counting the steps between us [1/4]
Title: counting the steps between us [1/4]
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.
It's not something she really thinks about, to be honest. Having a security detail has been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. Then she was about 12 and her dad's career started gaining momentum and everything picked up a little more. Before then it was just regular security for the family as they traveled from place to place. Then he got the party nomination and suddenly there were death threats and all kinds of horrible things, because her father is gay and married to a white man. Some of the threats were directed at her, too, which isn't surprising so much as it is scary.
But it's really just a part of her life. There are cars that follow Rachel wherever she goes, and plain clothes agents near her all the time, and yes, it can get a little irritating, but she knows it's for her own safety and security, and at the end of the day, she'd rather have them around than not.
Plus her father is a little over the top about her protection, and there's no way she could even attempt to negotiate fewer agents or a more relaxed operation. She tries to put herself in his shoes - as her father, not as the President - and she can't really imagine how it feels to know the threats and terrible things people say about his family. His staff, even. It makes her wonder how difficult it must be to really run the country when you're worried about your press secretary being kidnapped, for example.
It's their first year in The White House. Daddy was inaugurated in January and it's June now, and so far things are going well. It's not as though they lived in squalor before - he comes from a very well-to-do family and Rachel lived in Manhattan all her life, until this year - but living in this house is really…different. It took her a month and a half to stop being afraid of touching anything. She's a little more comfortable now, and really, she's the First Daughter, and she's learning that comes with a lot of privileges. She can basically do as she pleases around here. It's still strange having people wait on her hand and foot, and she doesn't want to be rude and tell people she can, you know, make her own tea.
There's a break in Daddy's schedule, so he has someone come get her and they sit in the Oval Office together, and, strangely, this is one of the rooms in the house where she feels really comfortable. Maybe it's because he is. It's like this is his domain and no one gets to treat it any differently, so he's relaxed in here, at least when she sees him.
"What are you doing today?" he asks, and hands her a glass of water. There's a folder on the sofa and he sits down next to it, pulls it onto his lap. His next meeting is in 15 minutes and he's probably supposed to be looking through whatever papers are in that folder. The thing is, he's charming enough that he can just say he was spending time with his daughter and it'll be fine.
And she has to laugh, because she's stopped asking him that question. Usually because he honestly can't remember all the things he has to do in a day, but also because even when she does, there aren't many things that actually mean anything to her. She's smart and obviously knows a lot about politics - definitely more than most people - but, well, he does a lot of boring stuff.
"I don't really have anything planned."
He chuckles. "And you're going crazy."
She leans her head back against the sofa, and, "Yes," she sighs.
She graduated high school last week and she's gotten to the point where she's going stir crazy. Turns out that even when you live in a massive house and have essentially the entire world at the tips of your fingers, that doesn't dispel the sheer boredom of not really having anything you need to do.
"We can find something for you," he says. "I'll see if there's an event you can go to, or some volunteer work, or…"
And she loves doing all that, and it's a great idea, actually. Now that she's got more time, she should be more visible. A recent poll suggested that the people want to see more of her, like they did during the campaign. She can't imagine why. But she landed herself on a lot of best dressed lists - people are still talking about the gown she wore to Daddy's inauguration - and apparently people want to see what she's going to wear next. And yes, she does worry about things like approval ratings - there are approval ratings for her, which stresses her out - and she knows it's important that people see the family doing good things. She hates that they have to work twice as hard to make people like them, just because her dads happen to be gay. She also sometimes thinks that the advisors need to put more faith in the American people, because they're the ones who elected her father, and it wasn't exactly by a narrow margin.
Anyway. An hour later, she's being told of a ground-breaking ceremony for a new public space. She'd normally shop and find something new to wear, but she actually finds that people like it when she wears the same pieces more than once. Michelle started that trend, and Rachel looks up to her for a lot of reasons. So Rachel dresses in a floral shift dress she bought at Bloomingdale's and wore once before, for a photo op last summer.
She's walking down the hall to where the car is waiting outside, two agents are following behind her, and when she gets outside she can see two more waiting by the car.
All this so she can go get her picture taken sticking a shovel into the ground at a dog park.
… … …
She stands in the back of the room and watches the press briefing, because she finds it interesting and funny, and really, she's got no other agenda. Reporters can be so ridiculous, and it's sort of fun to watch Santana Lopez, the Press Secretary, shoot them down and put them in their places.
"Rachel," Santana says after the briefing, as she heads towards her office, "what are you doing down here?"
Rachel shrugs her shoulder and tries to keep up with Santana. The woman's always going somewhere quickly. Even if she doesn't need to. "I got bored upstairs. And watching you verbally smack Lance Dustin around is my favourite."
Santana laughs and takes off her suit jacket, revealing a pale blue shirt underneath, and then fixes her hair and gives Rachel a little grin. "Honestly the only reason I haven't had his credentials revoked is because the best part of my day is getting to come up with some stabbing response to whatever nonsense he's talking."
When they get to Santana's office, she invites Rachel in to chat, but Rachel shakes her head. "No, you're busy. I'll find someone else to bug."
Santana tries to argue her on it and say she's not that busy, but then the Deputy Chief of Staff is standing in the door, and Rachel doesn't really want to stick around to hear whatever he's got to say. Mike's great, but she can read him like a book and that look on his face means there's some kind of crisis somewhere, and hearing about it will only freak Rachel out.
She can't wait to go back to school. Well, start school.
The plan was always NYU, because it's what she wanted, and there's Tisch, and it's New York. But then, somewhere along the way, it was decided that really, the President's daughter should go to an Ivy. She'd been mad at first, and disappointed in her father for letting someone dictate to him where she should go to school. He said, though, that whatever she wanted was fine, but they were in a different position now, and he also wanted her to get the best possible education. So she applied to Harvard (Daddy went to law school there), Yale, and Columbia, with Columbia being her first choice. She got into all three, of course, and that was made very public, so she had to put out a statement saying that while Harvard and Yale are both incredible schools, she's always wanted to attend university in her hometown.
At the end of the day, that's really what it comes down to. She hasn't been gone long, but she misses New York. Her dads decided, when the polls were showing Daddy so far ahead, that she should enrol in a school in DC to complete her senior year. It made sense, even though she had a tutor for almost her entire first semester while they were campaigning. It's been a year since she spent more than a week at a time in her actual home, and going to school will mean she gets to go back to her Upper West Side townhouse. It's where she grew up, and she'll be there alone more, and she honestly can't wait. There will be staff, and secret service, and she won't ever really be alone, because that just…It doesn't exist in her life anymore. But it'll be like she's growing up and maturing. She feels like Chelsea Clinton or something.
She knows there's likely an entire file of details for her move and life in New York. There's probably a committee working out all the kinks. She knows they've been interviewing for a chef, as if she can't make her own food. And Daddy thinks it would be helpful if she had her own personal assistant, but really, she just wants to feel…
Going to college is supposed to be like striking out on your own, and it will be, in a way. She doesn't want to feel like…Like she should have just gone to Georgetown and stayed at The White House, and if everything is planned for her down to the very smallest detail, that's what it'll be like.
"Hi Greg," she says as she passes one of the secret service men who usually follow her around. He's sitting in the mess and has an empty plate in front of him.
"Ms. Berry."
She rolls her eyes without meaning to. "It's Rachel."
He nods, but he won't stop calling her Ms. Berry and she knows that, too.
She gets a cup of fresh squeezed orange juice, and as she's sitting at a table watching Mike and Matt, who works in communications as a writer, have some kind of meeting of the minds, it occurs to her that it might be weird that she's here. She has a kitchen in the residence, and there's always someone around to bring her something if she needs it.
She gets up to leave and feels everyone's eyes on her as she goes. She's used to that by now.
… … …
Dad comes back from Florida, where he was making appearances and did a couple guest lectures at universities down there. Her fathers are both lawyers, met at law school and decided to take over the world. Seriously, that used to be the joke. Daddy always wanted to go into politics, and Dad wanted to work in human rights and help people and save people and make a difference. So Daddy practiced at a big time firm until he was old enough to run for office, and Dad did exactly what he set out to do, and really, it all helped. When Daddy said he wanted to run for office, no one honestly believed he had a shot. No one except Rachel and her dad.
Anyway, he's been gone nearly two weeks and every time he comes home they all have dinner together in the dining room in the residence. Daddy might say he's going to cook, but then inevitably doesn't have the time. (Which isn't exactly upsetting, because he's terrible in the kitchen.) And nowadays he might only have an hour break in his schedule, but he's learning to put his foot down with the staff to push for more time with his family.
So she's sitting in jeans and a navy tank top at the table with Chinese some intern probably had the thrill of going to pick up. Dad's talking about Florida like it's some far-off land and not someplace they've been to five times in the last 18 months. He brought her back a Beauty And The Beast snow globe, which she knew about because he was photographed at Disney buying it. Who else would it be for? She thinks it's sweet, though, because when they went to Disney when she was a little girl, she wanted one so bad and the store was sold out at the time. He's been saying he'd buy her one since the second he stood with her in the sun on a sidewalk at Disney and brushed the tears from her cheeks with his knuckles.
"The Canadian Prime Minister is coming," Daddy announces.
"No work talk," Dad says, with his brows knit together.
"We talked about your work." Rachel just smiles at them, at this little argument that isn't really an argument. "Anyway, it's not about work, really. She has a son Rachel's age."
"Oh my god," she groans, sending him a glare. "No. You're not…Do you really want the first significant thing you do while in office to be setting your daughter up with the first available world leader's…"
"I've done significant things." The indignation might be fake. She's not sure. "And if nothing else, you'll be a cordial host."
"Of course I will, but…"
"You should Google him," her dad chimes in, mouth full of egg roll. "He might be cute."
Rachel's sort of laughing as she says, "I'm not dating the Canadian Prime Minister's son!"
"How about British?" Daddy asks. "Israeli? I think the French Ambassador's son is going to Cornell."
"Daddy."
It's a warning. He winks at her and stops pressing the issue.
And really, you'd think that the leader of the free world would have a little less time on his hands to micromanage his daughter's love life, but he drops hints all week long. He reminds her about the reception and formal dinner event, as if everyone she talks to doesn't tell her the same thing. Seriously, everywhere she goes, some staffer is reminding her of someone she'll need to meet at this thing, or what she'll need to say, or where she'll be sitting.
The only thing she's gotten to do on her own is choose the dress, and by that she means she picked what she wanted and someone else tracked it down. And a stylist picked her shoes because Rachel doesn't care as much about what's on her feet when the gown she's wearing will be covering them anyway.
