counting the steps between us [3/4]
Title: counting the steps between us [3/4]
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.
The house seems boring and too big, and Washington is small and quiet compared to New York, and so she does what any college student on break would do, and sleeps in as late as she can her first day back. She probably sounds rude when she tells whoever knocks at her door at 7:30 in the morning to just let her sleep and not bother her again. But. It's not entirely unreasonable. She just wishes she'd thought to tell the staff she wanted to sleep half the day away so they'd have known and she wouldn't have had to speak so brusquely, half asleep and through a heavy wooden door.
Dad's wrapping up a case, and Daddy's, you know, The President, so even after she's gotten up, showered and gotten ready for the day, she's terribly bored just sitting around the residence alone. She's used to a little chaos. Agents inside her house, and traffic on the streets. She likes having a schedule, and while she certainly enjoyed catching up on sleep, she doesn't like not having a reason to get up.
She wanders through the West Wing after she's exhausted all options of entertaining herself in the residence. Well, that's not even true. She could watch a movie or read a book, but she's been idle all morning now, and the least she can do is go for a walk through the building. Of course, she's stopped every two seconds by people welcoming her back and wishing her happy holidays. It's nice, though, and she certainly likes it. Plus, from a political standpoint…Well, it's there in the back of her mind that it's nice for the people who work for and with her dad to get to spend some time talking with his family, too. She knows for a fact that Dad plays pickup basketball (poorly) with a few members of the legal council, and Daddy and the senior staffers have a weekly poker game they think no one knows about. Apparently Santana's the best player of all of them, which doesn't surprise Rachel in the slightest.
Speaking of, she's just walking through the communications bullpen when she sees Santana coming towards her in her typical black suit, but this time she's wearing this teal shirt beneath it, and fantastic matching shoes. Santana, on any given day, must be the best dressed person in this building.
"Hey kid," Santana says, and pulls Rachel in for a hug. "It's good to see you."
"You too. How are you?"
"Better if policy people could get their sh…acts together." Rachel laughs and crosses her arms. "I'm about to take 15 minutes and devour a sandwich. Come sit with me."
Santana makes it sound as though Rachel doesn't have a choice, and, well, she certainly doesn't have any other plans, so she follows Santana to her office and sits across from her. Santana works so hard it's almost hazardous - the woman needs to take more vacations than she does, but that's not for Rachel to say, she supposes. The fact that she is visibly more relaxed with food in front of her in her office right now speaks volumes. The door is shut, and sure, there's a Secret Service agent outside because this is where Rachel is, but for the most part, Santana can enjoy a few minutes of quiet before getting back to her job.
"So," Santana says through a mouthful of ham and swiss, "any boys?"
"What?" Rachel chokes out, then adds, quickly, "No. God."
Santana quirks her brow and swipes her thumb against the corner of her mouth. "Why do you say it like that?" Then there's this look on Santana's face, a serious one, and she asks, "There aren't…any girls, are there?"
"Oh my god," Rachel gasps, and feels her face heating up. "No."
"Okay," Santana says, and she might sound relieved, or something. "Not that…Just maybe no one's asked, and obviously, you could talk to me if…"
"Stop," Rachel whispers, then laughs a bit and covers her face with her hands. "You're like that crazy aunt everyone has who just…I don't need a sex talk."
Santana nearly chokes on her sandwich, takes a swig of Diet Coke and stares at Rachel wide-eyed. "Is this what a stroke feels like?"
"You brought it up!" Santana laughs a little. "Anyway, don't you think that if I were seeing anyone, you'd have heard about it?"
Santana shrugs. "Not necessarily. You're sneaky." Rachel just scoffs and looks to her lap. "And agents aren't allowed to give the President details about your personal…" Rachel glances up. "It's just not out of the question that you could be dating."
"Well I'm not."
Santana seems to concede, or at least makes like she's going to drop the subject. She takes a bite of her sandwich and checks something on her phone, and Rachel's just about to ask how the renovations on Santana's condo are coming along. She's interrupted, though.
"What about that hot agent guy?"
"Agent Puckerman?"
Santana grins, and shit, Rachel realizes her mistake immediately. "How'd you know I meant him?"
"Stop," Rachel hisses. She's bright red, she's sure. And she says stop, but she also…It's not as though she really has anyone to talk to about boys. Even if there were boys, plural, to talk about. Tina, sure, but Rachel's not willing to talk about her crush on the agent she works most closely with. "It's nothing."
"The fact that you're referring to it as it, tells me it's not nothing." Rachel just sighs and…She should have just read a book. "You like him."
"It…It can't happen."
"Well, no," Santana says, and there's not even a trace of humour to that at all. "But you like him."
Rachel can't argue. She actually sort of wants to cry. It's never been said out loud before, and it just…
Santana changes the subject, then Blaine comes to get her to go to the Oval for some meeting, and Rachel heads back upstairs and gets back into bed, because the only thing she wants to do now is sleep. At least when she's sleeping she can't think.
… … …
There's so much White House tradition around the holidays, and it's not that Rachel doesn't appreciate the history, but it's their first year here and she honestly didn't think that 'accepting gifts' would take so long. She's literally sitting in the mural room while ambassadors are paraded in to bestow upon her and her fathers gifts of…Well, there's really quite an assortment of stuff her daddy probably won't ever see. Someone'll stamp his signature onto a thank you card with the Presidential Seal and that'll be that.
On one hand, she doesn't want to be here. (Let it be known she was enthusiastic until hour three, and since then her energy level has been depleting steadily). On the other hand, she's incredibly glad she's doing this instead of her father, who she likes to assume has more important things to deal with than receiving a potted thistle from…Oh, god. She's already forgotten. Thank goodness for the aid next to her taking notes.
"Bit of a change from New York, hm?" Dad says when she walks into the living area they use most often in the residence.
"My dullest three hour lecture was more entertaining than 15 minutes of that," she moans, flopping down onto the sofa. Dad just laughs and flips to the next piece of paper in the file on his lap. "What are you working on?"
"Can't say yet."
"Oh."
"No," he laughs, then glances up at her again. "I mean I've got no damn clue. I just opened the case file."
She sort of glares at him, but it's mostly playful. Mostly. "I thought you said you were finished until after the holidays?"
"I'm just reading through it."
"Right." She's heard that before. She sits up a little straighter and adjusts her cardigan.
"Why're you moping around here?" he asks, but he's reading again, and she hasn't forgotten that this is what he does. It's how he wins arguments at home; he deflects and diverts attention and makes things not about him even when that's how they started. And she should say that's how he wins arguments with her, because Daddy doesn't let him get away with it.
"I'm not moping."
He lets out a scoff that just sounds ridiculous and incredibly patronizing. "I thought you'd like the break. You're acting like this is the last place you want to be." She opens her mouth to speak, but he closes his folder and levels her with his most dad-like look. "What's in New York that you're missing so badly?"
He wants an answer and she panics and can't think fast enough to even try to lie.
"Do you think…Never mind."
His brow furrows. "What? And don't say nothing."
She misses New York because there are fewer people who know her this well, well enough to call her out on these things.
"Do you think I'm naive about boys? Men," she corrects. He blinks. "I mean, I've never actually even…I just. I feel like a 12 year old."
He's quiet for a moment and then just asks, "Who?" and she shakes her head because that's not even important. She just means it as a general question. There's no need for specific examples. "Naiveté and inexperience are two different things."
That actually makes an astonishing amount of sense to her.
"I…Do you know anything about falling for the wrong person?"
"No," he says, then gets this little grin on his face. "I lucked out and married the President."
Rachel leans into his side a bit and he puts his arm around her. "Maybe the President lucked out and married you." He laughs out loud. She likes the sound.
"Who is he?" he asks quietly after a few moments.
"No one," she sighs. She knows he won't let her get away with that answer. "He's older. It'd never…I'm stupid for even looking at him that way."
"You're not stupid, or naive. You've just got a few more things to deal with than other kids." She nods against him. She thought this might make her feel better, but it's not. "Just the Secret Service alone."
She says, "That's sort of the whole problem," because she knows he won't read into it any further.
… … …
She certainly doesn't expect to see Noah for the first time two days ahead of when she thought he was getting back. Though she can't say she minds terribly that she's dressed in a midnight blue evening gown with her hair perfectly pinned up and Cartier diamonds on her wrist. Of course, this is the guy who's seen her in baggy sweats and an NYFD hoodie, but still. The ridiculous girly part of her that thinks men actually care about stuff like this (that Noah cares about what she's wearing) is relieved that she looks as good as she does.
"Hi."
"Hey," he replies shortly, and…Surely everyone around here knows he's on her detail, so why is he acting like that? He goes so far as to look to his left, as though he's checking to see if anyone's looking. It's more than just his normal stage of alertness.
"You're back early."
"They wanted me here." The tuxedo tipped her off that he was working. Maybe that accounts for what she can only describe as his bad mood.
"Oh." She looks down, fiddles with the clutch she's pointlessly carrying; she's inside her own house. "I…"
"Are you ready?"
She can't think of a time when he's ever interrupted her before, and her immediate and bratty reaction is to call him out on to whom he's speaking. She stops herself, though, because she's so not that person, and it would take a hell of a lot more than five days in the White House to push her into believing she's got any business acting like that.
"Yes," she says instead, with a lot of confidence she musters from somewhere, and carefully picks up the skirt of her dress so she can move down the hall without it bunching around her legs as she turns.
He's completely silent, walking just a half step behind her, and that's by design, too. She's not used to it from him - other agents, yes, but not from him - and she glances over her shoulder to look at him, but he's staring straight ahead. God, he looks amazing dressed like that. She hates that she's even let herself think that, because he's acting like a total stranger and it's making her sort of mad. Actually, the more time passes without him saying a word, the angrier she gets with him.
Someone pulls the door to the ballroom open, and Rachel's just not going to let him stay on her mind all night. He will anyway, but she doesn't want to just sit around and be aware of where he is and what he's doing and wonder what he's thinking, and if he's thinking of her. And she really does have people she should be talking to and focusing on, so she does that instead of…Well, no. She's still very aware of his place in the room. He's along the wall near her table when she's seated, and standing never more than 15 feet away when she's standing. She notices him looking when she's talking to a Senator from Massachusetts. He's just to her left and she happens to look that way and Noah is staring right at her. He averts his eyes almost immediately, but without being too obvious about it. It's not as though she expects him to keep her company at events like this one - she's well aware of his place here, and he is, too - but there's something markedly different now than just days ago when he hugged her in her bedroom and said what he said.
Daddy makes a speech, not a very formal one, and she stands with her dad to her father's left, like always. Noah is next to the stage, and she surveys the room and sees, not surprisingly, maybe, that there are a lot more Secret Service Agents than usual. Then again, half the country's government is in one room, as well as the entire first family and all the senior staff of the White House. And it's been a while, so maybe she's just misremembering, or it could be that she's just become acutely aware of where agents are around her.
Then things get really…Well, when politicians drink too much, it's just not something she tends to want to stick around for. She never has, and it used to be her dads suggesting she be taken back to her hotel room in whatever city they were visiting, or back to their home in Manhattan. She's older, now, and can handle herself, but she still has no desire to stay in this room and watch certain congressmen's gazes turn just a little more…Well, she's older now. She's not a fool and she knows how men in Washington can be. She's still the President's daughter, so she doesn't honestly think anyone would do anything out of line.
