the back of his head, then grins at her. "Just means you're not going outside, either." She sighs. This is ridiculous. "At least until they finish investigating."
Rachel figures there's really no use arguing, and if her dad heard of her leaving the house - which he would - he'd kill her himself. So she walks over to the sofa and asks, "Can we watch something I want to watch?"
Agent Phillips says, "As long as you don't want to watch something awful," as he moves down so she can sit between them.
Her hip brushes Noah's and he doesn't move. She doesn't either. When she glances over at him, he's staring straight ahead.
… … …
"Got a sec?"
She looks up from her book - she's reading for pleasure, and it's great to be able to fall into a fiction world instead of reading textbooks and reports for school - when Noah comes to her door. He looks a little awkward. It certainly the least confident she's ever seen him. And it'd be easy to feel some sense of dread, but she's trying, these days, not to get ahead of herself and let those 'worst case scenarios' play out in her mind before she knows what's going on. Surely, if she spent any significant amount of time thinking about all the horrible things that could happen to most of the people she knows…Well, she's just learned not to, is all.
"Sure."
She slips her finger between the pages of her book to mark her place, and Noah takes a quick glance around her room. "I thought you were packing."
"I…" She chews her bottom lip and sits up a little against the pillows on her bed. "I finished." He chuckles and nods. "I'm efficient."
"I know," he tells her, and it makes sense, because he did just spend an entire university semester watching her work. Well, watching her, but most of what she did was work. "Look, um. This is for you."
He's holding a square envelope in his hand, and walks over to the bed to give it to her. She looks at it, then at him. "What is it?"
He looks almost embarrassed, or…Whatever it is, she likes that he's not afraid to be this way in front of her.
"My mom says Happy Hannukah."
Oh, wow. Rachel smiles genuinely, and carefully opens the envelope. Inside, there's a gorgeous card with embossed lettering on the front, and a lovely handwritten note on the inside. It's addressed to her,specifically, but in it, his mother wishes Rachel's fathers a happy holiday as well. It's signed 'With love', and…
She'd like to stop feeling surprised when people genuinely care about her.
"You mother used you to hand-deliver a card to me?" she asks, still holding it in her hand after she's finished reading.
Noah scoffs as though he wants to brush it off. "If you knew her, you'd realize there was no way she wouldn't."
"That's very sweet of her," Rachel says after a moment, and sets the card on her bedside table so it's on display. "You'll have to give me her address so I can write her back."
"She'll die."
Laughing, she says, "Warn her first, maybe." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, which isn't something she believes she's ever seen him do before now. "Are you leaving tonight?"
He'd originally said tomorrow, but now there's a winter storm warning for Ohio. Not that she's…She just saw it on her newsfeed, that's all.
"Yeah. Just in case." Rachel nods. This shouldn't be awkward. And maybe it isn't, but it's tense, anyway. "The President's nervous about me leaving."
Rachel narrows her eyes. That doesn't make any sense. Of course, her father is a compassionate man and cares about the people around him and his family, but it seems odd for him to be…
Oh.
"I'll be at the White House," she says slowly. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Noah gives her this look that's sort of dark and serious. "Don't say things like that." Rachel nods the slightest bit. "It's only a week anyway. I think he just trusts this team."
Without hesitation, she says, "He knows I trust you."
Noah smiles and looks down a bit and he's just…He's so gorgeous. Especially like this, because she likes to imagine this is how he is when he's not on the job. He's more relaxed and slightly less arrogant, definitely less cold, and actually appears as though he might enjoy her company, rather than just tolerating her because he's directed to.
Then he shifts his weight and sighs, and Rachel's trying not to make it seem like she's staring, but that's exactly what she's doing.
He mumbles, "Fuck," which she's positive she's not supposed to hear. "I think I might actually miss you."
Her breath catches and she manages to keep her eyes on him until he's looking at her again, and she feels stupid, but hopeful. "You sound so surprised."
She's joking, and what he does is winks, then gives her another gorgeous smile, and she gets up and hugs him because no one is here to tell her she shouldn't and she's sure he's not going to pull away.
He says, "See ya in a week," and she nods just before she lets go, and sometimes she thinks he's the only real friend she's got.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Summary: AU: Rachel is the President's daughter. Puck is a Secret Service agent.
Word Count: 41,700 (total)
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She can't sleep, and it's not rare, but she can hear other people up in the house. It was unnerving at first and she hated it. That dates back to when she and her dads all still lived here permanently. There was always Secret Service around, or senior staffers or what have you. It bothered her that there were people she didn't actually know wandering around her house. Now she's older and she understands the amount of screening and psychological testing and training all these agents go through. She's never felt safer in her life than she has with these people around. Of course, living in the White House is different because it's practically a fort, but still.
Lying in bed is driving her crazy and just becoming frustrating, because it's obvious she won't get back to sleep at this point. It's not even 4:00 in the morning, though. Thank goodness it's a Saturday and she doesn't have plans to be anywhere or do anything. She has an assignment due in one of her classes on Monday, so she'd blocked off this day to do it. At least she'll be able to take a nap and not worry about any public engagements.
She walks into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and finds Agent Puckerman standing there in a white tee shirt and grey sweatpants that are so low on his hips she can see a sliver of skin when he moves, turns around to see who's awake with him at this hour.
He's holding a coffee mug in his hand and he looks at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"
She almost wants to laugh. "I can't sleep. You?" He shrugs, nods his head. "Is that coffee?"
He smiles sort of proudly and tips the cup forward to show her the coffee inside. "Figured it out."
"I'm impressed."
"I'm not one to let a machine beat me at anything. It's why I'm such a good shooter." She looks at him, then, and blindly switches the element on after setting the kettle on the stove. "There's a lot of simulated training, and…I'm kind of competitive."
Rachel smiles at him, because that makes sense. She sits down at the breakfast bar and reaches for a banana, though she shouldn't eat anything at all if she wants to go back to sleep. It's looking more and more hopeless as the minutes pass.
It's early October and she thinks they've all settled into the school schedule. She doesn't want to do too many appearances, and Dad and Daddy both want her to focus on her schooling as well, so it's not an issue with them. She thinks, sometimes, about how she's sort of become boring, but there's just no way the agents would be okay with her going to a frat party or to slam poetry nights at a dive bar in Brooklyn named The Lair, even though she kind of wanted to go to that one when the invitation was handed to her.