Her gown is silver silk, Dior, with delicate beading and a belted waist. It's strapless and vintage and a recreation of one that's on display at the Met and she's loved forever. She wore Dior for Daddy's inauguration and she sort of fell in love with it. That red gown, they'd had to call about after the election. This time, Dior asked if she'd want anything for any upcoming occasions, and, well. There's a chance it's a little fancy for this, but she can dress it down a little, she's told, by keeping her hair down and going easy on the jewelry. That doesn't hurt her feelings much, either, because she doesn't wear a lot of showy jewelry anyway.
The night of the event, she is completely ready and waiting and her dads have yet to even start putting on their tuxes. It annoys her. Not because they're slow, but because her schedule was absolutely overkill today and she was in a hair and makeup chair, getting her nails done and the whole business, by 10:00 a.m. The reception doesn't even start until 7:00. How could anyone think it would take that long to make her presentable? Anyway, she's siting on the sofa with her shoe sort of dangling from her toes as she waits, and she'd be worried about leaning back on the ends of her hair like this, but there's enough hairspray holding the curl that she'd almost bet she could walk through a wind tunnel and not look like she ever left the house.
When she gets fed up - and can hear them bickering behind their closed door, she knocks twice and leans against the frame, looking, she's sure, every bit as bored as she feels.
"Oh, honey," Dad says, and lets go of the ends of his untied bow tie. "You look…"
Daddy isn't saying anything. He's just looking at her like he's not sure he's really okay with the fact that she's an adult and wearing a proper gown, not a dress that goes to her knees a patent leather mary janes.
She knows this look and has seen it quite a lot over the last couple years.
"Daddy?" she prompts, really just to get him going.
"You're gonna put on a scarf or something, right?" She rolls her eyes and Dad laughs. "Neckline's a little low."
"You know, sometimes I like it better when you talk to me as the President, not my father."
"As the President, I'm telling you to get a cardigan."
"It's June," she giggles. Dad finishes tying his tie, and Daddy pulls his jacket on.
"You look gorgeous," he tells her, and leans down to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure the Prime Minister's son will think so, too."
It shouldn't make her blush, but it does, and she just barely feels like her skin is a normal temperature when they step out into the hall to head to the reception. She walks between them, as she has on every campaign stop and public appearance they've all attended. When it's the two of them, her dads without her, they're side by side. When they're all together, she's in the middle.
The cameras are practically blinding, but Rachel smiles anyway, and she can see that people are looking at her and already talking about her dress. And it's obviously her they're talking about, because he may be the President, but her dad is just a guy in a tux in a room full of guys in tuxes. She stands by as he shakes hands with the Prime Minister, and it's a strange mirror image that's going on here; the three of them and the three visitors. The Prime Minister's husband looks older than she is, not that it matters. And, okay, their son is good looking. He's tall, like his father, with dark hair and eyes, and a tie that's just a little crooked. He's cute, and he's not paying attention to her at all. It doesn't really bother her. She's sort of used to guys not paying attention to her.
(And frankly, she'd rather that than some diplomat's son relentlessly hitting on her.)
Things are mostly fine through dinner. She's seated next to this guy, of course. Finn is his name. And she really doesn't mean to laugh when he says that he's not going to college, but continuing to play hockey instead. It's just so stereotypical, and she has to backpedal and apologize for acting that way, but seriously? He's a hockey player? Apparently there's a junior team in his hometown and he played for them for a long time, and then, coincidentally, she's sure, ended up being traded to a team in Ottawa. He's a nice guy, and he's a little nervous, she can tell.
"Is this your first one of these?"
He gives her kind of a weird look. "Mom's been PM for like, almost three years."
"Oh." She reaches for her water glass, but doesn't take a drink. "You just seem nervous, or something."
He turns a little red and wipes his hand on the napkin on his lap, and he's not looking at her when he says, quietly, "Well, you're really hot, so."
She drinks her water. A big long gulp of it. Dad catches her eye across the table and winks at her, and she tries to relax.
She honestly can't remember the last time a guy called her 'hot'. At least somewhere other than an internet message board.
After dinner, there's dancing and drinks, and most people are taking part in at least one of those. She and Finn are both underage, though he does say something about her going to Canada when she turns 19 because that's the legal drinking age there. She loves this time of year, and she's learning that one of the best things about The White House is that there's so much outdoor space to make use of. When she says, "Do you want to go for a walk?" she ignores the look she gets from Daddy, and leads Finn through the room and out the side doors.
"It's not that I dislike this stuff," Finn says as they walk outside, close to the building. It sounds silly, maybe, but she doesn't want to get the bottom of her dress dirty by walking across the lawn. "It just all starts to feel the same after a while."
She nods, but she doesn't really know how she'll feel three years down the line. "Is your mom going to run for re-election?"
"Yeah," he says, and slips his hand into his pocket. He really does look nice in his tux.
It's quiet for a few moments, but she knows there's an agent walking not far behind them, and two posted on the corner they're approaching. They should probably just turn around and head back inside before their parents start arranging a dowry or something.
"What are you planning on doing after you're finished with hockey?"
Finn laughs a little, looks at her like she's crazy. "What do you mean finished with hockey?"
Just as she's trying to imagine what it might feel like to love something that much, she hears what sounds like a gunshot, and out of instinct, she turns quickly in the direction of the sound. But not really, because someone is pushing her to the ground. Well, not really pushing her. Sort of…She can't describe it. All she knows is that it doesn't hurt even when she's on the ground with her forearms pressing into the concrete beneath her, and there's someone covering her, and people are talking in codes.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm…" She can't breathe, probably because of the adrenaline. "I'm fine."
Whoever's been on top of her moves, then Finn and this agent are helping her up and they're being rushed inside, and it's stupid, but all she can piece together is that it wasn't Finn who pushed her to the ground.
"You're not hit?"
"What?" She looks at this agent who's obviously crazy, because she's fine and she didn't get shot. "I…no. No, I'm fine. Really."
They're ushered to the West Wing immediately, quickly, with at least a half a dozen agents around them, and Rachel wants pretty badly to freak out, because her dad, but she can't lose her mind just yet. The agent who was asking her things minutes ago is walking directly to her left, and how serious he is scares her, because, well, she doesn't want this to be serious. She wants it to be a car backfiring, or a kid playing a bad prank, or something like that.
All four of their parents are in the Oval Office when they get there, along with the head of the Secret Service at the White House, and Rachel can't really hear what he's saying because her fathers are hugging her so tightly.
"What?" she asks. It's not really any of her business. By that she means she's very well aware that there are things that happen in this house, specifically this room, that she'll never be privy to, and that's fine. However given how hard her heart has been beating for the last five minutes, she thinks she's allowed to ask.
"It was across the street. No one here was in any direct danger. A random crime that happened to take place right outside the building." Rachel can't believe someone would be so stupid as to… "An agent shot him in the shoulder and the victim took one round to the leg."
She's so incredibly relieved that no one died tonight. She's shaking, or so Dad tells her, and Finn is pale as a sheet. They stay in the office for another few minutes, until the grounds are cleared and the lockdown is lifted, or whatever it is they call it. She says goodnight to the Prime Minister and her husband, and to Finn. They're all having lunch in one of the gardens tomorrow, so she'll see him again.
The same agent escorts her back to her bedroom, which is really silly, actually, because she's sure she'd be fine on her own now. There are enough agents and freaking Marines around this place that she's safe inside the building. But she heard Daddy tell the director to make sure an agent took her upstairs, and she's not in a position to argue, and it'd be silly to anyway. It's not like he's bothering her by walking four feet behind her all the way through the residence to her bedroom.
He's the one who pushed her to the ground, made sure she was all right, and walked next to her. And when she gets to her bedroom door and neither of them has said anything, she can't just…She…
She turns to him, and he's standing there waiting. Maybe to see what she's going to say, but more likely just waiting for her to be inside with the door closed behind her.
"Thank you," she says, sincerely, and the agent just looks at her for a moment, then presses his lips together and gives her a quick nod.
She's never noticed him before. She'll probably never forget him now.
And she didn't even really think twice about her Secret Service code name until she heard him using it.
… … …
She goes to Montana with her dads and the senior staff and press core, and it's basically a photo pop Daddy tries to sell as a vacation. The democratic candidate in this district is the first to win in some number of years, and formally invited her daddy and the First Family to his ranch, and since he's really just trying to get even more Americans to like him, Daddy and the staff decide three days in Montana is a great idea.
"What do I even pack?" she asks Dad as he sits on one of the chairs in her room with a cup of coffee and the sports page.
"Can you imagine being a Manning?"
She just looks at him. The thing about Dad is that he's crazy for football and always has been. He likes to pretend he could have been a coach if things had been different; he played all through high school and had a little interest from colleges, but nothing ever came of it. She'll admit he knows the game incredibly well, but she's pretty sure being a lawyer is his calling. She and Daddy let him believe, though, that this other thing could have happened, because it doesn't hurt anyone to let him pretend.
"I'm just saying. Anyone born into that family would have so much pressure to be the next Eli."
Rachel smiles and crosses her arms. "Most people would say Peyton first."
He looks at her like she's crazy. "I'm a Giants fan." Rachel just laughs and shakes her head. "I don't know. I just think that kind of pressure would get to you."
"Right. Not at all like being the President's daughter."
"Quiet, kid," he says, and goes back to the paper, turns the page. "You've got it easy. And it's likely to be real hot in Montana." She rolls her eyes at his fake accent. "Pack for the weather."
This isn't really a vacation. She needs a dress to wear to the dinner, and she's positive there will be horseback riding. She's done it a few times in the last however many years, but she can't think of what to wear to do it now. She settles on jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo, which seems like the obvious choice, but she's got a tan and the white will photograph well.
"You know, there's probably someone who'd do all this for you," Dad says from his place, coffee cup in hand.
"I like doing things on my own."
He just laughs until she throws a pair of rolled up socks at him and questions why he's not busy doing something. He winks at her and asks if she wants to get out of here for the rest of the day. They're leaving early tomorrow morning, but honestly, nothing sounds better. And somehow he knows all the best places to go in DC. Probably because he chats with any staff and Secret Service he can. Their family knows New York so well, and they've had conversations about how it's strange not to know where to get a decent chili dog at 2:00 a.m. (well, her fathers have) or where to buy this certain brand of organic sunflower butter she's in love with.
The same Secret Service agent from last month ends up going with them. She hasn't seen him once since that night, and she doesn't understand why. Or, really, why she cares, or has been looking for him. It's not as though she's got some kind of hero worship thing going on. He did his job, and as scary as it is to think about it, she's pretty sure that won't be the last time someone has to cover her like that, or whisk her away to safety. Maybe it's just that it was the first time that makes it feel so significant. Either way, he gets out of the car behind theirs and straightens his red and white striped tie, scans around the area. They're just in Georgetown because shopping is just something Dad takes her to do when they don't have anything in mind. She doesn't exactly complain.