Especially not with 15 members of the Secret Service scattered throughout this room alone.
She doesn't tell Noah she's going, but she tells her dads, and she knows Noah will follow her anyway. That's a comforting thing, in New York, but tonight it's really getting to her in a way she wasn't expecting. So she doesn't wait for him at the door like she normally would, and when she hears him speaking and saying she's on the move, she doesn't take a moment, like she's become accustomed to doing, to appreciate how her codename sounds when he says it. He's further behind her than earlier, even, and then when he catches up, he's not saying anything.
He walks her right into her room, which he's never done, not in this house, and looks around, like he's checking for…It must just be habit.
And she can't keep fooling herself into thinking she doesn't care. She's tried all night to ignore him, but now he's right in front of her and they're alone, and she can't hold back. It's not in her to do it.
"What's this?" she asks, and he's looking out one of the windows, then moving onto the next one. "What, you can only be my friend when no one's looking? You haven't said two words to me all night."
"I'm doing my job," he says evenly, letting the drapes fall back over the window. He looks up at the ceiling. Where does he think they are?
"You can usually do your job just fine and also not act like we're strangers." She's trying not to lose her temper. He's making it difficult with his lack of a reaction to anything she's saying. "Why is it so different here? Is it because…My father?"
"No," he almost whispers, shaking his head like she's stupid. "I mean, yeah. But."
Of course. He, like every other guy, is scared of…She doesn't quite understand it. They aren't dating or befriending the President, and contrary to popular believe, he doesn't control who can or cannot associate with her. No, the fact that she's the his daughter just means no one'll even bother to try. Not unless they want something. Tina's her only real true friend. She's obviously deluded herself into thinking Noah was.
She covers her face with her hands, then pulls them away. No, she's not going to let him see, anymore than he already has, how much he affects her. She works to unclasp her bracelet (it's tricky; she'd ask for help if tonight weren't…tonight) and sets it on her bedside table.
"You know what? It's fine. I thought we were friends, at least, but…" She didn't mean to say 'at least'. He blinks slowly just after the words are out. "You're here to do a job. I get it." She's being a brat and she knows it, but she can't stop now. She's too far gone. "I'm safely alone in my bedroom."
She doesn't ask him to leave, but she might as well have officially dismissed him. He's just looking at her like there's a lot he wants to say, but she's absolutely positive he's too much of a coward to say it. She honestly doesn't even think she wants to know right now.
"I'll be outside," he tells her, and when the door shuts, she's still wondering why.
But she steps out of her dress and pulls on a long sleeved button-down pajama top, gets into bed and can't fall asleep for the next couple hours. Something's going on with him. A week ago she just would have pressed and pressed until he told her. Her head is spinning, wondering what happened when he was home. Maybe there's a girl there, or a family issue, or maybe he's back because something went wrong and he couldn't stay there anymore. She doesn't know much about his family, but what she knows is he hasn't had the best experiences. His father, and a half-brother, and a little sister who is apparently rebelling against everything at the moment.
There's a real possibility that his behaviour has nothing to do with her, but somehow, she just can't believe that. It makes her feel incredibly self-absorbed to even think it.
She wakes up freezing at 5:00 a.m., puts on pajama bottoms, and steps outside her room. There's a different agent there. Hernandez, she thinks is his last name; she's less sure of his first name. He follows her to the kitchen and politely asks if she can't sleep. See? Even he knows to make conversation. She fixes him a cup of coffee, which he tries to refuse. She doesn't want to think she could do this with any agent. She misses Noah. He said he'd miss her and the thing is, as stupid as it sounds, she's almost positive she's been missing him since before she even knew him.
… … …
She does not understand why her request to go pick up a couple last minute gifts is denied. First of all, she's an adult and she should be allowed to do whatever she wants, even if she does require 50 or even 100 agents to accompany her. She's never been disallowed to go somewhere. That's never been an issue. God, she's gone jogging through Central Park at 11:00 at night. Why can't she go to a few shops in Georgetown in the middle of the afternoon? All she's told is that they can't accommodate her, and while she trusts Agent Donovan, she is almost positive she can tell when he's hiding something from her.
"Why?" she asks defiantly. He knows she's not a brat, so he won't think poorly of her for questioning it.
"There's just too much going on out there. You can make a list and send an aid, or…"
"I just don't understand why it's an issue," she tries again. Noah's there, too, standing with his hands at his sides. He wears a suit here. It's distracting. They're in the living room of the residence and it's really very strange that they're in here with her at all, actually. "What's going on?"
"It's…" Agent Donovan stops himself from saying, she assumes, 'nothing'. She just gave him a look. She's not 12 anymore, and oblivious to what goes on around her. "There've been a lot of protests lately."
Oh, well. She knows that. Every day in this city streets are closed for some protest or another. Not all of them are ridiculous. Some of them are. Most are peaceful, though. She can honestly say she supports some of them, and knows her father does, too. And she's seen Santana talking about them in her briefings.
"Isn't that what a motorcade is for? What you're for?"
Noah looks away, she notices, scratches behind his ear and hides his smile. He's serious and stoic again by the time Agent Donovan looks at him.
"The best protection is keeping you in the White House."
She can't argue that and everyone in this room knows that.
But still.
"I'm going crazy," she confesses, and Noah laughs out loud, which sets Agent Donovan off. "I'm not used to this! I can't…I'll wear a disguise. A wig!"
Agent Donovan looks at Noah, and Noah makes a face like he wants to convey that maybe it's not the worst idea of all time.
Rachel's really very good at getting her way.
Daddy comes up from the Oval for the sole purpose of seeing her as a redhead. What? If she's going to have anyone else's hair, she's going to have Connie Britton's hair. She pulls a scarf up around her mouth, too, in part because it's cold, but also as another way to hide her identity. The whole thing is ridiculous, really. She doesn't look so much unlike herself that people won't know who she is. And Agents Donovan, Lewis, and Noah, too, are all in plain clothes, but it's pretty obvious, to her anyway, that they're Secret Service. Agents just have this…way about them. You realize it when you spend so much time around them.
And, at least she thought Daddy just came up to see her, but then he's pulling Agent Donovan aside and saying something that looks serious, and when Noah starts talking to her, she's almost positive he's just trying to distract her from that other conversation.
… … …
She spends her birthday eating German chocolate cake made special by the chef, and a few people text her, and Tina calls. Dad and Daddy give her the Tiffany necklace she's been admiring but never would have asked for.
Noah wishes her happy birthday when she's approaching her bedroom and he's standing outside. She thinks she'd hug him if there were no one else around.
… … …
She's been reading in her room and her parents are on the sofa in casual clothes, Love Actually playing on the television. Neither has work files anywhere in the room - most importantly, they're not looking through papers. Daddy's got a beer resting on his knee and dad's whiskey is on the table, on a coaster. They look sort of…Ridiculously cute. Dad's sweater is grey and Daddy's is navy, and with the decorations in the room, they might as well be a Christmas card.
She'd just wanted to get herself a tiny piece of the amazing chocolate that's been in the kitchen. It's a gift from some country in Europe that does chocolate well, and she knew, because she received the gift formally, but now it's just this fancy wooden box with parchment and chocolate truffles inside and…
"Come here," Daddy says, and there's really no hope in just sneaking past and leaving them to their movie.
"You two watch this every year."
"Everyone watches this every year," Dad says, like it's just a given, and, well, it probably is. Maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. "Sit."
She rolls her eyes at them, but they shift apart so she can sit between them. Occasionally they like to act like she's not as old as she is, and once in a blue moon she'll let them. And it's the holidays, and she's seen this film enough times to know what she's missed, so it's really no big deal to come in halfway through.
"No one has any work out," she notes, and yes, it really is a rarity. She can't remember the last time they all sat together like this for a movie. Daddy's always getting called away or interrupted. She's actually sort of surprised they didn't ask her to watch the whole thing with them.
"Miracle," Daddy says, and squeezes her shoulder. "I love this part."
He says that about every part, so she doesn't bother to stop talking. "Are you…Should I stay, or can I get my chocolate and go back to my book?"
"Stay," Daddy tells her, and then Dad's hand is on her knee. "I kinda miss you, you know."
She's been home a week and he's seen her every day, but she's not going to argue it because she knows what he means.
(Her favourite part has already passed, but she loves the rest of the movie anyway, and hearing her dads laugh at the same parts every year, and Daddy trying to sing the big number is always…She just loves this, too.)
They walk her back to her room together, each kiss her on the cheek and she doesn't miss the way Daddy hugs her a few seconds longer than normal.
… … …
There are too many quiet little huddles that break up when she comes into a room. People keep trying to look nonchalant, but they're failing, and she is going absolutely crazy. She's not stupid. She's not a child.
She doesn't say anything until she tries to step out onto the balcony in the evening to get a pretty view of the holiday lights from there, and Noah takes her by the arm and stops her without saying a word.
Okay, now she's mad.
"What is going on?" she sort of snaps, but quietly so only they can hear. Noah's jaw clenches. "There's something…Everyone's acting like…"
Like she's about to get shot every time she moves.
He just shakes his head. "I can't…" He stops himself. There's another agent in the room. She's never met him before. That's the tipoff right there; there are so many agents around she doesn't even know their names.
"Tell me," she commands softly, pleadingly, and when he sighs and she knows he's going to say he can't, she says it a little more harshly. "Tell me."
He wouldn't be deliberating like this if there weren't something serious to tell her.
"There's…"
"Puckerman," the other agent barks, then steps closer. Noah looks at him but he's not impressed with the tone, Rachel can tell. She'd do something about the tension between them if she wasn't worrying herself into a frenzy over what's been happening these last several days. "You're about to go against a direct order from the President of the United States."
Noah gets this intense look in his eyes, like this pure defiance that's almost startling. "Are you gonna stop me?" is all he says to the other agent, and then there's some kind of staring contest, though Rachel's only looking at Noah. She figures he wins it, anyway, because he takes her by the elbow and they end up in her bedroom.
"Noah, please just be honest and…"
"There's a serious threat against you." She stops moving, blinks at him, and feels like she…There are obviously always threats against her - she knows the letters come in all the time. The fact that they're taking this so seriously means something. "There've been a lot of letters and emails, and there were pictures of…"
"Pictures?" she breathes out, and sits down at the edge of her bed.
"Only in DC. Really basic. Just of you out doing stuff, but…" Noah looks at her and crosses his arms. She can't decide if he's trying to show how calm he is, or how strong he is. "It's one person, Rachel. The FBI's profiled him as…"
"No, don't tell me. I can't." She closes her eyes and holds up her hands. She doesn't want to hear about how deranged this person is. When she looks up again, it's when he lets out a deep breath. It's almost as though he's relieved to have told her, like he's wanted to for days. "That's why you're back early?" He just nods. "That's why you're mad at me?"
He looks at her like she's crazy. "I'm not mad at you, Rachel."
"But you're acting like…"
"I'm acting like I can't…" he interrupts, and then looks directly at her. She wasn't kidding about wanting honesty. Her heart, right now, is doing about 10 different things, and she thinks he's about to add another reason for her to feel unsettled. Then again, maybe… "I can't fucking imagine anything happening to you."