She's pretty comfortable with Agent Puckerman, and they even have conversations as they walk across campus. It makes it look like they're friends, though she's one hundred per cent sure that it's obvious to everyone who sees them that he's part of her detail. He dresses like any other average student, though, and that helps. It also makes her feel better about the stares and the fact that she can't walk anywhere without someone whispering her name or taking her picture. For years she's had it sort of drilled into her that anything can happen and she can't trust strangers at all, and having him there, close enough to touch most of the time, is really calming.
Which is why it's awkward to be around him at the house. Because it's different here. It's like he keeps his distance on purpose and she barely sees him within these walls.
"What's your given name?" she asks, brows furrowed, and then gets up when the kettle whistles. "I think I've heard someone say it before, but…"
"It's Noah."
He obviously realizes it's strange that she didn't know, too. They've been here how long? Now that she's heard it she remembers one of the agents calling him that a time or two, but usually they just call one another by their last names, or some nickname. His is Puck. She doesn't actually accept that as something she should have to call him.
"Noah," she sort of whispers, dunking her tea bag in her water a few times. "Isn't it silly that I didn't know that?"
He laughs a little and then sits down next to her. "Not really."
She wants to tell him that wasn't actually a question, but more of a statement, but it seems pointless to argue over such a thing. Bratty, too; he doesn't always have to agree with her. In fact, she hates yes people. She knows enough of them.
"Sometimes I just feel like everyone around me knows my entire life story, but I don't know anything about them."
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "What do you wanna know? I mean, within reason."
Obviously she knows there are lines and boundaries they can't test, even if they're sitting in her kitchen at four in the morning and it's all really harmless. She's not about to ask him his relationship status or his dating history. She just wants to know more about him. She's not about evening the playing field, but there's something to be said for knowing the people who are around you all the time. If it were Agent Donovan in the kitchen with her right now, she'd likely ask him the same thing.
"Why did you become an agent?"
He laughs sort of indignantly and takes a long swill of his drink. "Basically wanted to be the opposite of my father."
"What is your father?"
"A criminal." She just stares at him, because she was not expecting that. "Theft and robbery, mostly. Nothing violent, but I mean, shit, nothing to be proud of."
"I don't…" she starts, but then really, how does one actually respond to that? "I wasn't expecting that."
He chuckles a little. "I wasn't expecting it from my dad, either, but." She bites her lip and he sort of smiles at her. "It wasn't even about proving I wasn't him, it was just…I dunno. You're around that so much and you just want to get as far away from it as possible."
She's never heard him say so much, and he's clearly comfortable being honest with her, and it makes her happy to know he's not afraid to do it. They work closely together, and she seriously believes this will only help their friendship and their working relationship, or whatever you'd like to call it. Of course she trusts him, but it's nice to know he trusts her, too. She doesn't think this is the kind of thing he's told everyone around him, and she's not about to repeat it to anyone else, either.
"Do you like it?" she asks, and then immediately realizes it was a silly thing to say, because she's the President's daughter and the chances of Noah telling her if he didn't like his job are likely slim to none.
But he says, "I can't really see myself doing anything else," and he's so nonchalant about it. It almost makes her wonder if he just thinks he's not capable of anything else, or… "I don't have any complaints."
She smiles at that, sips her tea. "Have you ever shot anyone."
"Once," he says, and the look he gives her…She can't read it, really, but it makes her mind race, wondering if it was because one of her fathers was in danger, or if she was, and she never heard of anything like that happening, but there are obviously a lot of things her daddy doesn't tell her. "I'm not allowed to talk about it."
"Of course." She'd bet there are a ton of things he's not allowed to discuss with anyone. "When we were in Texas before the primaries Dad and I went to this shooting range and they taught us how to shoot a shotgun."
Noah just looks at her. "President Berry is the most pro-gun control President in…ever."
"I know. There was some political motivation behind us going to that while Daddy was in meetings with the Senator. I can't remember what it was. Maybe to show how badly people can shoot if they're not properly trained." He laughs again. "I'm serious. I had a bruise on my shoulder for a week. Isn't it terrifying that anyone can walk into a store and buy a gun with absolutely no training on how to actually fire it? Let alone safety measures and…"
"You're preaching to the choir, Rachel."
She smiles, looks down at her lap. He's never called her that before.
Agent Donovan comes into the room around 6:00 in the morning and Rachel really hopes Noah won't get reprimanded in any way for speaking with her more than was really necessary. They've been talking the entire time they've been sitting here.
"How's that paper going?" he asks, and heads for the refrigerator. She realizes for the first time how at home these men are here, and she actually likes that. She's nothing if not accommodating, and if she thought they were uncomfortable she'd want to do whatever she could to change that. The situation isn't typical, of course, but that's no reason for them to feel like this isn't their home, for the time being, too.
(It's sort of funny, actually, that she knows things such as the fact that Agent Donovan only has one cup of coffee a day, and it's always with lunch, whatever time it is he breaks for that. It's orange juice every morning, and the only thing she's seen him drink other than that is water.)
"I'll get to it," she says, and he just laughs. "You both have the day off, right?"
"Well," Noah chuckles, then looks over at Agent Donovan, who's dressed in sweats and grinning as he sips his juice. "We're going to the field office so he can kick my ass." Rachel's confusion must be all over her face. "We spar."
"Spar?"
"Muay Thai, Krav Maga. I wrestled in high school," Agent Donovan supplies.
"A billion years ago," Noah mumbles.
Agent Donovan ignores him, though. Their rapport is entertaining to her. "Plus there's a shooting range in the building."
She doesn't want to get in their way or hold them up, so she stands and sets her mug in the sink. "Have fun. Don't hurt each other."
She's serious about that, too.
"Get some sleep," Noah tells her, and he sounds concerned, so she just nods her head and smiles before heading for the stairs to go back up to her bedroom.
… … …
He scares the hell out of her when she's working on an assignment in Daddy's study in the house. It's just quieter here, with fewer distractions. The room is mostly soundproofed and there are books lining the walls and a big cherrywood desk with the most comfortable leather chair she's ever sat in.