The agent holds the door for her at one point, opens his arm to guide her in, and doesn't look her in the eye even once.
… … …
He comes to Montana, too. She sees him on the plane, but she's talking with Santana and sipping from a bottle of water, and he's sitting there with another agent. She's barely ever heard him say two words, and he's not speaking now, either. She looks away so she won't be caught staring when he turns his head.
Santana raises her brow and opens her mouth, but Rachel cuts her off with, "Don't," and sort of laughs.
"What?" Yeah, Santana is about as innocent as…Well, she's just not innocent. "He's good looking."
Rachel's feeling a little sassy when she says, "So ask him out," and sort of raises her eyebrows as Santana laughs.
Given that the woman is a lesbian, there's exactly no amount of attractive agents on this plane right now who would catch her eye. (And Rachel's talked to Daddy about that, too, that there are hardly any female agents on his detail.) Santana is great, too, and even though there are several years between them, Rachel thinks they had a fair amount in common. Also, Santana is a force. She joined Daddy's campaign in the early stages and she knows so much more about politics than anyone might assume. Seriously. She obviously knows about press strategies and spin and all that, but she can talk policy and legislation with the best of them, and honestly, Rachel thinks her daddy has a soft spot a mile wide for this woman who surprises him regularly.
The ranch really is beautiful. The house is a massive log 'cabin' that she's told has 13 bedrooms. The views are unbelievable, and Rachel actually feels really relaxed, just breathing this air. Out the back windows, you can view the stables and this old barn she's already been told is an original structure from sometime in the 1800s.
There's a dinner, and then drinks, and it's just her family and the senior staff and the hosts. Rachel is the youngest person here by about 10 years, and it's incredibly noticeable. She steps out for air somewhere during a conversation about social security, just after someone mentions something about tax increases. If there's one thing her father absolutely hates it's the idea of raising taxes on the average American, and he does have thoughts and ideas for social security, and she's heard them all before. As much as she loves watching him be 'Presidential', she's heard this song and dance before, and he might just get fired up and then talk over everyone and they'll all just let him.
She walks out onto the back porch, though really it wraps around the whole house and she just happens to be at the back because it's off the sitting room and it was the easiest escape. Her heel almost sticks between two slats of wood, but she manages to free it sort of gracefully. The skirt of her floral chiffon dress blows in a warm summer wind, and she pulls all her hair over her shoulder so it won't annoy her getting blown around.
"I've got Belle."
She turns quickly to see the agent - that agent - standing by the door she just walked through. She hadn't noticed him. He's just lowering his wrist, and gives her a tight smile before staring straight ahead again.
Honestly, most of the agents she sees on a daily basis aren't as formal as this one. It's unnerving.
"Sorry," she says, which is stupid, she realizes immediately. "I didn't…You'd think I'd be used to this by now." His eyes shift towards her the slightest bit, like he's questioning her. "People. Lurking."
He cracks a hint of a grin. "Just doing my job."
She turns around completely so she's leaning against the railing of the porch and looking at him. "It's appreciated. But really, what could happen all the way out here?"
She shouldn't have asked that and realizes it immediately.
He's serious again.
He answers, "Anything," and then looks at her again. It scares her, how much she can tell he means it. "You're all right?"
She nods. "Fine. Just needed air."
She doesn't last long outside, really, because he's standing right there and not saying anything and she can't handle that. She doesn't look at him as she goes inside, thinking the entire time that she wishes she knew his name.
When she wakes up the next morning and looks out her window, she sees him, in a pair of loose shorts and a grey tee shirt, sweat stained and sticking to him, jogging down the path that leads to the guest cabin on the property.
She's drinking her morning coffee on the deck with their hosts and her fathers when she sees him next, in his suit again, American flag pin on his lapel and wire leading from his ear down beneath his collar.
… … …
"…And at 1:00, you're in the Oval with…"
Rachel turns to the aid who's giving her the day's schedule. She decided not to waste her summer away by not doing anything, so yes, she's kept up a schedule that is dictated to her most mornings. Daddy laughs that she's being groomed to take his job someday. Dad winks like he thinks she honestly could.
"The Oval?" Rachel asks, because she doesn't take meetings in the Oval.
"To discuss your moving back to New York."
"Oh. Right."
It makes sense. It's not like she's a typical college freshman whose parents will rent a U-Haul and hug her at the curb before driving away and leaving her at her dorm. There are a lot more details to work out than that, and more than one silly 'journalist' has mentioned that it's a Secret Service nightmare to have Rachel going back to New York on her own like this. Another newspaper said it was a stupid choice - those words - to not go to Georgetown, and then there was a line on some gossip site about how of course 'the Berry girl' feels like she's too good for Georgetown. Jon Stewart did a bit in response to that, actually, and it was hilarious.
(And really, most of the time she finds it a little silly that people call her Ms. Berry or The First Daughter, or any other number of formal terms, but the author of the article was being blatantly and deliberately disrespectful. That bothers her.)
She goes about her morning as usual. There's a group of kids from a local charity who've come for a tour, and she's worked with this charity before, so she leads them from room to room and gives them little bits of information. Of course there's an actual White House tour guide to fill in the blanks. The guy is nice, too, and she can tell he's worried about stepping on her toes, which is silly. He's better at this job than she is, and she tells him that, during a little break when the kids are eating cookies in the mess.
Then there's lunch with the head of a women's group here in Washington, because, well. The Chief of Staff thought that since there isn't a First Lady, Rachel could take on some of the relationships typically cultivated by the person in that role. It makes sense, even though her dad does a lot with these groups, too, just on account of the sheer nature of his career. It feels good to get involved, though, and to keep up to date with these groups' agendas.
She walks into Daddy's office, and he's standing behind his desk signing something, his personal aid next to him. Daddy doesn't even look up at her, but she can hear him smiling when he says, "Pretty bold, don't you think? Late to meet the President?"
She rolls her eyes. "I was in a meeting with Diane Loram." He looks up, then, brow raised like he's impressed. "There was traffic on 14th coming back."
He takes a second to process this, then looks at her seriously. "You'll give me notes on that meeting?"
Rachel glances at Blaine, Daddy's aid, who just smiles at her. "Of course," she says, and feels very important for it.
"Send them in," he tells Blaine, and then the door opens moments later and no fewer than 10 people walk in, including Mike and Santana, and that agent she can't seem to shake.
Well, she can't shake any of them, but he's different.
She sort of questions Mike and Santana's need to be here, but once they bring up their talking points, it makes a little more sense. Santana has concerns about the paparazzi and New York media preying on Rachel because she's separated from her parents, and warns Rachel not to say much of anything at all if she finds herself having questions shouted at her. It's inevitable that she will, they tell her. It's not surprising, really. She gets enough attention here; she can only imagine New York will be 10 times worse.
They go over emergency safe points, and where the field office is, as well as police precincts and a whole host of other people and places available if needed. She doesn't want to ask what types of scenarios they have plans in place for, but she can guess pretty easily. Kidnapping. Assault. Terrorist attacks. There's a folder on her lap and she's sure all this stuff is in here and she'll be expected to read it.
"Two agents in the house at all times," Daddy says, and she looks at him. "Two outside."
"Daddy, that's…"
"All times," he repeats, but to the Secret Service director, not to her.
"Exactly," Paul says, then pulls out actual blueprints of their townhouse in Manhattan and starts rattling off tactics and saying where the agents will be. Even when she's not there, someone will be. They're trying to make this completely risk-free, but it feels like overkill.
Rachel catches the eye of the agent whose name she desperately needs to learn at some point soon, considering apparently he's going to be one of her shadows for the next however long. He's sitting on the sofa across from her, a little to the right. He's already looking at her when she glances his way. He gives her this barely-there smile and she lets out a breath. It seems like of everyone here, he's the only one who realizes this bothers her. It's just so much fuss over her. She likes attention, but not this kind.
"Agent Puckerman will be with her most of the time." All eyes go to the agent and Rachel looks from him, to her father, to the director. "He's young enough to look like a friend. It's less obvious."
She doesn't mean to laugh, but, "I'm the President's daughter. Are we really going to pretend no one assumes I'll have an agent with me at every turn?"
Daddy pats her on the thigh and gives her a grin. "Agent Puckerman is about to get an Ivy League education and the cost of his tuition is keeping you safe."
"Lucky him," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Well," Daddy says, but then stops himself. Everyone looks at him, though, herself included. "He knows he gets expelled if anything happens to you."
No one says anything for a few moments, but Rachel really hates the sound of it, asks a question about her social calendar just so they'll all stop actually thinking about something happening to her.
… … …
They make it some kind of spectacle, her leaving The White House. Because of course the press knows when she's leaving - they've definitely been told, because it's not exactly classified. It's a complete zoo, and she waves and gives tiny soundbites, just little quotes so the reporters have something to caption their photos with.
Daddy can't come because he has to, you know, run a country, and Dad decided that if one wasn't going the other shouldn't. Something about it being a sign of her independence and separation from her parents and the 'fortress', as he calls The White House.
When they close the door to the SUV, Rachel closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, almost relief that she's away from the cameras and the shouting, for at least as long as it takes to get to New York. When she opens her eyes, she sees that Agent Puckerman is sitting next to her. She knew someone was there, obviously, but hadn't looked to see who.
"I don't know why they're so fascinated with me," she says, and she's not naive, but seriously. "Millions of other students are going off to school."
He chuckles, fixes his tie. "None of them are leaving from this address," he reminds her, and then says, "Let's go," into his sleeve.
The first half of the ride is quiet, but that's fine. Actually, it's preferred. Dad texts her to say he's bored and ask if she has any pointers on roaming the house, and she reminds him that he actually does have a job he could do. He calls her a smart ass and says he'll talk to her later. She's really glad her parents aren't acting like they're never going to see her again. God, of all the students in the country, she's absolutely positive she's the one who'll be in closest contact with her parents. And if Daddy believes she doesn't think he'll be getting daily briefings on her, at least for the first little bit, he's delusional.
Agent Puckerman is just looking out the window, and it was decided that they'd drive because, well, she wanted to. Someone said something, made a case for it, saying that now they'll have a car there for her, in New York, as if it would have been impossible to secure on upon landing. Anyway.
"Have you ever been to New York?" she asks, because it's been silent too long and she doesn't want things to get awkward.
He gives her a look. "I've…Yes." He's not a many of many words, is he? "I've traveled with the President more than you realize."
"Oh."
"You, too," he tells her. It makes her feel horrible for never noticing him before.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," he says with a laugh. "I like to blend."