She feels her eyes go wide. "What?"
"You're…" He stops himself. She somehow knew he would. He should, but that doesn't mean she wants him to. She's just staring at him and his breathing seems a little too carefully measured. "Nothing is going to happen to you."
He says it so clearly that it makes her think he's taken it upon himself to singlehandedly protect her.
"You were going to say something else," she notes, and really, if there were ever a time when they could be totally blunt with each other, it's now. Maybe he'll realize that part of the reason she's asking is because she wants to take her mind off the other thing. The other part, of course, being that she thinks she's halfway in love with him most of the time.
He chuckles a little. "I've already told you way more than I was supposed to."
He's not going to cross the line. She knew that, she's sure.
"Do you think Daddy's going to be mad?" she asks, and she really does care; this subject is just as pressing as the last.
"I dunno," Noah mumbles, almost laughing. "But I'm pretty sure the President's not gonna be too happy about it."
"I hope you don't get into trouble."
"Not that I'd ask, but I have a feeling you'd have my back."
It's really almost funny when she thinks about it, that she could protect him for a change. Even if she thinks it's absolutely ridiculous that no one thought she might have a right to know what's been going on around here. It's her well-being and her life, and she's positive everyone's just going to say they didn't want to scare her with the details. But she would have been a much more cooperative party if they had just let her know what they were protecting her from. And she is scared. Terrified, actually. She also, though, believes Noah when he says nothing's going to happen to her. She has no idea why, because he can't control any of this any more than she can. Well, maybe a little more, and his job is to keep her safe, but…Even with as much as she knows about the Secret Service and how well they're trained for even the least likely scenarios, she still believes there's always at least the slightest possibility that if someone wanted to get to her, they could. It's something she tries not to think about, but sometimes, like now, she can't help herself.
… … …
Daddy's already berating Noah when she's led into the Oval, and Noah is just standing there and taking it, which is a thing people do when the President is talking to them, and she understands. But her dad doesn't need to be so rude, and Noah was just doing for her what he thought was best. Of course he's not going to say that and imply that he knows better than the President what's good for the First Daughter. The truth is, with this, he might actually. Not only is he something of an expert on security, hers specifically, but he's spent more of the last four months with her than anyone else has. He knows her, as much as she's tried to deny that from time to time. There's really no escaping it. Yes, Daddy's got all the motivation in the world to keep her safe and make choices that affect her well-being, but. Well.
The fact remains that she deserved to know. She's not going to change her mind just because she's in the Oval Office with the President. Right now it's just her father's office and it wouldn't matter what his job title was.
"I should have you fired."
Rachel rolls her eyes and decides it's time to step in. "No one's firing anyone." Daddy gives her a look she's sure is supposed to be menacing or something. Oddly enough, he was never the disciplinarian. She almost wants to laugh at his attempt to appear as though he has any clue with how to deal with her.
"Rachel, now's not the time for one of your speeches," Daddy says, and it would really be so easy to be especially irritated by that. "He could have compromised…"
"Don't," she says, interrupting, and the entire room seems to still. "He didn't compromise anything. Don't you think I feel at least a little better knowing why everyone's been acting so insane lately?"
"That's not the point."
"Well then, what is the point?" It sounds like a dare. Noah is standing about five feet behind her father, looking at her like she's crazy. She's not. She's just her father's daughter, that's all. He can have any title in the universe, but if she needs to talk to him, she's going to.
"The point is," he says evenly, and, okay, he sounds a little mad, "he went against what I asked." She rolls her eyes again. So this is a power thing. "There were reasons."
Okay, now she's getting a little more upset. She thought he might actually explain himself. He may do so later, but she thinks he should just take the chance now that he's got it.
"What, are you just going to keep me locked away in a tower until you're out of office?" she asks, and maybe her hands sort of go up a bit, too.
He mumbles, "Is that an option?" and no one laughs.
"I'm 19 years old. You seem to think you can still treat me like a child!"
Daddy takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair. She knows there's a lot he wants to say, but that he doesn't necessarily want all their family business to be common knowledge to the half dozen other people in the room.
"It doesn't really matter how old you are. There will always be things I know better than you. I didn't want you to…These threats are…"
She just stares at him. He's not this ineloquent. And not just because he's got a team of people who write speeches for him. He's a brilliant speaker and he doesn't stumble over words. Ever. She's struggling with the very sudden realization that whatever this person or people want with her is, well, enough to send her father into a bit of a frenzy. There have always been threats. There must be something particularly terrifying about these ones.
"Daddy, I'm fine," she says quietly, and he just sighs and stares at her. "I need Noah."
No one in the room seems to think anything of her calling him by his first name. But when she catches his eye he's looking at her like he's very aware of her slip.
… … …
Daddy was raised Christian and their family has always embraced the traditions of both Judaism and Christianity, as far as cultural observances go. They celebrated Yom Kippur and Christmas and Easter, and actually, during every election he's ever run in, people have asked her father how he can call himself a religious man at all if he celebrates all these holidays. His fairly foolproof answer is that he's certainly not agnostic, but he respects and values all religions and seeks to understand them as best he can. It seems to be enough for people, though he polls low within certain religious groups. However, the way Rachel sees it, a gay black man just is not going to score every vote in the Bible Belt.
The White House during Christmas is really beautiful. It's decorated fantastically, and Rachel knows it's typically the duty of the First Lady to head up the decorating committee, or whatever they call it. Dad cares more about hockey scores than boughs of holly, so he's sort of just let the decorators do whatever they wanted. Rachel laughs every time someone asks him if he had a hand in it and he says something along the lines of, "I advised them to use red and green wherever they could." She doesn't doubt he actually did that. She thinks he plays this game where he likes to see how many White House staffers he can make laugh in a day.
They've got a real tree that's decorated in silver, blue and burgundy in the living room in the residence. She's a little bummed that all their family ornaments are sitting in a box in New York, but the tree really is lovely. It would just be a little cuter with those matching mice in walnut shells she made for her dads when she was a kid. (She's letting it go. She promises.)
She doesn't want to make it seem as though she's all about the gifts. She's really not; Hannukah and her birthday and Christmas have always been so close together that by the time December 25 rolls around, she'd be completely fine with not receiving a thing. That's not even a lie. Christmas has consistently been the one time of year when she can absolutely, without any doubt at all, count on the fact that her dads will both be around at the same time. Not to make it sound like they've been absent or anything, they're just busy. Cases and elections and politics and campaigning. But there has always been those few days over Christmas when they were there all together, regardless of what happened before or what was slated to happen after. And this year she realizes that she's now off doing her own things as well. She has things to schedule around. It makes this day a little more important, even though she's been here for a couple weeks now.
There are, though, several gifts wrapped under the tree that she knows are for her. Dad does all the wrapping - he finds it soothing, and she thinks that's really very funny - and wraps all her gifts in one paper, and all Daddy's in another. Daddy clearly had a staffer wrap his gifts this year (he's hopeless at it; too many other things on his mind at any given moment to pay attention to how neat a corner looks or does not).
They've gotten her a spa day at her favourite spa in New York, and a gift card to the book store she loves in their neighbourhood. Theatre tickets and a meal (and reservation) at a very exclusive restaurant in Hell's Kitchen. (She's not clueless; the reservation is likely so they know she's coming and the Secret Service can do what they do. She doesn't care. The food is amazing.) Some clothes, a bottle of perfume, and the earrings to match the necklace they gave her for her birthday, which is just so like them it actually makes her laugh.
After gifts are opened, she gets dressed - the black cashmere sweater they gave her has already been dry cleaned because they know her, at this point, and know she loves to wear things as soon as she gets them. She can't help putting on her necklace and earrings (they'll love that) and the skinny jeans she bought in the Flatiron district on a shopping day that bored her agents so spectacularly it made her laugh. She's always been the one to make brunch, so she puts on a pot of coffee and gets to work on french toast, omelettes, bacon, home fries, and…
She hears laughter in the living room, and then her dads walk through to the kitchen with agents Donovan, Phillips, and Noah. They're all in plain clothes, but look…
Her dads invited them for Christmas day brunch.
(A fact they could have told her before she started cooking.)
But it works out, because she did get them each gifts. The looks on their faces when they open the Hermes boxes to see the ties she painstakingly selected for them (online because how on Earth could she shop for them when they're always around?) is sort of hilarious.
"Is this your way of saying you don't like the ties I get from Macy's?" Agent Phillips asks, and Rachel rolls her eyes.
(She really did put a lot of thought into this though. And she actually loves buying ties, which is sort of a strange thing, but there you have it.)
Daddy makes a crack about how they're probably not supposed to be accepting gifts, so if anyone asks he didn't see anything. The tension from the other day seems to be gone, and maybe he's not quite as friendly towards Noah as he is towards the other agents, but he isn't really holding a grudge. That's not something he does anyway, and she also just really believes he's starting to see that Noah's telling her really wasn't harmful and didn't put her in any danger. They're all just trying to protect her, and of course they're going to have differences of opinion on how best to go about that.
They spend most of the day sitting around the living room talking, trading anecdotes and laughing. Noah's in the chair next to hers, and her dads are holding court on the sofa, and she just…Has a lot of feelings about this. It certainly does not help her in the slightest that when she looks over at Noah at one point, he winks at her. She's scared the look and smile she gives him will show her hand, but then, well. She can't really remember when she stopped caring.
… … …
She'll admit that leaving the White House when she's been made aware that there's a psychopath out to get her is fairly terrifying. She's very, very glad to be leaving and going back to New York, though. This is her parents' White House, but it has never really felt like hers. She's being silly, probably, but. It's like a big hotel and nothing feels like hers, especially now that all her personal things are back in Manhattan.
Just walking from the car to the house, even with Noah right next to her, she feels nervous. Exposed. Like everyone's staring at her (they are) and one of them could…
"Are you okay?" he asks once they're inside the house, and she lets out a breath and nods her head. He knows her, though, gives her this little look that says he knows just what she's been thinking.
She waits until later to bring it up, and even that's not intentional. She's not waiting to get him alone, and he doesn't ask, but she just…She's been thinking about it since they left Washington. She's been thinking about it and watching Agents secure the house. Looking out the window, she can see how much tighter security is than it was when they left before her break. She'd be shocked if there weren't a Marine in full uniform posted outside the door sometime soon, gun in hand and everything like outside the Oval.
"I don't want to be afraid every time I leave the house," she says when Noah's in her room and it's just them. (She couldn't actually tell you why he's in here, he just is.)
"You shouldn't be. We're all here so you don't have to be scared."
She gives him an incredulous look. "You're here so I don't get kidnapped by some maniac."
She sort of thought he'd just roll his eyes at that, but he's just looking at her as though talking like that isn't something he wants her to do. "And if you know we're gonna keep it from happening, then what are you scared of?"
There is a point there, but that's also not how the brain works, as far as she knows. Just because cars have seat belts doesn't mean you stop obeying traffic laws. She can't just turn off the part of her that knows there are people out there who would risk a lot to have her dead.
"What about school? I'm in a lecture hall and someone in the back has a gun and an unobstructed view, and…"
"Rachel," he says, calmly, cutting her off, "there aren't going to be unobstructed views. That's the whole strategy."
"Strategies fail."