She's got her headphones plugged in to drown out what little noise is drifting through the house and from outside. She doesn't need quiet, she just needs something constant. So she's got this playlist of some really great ballads that don't interfere with her attention span.
She's halfway through a Gladys Knight song when she notices Noah standing there, the door closed behind him, and she nearly jumps out of her chair. She pulls out her earbuds and presses her hand against her chest.
"You scared me," she gasps, and he's just staring. "What?"
"You can sing," he tells her, like it's something he's never even though she could do. There is, she supposes, no reason for him to believe she could. She's never done it before, not anywhere anyone might hear her. Well, some theatre productions in high school, but not in the past few years when anyone would have cared about who she was; her schedule with the campaign was too crazy and she couldn't commit.
"I…I like to."
"No," he says seriously, then crosses his arms and sort of smiles at her. "There're people who like to sing and are terrible. Then there's you. Where'd that come from?"
She shrugs her shoulder and sets down her pen. "I've always sung."
"You're amazing." She can't fight her smile. "Like…"
"What?"
"Just…People in this city who can sing like that usually don't go to Columbia and plan on being in school for like 12 years."
She furrows her brow. What's he trying to say? "You heard me sing a few lines from someone else's song. It's not a big deal."
"Okay," he says, but he's looking at her like he doesn't believe it for a second. "It's not a big deal."
He's somehow managed to understand exactly what she's trying so hard not to say. That's making her heart beat faster than it did when he scared her in the first place. She's terrified.
… … ...
They go back to DC for the weekend and she has this incredibly sobering moment as she's sitting on the charter plane at JFK. She looks out the window and sees Noah walking across the tarmac towards the plane, open suit jacket and blue tie blowing in the wind, and his head turned to the side as he observes what's around them.
What started out as just her registering that he's an attractive man has turned into her genuinely being attracted to him.
He doesn't sit near her on the plane, which is just fine. Preferred, even. She sips sparkling water because someone brought it to her without her asking for it, and reads a few articles for her classes on her iPad. The flight is short and she texts Daddy when she arrives, even though there's no doubt in her mind that some staffer has told him the exact flight plan and he'll be briefed as soon as the plane touches down.
She sees a hint of a smile on Noah's face when she walks into the residence and then, fine, runs towards her dads and sort of tackles them in a three person hug. But then the door is shut and she can't see him anymore, and as happy as she is to see her fathers, it feels a little strange to have Noah so removed from her like this. She's being silly.
The reason she's here is because there's a performance taking place in the White House and she didn't want to miss it, of course, but it's also important that the people see that the First Family is still as close as ever even though she's away at school. It's why she still does a few appearances here and there in the city. Not everything is about politics, but her father's approval rating hinges heavily, it seems, on how his family behaves and what they do. She's not going to jeopardize anything for him. She's happy to be here.
And really. Beyoncé and Jay-Z performing a full set together in the White House? As if she would miss this. They're two of her father's biggest supporters, first of all, and yes, she's met them both before, but still. Beyoncé. Jay-Z.
They all have dinner together. Well, sort of. Apparently there's a situation unfolding in Africa and Daddy's called away to the Situation Room halfway through their meal, but that's nothing new. Dad just rolls his eyes and continues eating. Then he asks her if she's met any boys, but it's not to get gossip, she can tell. He really just wants to know she hasn't, and talking about this has always been so uncomfortable for him that it's really funny for her.
"As if Daddy wouldn't have a file on it if I were seeing someone. You really think the Secret Service wouldn't report to him?"
Dad grins, takes another bite of his salad. "That's what we're counting on."
"Knowing Daddy, he'd promote one of them to Secretary of National Defence if they could successfully stop me from going on an actual date." She's sort of joking. Mostly not.
"That's not fair. He wants you to date."
Rachel tips her head to the side and raises her brow. "Sure he does. Finn Hudson, or some other diplomat's son. He sent me an email about the Mexican ambassador's son. He's 17!"
Okay, that's not that much younger than her, but she's not going to date him.
"Well, what do you want?" Dad asks, and she's not in any position to complain about her life and she knows that, but it's very rare that anyone actually ask her that question.
She doesn't know how to answer.
… … …
When she learned she'd be coming to this event, she set out - in New York, naturally - to find the perfect dress. She has to be appropriate, of course. Not just because of who she is, but because of where this concert is taking place. You don't show up at the White House in leather leggings and a bra top like some of the girls were wearing the last time Rachel saw Beyoncé at MSG.
She found this dress at BCBG, and while there are no less than ten others hanging on the door of her closet when she gets back from the ridiculous press session Santana insisted she do, she's sticking with what she found. No offence to any of the designers who sent over things in her size in hopes that she'd wear them, but she just really likes having control over what she wears. People can advise her, but the choice is up to her.
So the black lace mini with long sleeves and a V in the back is the one. She's got red Louboutins she's worn before and loves, and she's leaving her hair down, curled a bit at the ends, and her eye makeup light.
"What's that?" Daddy asks when he sees her. He's still been dealing with the crisis in the Congo, so they're literally just about to walk into the hall and have their photos taken with the night's performers.
"What?"
"It's a little short," he says, and Dad chuckles while Rachel rolls her eyes.
"It's a concert, Daddy." He gives her this little glare. "Stop."
"I don't know why you're so hell bent on giving me a stroke. Only President in history to die in office 'cause his daughter's too beautiful and he worries too much."
She leans up to kiss his cheek. There's a little lip gloss there as the doors open, and they're all laughing - everyone - as she wipes it off with the palm of her hand.
She sees Noah when she's got a glass of sparkling cider in her hand. He's standing along the wall and they're all just waiting for the show to start. Most people are finding their seats and watching the stage.
Noah's staring right at her. She notices the way his eyes travel up her legs and then meet hers. Her face feels warm, but she offers him a little smile, and he scratches his jaw and looks away.
Her life feels entirely different in Washington than it does in New York, and she's trying to decide how much of that has to do with the fact that she barely sees him at all here.
… … …
"You know, most people don't have to come to New York City for a slower pace," she says conversationally, and Noah chuckles.
"Most people aren't you."
She shouldn't find it a compliment, because she knows exactly what he means.