She doesn't mean to look at him quite so incredulously, but really, the more she looks at him, the more she wonders how she never did see him. He's incredibly good-looking, with quite striking features and downright gorgeous eyes. She doesn't spend much time looking into the eyes of Secret Service agents she's gotten so used to she apparently nearly ignores. She tries to imagine seeing a man this attractive while walking down the street, and how she might see him then, and yes, it's pretty obvious to her now.
He stands out.
"Your friends are probably happy you're coming back."
"I…" Rachel stops herself, because god, how does she tell him she doesn't have friends, without sounding incredibly pathetic? "It's been hard to keep in touch with people." He nods a little, like that makes sense and isn't just her avoiding the actual topic. "Where are you from?"
He answers, "Ohio," and that's it.
That's it. For the rest of the ride, there's nothing, and she has to spend it wondering if she was out of line to ask him something about his personal life.
… … …
She'd really love to just go for a walk. You'd think she could just up and do it, but no, it's not that simple. She's unpacked and everything, and as far as she knows, everyone else is settled, too. There are two bedrooms on the second floor, and that's where the agents will sleep. Well, the ones who are with her during the daytime, anyway. It was her fathers' insistence that they stay right in the house. Her bedroom is on the third floor, and the master takes up the entire fourth. She does think it'll take some getting used to, having agents sleeping in her house, and honestly, she can't imagine it's typical that they do. But Daddy wants what he wants, and basically no one can argue with him.
It feels so good to be home, and she just wants to walk up and down Columbus or Central Park West, maybe get a coffee at her favourite shop, or…
It would be good, she's sure, for her fathers' constituents, to see her back in town. It's an opportunity.
As she's explaining this to Agent Puckerman, he's sort of grinning at her, and she asks, "What?" because she can tell there's something he wants to say.
"Not everything you do has to be a political statement."
"That's not…"
Her entire life these past few years has been a political statement. No one's told her it shouldn't be, until now.
"I'm sorry," he says, shakes his head. "That was out of line."
She just looks at him for a moment, tries to decide if he's right on either account, on her worrying too much about appearances, or him speaking out of turn.
"It's okay," she says, even though she's unsure.
"We follow you, Ms. Berry." She glances at the other agent in the room, an older man (older than Agent Puckerman, anyway) who she's never actually ever heard speak. "If you want to do something, just say so." He thinks about that for a second. "Within reason."
"Don't worry," she sort of laughs, then slips her feet back into her shoes. "I'm not one of those crazy rebellious First Daughters who'll be in the tabloids for…"
He pulls the door open for her and there's a mob of people at a rope line and the street has obviously been closed off, and god, everything's different now, isn't it?
… … …
It's really, really strange to walk into the kitchen in the morning and see Agent Puckerman sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal and a coffee cup in front of him. There's also a file there, probably a daily brief. She wonders how many reports he's got to send back to her father.
She pulls her robe tighter around herself, even though she's wearing a full set of pyjamas underneath. (Well, shorts and a camisole, but it's still technically summer.)
"Good morning," she says, and he looks up at her. So serious all the time, this one. "Did you sleep well?"
He shrugs one shoulder and nods. "Sure. Always weird in a different bed."
It makes her blush. Probably because she's still half asleep and her immediate thought is that he's probably slept in at least a few different beds, just based upon the way he looks alone.
"You figured out the coffee machine?" she asks, and he sort of scoffs.
"No. This is orange juice. I gave up when it screamed at me."
Rachel chuckles. They have the most temperamental espresso machine ever because Dad can't drink bad coffee and this was the top of the line model. It takes a certain touch to get it to work, and she's got it. Daddy hates the thing and would only ever drink coffee from it if someone else made it, because he gave up, too.
"Here," she says, reaches for a clean mug and switches the machine on. He's watching her. She doesn't mind. "How do you want it?"
"Uh." He clears his throat and closes the folder. "Just regular."
She smiles at him. She figures he's just a bare bones kind of guy. Nothing too fancy. Wherever he lives, wherever his home is, she means, it's probably mostly bare, with just the essentials. She pictures a huge sofa and a massive television. A mostly empty fridge covered with take-out menus held up with mismatched magnets.
This is a thing she does, and has done since she was little and the political events and conferences bored her. She makes up stories about people in her head. But it's more than that, too. It's not just stories, it's that she tries to figure them out. For the most part she's okay at it. She really doesn't have a chance to get to know anyone well enough to really test any of her theories.
"I have to meet with my student advisor today on campus. Then after that I'd like to go to the bookstore with my reading list and get what I need. Santana thinks that's a good photo op, too, and if there's time, I want…What?"
She's making herself an egg white omelet and he's just staring at her with this little grin on his face and his coffee cup in his hand.
He just holds up that folder with the Presidential Seal on it, and she lets out her breath and nods. Of course he already knows all this. "Right."
"Look, I know it's gotta be weird for you that I'm around all the time." It is, really, even if she'd like to deny that. "You shouldn't feel like you have to talk to me all the time."
Oh.
"Okay."
"I mean, you can. Just…I won't be offended if you don't."
She nods again, folds over her omelette after dropping some spinach and a little ricotta into the pan. "Sure. Thank you."
"Stop doing that, too. Thanking me," he says, and she looks over at him again. He's opened the folder and he's not paying attention to her, though.
… … …
She wants to go to this play, so someone gets her tickets. Plural. Two of them.
The only person she thinks might go with her is a girl she went to high school with who's going to NYU for music, and Rachel isn't even sure Tina will answer her phone. It's been a while since Rachel called, after all. There was the primaries, then campaigning, and the election, and the move. She just…She wouldn't be surprised if Tina wanted nothing to do with her.
Maybe it's the free theatre tickets, but Tina actually sounds excited to hang out, so Rachel suggests they do dinner, too, and ignores the annoyed look on the face of the agent standing nearby. It's not Agent Puckerman. This guy is much older and she can't honestly remember his name, but it's something generic, like Smith or Jones.
Look, she knows that every time she changes her plans, the Secret Service has to clear another location for her to actually be able to go there without threat of incident. Every coffee shop she walks into has to be screened and every store is…It really just takes a lot to even go shopping during store hours, even though she hates having to keep shop workers there after hours just so she can buy a new pair of shoes or dress.
She doesn't abuse the fact that she's a pretty powerful…No, she's not powerful. It's just that she can get whatever she wants. She really hates exploiting that and tries to avoid it as much as possible.
But if she wants to go to dinner and a show with a friend on a Saturday night, she's going to. She doesn't necessarily care that it inconveniences the agent whose job is to do exactly what she's asking of him.
Actually, what her father is asking of him.
Agent Puckerman is technically supposed to be off hours, because he works the 'day shift', at least until school starts and he needs to be with her wherever she goes that relates to that, Monday to Friday. She likes the idea of him taking it easy until then. His job requires him to be alert and she knows he's still adjusting to being in New York as it is.
But she comes down the stairs in the dress she's wearing for the evening, and he's standing there talking with Agent Donovan about exit points and…
"I thought you were done for the day."
The way he looks at her…She doesn't know what it means, but sometimes other men look at her that way, too, and she really doesn't want to think about it.
He shrugs one shoulder. "Tonight's kind of all hands on deck."
"Why didn't they just get some people from the field office?" she asks, because seriously, this is a lot of work for him. They've been up since six because there was a freshman pre-semester breakfast mixer.
"We did," Agent Donovan says. Rachel still can't figure out if Agent Puckerman volunteered to work, or was asked. For some reason, it matters. "You and Ms. Cohen-Chang will go through the kitchen entrance to the restaurant. You'll meet the chef, owner and manager, and…"
"Is that necessary?" she asks, and picks her jewelled clutch up off the table in the entryway. "I just want to have a normal evening with my friend."
Agent Donovan gives her this grin he has, and actually, she really likes him a lot and, though she'd never tell him this, he sort of feels like a father figure. Because she doesn't have enough of those. But really, he's older and he treats her with all due respect, but he's funny, too, and he doesn't take things too terribly seriously.
He sets his hand on her back and shows her to the door, says, "Welcome to the new normal," and she hears Agent Puckerman behind her, talking into his sleeve, no doubt, saying, "Belle's on the move."
Dinner is fine. The food is amazing and she and Tina catch up, and Tina, bless her, doesn't act like Rachel's anyone different than she always was. It could be because Tina's parents are really well-known in New York, and she lives on the Upper East Side and comes from money. Her mother is a fashion designer (Rachel's wanted to wear some of her designs, but they're sort of more mature than she's ready for) and her dad owns a massive furniture company. And a vineyard and winery in Napa. And a bookstore in Manhattan because he wanted to save it from going out of business.
Anyway, no, Tina can't completely understand Rachel's life, but it's not like she's got nothing and Rachel's some kind of princess. They've eaten together at this restaurant before, and the fact that there are Secret Service agents no matter where you look doesn't seem to bother Tina.
It's the same thing at the theatre, and Rachel feels really awful, because people keep approaching her, and after a while she just gives Tina a sympathetic look and stops even trying to introduce her friend. It makes her feel like a real bitch because she's not writing Tina off or anything, she just knows it's probably uncomfortable to know none of these people are interested in hearing about her.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel says after they've taken their seats and no one's bothering them.
"It's okay," Tina says, and she sounds sincere. "Don't you get tired of that?"
And because Rachel always has to worry about who might be listening, she just shrugs her shoulder and comes up with some mostly true party line about how she can't be upset with people talking to her and shaking her hand when they're the ones who got her father elected to the Presidency. It doesn't even sound pretentious.
The Secret Service is taking Tina home, obviously, so they're at the service entrance to the theatre and Rachel hugs her friend and says they definitely need to get together again soon, even though school is starting and things are bound to get hectic for both of them.
Tina looks around them, at all the black vehicles and agents in suits and just says, "More hectic," and they both just laugh.
In the car on the way home, Rachel asks Agents Puckerman and Donovan what they thought of the show.
They both look at her like she's insane.
"What?"
"I don't think any of us actually paid attention to the show, Ms. Berry," Agent Puckerman answers evenly, and she feels a little stupid for assuming they would have.
… … …
Her first day of classes is a complete zoo. She absolutely hates the looks and the whispers from her fellow students who obviously think they're too good to just come say hello to her and would rather talk about her behind her back. As if they know anything real about her at all. That's really not a very nice way to think about them, but at this point she doesn't have anything else to go on.
She sits alone in her first ever college lecture because no one's brave enough to come introduce themselves. It's a little depressing, actually.
Agent Puckerman slips into the seat two over from hers, gives her a little smile and pulls out a notepad and pen. She wants to laugh, because she can say with some certainty that he really doesn't have any interest in learning about research methods and statistics.
But it makes her feel a little less like an outcast to have him nearby.