He looks angry now, which she doesn't exactly understand. "If you feel that way, you should have stayed in Washington."
"It's not that I don't believe you." Because that's what she thinks he's getting at, and it would explain why he's this upset. "I just…"
"You don't trust anyone."
"That's…"
"You don't," he says, and she just…She wants to say he's wrong, but she's looking at him and he's serious, and she thinks that if she asked for research to support his statement, he could produce a list of examples to prove he's right, and she wouldn't even be able to argue.
But.
"I trust you," she admits, very quietly, and looks down, because if she watches his face as he processes that, she'll be mortified. She can't believe she says these stupid things when she's around him. Something should stop her from doing that.
"Good. That's good. But I can't singlehandedly…Not saying I wouldn't try." He's frustrated with something. She doesn't know what. "It's just…Keeping you safe is…About a lot more than my job right now."
She's struck silent, because she can't tell how he means that, and if he might maybe in some capacity feel for her the way she feels about him.
"I'm gonna…" He gestures to the door and can hardly look her in the eye.
He's making a quick exit. Rachel just nods and lets him.
… … …
She can't say for certain that he's avoiding one on one time with her, because, well, opportunities for it have been pretty sparse. He wouldn't need to avoid it, because chances of it happening anyway are slim to none. She's learned that unless she's safely in her bedroom (with agents posted outside) they're required to have at least six sets of eyes on her at all times. That means more agents in the house, and a hell of a lot more outside of it, whether she's inside or not. And she hasn't even bothered counting how many are around when she's out doing things, because it'd be pointless; there are likely so many agents in plain clothes she'd never have an accurate number.
She is, surprisingly, fine with this. Which is funny (her father has another word for it) because not long ago she was bemoaning the fact that her security was so heightened. It's just that the longer this crazy person is out there without any clues to his whereabouts or whether or not he's followed them to New York, the more scared she gets. Because he's still after her, and because he's apparently good enough at what he does that he's eluding the FBI.
So no, there haven't been a lot of moments for the two of them to talk, but she's been able to deduce that if there were, well. He's been avoiding eye contact a little more than usual. And he's been acting far more like the rest of the agents these days, but she thinks that has something to do with how many there are and him not wanting to seem like he's not taking his job seriously. She can respect that.
But when they're both awake in the middle of the night - because she can't sleep and because Noah is the one sitting outside her bedroom door this time - and he barely says two words to her in the 10 minutes it takes to get to the kitchen and make him a cup of coffee and her some tea, she just can't handle it. She's used to him being the one she can talk to. She doesn't like feeling as though she's not allowed to do it.
"Is it possible that you're avoiding me even though you literally don't let me out of your sight?" she asks, and he just stares at her and holds his cup in his hands. "Is that what's happening?"
"It's not like that." He's shaking his head, but she doesn't find any of it very convincing.
"Is it because of…You said…"
"I know what I said." He sets down his cup, rubs his fingers across his brow, then lets out this little laugh. "That's…One of a lot of things I shouldn't have said."
He's nearly whispering, because, as they're learning, there's always someone listening around here these days. It's as though no one sleeps, herself included.
"But you did," she reminds him, not that she thinks he's forgotten. She plays with the string of her tea bag. He takes a step closer.
"You just keep talking until I…"
"Oh, so it's my fault?" she laughs, and he's smiling at her when she glances up at him. He winks at her instead of answering, and he's probably not supposed to do that either. Especially not alone with her at 2:00 am.
"Completely your fault," he says, and the way he's looking at her is just so…
Well, she'd think about it more, but maybe not, actually, because she finds herself leaning right up against him, only the balls of her feet touching the floor as she stretches up to press her lips against his. And she doesn't even have a chance to consider how mortifying it would be if he didn't kiss her back, because he tangles one hand all up in the hair at the back of her head, and the other grabs her waist, and god, there's a chance she's been waiting her entire life to be kissed like this.
The most striking thing about it, about him in general actually, is that Noah is, or seems to be, the only person she's ever met who actually knows what to do with her.
He pulls away enough to say, "I can't," and she barely has enough time to nod before he's the one kissing her, backing her up against the counter so the granite cuts across her back. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her he's not afraid to take the reigns with her. It's refreshing, and sexy, and when his tongue swipes at her bottom lip, she has to try very hard not to let out too loud a noise. It's still the middle of the night and there are however many people in the house, not all of them asleep, she's sure.
They must have that same thought at the same time, because he backs away from her so quickly she's left leaning forward, wanting more. His hands leave her completely and he puts no less than five feet of space between them, scrubbing a hand over his face and cursing under his breath. She's just standing there breathing hard, and they're watching each other, and she can tell, she knows, that he didn't want to stop.
She realizes seconds later, when Agent Lewis walks into the kitchen, that Noah didn't stop because of some moral revelation, but because he heard someone coming. She turns around and plays with the string of her tea bag with her back to them while they talk quietly, and thinks (practically fantasizes) about what might have happened if she and Noah were actually alone. If they were ever alone.
"I'm going back to bed," she announces moments later. Noah's expression is blank. It's as if they both know he'd be getting an invitation if the circumstances were any different.
"Puck needs sleep," Agent Lewis says, and Rachel nods, because…Well, he's not wrong, but Noah is presently sipping his coffee and she assumes sleep just isn't going to happen at all. "I'll come with you."
She glances back at him before she steps out of the kitchen, and he's standing there with his head bowed and his hand resting on the edge of the counter, and part of her is glad she's seeing him like that, because it's just really nice to know that kiss affected him as much as it did her.
… … …
It's not him she's annoyed with, specifically. It's not his fault that a simple thing like privacy has become non-existent for her. In fact, she went through a day and a half of panicking over whether or not Agent Lewis heard or saw anything neither she nor Noah would have wanted him to.
But Noah said what he said, then kissed her when they talked about it, and there's just no way they're getting out of this whole mess (though she doesn't think of it like that at all) without ever addressing it again. They probably should have talked more instead of making out in the kitchen, but she's not about to complain, because...
She's got this scary feeling it's not going to happen again, and she's trying to just be happy that it even happened at all. That's hard when he's the one who admitted feelings. And he hasn't once asked how she feels. It's a little scary to think he just knows without her having to say a word. (If he knows, who else has picked up on it?)
There are four agents in black suits in her Women and Gender Studies lecture, and at least four more in plain clothes that she can spot as soon as she walks in. It's the first day and everyone's looking at her, and you'd think that after already enduring a semester of this, she'd be used to it. Noah points to two seats that have clearly been set aside for them, and she tries to smile at the girl sitting closest to them, but, as is sort of the norm, the girl is tapping out something on her smart phone and doesn't even wave.
And only three and a half more years to go. (And even that isn't right, because there's no way she doesn't do a masters or doctorate or…Now's not the time to think about that.)
Twenty minutes into the lecture, which has so far been a very basic slideshow outlining what the course will cover over the next few months, Noah pulls a piece of blank lined paper off the stack she's got sitting in front of her, and she tries not to peek at what he's writing.
'I'd lose my job.'
She wants to roll her eyes and then yell at him that she's not an idiot, but that might create just a little unwanted attention.
'I know you could.'
'Not could. Would.'
Semantics. She knows what he was saying. She lets out a little sigh. They're writing notes like tenth graders, and while it's probably the only way to 'talk' with a guarantee no one else is listening, it feels incredibly silly.
'We need to talk about this like adults.'
She's right and he nods next to her, and really, she thinks that if anyone could make it happen, he could. He's trained to protect her and see to it that she's safe and somewhat sheltered. Maybe he hasn't made the effort to get her alone because she hadn't told him to do it. Now that she thinks about it, it would look pretty suspicious if he just arranged for some rendezvous without her first talking to the other agents about wanting it.
Between one lecture and another, Noah asks her if she wants him to teach her how to shoot, and she's a little flustered at just the thought. He says, though, that she should tell Agent Donovan she's going to the range with Noah later. See? He's smart about it. They'll be somewhere completely safe, obviously, so there'll be no need for multiple agents all in one room looking out for her. She's 100% positive - as they all will be too - that nothing bad will happen to her when she's at the Secret Service field office, at the shooting range where Noah will most likely be either holding a gun, or within about a half a foot of one.
It's a silly thought, but she wishes she were wearing something other than yoga pants and a Columbia hoodie when they have this conversation. But it's cold and they could really only come when the range was available and traffic on the streets wasn't terrible, so it is what it is. Plus, it's really ridiculous of her to think she needs to get dressed up for him at all at this point. He's seen her in just about any type of outfit by now. The only thing he's ever made fun of her for was her Giants tee shirt.
She's got a gun in her hand and Noah about a foot behind her when she figures it's time to start the conversation already, and just blurts out, "You know I have feelings for you."
His voice is even when he says, "I know." She wants to look at him and ask if he could please let her know what's going on in his head, but he steps forward, puts a hand carefully on hers and helps her to lift the gun and aim it at the target. "Safety off."
"Noah."
"We can't just stand here talking."
He's right, but his breath on her ear is sure as hell not going to help her focus on the target. He places the noise cancelling headphones on her ears and then puts his hand back on hers and just taps her trigger finger. She still has no clue what she's doing, but she pulls the trigger anyway. The sound and feel of the gun going off scare her and she stumbles back against him. He sets his hand on her hip, taps his fingers against her. She keeps the gun pointed to the floor and turns her head to look at him.
That wasn't enjoyable for her at all.
He just chuckles and reaches down to put the safety back on while she pulls off the headphones.
"See?" he says, smug. "Now I can make it look like I'm talking to you about what you did wrong." She narrows her eyes at him and tries to say something, but he cuts her off before she can. "You make me crazy."
She hesitates, but then; "In a good way?"
"Not always," he says, voice low, and, well, what is a suitable response for that? "I need my job. Protecting you is more important than…Look, I'm an impulsive guy, so I'm already fighting this hard enough as it is."
That's confusing. "What does that mean?"
He takes a little breath, and she notices the way his eyes dart down for a moment. "Now I know how good it feels to kiss you. I'm struggling not to do it again right now." He nods towards the target. "Shoot."
"I have no idea what I'm doing," she says, even as she turns and raises the gun, clicks the safety off.
He says, "Me neither," into her ear right before he puts the headphones on her.
She fires, and the bullet actually hits the paper target this time, so that's some sort of improvement, or at least good luck.
"So we're just going to ignore our feelings?" And, fine, maybe that comes out a little more angrily than she intended. "Is that your solution?"
"I'm not ignoring anything. I'm just not acting on it." She rolls her eyes. Same thing, isn't it?
"How can you do that?" she asks, and she might be getting really emotional, but he can't even blame her for that, can he?
"Baby," he says, in this voice that…God, he's making this so much more difficult. "I'm good at doing things I don't want to do." She looks down, because that's really not an answer and he knows it, too. He sighs a little and says, "I have to."
"What now?" she whispers. And she can't look him in the eye, because she's more or less terrified to see whatever expression might be on his face. This obviously isn't easy for him either, but she has this feeling it's a million times harder for herself. Maybe that's just a woe is me attitude.
"Now I'm really gonna teach you how to fire that gun."
"I can't do this."
"Yeah, you can," he tells her, and maybe it doesn't matter to what she was referring.