… … …
"I got you a tea," he tells her, and she's just coming down from what felt like a panic attack, because when she left class she couldn't see him, and in her experience if you can't see an agent that means they're taking out a threat. She was half scared for herself and half scared for him.
"Thank you," she says, voice shaking.
He looks at her strangely. Or, rather, she recognizes the expression as worry. "Are you okay?" She just nods, quickly, and blows steam off the top of her cup as they walk across campus to her last class of the day. "You sure?"
"Positive." She smiles for good measure, waves at a few girls who are obviously talking about her and smiling as she passes them.
She tells him to sit next to her, which he does only sometimes. She's not an outcast at this point, but she's finding it hard to trust people. At the beginning of the year, no one talked to her. Then people started talking to her, but only so they'd be seen talking to her. She's got a couple acquaintances, but she can count them on one hand, and they're the ones who weren't too freaked out when Secret Service approached them and asked for their names and social security numbers. Background checks are run on anyone who comes to the house, so Rachel hasn't bothered inviting too many people. It can't be easy being friends with her, and she really can't blame people who don't want to jump through all the hoops if they don't have to; they don't know her yet and building friendships is hard enough without being watched the way these people are.
She spends time with Tina outside of school, too. She's been over to Tina's place, and they've spent a few afternoons shopping. They had a movie day when Tina was sick in bed, and Rachel went over to dinner when Tina's parents were both in town and insisted she go. But Tina's college experience is different than Rachel's, in that she can actually go out to parties and on dates with boys without it being a huge big thing.
Rachel actually doesn't know how dating someone would even work for her. Not even just the Secret Service aspect of it, but the photographers and the insanity. If anyone could even put up with that long enough to get to know her, she's not positive she'd want to…She doesn't want everyone to know her private business. Sometimes she thinks there's no keeping secrets and the easiest way to avoid having her face on Page Six is to not have any private business at all. If there's nothing for people to find, eventually they'll quit snooping.
"You've been in a mood since this afternoon," Agent Donovan says on the way back from campus to the house.
"I have not." He sort of grins at her. Maybe she sounded a touch more indignant than can be considered normal. Noah's watching her, too. "I haven't. I'm fine."
Agent Donovan nods at her, then checks his watch. "Want to come to the gym with us?"
They do this a few times a week. There's a gym down the street here that she and her dads belonged to for years, before it got too crazy for them to actually use it. It's hard to run five miles on a treadmill with people continually coming up to you and starting conversations or asking for autographs. The Secret Service field office has a massive gym that's well-equipped and not one person has ever said a word about her being there. Once, it was 11:00 p.m. on a Friday and Rachel had spent three hours reading tiny print from a textbook and just needed to do something other than sit around, so she had Agent Phillips arrange for her to go to the gym and she was there for over an hour.
Anyway, she changes at the house and gets back into the SUV, drives downtown. They stop for protein shakes from this place she's got them all hooked on, and she doesn't like the way Noah's looking at her like he wants to be let in on what's bothering her.
The problem is, she wouldn't be able to explain it if he asked. She's just having an off day. That's allowed, once in a while, even for her.
"You ever lift?" he asks after she's finished her run and she's sweaty and drinking water and someone told her he was in the weight room.
"No," she sort of laughs. He looks at her arms. "Pilates."
He gets off the bench as he chuckles, wipes it down and then says, "Sit," and she doesn't know what to do other than listen.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"I'll show you."
She swallows and nods, and he sits down on the bench opposite her after handing her two five pound weights. "I feel ridiculous already."
He laughs again. "No one here cares what you look like." She could be offended by that, couldn't she? "Watch me."
She almost wants to tell him she usually can't stop.
He does a few bicep curls and then nods at her and she copies him. She feels it after a few reps, but ploughs through and does 25. Please. Men think Pilates isn't a serious workout, but she'd beg to differ, and invite any of them to try.
After that he has her lie back on the bench and he puts 20 pounds of weights on the bar and instructs her how to lift properly. She can't imagine she'll ever do this again, but she doesn't hate having him as a teacher. Of course she's focused on lifting the weight above her (and since when did 20 pounds feel so heavy?) but she notices him, too.
"What's next?" she asks after, sipping her water, and trying to catch a towel when he tosses it at her. She fails, but bends down to get it, then wipes her face. "Are you going to teach me how to shoot, too?"
His brow goes up and his eyes linger somewhere around her clavicle. "Wouldn't be the worst idea."
She rolls her eyes at him as she smiles, and they leave to find Agent Donovan and go home.
… … …
It's the middle of the night and the door to her room opens, and whoever it is is holding a flashlight and saying, "Shh," and she's terrified until she sees, in the dim lighting, that it's Noah. She's sort of frozen in place, sitting up in bed as he pulls the curtains closed as far as they'll go, then peeks outside through them. He curses under his breath and rushes across the room to lock the bedroom door, and she's never been more scared in her life. Not even that night at the White House, the first time she noticed him because he pushed her to the ground.
"Noah," she says weakly, and he's just standing there by the east-facing window, looking through a crack in the drapes. She's going to cry any second.
"There was a breach."
She's hugging her knees to her chest and she figures she's likely safe not only in this house, but in this room, with him. Even so, she can't shake the fear that comes along with all this. That someone would try to get into the house that's obviously well-guarded just makes her terrified about what someone would try to do to her when she's out in plain sight. She knows this is what Daddy's scared of. Frankly, she's surprised he didn't push harder for her to go to Georgetown and stay in DC at the most secure house in the country.
It's probably only two minutes, but it feels longer than that, and then Noah says, "We're clear," and she figures he's gotten a signal from someone outside. He looks at her when she doesn't respond. "Rachel."
"I'm okay." She's crying, but other than that.
She doesn't think he'll sit down at the edge of her bed and put his arms around her, but he does. And it's awkward because she's still hugging herself, too, but she takes her hands and ends up grabbing onto his arm with both of them.
"Shh," he repeats, and she nods, for whatever reason. "It was nothing."
"You don't crash the house for nothing."
He puts his hands on her head, smoothes back her hair and says, "Go back to sleep." She opens her mouth to ask if he's insane, because she doesn't know what's happened, and the odds of her getting back to sleep are about one in seventy trillion. "I'll be right outside your door."
She nods her head again, but the word, 'stay' is in her mouth; it'd come out if she let it.