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.
It's not something she really thinks about, to be honest. Having a security detail has been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. Then she was about 12 and her dad's career started gaining momentum and everything picked up a little more. Before then it was just regular security for the family as they traveled from place to place. Then he got the party nomination and suddenly there were death threats and all kinds of horrible things, because her father is gay and married to a white man. Some of the threats were directed at her, too, which isn't surprising so much as it is scary.
But it's really just a part of her life. There are cars that follow Rachel wherever she goes, and plain clothes agents near her all the time, and yes, it can get a little irritating, but she knows it's for her own safety and security, and at the end of the day, she'd rather have them around than not.
Plus her father is a little over the top about her protection, and there's no way she could even attempt to negotiate fewer agents or a more relaxed operation. She tries to put herself in his shoes - as her father, not as the President - and she can't really imagine how it feels to know the threats and terrible things people say about his family. His staff, even. It makes her wonder how difficult it must be to really run the country when you're worried about your press secretary being kidnapped, for example.
It's their first year in The White House. Daddy was inaugurated in January and it's June now, and so far things are going well. It's not as though they lived in squalor before - he comes from a very well-to-do family and Rachel lived in Manhattan all her life, until this year - but living in this house is really…different. It took her a month and a half to stop being afraid of touching anything. She's a little more comfortable now, and really, she's the First Daughter, and she's learning that comes with a lot of privileges. She can basically do as she pleases around here. It's still strange having people wait on her hand and foot, and she doesn't want to be rude and tell people she can, you know, make her own tea.
There's a break in Daddy's schedule, so he has someone come get her and they sit in the Oval Office together, and, strangely, this is one of the rooms in the house where she feels really comfortable. Maybe it's because he is. It's like this is his domain and no one gets to treat it any differently, so he's relaxed in here, at least when she sees him.
"What are you doing today?" he asks, and hands her a glass of water. There's a folder on the sofa and he sits down next to it, pulls it onto his lap. His next meeting is in 15 minutes and he's probably supposed to be looking through whatever papers are in that folder. The thing is, he's charming enough that he can just say he was spending time with his daughter and it'll be fine.
And she has to laugh, because she's stopped asking him that question. Usually because he honestly can't remember all the things he has to do in a day, but also because even when she does, there aren't many things that actually mean anything to her. She's smart and obviously knows a lot about politics - definitely more than most people - but, well, he does a lot of boring stuff.
"I don't really have anything planned."
He chuckles. "And you're going crazy."
She leans her head back against the sofa, and, "Yes," she sighs.
She graduated high school last week and she's gotten to the point where she's going stir crazy. Turns out that even when you live in a massive house and have essentially the entire world at the tips of your fingers, that doesn't dispel the sheer boredom of not really having anything you need to do.
"We can find something for you," he says. "I'll see if there's an event you can go to, or some volunteer work, or…"
And she loves doing all that, and it's a great idea, actually. Now that she's got more time, she should be more visible. A recent poll suggested that the people want to see more of her, like they did during the campaign. She can't imagine why. But she landed herself on a lot of best dressed lists - people are still talking about the gown she wore to Daddy's inauguration - and apparently people want to see what she's going to wear next. And yes, she does worry about things like approval ratings - there are approval ratings for her, which stresses her out - and she knows it's important that people see the family doing good things. She hates that they have to work twice as hard to make people like them, just because her dads happen to be gay. She also sometimes thinks that the advisors need to put more faith in the American people, because they're the ones who elected her father, and it wasn't exactly by a narrow margin.
Anyway. An hour later, she's being told of a ground-breaking ceremony for a new public space. She'd normally shop and find something new to wear, but she actually finds that people like it when she wears the same pieces more than once. Michelle started that trend, and Rachel looks up to her for a lot of reasons. So Rachel dresses in a floral shift dress she bought at Bloomingdale's and wore once before, for a photo op last summer.
She's walking down the hall to where the car is waiting outside, two agents are following behind her, and when she gets outside she can see two more waiting by the car.
All this so she can go get her picture taken sticking a shovel into the ground at a dog park.
… … …
She stands in the back of the room and watches the press briefing, because she finds it interesting and funny, and really, she's got no other agenda. Reporters can be so ridiculous, and it's sort of fun to watch Santana Lopez, the Press Secretary, shoot them down and put them in their places.
"Rachel," Santana says after the briefing, as she heads towards her office, "what are you doing down here?"
Rachel shrugs her shoulder and tries to keep up with Santana. The woman's always going somewhere quickly. Even if she doesn't need to. "I got bored upstairs. And watching you verbally smack Lance Dustin around is my favourite."
Santana laughs and takes off her suit jacket, revealing a pale blue shirt underneath, and then fixes her hair and gives Rachel a little grin. "Honestly the only reason I haven't had his credentials revoked is because the best part of my day is getting to come up with some stabbing response to whatever nonsense he's talking."
When they get to Santana's office, she invites Rachel in to chat, but Rachel shakes her head. "No, you're busy. I'll find someone else to bug."
Santana tries to argue her on it and say she's not that busy, but then the Deputy Chief of Staff is standing in the door, and Rachel doesn't really want to stick around to hear whatever he's got to say. Mike's great, but she can read him like a book and that look on his face means there's some kind of crisis somewhere, and hearing about it will only freak Rachel out.
She can't wait to go back to school. Well, start school.
The plan was always NYU, because it's what she wanted, and there's Tisch, and it's New York. But then, somewhere along the way, it was decided that really, the President's daughter should go to an Ivy. She'd been mad at first, and disappointed in her father for letting someone dictate to him where she should go to school. He said, though, that whatever she wanted was fine, but they were in a different position now, and he also wanted her to get the best possible education. So she applied to Harvard (Daddy went to law school there), Yale, and Columbia, with Columbia being her first choice. She got into all three, of course, and that was made very public, so she had to put out a statement saying that while Harvard and Yale are both incredible schools, she's always wanted to attend university in her hometown.
At the end of the day, that's really what it comes down to. She hasn't been gone long, but she misses New York. Her dads decided, when the polls were showing Daddy so far ahead, that she should enrol in a school in DC to complete her senior year. It made sense, even though she had a tutor for almost her entire first semester while they were campaigning. It's been a year since she spent more than a week at a time in her actual home, and going to school will mean she gets to go back to her Upper West Side townhouse. It's where she grew up, and she'll be there alone more, and she honestly can't wait. There will be staff, and secret service, and she won't ever really be alone, because that just…It doesn't exist in her life anymore. But it'll be like she's growing up and maturing. She feels like Chelsea Clinton or something.
She knows there's likely an entire file of details for her move and life in New York. There's probably a committee working out all the kinks. She knows they've been interviewing for a chef, as if she can't make her own food. And Daddy thinks it would be helpful if she had her own personal assistant, but really, she just wants to feel…
Going to college is supposed to be like striking out on your own, and it will be, in a way. She doesn't want to feel like…Like she should have just gone to Georgetown and stayed at The White House, and if everything is planned for her down to the very smallest detail, that's what it'll be like.
"Hi Greg," she says as she passes one of the secret service men who usually follow her around. He's sitting in the mess and has an empty plate in front of him.
"Ms. Berry."
She rolls her eyes without meaning to. "It's Rachel."
He nods, but he won't stop calling her Ms. Berry and she knows that, too.
She gets a cup of fresh squeezed orange juice, and as she's sitting at a table watching Mike and Matt, who works in communications as a writer, have some kind of meeting of the minds, it occurs to her that it might be weird that she's here. She has a kitchen in the residence, and there's always someone around to bring her something if she needs it.
She gets up to leave and feels everyone's eyes on her as she goes. She's used to that by now.
… … …
Dad comes back from Florida, where he was making appearances and did a couple guest lectures at universities down there. Her fathers are both lawyers, met at law school and decided to take over the world. Seriously, that used to be the joke. Daddy always wanted to go into politics, and Dad wanted to work in human rights and help people and save people and make a difference. So Daddy practiced at a big time firm until he was old enough to run for office, and Dad did exactly what he set out to do, and really, it all helped. When Daddy said he wanted to run for office, no one honestly believed he had a shot. No one except Rachel and her dad.
Anyway, he's been gone nearly two weeks and every time he comes home they all have dinner together in the dining room in the residence. Daddy might say he's going to cook, but then inevitably doesn't have the time. (Which isn't exactly upsetting, because he's terrible in the kitchen.) And nowadays he might only have an hour break in his schedule, but he's learning to put his foot down with the staff to push for more time with his family.
So she's sitting in jeans and a navy tank top at the table with Chinese some intern probably had the thrill of going to pick up. Dad's talking about Florida like it's some far-off land and not someplace they've been to five times in the last 18 months. He brought her back a Beauty And The Beast snow globe, which she knew about because he was photographed at Disney buying it. Who else would it be for? She thinks it's sweet, though, because when they went to Disney when she was a little girl, she wanted one so bad and the store was sold out at the time. He's been saying he'd buy her one since the second he stood with her in the sun on a sidewalk at Disney and brushed the tears from her cheeks with his knuckles.
"The Canadian Prime Minister is coming," Daddy announces.
"No work talk," Dad says, with his brows knit together.
"We talked about your work." Rachel just smiles at them, at this little argument that isn't really an argument. "Anyway, it's not about work, really. She has a son Rachel's age."
"Oh my god," she groans, sending him a glare. "No. You're not…Do you really want the first significant thing you do while in office to be setting your daughter up with the first available world leader's…"
"I've done significant things." The indignation might be fake. She's not sure. "And if nothing else, you'll be a cordial host."
"Of course I will, but…"
"You should Google him," her dad chimes in, mouth full of egg roll. "He might be cute."
Rachel's sort of laughing as she says, "I'm not dating the Canadian Prime Minister's son!"
"How about British?" Daddy asks. "Israeli? I think the French Ambassador's son is going to Cornell."
"Daddy."
It's a warning. He winks at her and stops pressing the issue.
And really, you'd think that the leader of the free world would have a little less time on his hands to micromanage his daughter's love life, but he drops hints all week long. He reminds her about the reception and formal dinner event, as if everyone she talks to doesn't tell her the same thing. Seriously, everywhere she goes, some staffer is reminding her of someone she'll need to meet at this thing, or what she'll need to say, or where she'll be sitting.
The only thing she's gotten to do on her own is choose the dress, and by that she means she picked what she wanted and someone else tracked it down. And a stylist picked her shoes because Rachel doesn't care as much about what's on her feet when the gown she's wearing will be covering them anyway.