It would be nice, she thinks, to have as much faith in herself as he does.
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.
The house seems boring and too big, and Washington is small and quiet compared to New York, and so she does what any college student on break would do, and sleeps in as late as she can her first day back. She probably sounds rude when she tells whoever knocks at her door at 7:30 in the morning to just let her sleep and not bother her again. But. It's not entirely unreasonable. She just wishes she'd thought to tell the staff she wanted to sleep half the day away so they'd have known and she wouldn't have had to speak so brusquely, half asleep and through a heavy wooden door.
Dad's wrapping up a case, and Daddy's, you know, The President, so even after she's gotten up, showered and gotten ready for the day, she's terribly bored just sitting around the residence alone. She's used to a little chaos. Agents inside her house, and traffic on the streets. She likes having a schedule, and while she certainly enjoyed catching up on sleep, she doesn't like not having a reason to get up.
She wanders through the West Wing after she's exhausted all options of entertaining herself in the residence. Well, that's not even true. She could watch a movie or read a book, but she's been idle all morning now, and the least she can do is go for a walk through the building. Of course, she's stopped every two seconds by people welcoming her back and wishing her happy holidays. It's nice, though, and she certainly likes it. Plus, from a political standpoint…Well, it's there in the back of her mind that it's nice for the people who work for and with her dad to get to spend some time talking with his family, too. She knows for a fact that Dad plays pickup basketball (poorly) with a few members of the legal council, and Daddy and the senior staffers have a weekly poker game they think no one knows about. Apparently Santana's the best player of all of them, which doesn't surprise Rachel in the slightest.
Speaking of, she's just walking through the communications bullpen when she sees Santana coming towards her in her typical black suit, but this time she's wearing this teal shirt beneath it, and fantastic matching shoes. Santana, on any given day, must be the best dressed person in this building.
"Hey kid," Santana says, and pulls Rachel in for a hug. "It's good to see you."
"You too. How are you?"
"Better if policy people could get their sh…acts together." Rachel laughs and crosses her arms. "I'm about to take 15 minutes and devour a sandwich. Come sit with me."
Santana makes it sound as though Rachel doesn't have a choice, and, well, she certainly doesn't have any other plans, so she follows Santana to her office and sits across from her. Santana works so hard it's almost hazardous - the woman needs to take more vacations than she does, but that's not for Rachel to say, she supposes. The fact that she is visibly more relaxed with food in front of her in her office right now speaks volumes. The door is shut, and sure, there's a Secret Service agent outside because this is where Rachel is, but for the most part, Santana can enjoy a few minutes of quiet before getting back to her job.
"So," Santana says through a mouthful of ham and swiss, "any boys?"
"What?" Rachel chokes out, then adds, quickly, "No. God."
Santana quirks her brow and swipes her thumb against the corner of her mouth. "Why do you say it like that?" Then there's this look on Santana's face, a serious one, and she asks, "There aren't…any girls, are there?"
"Oh my god," Rachel gasps, and feels her face heating up. "No."
"Okay," Santana says, and she might sound relieved, or something. "Not that…Just maybe no one's asked, and obviously, you could talk to me if…"
"Stop," Rachel whispers, then laughs a bit and covers her face with her hands. "You're like that crazy aunt everyone has who just…I don't need a sex talk."
Santana nearly chokes on her sandwich, takes a swig of Diet Coke and stares at Rachel wide-eyed. "Is this what a stroke feels like?"
"You brought it up!" Santana laughs a little. "Anyway, don't you think that if I were seeing anyone, you'd have heard about it?"
Santana shrugs. "Not necessarily. You're sneaky." Rachel just scoffs and looks to her lap. "And agents aren't allowed to give the President details about your personal…" Rachel glances up. "It's just not out of the question that you could be dating."
"Well I'm not."
Santana seems to concede, or at least makes like she's going to drop the subject. She takes a bite of her sandwich and checks something on her phone, and Rachel's just about to ask how the renovations on Santana's condo are coming along. She's interrupted, though.
"What about that hot agent guy?"
"Agent Puckerman?"
Santana grins, and shit, Rachel realizes her mistake immediately. "How'd you know I meant him?"
"Stop," Rachel hisses. She's bright red, she's sure. And she says stop, but she also…It's not as though she really has anyone to talk to about boys. Even if there were boys, plural, to talk about. Tina, sure, but Rachel's not willing to talk about her crush on the agent she works most closely with. "It's nothing."
"The fact that you're referring to it as it, tells me it's not nothing." Rachel just sighs and…She should have just read a book. "You like him."
"It…It can't happen."
"Well, no," Santana says, and there's not even a trace of humour to that at all. "But you like him."
Rachel can't argue. She actually sort of wants to cry. It's never been said out loud before, and it just…
Santana changes the subject, then Blaine comes to get her to go to the Oval for some meeting, and Rachel heads back upstairs and gets back into bed, because the only thing she wants to do now is sleep. At least when she's sleeping she can't think.
… … …
There's so much White House tradition around the holidays, and it's not that Rachel doesn't appreciate the history, but it's their first year here and she honestly didn't think that 'accepting gifts' would take so long. She's literally sitting in the mural room while ambassadors are paraded in to bestow upon her and her fathers gifts of…Well, there's really quite an assortment of stuff her daddy probably won't ever see. Someone'll stamp his signature onto a thank you card with the Presidential Seal and that'll be that.
On one hand, she doesn't want to be here. (Let it be known she was enthusiastic until hour three, and since then her energy level has been depleting steadily). On the other hand, she's incredibly glad she's doing this instead of her father, who she likes to assume has more important things to deal with than receiving a potted thistle from…Oh, god. She's already forgotten. Thank goodness for the aid next to her taking notes.
"Bit of a change from New York, hm?" Dad says when she walks into the living area they use most often in the residence.
"My dullest three hour lecture was more entertaining than 15 minutes of that," she moans, flopping down onto the sofa. Dad just laughs and flips to the next piece of paper in the file on his lap. "What are you working on?"
"Can't say yet."
"Oh."
"No," he laughs, then glances up at her again. "I mean I've got no damn clue. I just opened the case file."
She sort of glares at him, but it's mostly playful. Mostly. "I thought you said you were finished until after the holidays?"
"I'm just reading through it."
"Right." She's heard that before. She sits up a little straighter and adjusts her cardigan.
"Why're you moping around here?" he asks, but he's reading again, and she hasn't forgotten that this is what he does. It's how he wins arguments at home; he deflects and diverts attention and makes things not about him even when that's how they started. And she should say that's how he wins arguments with her, because Daddy doesn't let him get away with it.
"I'm not moping."
He lets out a scoff that just sounds ridiculous and incredibly patronizing. "I thought you'd like the break. You're acting like this is the last place you want to be." She opens her mouth to speak, but he closes his folder and levels her with his most dad-like look. "What's in New York that you're missing so badly?"
He wants an answer and she panics and can't think fast enough to even try to lie.
"Do you think…Never mind."
His brow furrows. "What? And don't say nothing."
She misses New York because there are fewer people who know her this well, well enough to call her out on these things.
"Do you think I'm naive about boys? Men," she corrects. He blinks. "I mean, I've never actually even…I just. I feel like a 12 year old."
He's quiet for a moment and then just asks, "Who?" and she shakes her head because that's not even important. She just means it as a general question. There's no need for specific examples. "Naiveté and inexperience are two different things."
That actually makes an astonishing amount of sense to her.
"I…Do you know anything about falling for the wrong person?"
"No," he says, then gets this little grin on his face. "I lucked out and married the President."
Rachel leans into his side a bit and he puts his arm around her. "Maybe the President lucked out and married you." He laughs out loud. She likes the sound.
"Who is he?" he asks quietly after a few moments.
"No one," she sighs. She knows he won't let her get away with that answer. "He's older. It'd never…I'm stupid for even looking at him that way."
"You're not stupid, or naive. You've just got a few more things to deal with than other kids." She nods against him. She thought this might make her feel better, but it's not. "Just the Secret Service alone."
She says, "That's sort of the whole problem," because she knows he won't read into it any further.
… … …
She certainly doesn't expect to see Noah for the first time two days ahead of when she thought he was getting back. Though she can't say she minds terribly that she's dressed in a midnight blue evening gown with her hair perfectly pinned up and Cartier diamonds on her wrist. Of course, this is the guy who's seen her in baggy sweats and an NYFD hoodie, but still. The ridiculous girly part of her that thinks men actually care about stuff like this (that Noah cares about what she's wearing) is relieved that she looks as good as she does.
"Hi."
"Hey," he replies shortly, and…Surely everyone around here knows he's on her detail, so why is he acting like that? He goes so far as to look to his left, as though he's checking to see if anyone's looking. It's more than just his normal stage of alertness.
"You're back early."
"They wanted me here." The tuxedo tipped her off that he was working. Maybe that accounts for what she can only describe as his bad mood.
"Oh." She looks down, fiddles with the clutch she's pointlessly carrying; she's inside her own house. "I…"
"Are you ready?"
She can't think of a time when he's ever interrupted her before, and her immediate and bratty reaction is to call him out on to whom he's speaking. She stops herself, though, because she's so not that person, and it would take a hell of a lot more than five days in the White House to push her into believing she's got any business acting like that.
"Yes," she says instead, with a lot of confidence she musters from somewhere, and carefully picks up the skirt of her dress so she can move down the hall without it bunching around her legs as she turns.
He's completely silent, walking just a half step behind her, and that's by design, too. She's not used to it from him - other agents, yes, but not from him - and she glances over her shoulder to look at him, but he's staring straight ahead. God, he looks amazing dressed like that. She hates that she's even let herself think that, because he's acting like a total stranger and it's making her sort of mad. Actually, the more time passes without him saying a word, the angrier she gets with him.
Someone pulls the door to the ballroom open, and Rachel's just not going to let him stay on her mind all night. He will anyway, but she doesn't want to just sit around and be aware of where he is and what he's doing and wonder what he's thinking, and if he's thinking of her. And she really does have people she should be talking to and focusing on, so she does that instead of…Well, no. She's still very aware of his place in the room. He's along the wall near her table when she's seated, and standing never more than 15 feet away when she's standing. She notices him looking when she's talking to a Senator from Massachusetts. He's just to her left and she happens to look that way and Noah is staring right at her. He averts his eyes almost immediately, but without being too obvious about it. It's not as though she expects him to keep her company at events like this one - she's well aware of his place here, and he is, too - but there's something markedly different now than just days ago when he hugged her in her bedroom and said what he said.
Daddy makes a speech, not a very formal one, and she stands with her dad to her father's left, like always. Noah is next to the stage, and she surveys the room and sees, not surprisingly, maybe, that there are a lot more Secret Service Agents than usual. Then again, half the country's government is in one room, as well as the entire first family and all the senior staff of the White House. And it's been a while, so maybe she's just misremembering, or it could be that she's just become acutely aware of where agents are around her.
Then things get really…Well, when politicians drink too much, it's just not something she tends to want to stick around for. She never has, and it used to be her dads suggesting she be taken back to her hotel room in whatever city they were visiting, or back to their home in Manhattan. She's older, now, and can handle herself, but she still has no desire to stay in this room and watch certain congressmen's gazes turn just a little more…Well, she's older now. She's not a fool and she knows how men in Washington can be. She's still the President's daughter, so she doesn't honestly think anyone would do anything out of line.