… … …
Daddy, of course, insists she come to DC while they investigate the breach, and she doesn't argue with him too hard, even though she'll be missing three days of classes. He just says her name in a stern tone and she realizes how stupid it would be to tell him she's not leaving school.
Noah stays in New York to continue with the investigation and re-securing the house, but Agent Donovan travels with her to brief her father.
"I'm fine, Daddy," she promises as soon as she walks into the Oval and he gets up to come towards her. Santana is there, along with the entire senior staff, and they're all watching as her dad crushes her against her chest.
"We don't want the public to know," Santana says, after Daddy has let her go and they're all just standing there. "There's no reason to do it and we really don't want to give off the impression that any drunk college kid can…"
"Santana," Daddy warns. Everyone in the room freezes at that tone, Rachel included.
"I'm sorry, Mr. President. We just feel it's best if this stays quiet."
Rachel nods and pushes her hair back. She feels like this is so much fuss over her, but she understands it, too.
"Where's your panic button?" Daddy asks.
She rolls her eyes. "In my bag."
"Where's your bag?"
"Someone took it to the residence for me." Daddy gives her a look like he wants to make a smart remark about how it's not going to do her much good if she doesn't carry it on her at all times. Which she does, usually. "I'm inside the White House."
"So?" he asks, irritated.
She puts her hands on his chest and looks up at him. "Daddy, I'm fine. Nothing happened. Noah was right there, and the whole team…"
"Noah?"
"Agent Puckerman," she corrects.
Later, when no one else is around, he'll ask her about the slip, and she'll say something about how since he's her 'companion' at school, she thought it might be best if she know his actual name. It seems to make sense to him. And really, that is the reason she asked in the first place. Now she just feels like they're close enough that calling him anything different would be really strange.
… … …
She misses him. It's completely ridiculous, but it's true. She supposes anyone who spends that amount of time with any one other person would start feeling the same kind of thing, but it feels different than that somehow.
It's like she's become dependent on him for conversation and companionship. It's nothing deep or inappropriate, but he's funny, and he laughs at her sometimes, too. They're friends, she thinks. Except that they can't be and there's a strong likelihood that he'd deny it if anyone - herself included - asked. He'd say he's just doing his job, and he wouldn't be lying about that. It's not him making her feel this way, it's herself.
She doesn't have a lot of male attention. Well, she has the internet. She knows what people say about her online. Young men around the world seem to think she's beautiful. The problem is no one in her real life is prepared to take it any further than that. She's intimidating, she gets it. And as much as she says dating would be a hassle, it's obvious to her, especially in Noah's absence, that she does want a guy in her life she can do things with. Somehow Noah has become that person. By default, really, and he most likely has no idea she sees him that way. He's doing his job and she's the one making him her friend, or whatever she's doing. She just likes the company. That's the root of all of it.
She tries to keep her distance once she gets back to the city. Or at least not allow herself to think of him the way she was before. It's insane, because she was only gone four days, but it feels like she's got to change everything now.
She's got a pretty good excuse, because finals are upcoming, then the holidays, and she knows he put in a request for time off to spend her entire break with his family in Ohio. She thinks that time apart will be good for her. And she'll be so busy in DC that she won't have time to miss him.
This guy in one of her study groups asks if she wants to get together and do their mock exams together and then go through and mark each others'. It just sounds like a great way to study the material and make it fresh. It takes her at least two and a half hours to realize he's actually sort of asking her out on a date.
It makes her nervous for something she has no business being nervous for. They're studying, and that's her main priority. She's about to take her first set of college finals and she's not going to let herself get some distracted by this - or any other - guy.
The night she's supposed to go to his place, she dresses in jeans and a sweater, pulls a bulky knit scarf around her neck and places all the things she might need into her black Longchamp bag. She's never done this kind of thing before, so she texts Tina and asks if she should bring anything, and she basically gets laughed at and ridiculed, which maybe she deserves.
Noah is waiting by the SUV at the curb when she steps outside, which surprises her.
"I thought you were finished," she says, and maybe it comes out rudely, but she didn't intend it to.
It bothers her, though, that he'll be there with her tonight. Even if he's in the hallway on the opposite side of Ian's apartment door, she'll still know he's there. She's being stupid, because it shouldn't matter.
He just says, "Nope. You ready?" and then ignores her entirely as she gets in and he tells whoever he tells that they're on the move.
The drive over is completely silent, which is incredibly irritating. The motorcade cuts through the park, but the drive still feels long and she spends most of it wondering if she should have told Ian they should work at the library on campus. She might have been more comfortable there. After all, she can't actually remember the last real date she went on. There's a very good chance being alone with him in his apartment will just leave her completely frozen and unable to focus on studying. Which, god, maybe that's what he wants, you know? She certainly doesn't know. When people go on dates, what do they do? She might try to guess, or Google it, if she had more time.
And now, as they pull up in front of his nice Upper East Side apartment building, all she can think about is how sad it is that she's a freshman in college and she doesn't know how to go on a date.
Noah's giving her that look that he has for when he's two seconds from asking if she's okay.
"I'm fine," she says, and pushes out of the vehicle.
(There's that whole thing, too. Maybe if he wasn't acting strangely, or if things weren't so bizarre between them because of how attached to him she is, she might have been able to ask him for advice. She might have asked Agent Donovan, if he were here; she can trust him and while she knows he'd laugh, she doesn't think he'd actually make fun of her or anything like that.)
They're in the elevator, Rachel, Noah and Agent Lewis, and she's got her back to Noah. She just asks, randomly, "Do I look okay?" and hates the way her voice shakes.
Noah doesn't say anything, and neither does Agent Lewis. She looks over her shoulder at Noah and he just nods a little, says, "Yeah," on a breath that's so quiet Agent Lewis might not even hear.
They get to the door and she's not even the one who's allowed to knock. That's of course Agent Lewis, though she sees two other agents on this floor alone; one at either end of the hall.
"May we look around?" Agent Lewis asks, and Ian just nods and looks at Rachel, and it's pretty clear that he's trying his best not to seem intimidated.
Rachel glances at Noah and sees that he's doing his absolute best to be intimidating. It bothers her and she wants to call him on it, but it'll be embarrassing for all of them and she's generally trying to avoid that kind of thing. And anyway, after Agent Lewis walks back out of the apartment, Rachel walks in and the door is closed (but not locked) behind her.