Her gown is silver silk, Dior, with delicate beading and a belted waist. It's strapless and vintage and a recreation of one that's on display at the Met and she's loved forever. She wore Dior for Daddy's inauguration and she sort of fell in love with it. That red gown, they'd had to call about after the election. This time, Dior asked if she'd want anything for any upcoming occasions, and, well. There's a chance it's a little fancy for this, but she can dress it down a little, she's told, by keeping her hair down and going easy on the jewelry. That doesn't hurt her feelings much, either, because she doesn't wear a lot of showy jewelry anyway.
The night of the event, she is completely ready and waiting and her dads have yet to even start putting on their tuxes. It annoys her. Not because they're slow, but because her schedule was absolutely overkill today and she was in a hair and makeup chair, getting her nails done and the whole business, by 10:00 a.m. The reception doesn't even start until 7:00. How could anyone think it would take that long to make her presentable? Anyway, she's siting on the sofa with her shoe sort of dangling from her toes as she waits, and she'd be worried about leaning back on the ends of her hair like this, but there's enough hairspray holding the curl that she'd almost bet she could walk through a wind tunnel and not look like she ever left the house.
When she gets fed up - and can hear them bickering behind their closed door, she knocks twice and leans against the frame, looking, she's sure, every bit as bored as she feels.
"Oh, honey," Dad says, and lets go of the ends of his untied bow tie. "You look…"
Daddy isn't saying anything. He's just looking at her like he's not sure he's really okay with the fact that she's an adult and wearing a proper gown, not a dress that goes to her knees a patent leather mary janes.
She knows this look and has seen it quite a lot over the last couple years.
"Daddy?" she prompts, really just to get him going.
"You're gonna put on a scarf or something, right?" She rolls her eyes and Dad laughs. "Neckline's a little low."
"You know, sometimes I like it better when you talk to me as the President, not my father."
"As the President, I'm telling you to get a cardigan."
"It's June," she giggles. Dad finishes tying his tie, and Daddy pulls his jacket on.
"You look gorgeous," he tells her, and leans down to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure the Prime Minister's son will think so, too."
It shouldn't make her blush, but it does, and she just barely feels like her skin is a normal temperature when they step out into the hall to head to the reception. She walks between them, as she has on every campaign stop and public appearance they've all attended. When it's the two of them, her dads without her, they're side by side. When they're all together, she's in the middle.
The cameras are practically blinding, but Rachel smiles anyway, and she can see that people are looking at her and already talking about her dress. And it's obviously her they're talking about, because he may be the President, but her dad is just a guy in a tux in a room full of guys in tuxes. She stands by as he shakes hands with the Prime Minister, and it's a strange mirror image that's going on here; the three of them and the three visitors. The Prime Minister's husband looks older than she is, not that it matters. And, okay, their son is good looking. He's tall, like his father, with dark hair and eyes, and a tie that's just a little crooked. He's cute, and he's not paying attention to her at all. It doesn't really bother her. She's sort of used to guys not paying attention to her.
(And frankly, she'd rather that than some diplomat's son relentlessly hitting on her.)
Things are mostly fine through dinner. She's seated next to this guy, of course. Finn is his name. And she really doesn't mean to laugh when he says that he's not going to college, but continuing to play hockey instead. It's just so stereotypical, and she has to backpedal and apologize for acting that way, but seriously? He's a hockey player? Apparently there's a junior team in his hometown and he played for them for a long time, and then, coincidentally, she's sure, ended up being traded to a team in Ottawa. He's a nice guy, and he's a little nervous, she can tell.
"Is this your first one of these?"
He gives her kind of a weird look. "Mom's been PM for like, almost three years."
"Oh." She reaches for her water glass, but doesn't take a drink. "You just seem nervous, or something."
He turns a little red and wipes his hand on the napkin on his lap, and he's not looking at her when he says, quietly, "Well, you're really hot, so."
She drinks her water. A big long gulp of it. Dad catches her eye across the table and winks at her, and she tries to relax.
She honestly can't remember the last time a guy called her 'hot'. At least somewhere other than an internet message board.
After dinner, there's dancing and drinks, and most people are taking part in at least one of those. She and Finn are both underage, though he does say something about her going to Canada when she turns 19 because that's the legal drinking age there. She loves this time of year, and she's learning that one of the best things about The White House is that there's so much outdoor space to make use of. When she says, "Do you want to go for a walk?" she ignores the look she gets from Daddy, and leads Finn through the room and out the side doors.
"It's not that I dislike this stuff," Finn says as they walk outside, close to the building. It sounds silly, maybe, but she doesn't want to get the bottom of her dress dirty by walking across the lawn. "It just all starts to feel the same after a while."
She nods, but she doesn't really know how she'll feel three years down the line. "Is your mom going to run for re-election?"
"Yeah," he says, and slips his hand into his pocket. He really does look nice in his tux.
It's quiet for a few moments, but she knows there's an agent walking not far behind them, and two posted on the corner they're approaching. They should probably just turn around and head back inside before their parents start arranging a dowry or something.
"What are you planning on doing after you're finished with hockey?"
Finn laughs a little, looks at her like she's crazy. "What do you mean finished with hockey?"
Just as she's trying to imagine what it might feel like to love something that much, she hears what sounds like a gunshot, and out of instinct, she turns quickly in the direction of the sound. But not really, because someone is pushing her to the ground. Well, not really pushing her. Sort of…She can't describe it. All she knows is that it doesn't hurt even when she's on the ground with her forearms pressing into the concrete beneath her, and there's someone covering her, and people are talking in codes.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm…" She can't breathe, probably because of the adrenaline. "I'm fine."
Whoever's been on top of her moves, then Finn and this agent are helping her up and they're being rushed inside, and it's stupid, but all she can piece together is that it wasn't Finn who pushed her to the ground.
"You're not hit?"
"What?" She looks at this agent who's obviously crazy, because she's fine and she didn't get shot. "I…no. No, I'm fine. Really."
They're ushered to the West Wing immediately, quickly, with at least a half a dozen agents around them, and Rachel wants pretty badly to freak out, because her dad, but she can't lose her mind just yet. The agent who was asking her things minutes ago is walking directly to her left, and how serious he is scares her, because, well, she doesn't want this to be serious. She wants it to be a car backfiring, or a kid playing a bad prank, or something like that.
All four of their parents are in the Oval Office when they get there, along with the head of the Secret Service at the White House, and Rachel can't really hear what he's saying because her fathers are hugging her so tightly.
"What?" she asks. It's not really any of her business. By that she means she's very well aware that there are things that happen in this house, specifically this room, that she'll never be privy to, and that's fine. However given how hard her heart has been beating for the last five minutes, she thinks she's allowed to ask.
"It was across the street. No one here was in any direct danger. A random crime that happened to take place right outside the building." Rachel can't believe someone would be so stupid as to… "An agent shot him in the shoulder and the victim took one round to the leg."
She's so incredibly relieved that no one died tonight. She's shaking, or so Dad tells her, and Finn is pale as a sheet. They stay in the office for another few minutes, until the grounds are cleared and the lockdown is lifted, or whatever it is they call it. She says goodnight to the Prime Minister and her husband, and to Finn. They're all having lunch in one of the gardens tomorrow, so she'll see him again.
The same agent escorts her back to her bedroom, which is really silly, actually, because she's sure she'd be fine on her own now. There are enough agents and freaking Marines around this place that she's safe inside the building. But she heard Daddy tell the director to make sure an agent took her upstairs, and she's not in a position to argue, and it'd be silly to anyway. It's not like he's bothering her by walking four feet behind her all the way through the residence to her bedroom.
He's the one who pushed her to the ground, made sure she was all right, and walked next to her. And when she gets to her bedroom door and neither of them has said anything, she can't just…She…
She turns to him, and he's standing there waiting. Maybe to see what she's going to say, but more likely just waiting for her to be inside with the door closed behind her.
"Thank you," she says, sincerely, and the agent just looks at her for a moment, then presses his lips together and gives her a quick nod.
She's never noticed him before. She'll probably never forget him now.
And she didn't even really think twice about her Secret Service code name until she heard him using it.
… … …
She goes to Montana with her dads and the senior staff and press core, and it's basically a photo pop Daddy tries to sell as a vacation. The democratic candidate in this district is the first to win in some number of years, and formally invited her daddy and the First Family to his ranch, and since he's really just trying to get even more Americans to like him, Daddy and the staff decide three days in Montana is a great idea.
"What do I even pack?" she asks Dad as he sits on one of the chairs in her room with a cup of coffee and the sports page.
"Can you imagine being a Manning?"
She just looks at him. The thing about Dad is that he's crazy for football and always has been. He likes to pretend he could have been a coach if things had been different; he played all through high school and had a little interest from colleges, but nothing ever came of it. She'll admit he knows the game incredibly well, but she's pretty sure being a lawyer is his calling. She and Daddy let him believe, though, that this other thing could have happened, because it doesn't hurt anyone to let him pretend.
"I'm just saying. Anyone born into that family would have so much pressure to be the next Eli."
Rachel smiles and crosses her arms. "Most people would say Peyton first."
He looks at her like she's crazy. "I'm a Giants fan." Rachel just laughs and shakes her head. "I don't know. I just think that kind of pressure would get to you."
"Right. Not at all like being the President's daughter."
"Quiet, kid," he says, and goes back to the paper, turns the page. "You've got it easy. And it's likely to be real hot in Montana." She rolls her eyes at his fake accent. "Pack for the weather."
This isn't really a vacation. She needs a dress to wear to the dinner, and she's positive there will be horseback riding. She's done it a few times in the last however many years, but she can't think of what to wear to do it now. She settles on jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo, which seems like the obvious choice, but she's got a tan and the white will photograph well.
"You know, there's probably someone who'd do all this for you," Dad says from his place, coffee cup in hand.
"I like doing things on my own."
He just laughs until she throws a pair of rolled up socks at him and questions why he's not busy doing something. He winks at her and asks if she wants to get out of here for the rest of the day. They're leaving early tomorrow morning, but honestly, nothing sounds better. And somehow he knows all the best places to go in DC. Probably because he chats with any staff and Secret Service he can. Their family knows New York so well, and they've had conversations about how it's strange not to know where to get a decent chili dog at 2:00 a.m. (well, her fathers have) or where to buy this certain brand of organic sunflower butter she's in love with.
The same Secret Service agent from last month ends up going with them. She hasn't seen him once since that night, and she doesn't understand why. Or, really, why she cares, or has been looking for him. It's not as though she's got some kind of hero worship thing going on. He did his job, and as scary as it is to think about it, she's pretty sure that won't be the last time someone has to cover her like that, or whisk her away to safety. Maybe it's just that it was the first time that makes it feel so significant. Either way, he gets out of the car behind theirs and straightens his red and white striped tie, scans around the area. They're just in Georgetown because shopping is just something Dad takes her to do when they don't have anything in mind. She doesn't exactly complain.