Especially not with 15 members of the Secret Service scattered throughout this room alone.
She doesn't tell Noah she's going, but she tells her dads, and she knows Noah will follow her anyway. That's a comforting thing, in New York, but tonight it's really getting to her in a way she wasn't expecting. So she doesn't wait for him at the door like she normally would, and when she hears him speaking and saying she's on the move, she doesn't take a moment, like she's become accustomed to doing, to appreciate how her codename sounds when he says it. He's further behind her than earlier, even, and then when he catches up, he's not saying anything.
He walks her right into her room, which he's never done, not in this house, and looks around, like he's checking for…It must just be habit.
And she can't keep fooling herself into thinking she doesn't care. She's tried all night to ignore him, but now he's right in front of her and they're alone, and she can't hold back. It's not in her to do it.
"What's this?" she asks, and he's looking out one of the windows, then moving onto the next one. "What, you can only be my friend when no one's looking? You haven't said two words to me all night."
"I'm doing my job," he says evenly, letting the drapes fall back over the window. He looks up at the ceiling. Where does he think they are?
"You can usually do your job just fine and also not act like we're strangers." She's trying not to lose her temper. He's making it difficult with his lack of a reaction to anything she's saying. "Why is it so different here? Is it because…My father?"
"No," he almost whispers, shaking his head like she's stupid. "I mean, yeah. But."
Of course. He, like every other guy, is scared of…She doesn't quite understand it. They aren't dating or befriending the President, and contrary to popular believe, he doesn't control who can or cannot associate with her. No, the fact that she's the his daughter just means no one'll even bother to try. Not unless they want something. Tina's her only real true friend. She's obviously deluded herself into thinking Noah was.
She covers her face with her hands, then pulls them away. No, she's not going to let him see, anymore than he already has, how much he affects her. She works to unclasp her bracelet (it's tricky; she'd ask for help if tonight weren't…tonight) and sets it on her bedside table.
"You know what? It's fine. I thought we were friends, at least, but…" She didn't mean to say 'at least'. He blinks slowly just after the words are out. "You're here to do a job. I get it." She's being a brat and she knows it, but she can't stop now. She's too far gone. "I'm safely alone in my bedroom."
She doesn't ask him to leave, but she might as well have officially dismissed him. He's just looking at her like there's a lot he wants to say, but she's absolutely positive he's too much of a coward to say it. She honestly doesn't even think she wants to know right now.
"I'll be outside," he tells her, and when the door shuts, she's still wondering why.
But she steps out of her dress and pulls on a long sleeved button-down pajama top, gets into bed and can't fall asleep for the next couple hours. Something's going on with him. A week ago she just would have pressed and pressed until he told her. Her head is spinning, wondering what happened when he was home. Maybe there's a girl there, or a family issue, or maybe he's back because something went wrong and he couldn't stay there anymore. She doesn't know much about his family, but what she knows is he hasn't had the best experiences. His father, and a half-brother, and a little sister who is apparently rebelling against everything at the moment.
There's a real possibility that his behaviour has nothing to do with her, but somehow, she just can't believe that. It makes her feel incredibly self-absorbed to even think it.
She wakes up freezing at 5:00 a.m., puts on pajama bottoms, and steps outside her room. There's a different agent there. Hernandez, she thinks is his last name; she's less sure of his first name. He follows her to the kitchen and politely asks if she can't sleep. See? Even he knows to make conversation. She fixes him a cup of coffee, which he tries to refuse. She doesn't want to think she could do this with any agent. She misses Noah. He said he'd miss her and the thing is, as stupid as it sounds, she's almost positive she's been missing him since before she even knew him.
… … …
She does not understand why her request to go pick up a couple last minute gifts is denied. First of all, she's an adult and she should be allowed to do whatever she wants, even if she does require 50 or even 100 agents to accompany her. She's never been disallowed to go somewhere. That's never been an issue. God, she's gone jogging through Central Park at 11:00 at night. Why can't she go to a few shops in Georgetown in the middle of the afternoon? All she's told is that they can't accommodate her, and while she trusts Agent Donovan, she is almost positive she can tell when he's hiding something from her.
"Why?" she asks defiantly. He knows she's not a brat, so he won't think poorly of her for questioning it.
"There's just too much going on out there. You can make a list and send an aid, or…"
"I just don't understand why it's an issue," she tries again. Noah's there, too, standing with his hands at his sides. He wears a suit here. It's distracting. They're in the living room of the residence and it's really very strange that they're in here with her at all, actually. "What's going on?"
"It's…" Agent Donovan stops himself from saying, she assumes, 'nothing'. She just gave him a look. She's not 12 anymore, and oblivious to what goes on around her. "There've been a lot of protests lately."
Oh, well. She knows that. Every day in this city streets are closed for some protest or another. Not all of them are ridiculous. Some of them are. Most are peaceful, though. She can honestly say she supports some of them, and knows her father does, too. And she's seen Santana talking about them in her briefings.
"Isn't that what a motorcade is for? What you're for?"
Noah looks away, she notices, scratches behind his ear and hides his smile. He's serious and stoic again by the time Agent Donovan looks at him.
"The best protection is keeping you in the White House."
She can't argue that and everyone in this room knows that.
But still.
"I'm going crazy," she confesses, and Noah laughs out loud, which sets Agent Donovan off. "I'm not used to this! I can't…I'll wear a disguise. A wig!"
Agent Donovan looks at Noah, and Noah makes a face like he wants to convey that maybe it's not the worst idea of all time.
Rachel's really very good at getting her way.
Daddy comes up from the Oval for the sole purpose of seeing her as a redhead. What? If she's going to have anyone else's hair, she's going to have Connie Britton's hair. She pulls a scarf up around her mouth, too, in part because it's cold, but also as another way to hide her identity. The whole thing is ridiculous, really. She doesn't look so much unlike herself that people won't know who she is. And Agents Donovan, Lewis, and Noah, too, are all in plain clothes, but it's pretty obvious, to her anyway, that they're Secret Service. Agents just have this…way about them. You realize it when you spend so much time around them.
And, at least she thought Daddy just came up to see her, but then he's pulling Agent Donovan aside and saying something that looks serious, and when Noah starts talking to her, she's almost positive he's just trying to distract her from that other conversation.
… … …
She spends her birthday eating German chocolate cake made special by the chef, and a few people text her, and Tina calls. Dad and Daddy give her the Tiffany necklace she's been admiring but never would have asked for.
Noah wishes her happy birthday when she's approaching her bedroom and he's standing outside. She thinks she'd hug him if there were no one else around.
… … …
She's been reading in her room and her parents are on the sofa in casual clothes, Love Actually playing on the television. Neither has work files anywhere in the room - most importantly, they're not looking through papers. Daddy's got a beer resting on his knee and dad's whiskey is on the table, on a coaster. They look sort of…Ridiculously cute. Dad's sweater is grey and Daddy's is navy, and with the decorations in the room, they might as well be a Christmas card.
She'd just wanted to get herself a tiny piece of the amazing chocolate that's been in the kitchen. It's a gift from some country in Europe that does chocolate well, and she knew, because she received the gift formally, but now it's just this fancy wooden box with parchment and chocolate truffles inside and…
"Come here," Daddy says, and there's really no hope in just sneaking past and leaving them to their movie.
"You two watch this every year."
"Everyone watches this every year," Dad says, like it's just a given, and, well, it probably is. Maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. "Sit."
She rolls her eyes at them, but they shift apart so she can sit between them. Occasionally they like to act like she's not as old as she is, and once in a blue moon she'll let them. And it's the holidays, and she's seen this film enough times to know what she's missed, so it's really no big deal to come in halfway through.
"No one has any work out," she notes, and yes, it really is a rarity. She can't remember the last time they all sat together like this for a movie. Daddy's always getting called away or interrupted. She's actually sort of surprised they didn't ask her to watch the whole thing with them.
"Miracle," Daddy says, and squeezes her shoulder. "I love this part."
He says that about every part, so she doesn't bother to stop talking. "Are you…Should I stay, or can I get my chocolate and go back to my book?"
"Stay," Daddy tells her, and then Dad's hand is on her knee. "I kinda miss you, you know."
She's been home a week and he's seen her every day, but she's not going to argue it because she knows what he means.
(Her favourite part has already passed, but she loves the rest of the movie anyway, and hearing her dads laugh at the same parts every year, and Daddy trying to sing the big number is always…She just loves this, too.)
They walk her back to her room together, each kiss her on the cheek and she doesn't miss the way Daddy hugs her a few seconds longer than normal.
… … …
There are too many quiet little huddles that break up when she comes into a room. People keep trying to look nonchalant, but they're failing, and she is going absolutely crazy. She's not stupid. She's not a child.
She doesn't say anything until she tries to step out onto the balcony in the evening to get a pretty view of the holiday lights from there, and Noah takes her by the arm and stops her without saying a word.
Okay, now she's mad.
"What is going on?" she sort of snaps, but quietly so only they can hear. Noah's jaw clenches. "There's something…Everyone's acting like…"
Like she's about to get shot every time she moves.
He just shakes his head. "I can't…" He stops himself. There's another agent in the room. She's never met him before. That's the tipoff right there; there are so many agents around she doesn't even know their names.
"Tell me," she commands softly, pleadingly, and when he sighs and she knows he's going to say he can't, she says it a little more harshly. "Tell me."
He wouldn't be deliberating like this if there weren't something serious to tell her.
"There's…"
"Puckerman," the other agent barks, then steps closer. Noah looks at him but he's not impressed with the tone, Rachel can tell. She'd do something about the tension between them if she wasn't worrying herself into a frenzy over what's been happening these last several days. "You're about to go against a direct order from the President of the United States."
Noah gets this intense look in his eyes, like this pure defiance that's almost startling. "Are you gonna stop me?" is all he says to the other agent, and then there's some kind of staring contest, though Rachel's only looking at Noah. She figures he wins it, anyway, because he takes her by the elbow and they end up in her bedroom.
"Noah, please just be honest and…"
"There's a serious threat against you." She stops moving, blinks at him, and feels like she…There are obviously always threats against her - she knows the letters come in all the time. The fact that they're taking this so seriously means something. "There've been a lot of letters and emails, and there were pictures of…"
"Pictures?" she breathes out, and sits down at the edge of her bed.
"Only in DC. Really basic. Just of you out doing stuff, but…" Noah looks at her and crosses his arms. She can't decide if he's trying to show how calm he is, or how strong he is. "It's one person, Rachel. The FBI's profiled him as…"
"No, don't tell me. I can't." She closes her eyes and holds up her hands. She doesn't want to hear about how deranged this person is. When she looks up again, it's when he lets out a deep breath. It's almost as though he's relieved to have told her, like he's wanted to for days. "That's why you're back early?" He just nods. "That's why you're mad at me?"
He looks at her like she's crazy. "I'm not mad at you, Rachel."
"But you're acting like…"
"I'm acting like I can't…" he interrupts, and then looks directly at her. She wasn't kidding about wanting honesty. Her heart, right now, is doing about 10 different things, and she thinks he's about to add another reason for her to feel unsettled. Then again, maybe… "I can't fucking imagine anything happening to you."