"Hi," she says quietly, and Ian smiles. "I'm really sorry about all that. I just…"
"You're the President's daughter. I get it."
He's being nice, but she'd really like for even just one person in the world to see her as something other than that.
He gives her a tour of the apartment. It's bigger than it needs to be, really, given that it's just two bedrooms. Or anyway it feels too big to be just two bedrooms. Ian's dad is a real estate magnate or something of the sort, and bought this place when Ian was 14 and said he wanted to go to Columbia. Of course the value of it has already increased by almost a quarter, and Rachel is definitely interested in all this, until she realizes that he's just showing off. Or maybe he feels like he needs to talk up his family and the amount of money he has just because she is who she is and her dad is who he is. She can't really tell, which bothers her.
He asks if she's hungry or if she wants anything to drink, and once he's gotten her a bottle of sparkling water from his fridge, she gets nervous because he's just looking at her.
"Should we start?" she asks, and feels silly for playing with the bottle the way she is.
She sits on the floor in the living room, because that's how she's comfortable and it allows her to sit across from him instead of next to him on the sofa. She's not uneasy or anything, but she's very conscious of the fact that she doesn't really know him that well. Maybe it's the years of Secret Service protection or that for at least the last year and a half all she's heard are things like "anything can happen" and "you can't just inherently trust people", but she's wary of putting herself in a position where something could happen that she might not be okay with.
Things are fine, really, until they're marking one anothers' tests and chatting, and she's moved to the sofa so they can compare notes.
He leans over and kisses her when she's trying to explain to him that of course spelling and grammar will count on their final exam and he's arguing about that. He doesn't exactly surprise her - his hand is on her face first, and he looks into her eyes and gives her a second to pull away if she wants to. She realizes that too late, though, because frankly she's too surprised that anyone actually wants to kiss her to have much of a reaction at all.
"Ian," she breathes out, and god, how could she have let it get this far without realizing she really has no interest in…Was she just so blinded by the idea of an actual date that she said yes before really considering whether or not she might actually be interested in dating him. And it's not that she's not, it's just he's kissing her, and it feels really fast.
"Sorry," he says, sort of laughing, and his hand is sliding down her arm and he's smiling and shaking his head. "I saw an opening and…"
She couldn't honestly tell you what he means by that.
"I…I'm sorry. I'm making this so awkward."
"It's okay." But it doesn't sound like he means that. Not even a little bit. "Seriously. We'll just go back to studying."
As opposed to…?
He turns back to his work, and she doesn't think he's actually upset or anything, but she can see how his ego might be bruised, even though she doesn't really believe she gave him any indication that she wanted to be kissed. Does accepting an invitation to study at a guy's apartment just automatically mean you're willing to do more than just study? Since when? Why should she feel as though she has to be okay with that?
"I think I'm going to go," she says, and starts gathering her things.
"Okay." He sounds confused. Maybe it would make sense if he was. "You don't have to. Just…Stay, Rachel, and we'll finish this."
She sounds horribly snotty, even to her own ears, when she says, "No, thank you," and grabs her bag.
She didn't mean to brush him off that way, but the more she's thinking about it, the more she's wondering why he or any other guy would just assume it's okay to kiss her or any other girl without any warning. God, she barely knows him! They've never actually had a true conversation about anything real, other than earlier this evening, and even that all just felt like small talk. She's never found herself actually flirting with him, and…
Now she's worried she's a tease, or something, because is she really so naive as to not know this was going to happen tonight? Maybe on some level she wanted it to, until it was happening and she realized she didn't.
Her mind is a mess of a hundred different thoughts she can't sort through.
She pushes through the door into the hall and walks towards the elevator without even a look to the agents, including Noah.
"Are you…" Agent Lewis starts, but she stares straight ahead and cuts him off.
"Don't."
"Rachel," he tries again.
"I'm fine. I just want to go home."
"What happened?" Noah asks, once they're in the car, as though he has a right to know.
Maybe he does. Or he would, if it were anything more serious than it was, or she was something other than just embarrassed.
"Nothing happened." No, she's not looking at him. She doesn't see why she should. They're driving through Central Park and it's nice at this time of night.
"Rachel."
The way he says it annoys her. It's like he's set out to prove how well he knows her, or how much he cares, or something else equally as stupid and borderline unprofessional. It's his job to look out for her. It's not his job to question her moods and why she's in them.
So yes, she looks at him then, and she thinks there might be something there on his face. Something genuine and...It's not good, and she shouldn't actually know him well enough recognize it.
"He tried..."
And she wants to be honest, but his nostrils literally flare, and his hand balls into a fist and he mumbles something that sounds like, "Fuck."
Which is also unprofessional, but the funny thing is she actually likes the way the word sounds coming from his mouth.
He ruins it by saying they need to turn around, and Rachel feels like an idiot for thinking even for a second that he was that upset over just an attempted kiss.
He thinks something else happened. Something she needs or needed protection from.
"He just tried to kiss me, you idiot," she snaps, and yes, fine, she's disappointed that he's not showing some kind of jealousy or...
He narrows his eyes in her direction. Then clenches his jaw, and; "Tried?"
She wants to strangle him. Not in a real way, she just has that urge you get when someone is frustrating you. Maybe she just wants to shake him, or punch his arm, or kick his shin. Nothing enough to hurt him, but just enough to get his attention.
"I didn't let him," she says, and then goes back to looking out the window and hopes he'll get the message and drop the whole thing.
He does. She wishes, an absurd amount, actually, that she could stop wondering how much of his concern was for the First Daughter and how much was for her.
… … …
"I'm going for a run."
She doesn't even look up from her notes to say, "Okay," but then she hears him make some absurd noise. "What?"
"Nothing," he says, and drapes the cord for his headphones over his shoulders.
And honestly, few things are more annoying to her than responses like that to simple questions. Obviously something is bothering him, but he's just lying to her and giving an answer like that in hopes she'll drop it, when clearly there's a conversation to be had here.
"Noah."
"Look," he says, and finally he looks at her, "you've been weird for days."