The agent holds the door for her at one point, opens his arm to guide her in, and doesn't look her in the eye even once.
… … …
He comes to Montana, too. She sees him on the plane, but she's talking with Santana and sipping from a bottle of water, and he's sitting there with another agent. She's barely ever heard him say two words, and he's not speaking now, either. She looks away so she won't be caught staring when he turns his head.
Santana raises her brow and opens her mouth, but Rachel cuts her off with, "Don't," and sort of laughs.
"What?" Yeah, Santana is about as innocent as…Well, she's just not innocent. "He's good looking."
Rachel's feeling a little sassy when she says, "So ask him out," and sort of raises her eyebrows as Santana laughs.
Given that the woman is a lesbian, there's exactly no amount of attractive agents on this plane right now who would catch her eye. (And Rachel's talked to Daddy about that, too, that there are hardly any female agents on his detail.) Santana is great, too, and even though there are several years between them, Rachel thinks they had a fair amount in common. Also, Santana is a force. She joined Daddy's campaign in the early stages and she knows so much more about politics than anyone might assume. Seriously. She obviously knows about press strategies and spin and all that, but she can talk policy and legislation with the best of them, and honestly, Rachel thinks her daddy has a soft spot a mile wide for this woman who surprises him regularly.
The ranch really is beautiful. The house is a massive log 'cabin' that she's told has 13 bedrooms. The views are unbelievable, and Rachel actually feels really relaxed, just breathing this air. Out the back windows, you can view the stables and this old barn she's already been told is an original structure from sometime in the 1800s.
There's a dinner, and then drinks, and it's just her family and the senior staff and the hosts. Rachel is the youngest person here by about 10 years, and it's incredibly noticeable. She steps out for air somewhere during a conversation about social security, just after someone mentions something about tax increases. If there's one thing her father absolutely hates it's the idea of raising taxes on the average American, and he does have thoughts and ideas for social security, and she's heard them all before. As much as she loves watching him be 'Presidential', she's heard this song and dance before, and he might just get fired up and then talk over everyone and they'll all just let him.
She walks out onto the back porch, though really it wraps around the whole house and she just happens to be at the back because it's off the sitting room and it was the easiest escape. Her heel almost sticks between two slats of wood, but she manages to free it sort of gracefully. The skirt of her floral chiffon dress blows in a warm summer wind, and she pulls all her hair over her shoulder so it won't annoy her getting blown around.
"I've got Belle."
She turns quickly to see the agent - that agent - standing by the door she just walked through. She hadn't noticed him. He's just lowering his wrist, and gives her a tight smile before staring straight ahead again.
Honestly, most of the agents she sees on a daily basis aren't as formal as this one. It's unnerving.
"Sorry," she says, which is stupid, she realizes immediately. "I didn't…You'd think I'd be used to this by now." His eyes shift towards her the slightest bit, like he's questioning her. "People. Lurking."
He cracks a hint of a grin. "Just doing my job."
She turns around completely so she's leaning against the railing of the porch and looking at him. "It's appreciated. But really, what could happen all the way out here?"
She shouldn't have asked that and realizes it immediately.
He's serious again.
He answers, "Anything," and then looks at her again. It scares her, how much she can tell he means it. "You're all right?"
She nods. "Fine. Just needed air."
She doesn't last long outside, really, because he's standing right there and not saying anything and she can't handle that. She doesn't look at him as she goes inside, thinking the entire time that she wishes she knew his name.
When she wakes up the next morning and looks out her window, she sees him, in a pair of loose shorts and a grey tee shirt, sweat stained and sticking to him, jogging down the path that leads to the guest cabin on the property.
She's drinking her morning coffee on the deck with their hosts and her fathers when she sees him next, in his suit again, American flag pin on his lapel and wire leading from his ear down beneath his collar.
… … …
"…And at 1:00, you're in the Oval with…"
Rachel turns to the aid who's giving her the day's schedule. She decided not to waste her summer away by not doing anything, so yes, she's kept up a schedule that is dictated to her most mornings. Daddy laughs that she's being groomed to take his job someday. Dad winks like he thinks she honestly could.
"The Oval?" Rachel asks, because she doesn't take meetings in the Oval.
"To discuss your moving back to New York."
"Oh. Right."
It makes sense. It's not like she's a typical college freshman whose parents will rent a U-Haul and hug her at the curb before driving away and leaving her at her dorm. There are a lot more details to work out than that, and more than one silly 'journalist' has mentioned that it's a Secret Service nightmare to have Rachel going back to New York on her own like this. Another newspaper said it was a stupid choice - those words - to not go to Georgetown, and then there was a line on some gossip site about how of course 'the Berry girl' feels like she's too good for Georgetown. Jon Stewart did a bit in response to that, actually, and it was hilarious.
(And really, most of the time she finds it a little silly that people call her Ms. Berry or The First Daughter, or any other number of formal terms, but the author of the article was being blatantly and deliberately disrespectful. That bothers her.)
She goes about her morning as usual. There's a group of kids from a local charity who've come for a tour, and she's worked with this charity before, so she leads them from room to room and gives them little bits of information. Of course there's an actual White House tour guide to fill in the blanks. The guy is nice, too, and she can tell he's worried about stepping on her toes, which is silly. He's better at this job than she is, and she tells him that, during a little break when the kids are eating cookies in the mess.
Then there's lunch with the head of a women's group here in Washington, because, well. The Chief of Staff thought that since there isn't a First Lady, Rachel could take on some of the relationships typically cultivated by the person in that role. It makes sense, even though her dad does a lot with these groups, too, just on account of the sheer nature of his career. It feels good to get involved, though, and to keep up to date with these groups' agendas.
She walks into Daddy's office, and he's standing behind his desk signing something, his personal aid next to him. Daddy doesn't even look up at her, but she can hear him smiling when he says, "Pretty bold, don't you think? Late to meet the President?"
She rolls her eyes. "I was in a meeting with Diane Loram." He looks up, then, brow raised like he's impressed. "There was traffic on 14th coming back."
He takes a second to process this, then looks at her seriously. "You'll give me notes on that meeting?"
Rachel glances at Blaine, Daddy's aid, who just smiles at her. "Of course," she says, and feels very important for it.
"Send them in," he tells Blaine, and then the door opens moments later and no fewer than 10 people walk in, including Mike and Santana, and that agent she can't seem to shake.
Well, she can't shake any of them, but he's different.
She sort of questions Mike and Santana's need to be here, but once they bring up their talking points, it makes a little more sense. Santana has concerns about the paparazzi and New York media preying on Rachel because she's separated from her parents, and warns Rachel not to say much of anything at all if she finds herself having questions shouted at her. It's inevitable that she will, they tell her. It's not surprising, really. She gets enough attention here; she can only imagine New York will be 10 times worse.
They go over emergency safe points, and where the field office is, as well as police precincts and a whole host of other people and places available if needed. She doesn't want to ask what types of scenarios they have plans in place for, but she can guess pretty easily. Kidnapping. Assault. Terrorist attacks. There's a folder on her lap and she's sure all this stuff is in here and she'll be expected to read it.
"Two agents in the house at all times," Daddy says, and she looks at him. "Two outside."
"Daddy, that's…"
"All times," he repeats, but to the Secret Service director, not to her.
"Exactly," Paul says, then pulls out actual blueprints of their townhouse in Manhattan and starts rattling off tactics and saying where the agents will be. Even when she's not there, someone will be. They're trying to make this completely risk-free, but it feels like overkill.
Rachel catches the eye of the agent whose name she desperately needs to learn at some point soon, considering apparently he's going to be one of her shadows for the next however long. He's sitting on the sofa across from her, a little to the right. He's already looking at her when she glances his way. He gives her this barely-there smile and she lets out a breath. It seems like of everyone here, he's the only one who realizes this bothers her. It's just so much fuss over her. She likes attention, but not this kind.
"Agent Puckerman will be with her most of the time." All eyes go to the agent and Rachel looks from him, to her father, to the director. "He's young enough to look like a friend. It's less obvious."
She doesn't mean to laugh, but, "I'm the President's daughter. Are we really going to pretend no one assumes I'll have an agent with me at every turn?"
Daddy pats her on the thigh and gives her a grin. "Agent Puckerman is about to get an Ivy League education and the cost of his tuition is keeping you safe."
"Lucky him," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Well," Daddy says, but then stops himself. Everyone looks at him, though, herself included. "He knows he gets expelled if anything happens to you."
No one says anything for a few moments, but Rachel really hates the sound of it, asks a question about her social calendar just so they'll all stop actually thinking about something happening to her.
… … …
They make it some kind of spectacle, her leaving The White House. Because of course the press knows when she's leaving - they've definitely been told, because it's not exactly classified. It's a complete zoo, and she waves and gives tiny soundbites, just little quotes so the reporters have something to caption their photos with.
Daddy can't come because he has to, you know, run a country, and Dad decided that if one wasn't going the other shouldn't. Something about it being a sign of her independence and separation from her parents and the 'fortress', as he calls The White House.
When they close the door to the SUV, Rachel closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, almost relief that she's away from the cameras and the shouting, for at least as long as it takes to get to New York. When she opens her eyes, she sees that Agent Puckerman is sitting next to her. She knew someone was there, obviously, but hadn't looked to see who.
"I don't know why they're so fascinated with me," she says, and she's not naive, but seriously. "Millions of other students are going off to school."
He chuckles, fixes his tie. "None of them are leaving from this address," he reminds her, and then says, "Let's go," into his sleeve.
The first half of the ride is quiet, but that's fine. Actually, it's preferred. Dad texts her to say he's bored and ask if she has any pointers on roaming the house, and she reminds him that he actually does have a job he could do. He calls her a smart ass and says he'll talk to her later. She's really glad her parents aren't acting like they're never going to see her again. God, of all the students in the country, she's absolutely positive she's the one who'll be in closest contact with her parents. And if Daddy believes she doesn't think he'll be getting daily briefings on her, at least for the first little bit, he's delusional.
Agent Puckerman is just looking out the window, and it was decided that they'd drive because, well, she wanted to. Someone said something, made a case for it, saying that now they'll have a car there for her, in New York, as if it would have been impossible to secure on upon landing. Anyway.
"Have you ever been to New York?" she asks, because it's been silent too long and she doesn't want things to get awkward.
He gives her a look. "I've…Yes." He's not a many of many words, is he? "I've traveled with the President more than you realize."
"Oh."
"You, too," he tells her. It makes her feel horrible for never noticing him before.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," he says with a laugh. "I like to blend."