She feels her eyes go wide. "What?"
"You're…" He stops himself. She somehow knew he would. He should, but that doesn't mean she wants him to. She's just staring at him and his breathing seems a little too carefully measured. "Nothing is going to happen to you."
He says it so clearly that it makes her think he's taken it upon himself to singlehandedly protect her.
"You were going to say something else," she notes, and really, if there were ever a time when they could be totally blunt with each other, it's now. Maybe he'll realize that part of the reason she's asking is because she wants to take her mind off the other thing. The other part, of course, being that she thinks she's halfway in love with him most of the time.
He chuckles a little. "I've already told you way more than I was supposed to."
He's not going to cross the line. She knew that, she's sure.
"Do you think Daddy's going to be mad?" she asks, and she really does care; this subject is just as pressing as the last.
"I dunno," Noah mumbles, almost laughing. "But I'm pretty sure the President's not gonna be too happy about it."
"I hope you don't get into trouble."
"Not that I'd ask, but I have a feeling you'd have my back."
It's really almost funny when she thinks about it, that she could protect him for a change. Even if she thinks it's absolutely ridiculous that no one thought she might have a right to know what's been going on around here. It's her well-being and her life, and she's positive everyone's just going to say they didn't want to scare her with the details. But she would have been a much more cooperative party if they had just let her know what they were protecting her from. And she is scared. Terrified, actually. She also, though, believes Noah when he says nothing's going to happen to her. She has no idea why, because he can't control any of this any more than she can. Well, maybe a little more, and his job is to keep her safe, but…Even with as much as she knows about the Secret Service and how well they're trained for even the least likely scenarios, she still believes there's always at least the slightest possibility that if someone wanted to get to her, they could. It's something she tries not to think about, but sometimes, like now, she can't help herself.
… … …
Daddy's already berating Noah when she's led into the Oval, and Noah is just standing there and taking it, which is a thing people do when the President is talking to them, and she understands. But her dad doesn't need to be so rude, and Noah was just doing for her what he thought was best. Of course he's not going to say that and imply that he knows better than the President what's good for the First Daughter. The truth is, with this, he might actually. Not only is he something of an expert on security, hers specifically, but he's spent more of the last four months with her than anyone else has. He knows her, as much as she's tried to deny that from time to time. There's really no escaping it. Yes, Daddy's got all the motivation in the world to keep her safe and make choices that affect her well-being, but. Well.
The fact remains that she deserved to know. She's not going to change her mind just because she's in the Oval Office with the President. Right now it's just her father's office and it wouldn't matter what his job title was.
"I should have you fired."
Rachel rolls her eyes and decides it's time to step in. "No one's firing anyone." Daddy gives her a look she's sure is supposed to be menacing or something. Oddly enough, he was never the disciplinarian. She almost wants to laugh at his attempt to appear as though he has any clue with how to deal with her.
"Rachel, now's not the time for one of your speeches," Daddy says, and it would really be so easy to be especially irritated by that. "He could have compromised…"
"Don't," she says, interrupting, and the entire room seems to still. "He didn't compromise anything. Don't you think I feel at least a little better knowing why everyone's been acting so insane lately?"
"That's not the point."
"Well then, what is the point?" It sounds like a dare. Noah is standing about five feet behind her father, looking at her like she's crazy. She's not. She's just her father's daughter, that's all. He can have any title in the universe, but if she needs to talk to him, she's going to.
"The point is," he says evenly, and, okay, he sounds a little mad, "he went against what I asked." She rolls her eyes again. So this is a power thing. "There were reasons."
Okay, now she's getting a little more upset. She thought he might actually explain himself. He may do so later, but she thinks he should just take the chance now that he's got it.
"What, are you just going to keep me locked away in a tower until you're out of office?" she asks, and maybe her hands sort of go up a bit, too.
He mumbles, "Is that an option?" and no one laughs.
"I'm 19 years old. You seem to think you can still treat me like a child!"
Daddy takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair. She knows there's a lot he wants to say, but that he doesn't necessarily want all their family business to be common knowledge to the half dozen other people in the room.
"It doesn't really matter how old you are. There will always be things I know better than you. I didn't want you to…These threats are…"
She just stares at him. He's not this ineloquent. And not just because he's got a team of people who write speeches for him. He's a brilliant speaker and he doesn't stumble over words. Ever. She's struggling with the very sudden realization that whatever this person or people want with her is, well, enough to send her father into a bit of a frenzy. There have always been threats. There must be something particularly terrifying about these ones.
"Daddy, I'm fine," she says quietly, and he just sighs and stares at her. "I need Noah."
No one in the room seems to think anything of her calling him by his first name. But when she catches his eye he's looking at her like he's very aware of her slip.
… … …
Daddy was raised Christian and their family has always embraced the traditions of both Judaism and Christianity, as far as cultural observances go. They celebrated Yom Kippur and Christmas and Easter, and actually, during every election he's ever run in, people have asked her father how he can call himself a religious man at all if he celebrates all these holidays. His fairly foolproof answer is that he's certainly not agnostic, but he respects and values all religions and seeks to understand them as best he can. It seems to be enough for people, though he polls low within certain religious groups. However, the way Rachel sees it, a gay black man just is not going to score every vote in the Bible Belt.
The White House during Christmas is really beautiful. It's decorated fantastically, and Rachel knows it's typically the duty of the First Lady to head up the decorating committee, or whatever they call it. Dad cares more about hockey scores than boughs of holly, so he's sort of just let the decorators do whatever they wanted. Rachel laughs every time someone asks him if he had a hand in it and he says something along the lines of, "I advised them to use red and green wherever they could." She doesn't doubt he actually did that. She thinks he plays this game where he likes to see how many White House staffers he can make laugh in a day.
They've got a real tree that's decorated in silver, blue and burgundy in the living room in the residence. She's a little bummed that all their family ornaments are sitting in a box in New York, but the tree really is lovely. It would just be a little cuter with those matching mice in walnut shells she made for her dads when she was a kid. (She's letting it go. She promises.)
She doesn't want to make it seem as though she's all about the gifts. She's really not; Hannukah and her birthday and Christmas have always been so close together that by the time December 25 rolls around, she'd be completely fine with not receiving a thing. That's not even a lie. Christmas has consistently been the one time of year when she can absolutely, without any doubt at all, count on the fact that her dads will both be around at the same time. Not to make it sound like they've been absent or anything, they're just busy. Cases and elections and politics and campaigning. But there has always been those few days over Christmas when they were there all together, regardless of what happened before or what was slated to happen after. And this year she realizes that she's now off doing her own things as well. She has things to schedule around. It makes this day a little more important, even though she's been here for a couple weeks now.
There are, though, several gifts wrapped under the tree that she knows are for her. Dad does all the wrapping - he finds it soothing, and she thinks that's really very funny - and wraps all her gifts in one paper, and all Daddy's in another. Daddy clearly had a staffer wrap his gifts this year (he's hopeless at it; too many other things on his mind at any given moment to pay attention to how neat a corner looks or does not).
They've gotten her a spa day at her favourite spa in New York, and a gift card to the book store she loves in their neighbourhood. Theatre tickets and a meal (and reservation) at a very exclusive restaurant in Hell's Kitchen. (She's not clueless; the reservation is likely so they know she's coming and the Secret Service can do what they do. She doesn't care. The food is amazing.) Some clothes, a bottle of perfume, and the earrings to match the necklace they gave her for her birthday, which is just so like them it actually makes her laugh.
After gifts are opened, she gets dressed - the black cashmere sweater they gave her has already been dry cleaned because they know her, at this point, and know she loves to wear things as soon as she gets them. She can't help putting on her necklace and earrings (they'll love that) and the skinny jeans she bought in the Flatiron district on a shopping day that bored her agents so spectacularly it made her laugh. She's always been the one to make brunch, so she puts on a pot of coffee and gets to work on french toast, omelettes, bacon, home fries, and…
She hears laughter in the living room, and then her dads walk through to the kitchen with agents Donovan, Phillips, and Noah. They're all in plain clothes, but look…
Her dads invited them for Christmas day brunch.
(A fact they could have told her before she started cooking.)
But it works out, because she did get them each gifts. The looks on their faces when they open the Hermes boxes to see the ties she painstakingly selected for them (online because how on Earth could she shop for them when they're always around?) is sort of hilarious.
"Is this your way of saying you don't like the ties I get from Macy's?" Agent Phillips asks, and Rachel rolls her eyes.
(She really did put a lot of thought into this though. And she actually loves buying ties, which is sort of a strange thing, but there you have it.)
Daddy makes a crack about how they're probably not supposed to be accepting gifts, so if anyone asks he didn't see anything. The tension from the other day seems to be gone, and maybe he's not quite as friendly towards Noah as he is towards the other agents, but he isn't really holding a grudge. That's not something he does anyway, and she also just really believes he's starting to see that Noah's telling her really wasn't harmful and didn't put her in any danger. They're all just trying to protect her, and of course they're going to have differences of opinion on how best to go about that.
They spend most of the day sitting around the living room talking, trading anecdotes and laughing. Noah's in the chair next to hers, and her dads are holding court on the sofa, and she just…Has a lot of feelings about this. It certainly does not help her in the slightest that when she looks over at Noah at one point, he winks at her. She's scared the look and smile she gives him will show her hand, but then, well. She can't really remember when she stopped caring.
… … …
She'll admit that leaving the White House when she's been made aware that there's a psychopath out to get her is fairly terrifying. She's very, very glad to be leaving and going back to New York, though. This is her parents' White House, but it has never really felt like hers. She's being silly, probably, but. It's like a big hotel and nothing feels like hers, especially now that all her personal things are back in Manhattan.
Just walking from the car to the house, even with Noah right next to her, she feels nervous. Exposed. Like everyone's staring at her (they are) and one of them could…
"Are you okay?" he asks once they're inside the house, and she lets out a breath and nods her head. He knows her, though, gives her this little look that says he knows just what she's been thinking.
She waits until later to bring it up, and even that's not intentional. She's not waiting to get him alone, and he doesn't ask, but she just…She's been thinking about it since they left Washington. She's been thinking about it and watching Agents secure the house. Looking out the window, she can see how much tighter security is than it was when they left before her break. She'd be shocked if there weren't a Marine in full uniform posted outside the door sometime soon, gun in hand and everything like outside the Oval.
"I don't want to be afraid every time I leave the house," she says when Noah's in her room and it's just them. (She couldn't actually tell you why he's in here, he just is.)
"You shouldn't be. We're all here so you don't have to be scared."
She gives him an incredulous look. "You're here so I don't get kidnapped by some maniac."
She sort of thought he'd just roll his eyes at that, but he's just looking at her as though talking like that isn't something he wants her to do. "And if you know we're gonna keep it from happening, then what are you scared of?"
There is a point there, but that's also not how the brain works, as far as she knows. Just because cars have seat belts doesn't mean you stop obeying traffic laws. She can't just turn off the part of her that knows there are people out there who would risk a lot to have her dead.
"What about school? I'm in a lecture hall and someone in the back has a gun and an unobstructed view, and…"
"Rachel," he says, calmly, cutting her off, "there aren't going to be unobstructed views. That's the whole strategy."
"Strategies fail."