She laughs incredulously. "I'm studying for finals"
It's the truth, and it's completely like her to fold in on herself and retreat into a world where everything is schoolwork and little else, other than food and sleep, matters. Secret Service agents aren't her friends, so she hasn't felt, until now, like her process is any of their business, or like she's being rude for not carrying on conversations the way she was earlier in the semester.
Plus there's Noah, and that whole thing, and the fact that she still thinks he may have looked relieved that nothing worked out with Ian.
"You're ignoring me." God, he almost sounds smug. Like he feels as though he's got her against the ropes. He doesn't.
"I've been ignoring everyone." He scoffs. "I don't understand what the issue is. You don't need my permission to go for a run."
Wow, she sounds snotty. Feels it, too, when Noah sort of looks down his nose at her with this little smirk on his face. She feels as though he's had some notion about who she is and she's proving him right with her current behaviour. Funny, isn't it? You can spend months revealing yourself to someone in a truthful way, and all it takes is one bad conversation for them to start convincing themselves it's all been fake.
"I wasn't asking permission, Rachel, I was giving you the courtesy of letting you know." Then he feels the need to add, "I don't actually answer to you."
She's got so much work to do, and a final in 18 hours, and she just doesn't have the time or mental capacity to get into a ridiculous fight with him.
"This conversation is no longer productive," she says, and gets up to refill her water glass.
Noah's hand sliding across her stomach stops her in her tracks as she tries to move past him. It stays there for a second, then he pulls it away as he sighs.
"If something's going on with you, I need to know what it is." At least his voice is softer now, and devoid of what she perceived to be anger.
She looks up at him, lets her eyes meet his, and lies through her teeth when she says, "It's just school."
He nods without saying anything, looks away first, and leaves her in the kitchen feeling no less confused about their relationship than she was before.
… … …
"You haven't gone out with that guy again."
"What guy?" she asks, and passes a $5 bill to the coffee shop cashier.
"That Ian guy," Noah says, and she gives him a look, because honestly, he's trying to play it off like he doesn't have a file on Ian? "I'm just asking."
"No you're not. You made a statement. I don't know how you expect me to react."
He rolls his eyes like he tends to do when she's exasperating him. Knowing his mannerisms makes her smile now. Like this, or the way he adjusts his sunglasses when he's holding the car door open for her, every single time. She knows some things, too, are Secret Service codes or signals or whatever, like when he adjusts his tie it means there's a suspicious person in his line of sight, or if he tugs on his sleeve that means Rachel's on the move and the other agents need to watch him.
"I guess I'm asking why, then."
She gets her latté and shrugs her shoulder. "I didn't even actually realize it was a date until I was in his apartment and…" Noah's just looking at her as she fumbles for a lid for her cup. People are taking photos. She doesn't care; she's used to it. "I don't even know what I was thinking."
Noah's smirking now. "You actually thought he just wanted to study? That's like, the international codeword for date."
Rachel scoffs and he holds the door open for her so they can step back out onto the sidewalk. There's an SUV waiting and she wants to go to a bookstore downtown, but this is her favourite coffee shop, so they stopped here first.
"Well, those aren't exactly the sort of codewords I grew up memorizing," she says, and slides into the car. Once he's sitting next to her, she adds, "It's not like I've ever dated."
Noah looks at her a beat too long, and she feels her face heating up. Why did she say that? What on earth made her do it? It's none of his business, and she feels like an idiot for blurting out something so personal. Then again, he's been with her here for months, so he knows what her social calendar looks like. And he knows things like her shoe size and what she craves when she's up in the middle of the night and when she gets her period. She doesn't have a lot of secrets. It was nice to have that one.
"Well that guy seemed like an idiot anyway," Noah finally says, as he's looking out the window.
"Why do you say that?"
She wants to know. She's also amused by that whole change in his attitude just now. He's back to being cold and acting detached, which he's not, as evidenced by the fact that they're still talking about her lack of a love life.
"I dunno." She stares at him until he turns to look at her again. "I guess I just think you deserve a guy who's got the balls to actually ask you out. No codes."
She can't explain why she feels the way she does. It makes no sense, because there's just no way anything between them will ever be free and clear of codes or signals or earpieces or unmarked black bulletproof vehicles.
… … …
She's humming to herself in a quiet study room in the library, and when she looks up Noah's staring at her with this little grin on his face.
"Sorry."
He shrugs. "No difference to me. I don't actually have to write this essay." Rachel laughs a bit. "And…You've got a good voice."
She blinks and looks down. "Thanks."
"You don't even realize when you're singing sometimes."
"What?"
"You do it more than you think," he tells her, and, no, she didn't know she did that. "Usually when you're studying."
"Music helps me to concentrate," she explains. Noah puts down his iPad (he's been playing a game of some sort) and leans his forearms on the table. That's…attractive.
"You don't need to apologize for it. I actually…" He lets out this quiet laugh, shakes his head a bit. "I don't mind hearing you, is all."
She can't let that slide. She's just…It's not in her personality to let that slide.
"You like my voice." He rolls his eyes, still smiling.
"It's a perk of my job, getting to hear it for free."
She scoffs. He's implying she could make people pay to hear her, or get a job on stage or… "I think you think I'm better than I actually am."
He actually looks kind of angry. "I think you've convinced yourself you're not as good as you are and you don't love it as much as you do."
Oh god. There's a little truth to that, too, but she really doesn't want to let him know it. "Why would I do that?" she asks quietly, and the look she's giving is daring him to say it.
"No one outshines the President, right?" he asks, and that's not even…That's not all of the reason.
She looks back to her computer, finds her place in the article she's been using for research again, and squares her shoulders. That probably gives her away completely.
"We all make sacrifices," she says, and she can feel his eyes on her as she reads. She just confirmed everything he's said is true, but he seems to know her well enough not to push it once she's decided the conversation is over. She really likes that about him.
… … …
Her brain is rattling, full of conspiracy theories, when there's a bomb threat the day of one of her finals and the entire campus is on lockdown and she can't get to her building. Agent Donovan seems confident it's a false alarm, and she should likely be more concerned about that, but she just wants to know what's going to happen with her test, because she knows how carefully scheduled these things are, and she's studied her ass off and doesn't want it all to have been for naught.
Daddy's called her twice, and Dad wants to know how she's doing, and she tells them both their worry is misplaced, because she hasn't left the house since yesterday. She's fine.