She doesn't mean to look at him quite so incredulously, but really, the more she looks at him, the more she wonders how she never did see him. He's incredibly good-looking, with quite striking features and downright gorgeous eyes. She doesn't spend much time looking into the eyes of Secret Service agents she's gotten so used to she apparently nearly ignores. She tries to imagine seeing a man this attractive while walking down the street, and how she might see him then, and yes, it's pretty obvious to her now.
He stands out.
"Your friends are probably happy you're coming back."
"I…" Rachel stops herself, because god, how does she tell him she doesn't have friends, without sounding incredibly pathetic? "It's been hard to keep in touch with people." He nods a little, like that makes sense and isn't just her avoiding the actual topic. "Where are you from?"
He answers, "Ohio," and that's it.
That's it. For the rest of the ride, there's nothing, and she has to spend it wondering if she was out of line to ask him something about his personal life.
… … …
She'd really love to just go for a walk. You'd think she could just up and do it, but no, it's not that simple. She's unpacked and everything, and as far as she knows, everyone else is settled, too. There are two bedrooms on the second floor, and that's where the agents will sleep. Well, the ones who are with her during the daytime, anyway. It was her fathers' insistence that they stay right in the house. Her bedroom is on the third floor, and the master takes up the entire fourth. She does think it'll take some getting used to, having agents sleeping in her house, and honestly, she can't imagine it's typical that they do. But Daddy wants what he wants, and basically no one can argue with him.
It feels so good to be home, and she just wants to walk up and down Columbus or Central Park West, maybe get a coffee at her favourite shop, or…
It would be good, she's sure, for her fathers' constituents, to see her back in town. It's an opportunity.
As she's explaining this to Agent Puckerman, he's sort of grinning at her, and she asks, "What?" because she can tell there's something he wants to say.
"Not everything you do has to be a political statement."
"That's not…"
Her entire life these past few years has been a political statement. No one's told her it shouldn't be, until now.
"I'm sorry," he says, shakes his head. "That was out of line."
She just looks at him for a moment, tries to decide if he's right on either account, on her worrying too much about appearances, or him speaking out of turn.
"It's okay," she says, even though she's unsure.
"We follow you, Ms. Berry." She glances at the other agent in the room, an older man (older than Agent Puckerman, anyway) who she's never actually ever heard speak. "If you want to do something, just say so." He thinks about that for a second. "Within reason."
"Don't worry," she sort of laughs, then slips her feet back into her shoes. "I'm not one of those crazy rebellious First Daughters who'll be in the tabloids for…"
He pulls the door open for her and there's a mob of people at a rope line and the street has obviously been closed off, and god, everything's different now, isn't it?
… … …
It's really, really strange to walk into the kitchen in the morning and see Agent Puckerman sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal and a coffee cup in front of him. There's also a file there, probably a daily brief. She wonders how many reports he's got to send back to her father.
She pulls her robe tighter around herself, even though she's wearing a full set of pyjamas underneath. (Well, shorts and a camisole, but it's still technically summer.)
"Good morning," she says, and he looks up at her. So serious all the time, this one. "Did you sleep well?"
He shrugs one shoulder and nods. "Sure. Always weird in a different bed."
It makes her blush. Probably because she's still half asleep and her immediate thought is that he's probably slept in at least a few different beds, just based upon the way he looks alone.
"You figured out the coffee machine?" she asks, and he sort of scoffs.
"No. This is orange juice. I gave up when it screamed at me."
Rachel chuckles. They have the most temperamental espresso machine ever because Dad can't drink bad coffee and this was the top of the line model. It takes a certain touch to get it to work, and she's got it. Daddy hates the thing and would only ever drink coffee from it if someone else made it, because he gave up, too.
"Here," she says, reaches for a clean mug and switches the machine on. He's watching her. She doesn't mind. "How do you want it?"
"Uh." He clears his throat and closes the folder. "Just regular."
She smiles at him. She figures he's just a bare bones kind of guy. Nothing too fancy. Wherever he lives, wherever his home is, she means, it's probably mostly bare, with just the essentials. She pictures a huge sofa and a massive television. A mostly empty fridge covered with take-out menus held up with mismatched magnets.
This is a thing she does, and has done since she was little and the political events and conferences bored her. She makes up stories about people in her head. But it's more than that, too. It's not just stories, it's that she tries to figure them out. For the most part she's okay at it. She really doesn't have a chance to get to know anyone well enough to really test any of her theories.
"I have to meet with my student advisor today on campus. Then after that I'd like to go to the bookstore with my reading list and get what I need. Santana thinks that's a good photo op, too, and if there's time, I want…What?"
She's making herself an egg white omelet and he's just staring at her with this little grin on his face and his coffee cup in his hand.
He just holds up that folder with the Presidential Seal on it, and she lets out her breath and nods. Of course he already knows all this. "Right."
"Look, I know it's gotta be weird for you that I'm around all the time." It is, really, even if she'd like to deny that. "You shouldn't feel like you have to talk to me all the time."
Oh.
"Okay."
"I mean, you can. Just…I won't be offended if you don't."
She nods again, folds over her omelette after dropping some spinach and a little ricotta into the pan. "Sure. Thank you."
"Stop doing that, too. Thanking me," he says, and she looks over at him again. He's opened the folder and he's not paying attention to her, though.
… … …
She wants to go to this play, so someone gets her tickets. Plural. Two of them.
The only person she thinks might go with her is a girl she went to high school with who's going to NYU for music, and Rachel isn't even sure Tina will answer her phone. It's been a while since Rachel called, after all. There was the primaries, then campaigning, and the election, and the move. She just…She wouldn't be surprised if Tina wanted nothing to do with her.
Maybe it's the free theatre tickets, but Tina actually sounds excited to hang out, so Rachel suggests they do dinner, too, and ignores the annoyed look on the face of the agent standing nearby. It's not Agent Puckerman. This guy is much older and she can't honestly remember his name, but it's something generic, like Smith or Jones.
Look, she knows that every time she changes her plans, the Secret Service has to clear another location for her to actually be able to go there without threat of incident. Every coffee shop she walks into has to be screened and every store is…It really just takes a lot to even go shopping during store hours, even though she hates having to keep shop workers there after hours just so she can buy a new pair of shoes or dress.
She doesn't abuse the fact that she's a pretty powerful…No, she's not powerful. It's just that she can get whatever she wants. She really hates exploiting that and tries to avoid it as much as possible.
But if she wants to go to dinner and a show with a friend on a Saturday night, she's going to. She doesn't necessarily care that it inconveniences the agent whose job is to do exactly what she's asking of him.
Actually, what her father is asking of him.
Agent Puckerman is technically supposed to be off hours, because he works the 'day shift', at least until school starts and he needs to be with her wherever she goes that relates to that, Monday to Friday. She likes the idea of him taking it easy until then. His job requires him to be alert and she knows he's still adjusting to being in New York as it is.
But she comes down the stairs in the dress she's wearing for the evening, and he's standing there talking with Agent Donovan about exit points and…
"I thought you were done for the day."
The way he looks at her…She doesn't know what it means, but sometimes other men look at her that way, too, and she really doesn't want to think about it.
He shrugs one shoulder. "Tonight's kind of all hands on deck."
"Why didn't they just get some people from the field office?" she asks, because seriously, this is a lot of work for him. They've been up since six because there was a freshman pre-semester breakfast mixer.
"We did," Agent Donovan says. Rachel still can't figure out if Agent Puckerman volunteered to work, or was asked. For some reason, it matters. "You and Ms. Cohen-Chang will go through the kitchen entrance to the restaurant. You'll meet the chef, owner and manager, and…"
"Is that necessary?" she asks, and picks her jewelled clutch up off the table in the entryway. "I just want to have a normal evening with my friend."
Agent Donovan gives her this grin he has, and actually, she really likes him a lot and, though she'd never tell him this, he sort of feels like a father figure. Because she doesn't have enough of those. But really, he's older and he treats her with all due respect, but he's funny, too, and he doesn't take things too terribly seriously.
He sets his hand on her back and shows her to the door, says, "Welcome to the new normal," and she hears Agent Puckerman behind her, talking into his sleeve, no doubt, saying, "Belle's on the move."
Dinner is fine. The food is amazing and she and Tina catch up, and Tina, bless her, doesn't act like Rachel's anyone different than she always was. It could be because Tina's parents are really well-known in New York, and she lives on the Upper East Side and comes from money. Her mother is a fashion designer (Rachel's wanted to wear some of her designs, but they're sort of more mature than she's ready for) and her dad owns a massive furniture company. And a vineyard and winery in Napa. And a bookstore in Manhattan because he wanted to save it from going out of business.
Anyway, no, Tina can't completely understand Rachel's life, but it's not like she's got nothing and Rachel's some kind of princess. They've eaten together at this restaurant before, and the fact that there are Secret Service agents no matter where you look doesn't seem to bother Tina.
It's the same thing at the theatre, and Rachel feels really awful, because people keep approaching her, and after a while she just gives Tina a sympathetic look and stops even trying to introduce her friend. It makes her feel like a real bitch because she's not writing Tina off or anything, she just knows it's probably uncomfortable to know none of these people are interested in hearing about her.
"I'm so sorry," Rachel says after they've taken their seats and no one's bothering them.
"It's okay," Tina says, and she sounds sincere. "Don't you get tired of that?"
And because Rachel always has to worry about who might be listening, she just shrugs her shoulder and comes up with some mostly true party line about how she can't be upset with people talking to her and shaking her hand when they're the ones who got her father elected to the Presidency. It doesn't even sound pretentious.
The Secret Service is taking Tina home, obviously, so they're at the service entrance to the theatre and Rachel hugs her friend and says they definitely need to get together again soon, even though school is starting and things are bound to get hectic for both of them.
Tina looks around them, at all the black vehicles and agents in suits and just says, "More hectic," and they both just laugh.
In the car on the way home, Rachel asks Agents Puckerman and Donovan what they thought of the show.
They both look at her like she's insane.
"What?"
"I don't think any of us actually paid attention to the show, Ms. Berry," Agent Puckerman answers evenly, and she feels a little stupid for assuming they would have.
… … …
Her first day of classes is a complete zoo. She absolutely hates the looks and the whispers from her fellow students who obviously think they're too good to just come say hello to her and would rather talk about her behind her back. As if they know anything real about her at all. That's really not a very nice way to think about them, but at this point she doesn't have anything else to go on.
She sits alone in her first ever college lecture because no one's brave enough to come introduce themselves. It's a little depressing, actually.
Agent Puckerman slips into the seat two over from hers, gives her a little smile and pulls out a notepad and pen. She wants to laugh, because she can say with some certainty that he really doesn't have any interest in learning about research methods and statistics.
But it makes her feel a little less like an outcast to have him nearby.