He looks angry now, which she doesn't exactly understand. "If you feel that way, you should have stayed in Washington."
"It's not that I don't believe you." Because that's what she thinks he's getting at, and it would explain why he's this upset. "I just…"
"You don't trust anyone."
"That's…"
"You don't," he says, and she just…She wants to say he's wrong, but she's looking at him and he's serious, and she thinks that if she asked for research to support his statement, he could produce a list of examples to prove he's right, and she wouldn't even be able to argue.
But.
"I trust you," she admits, very quietly, and looks down, because if she watches his face as he processes that, she'll be mortified. She can't believe she says these stupid things when she's around him. Something should stop her from doing that.
"Good. That's good. But I can't singlehandedly…Not saying I wouldn't try." He's frustrated with something. She doesn't know what. "It's just…Keeping you safe is…About a lot more than my job right now."
She's struck silent, because she can't tell how he means that, and if he might maybe in some capacity feel for her the way she feels about him.
"I'm gonna…" He gestures to the door and can hardly look her in the eye.
He's making a quick exit. Rachel just nods and lets him.
… … …
She can't say for certain that he's avoiding one on one time with her, because, well, opportunities for it have been pretty sparse. He wouldn't need to avoid it, because chances of it happening anyway are slim to none. She's learned that unless she's safely in her bedroom (with agents posted outside) they're required to have at least six sets of eyes on her at all times. That means more agents in the house, and a hell of a lot more outside of it, whether she's inside or not. And she hasn't even bothered counting how many are around when she's out doing things, because it'd be pointless; there are likely so many agents in plain clothes she'd never have an accurate number.
She is, surprisingly, fine with this. Which is funny (her father has another word for it) because not long ago she was bemoaning the fact that her security was so heightened. It's just that the longer this crazy person is out there without any clues to his whereabouts or whether or not he's followed them to New York, the more scared she gets. Because he's still after her, and because he's apparently good enough at what he does that he's eluding the FBI.
So no, there haven't been a lot of moments for the two of them to talk, but she's been able to deduce that if there were, well. He's been avoiding eye contact a little more than usual. And he's been acting far more like the rest of the agents these days, but she thinks that has something to do with how many there are and him not wanting to seem like he's not taking his job seriously. She can respect that.
But when they're both awake in the middle of the night - because she can't sleep and because Noah is the one sitting outside her bedroom door this time - and he barely says two words to her in the 10 minutes it takes to get to the kitchen and make him a cup of coffee and her some tea, she just can't handle it. She's used to him being the one she can talk to. She doesn't like feeling as though she's not allowed to do it.
"Is it possible that you're avoiding me even though you literally don't let me out of your sight?" she asks, and he just stares at her and holds his cup in his hands. "Is that what's happening?"
"It's not like that." He's shaking his head, but she doesn't find any of it very convincing.
"Is it because of…You said…"
"I know what I said." He sets down his cup, rubs his fingers across his brow, then lets out this little laugh. "That's…One of a lot of things I shouldn't have said."
He's nearly whispering, because, as they're learning, there's always someone listening around here these days. It's as though no one sleeps, herself included.
"But you did," she reminds him, not that she thinks he's forgotten. She plays with the string of her tea bag. He takes a step closer.
"You just keep talking until I…"
"Oh, so it's my fault?" she laughs, and he's smiling at her when she glances up at him. He winks at her instead of answering, and he's probably not supposed to do that either. Especially not alone with her at 2:00 am.
"Completely your fault," he says, and the way he's looking at her is just so…
Well, she'd think about it more, but maybe not, actually, because she finds herself leaning right up against him, only the balls of her feet touching the floor as she stretches up to press her lips against his. And she doesn't even have a chance to consider how mortifying it would be if he didn't kiss her back, because he tangles one hand all up in the hair at the back of her head, and the other grabs her waist, and god, there's a chance she's been waiting her entire life to be kissed like this.
The most striking thing about it, about him in general actually, is that Noah is, or seems to be, the only person she's ever met who actually knows what to do with her.
He pulls away enough to say, "I can't," and she barely has enough time to nod before he's the one kissing her, backing her up against the counter so the granite cuts across her back. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her he's not afraid to take the reigns with her. It's refreshing, and sexy, and when his tongue swipes at her bottom lip, she has to try very hard not to let out too loud a noise. It's still the middle of the night and there are however many people in the house, not all of them asleep, she's sure.
They must have that same thought at the same time, because he backs away from her so quickly she's left leaning forward, wanting more. His hands leave her completely and he puts no less than five feet of space between them, scrubbing a hand over his face and cursing under his breath. She's just standing there breathing hard, and they're watching each other, and she can tell, she knows, that he didn't want to stop.
She realizes seconds later, when Agent Lewis walks into the kitchen, that Noah didn't stop because of some moral revelation, but because he heard someone coming. She turns around and plays with the string of her tea bag with her back to them while they talk quietly, and thinks (practically fantasizes) about what might have happened if she and Noah were actually alone. If they were ever alone.
"I'm going back to bed," she announces moments later. Noah's expression is blank. It's as if they both know he'd be getting an invitation if the circumstances were any different.
"Puck needs sleep," Agent Lewis says, and Rachel nods, because…Well, he's not wrong, but Noah is presently sipping his coffee and she assumes sleep just isn't going to happen at all. "I'll come with you."
She glances back at him before she steps out of the kitchen, and he's standing there with his head bowed and his hand resting on the edge of the counter, and part of her is glad she's seeing him like that, because it's just really nice to know that kiss affected him as much as it did her.
… … …
It's not him she's annoyed with, specifically. It's not his fault that a simple thing like privacy has become non-existent for her. In fact, she went through a day and a half of panicking over whether or not Agent Lewis heard or saw anything neither she nor Noah would have wanted him to.
But Noah said what he said, then kissed her when they talked about it, and there's just no way they're getting out of this whole mess (though she doesn't think of it like that at all) without ever addressing it again. They probably should have talked more instead of making out in the kitchen, but she's not about to complain, because...
She's got this scary feeling it's not going to happen again, and she's trying to just be happy that it even happened at all. That's hard when he's the one who admitted feelings. And he hasn't once asked how she feels. It's a little scary to think he just knows without her having to say a word. (If he knows, who else has picked up on it?)
There are four agents in black suits in her Women and Gender Studies lecture, and at least four more in plain clothes that she can spot as soon as she walks in. It's the first day and everyone's looking at her, and you'd think that after already enduring a semester of this, she'd be used to it. Noah points to two seats that have clearly been set aside for them, and she tries to smile at the girl sitting closest to them, but, as is sort of the norm, the girl is tapping out something on her smart phone and doesn't even wave.
And only three and a half more years to go. (And even that isn't right, because there's no way she doesn't do a masters or doctorate or…Now's not the time to think about that.)
Twenty minutes into the lecture, which has so far been a very basic slideshow outlining what the course will cover over the next few months, Noah pulls a piece of blank lined paper off the stack she's got sitting in front of her, and she tries not to peek at what he's writing.
'I'd lose my job.'
She wants to roll her eyes and then yell at him that she's not an idiot, but that might create just a little unwanted attention.
'I know you could.'
'Not could. Would.'
Semantics. She knows what he was saying. She lets out a little sigh. They're writing notes like tenth graders, and while it's probably the only way to 'talk' with a guarantee no one else is listening, it feels incredibly silly.
'We need to talk about this like adults.'
She's right and he nods next to her, and really, she thinks that if anyone could make it happen, he could. He's trained to protect her and see to it that she's safe and somewhat sheltered. Maybe he hasn't made the effort to get her alone because she hadn't told him to do it. Now that she thinks about it, it would look pretty suspicious if he just arranged for some rendezvous without her first talking to the other agents about wanting it.
Between one lecture and another, Noah asks her if she wants him to teach her how to shoot, and she's a little flustered at just the thought. He says, though, that she should tell Agent Donovan she's going to the range with Noah later. See? He's smart about it. They'll be somewhere completely safe, obviously, so there'll be no need for multiple agents all in one room looking out for her. She's 100% positive - as they all will be too - that nothing bad will happen to her when she's at the Secret Service field office, at the shooting range where Noah will most likely be either holding a gun, or within about a half a foot of one.
It's a silly thought, but she wishes she were wearing something other than yoga pants and a Columbia hoodie when they have this conversation. But it's cold and they could really only come when the range was available and traffic on the streets wasn't terrible, so it is what it is. Plus, it's really ridiculous of her to think she needs to get dressed up for him at all at this point. He's seen her in just about any type of outfit by now. The only thing he's ever made fun of her for was her Giants tee shirt.
She's got a gun in her hand and Noah about a foot behind her when she figures it's time to start the conversation already, and just blurts out, "You know I have feelings for you."
His voice is even when he says, "I know." She wants to look at him and ask if he could please let her know what's going on in his head, but he steps forward, puts a hand carefully on hers and helps her to lift the gun and aim it at the target. "Safety off."
"Noah."
"We can't just stand here talking."
He's right, but his breath on her ear is sure as hell not going to help her focus on the target. He places the noise cancelling headphones on her ears and then puts his hand back on hers and just taps her trigger finger. She still has no clue what she's doing, but she pulls the trigger anyway. The sound and feel of the gun going off scare her and she stumbles back against him. He sets his hand on her hip, taps his fingers against her. She keeps the gun pointed to the floor and turns her head to look at him.
That wasn't enjoyable for her at all.
He just chuckles and reaches down to put the safety back on while she pulls off the headphones.
"See?" he says, smug. "Now I can make it look like I'm talking to you about what you did wrong." She narrows her eyes at him and tries to say something, but he cuts her off before she can. "You make me crazy."
She hesitates, but then; "In a good way?"
"Not always," he says, voice low, and, well, what is a suitable response for that? "I need my job. Protecting you is more important than…Look, I'm an impulsive guy, so I'm already fighting this hard enough as it is."
That's confusing. "What does that mean?"
He takes a little breath, and she notices the way his eyes dart down for a moment. "Now I know how good it feels to kiss you. I'm struggling not to do it again right now." He nods towards the target. "Shoot."
"I have no idea what I'm doing," she says, even as she turns and raises the gun, clicks the safety off.
He says, "Me neither," into her ear right before he puts the headphones on her.
She fires, and the bullet actually hits the paper target this time, so that's some sort of improvement, or at least good luck.
"So we're just going to ignore our feelings?" And, fine, maybe that comes out a little more angrily than she intended. "Is that your solution?"
"I'm not ignoring anything. I'm just not acting on it." She rolls her eyes. Same thing, isn't it?
"How can you do that?" she asks, and she might be getting really emotional, but he can't even blame her for that, can he?
"Baby," he says, in this voice that…God, he's making this so much more difficult. "I'm good at doing things I don't want to do." She looks down, because that's really not an answer and he knows it, too. He sighs a little and says, "I have to."
"What now?" she whispers. And she can't look him in the eye, because she's more or less terrified to see whatever expression might be on his face. This obviously isn't easy for him either, but she has this feeling it's a million times harder for herself. Maybe that's just a woe is me attitude.
"Now I'm really gonna teach you how to fire that gun."
"I can't do this."
"Yeah, you can," he tells her, and maybe it doesn't matter to what she was referring.
It would be nice, she thinks, to have as much faith in herself as he does.