Noah and Agent Phillips are laughing at her as she tries to get through to administration and find out what's going on as far as her final goes.
"What?" she finally snaps, then sets her phone down on the coffee table in the living room. They're sitting on the couch and there's a golf game playing on the television.
"You're not gonna get through," Agent Phillips says. Okay, so he's right, but she's…
No, she's not going to play the 'don't you know who I am?' card on this.
"And you're insane." She glares at Noah and crosses her arms. "Every other kid at that school is happy to have more time to study. And I know your mark. You don't even need to write the final to pass."
"That's not…I test well. I could bring the mark up to…" They're laughing again. "Stop it. That's not nice."
They stop, but…Well, not really. And maybe it's that she's been inside doing so much reading and work that she's been looking forward to going to campus to write her tests. Without this one, today, she feels like she's been locked in the house for a week. She needs sunlight, even if it's cold, and fresh air, even if she'll have a scarf up around her mouth.
"Let's go out for lunch or something." Both Noah and Agent Phillips look at her like she's insane. "A walk?"
Agent Phillips just shakes his head, say seriously, "You're not going anywhere."
"Why not?"
Noah tilts his head a little. "Rachel, it's still a bomb threat."
Oh.
"You don't think…" Her voice trails. Agent Phillips is watching golf again, but Noah's looking at her, still. "You don't seriously think it was targeting me."
He just blinks, looks over to the window in a way that's not discreet at all. She walks over and pulls back the curtain, which, okay, would normally be open. Outside, the street is lined with NYPD cop cars and more black sedans and SUVs than usual. There's a barricade blocking anyone from coming down the sidewalk, and then she realizes the entire street is closed off. She sighs and covers her face with her hands and feels her heart rate speed up.
But the two agents that are in the house right now - she doesn't doubt there are 25 more outside than usual - are just sitting there watching golf, of all things.
"Your dad wants you in DC," Noah says, and then she realizes he's standing not too far from her now. He's only doing it, apparently, so he can close the curtain again. "He just knows you won't go without finishing all your exams."
"I won't."
Noah nods, rubs his hand over the back of his head, then grins at her. "Just means you're not going outside, either." She sighs. This is ridiculous. "At least until they finish investigating."
Rachel figures there's really no use arguing, and if her dad heard of her leaving the house - which he would - he'd kill her himself. So she walks over to the sofa and asks, "Can we watch something I want to watch?"
Agent Phillips says, "As long as you don't want to watch something awful," as he moves down so she can sit between them.
Her hip brushes Noah's and he doesn't move. She doesn't either. When she glances over at him, he's staring straight ahead.
… … …
"Got a sec?"
She looks up from her book - she's reading for pleasure, and it's great to be able to fall into a fiction world instead of reading textbooks and reports for school - when Noah comes to her door. He looks a little awkward. It certainly the least confident she's ever seen him. And it'd be easy to feel some sense of dread, but she's trying, these days, not to get ahead of herself and let those 'worst case scenarios' play out in her mind before she knows what's going on. Surely, if she spent any significant amount of time thinking about all the horrible things that could happen to most of the people she knows…Well, she's just learned not to, is all.
"Sure."
She slips her finger between the pages of her book to mark her place, and Noah takes a quick glance around her room. "I thought you were packing."
"I…" She chews her bottom lip and sits up a little against the pillows on her bed. "I finished." He chuckles and nods. "I'm efficient."
"I know," he tells her, and it makes sense, because he did just spend an entire university semester watching her work. Well, watching her, but most of what she did was work. "Look, um. This is for you."
He's holding a square envelope in his hand, and walks over to the bed to give it to her. She looks at it, then at him. "What is it?"
He looks almost embarrassed, or…Whatever it is, she likes that he's not afraid to be this way in front of her.
"My mom says Happy Hannukah."
Oh, wow. Rachel smiles genuinely, and carefully opens the envelope. Inside, there's a gorgeous card with embossed lettering on the front, and a lovely handwritten note on the inside. It's addressed to her,specifically, but in it, his mother wishes Rachel's fathers a happy holiday as well. It's signed 'With love', and…
She'd like to stop feeling surprised when people genuinely care about her.
"You mother used you to hand-deliver a card to me?" she asks, still holding it in her hand after she's finished reading.
Noah scoffs as though he wants to brush it off. "If you knew her, you'd realize there was no way she wouldn't."
"That's very sweet of her," Rachel says after a moment, and sets the card on her bedside table so it's on display. "You'll have to give me her address so I can write her back."
"She'll die."
Laughing, she says, "Warn her first, maybe." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, which isn't something she believes she's ever seen him do before now. "Are you leaving tonight?"
He'd originally said tomorrow, but now there's a winter storm warning for Ohio. Not that she's…She just saw it on her newsfeed, that's all.
"Yeah. Just in case." Rachel nods. This shouldn't be awkward. And maybe it isn't, but it's tense, anyway. "The President's nervous about me leaving."
Rachel narrows her eyes. That doesn't make any sense. Of course, her father is a compassionate man and cares about the people around him and his family, but it seems odd for him to be…
Oh.
"I'll be at the White House," she says slowly. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Noah gives her this look that's sort of dark and serious. "Don't say things like that." Rachel nods the slightest bit. "It's only a week anyway. I think he just trusts this team."
Without hesitation, she says, "He knows I trust you."
Noah smiles and looks down a bit and he's just…He's so gorgeous. Especially like this, because she likes to imagine this is how he is when he's not on the job. He's more relaxed and slightly less arrogant, definitely less cold, and actually appears as though he might enjoy her company, rather than just tolerating her because he's directed to.
Then he shifts his weight and sighs, and Rachel's trying not to make it seem like she's staring, but that's exactly what she's doing.
He mumbles, "Fuck," which she's positive she's not supposed to hear. "I think I might actually miss you."
Her breath catches and she manages to keep her eyes on him until he's looking at her again, and she feels stupid, but hopeful. "You sound so surprised."
She's joking, and what he does is winks, then gives her another gorgeous smile, and she gets up and hugs him because no one is here to tell her she shouldn't and she's sure he's not going to pull away.
He says, "See ya in a week," and she nods just before she lets go, and sometimes she thinks he's the only real friend she's got.