BIRTHDAY FIC FOR TRACY
I cannot even. I don't know how I managed to write the vast majority of this today. (The first couple of bits were written in April I think.) This is the next instalment of the BFF!Verse - previous instalments can be found under the BFF!Verse tag.
(As an aside - Attractive Government Conspiracy actually falls during this fic.)
OBLIGATORY WARNING - THIS IS RPF, DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT THAT IS. DO NOT READ IF YOU DO KNOW WHAT THAT IS BUT IT OFFENDS YOU. DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK IT'S WEIRD TO WRITE ABOUT WHITE HOUSE STAFF AND CABINET MEMBERS AND ACTORS AND COMEDIANS.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, tracy_loo_who, ENJOY.
1. April - Rahm
Rahm met Kalpen Modi once or twice during the campaign (on opposing sides to start with). Guy was really invested and it took Rahm a while to place why he recognised his face. He spent a little while convinced that he’d seen him up on the Hill. Then he caught an episode of House on rerun and all became clear.
(Rahm had looked him up on Wikipedia, out of curiosity. This had resulted in Ari receiving a loud phonecall listing everything that was wrong with Hollywood at about ten decibels over a comfortable volume.)
The story hits the US while they’re on their way back from Iraq. Rahm is wired, skin still tingling from the permanent adrenaline rush of keeping Barack safe in Baghdad, and he hits the blogs as soon as they get in.
His GoogleAlert throws half a dozen articles at him, all reporting with varying degrees of accuracy that Supernatural is only going to run for one more season if the boss has his way. Misha was never much of a planner so Rahm figures he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.
Rahm knows what he thinks Misha should do next. He just doesn’t know how to get him to do it. Yet. (It’s always yet when it comes to Rahm)
It keeps coming back to him, over and over again, that Modi is actor. Like Misha. He’s also, from what Rahm’s seen and heard, pretty fucking smart, endlessly likeable and bursting with ideas. It’s familiar. Rahm can almost taste the beer from that first night he dragged Misha out when he thinks about it.
There’s hardly any gap in age between Misha and Modi, he thinks. He also thinks: how can I use this to my advantage? Because he’s Rahm fucking Emanuel and that’s what he does.
He arranges a meeting. Some useless pretence that he’s forgotten by the time Modi is shown into his office, eyes skittering, just as jumpy as half the interns in the building.
“Shit, Modi, sit down before your bones rattle out of your fucking skin,” Rahm says pointing at a chair. “You’d think you thought I was going to fucking eat you or something.”
Modi starts and frowns at himself before taking the offered seat.
“Call me Kalpen,” Modi says, waving a hand. “The whole last name thing is a little too military for me.”
Rahm smiles, and he doesn’t have to make an effort to tool it down from its usual sharpness, and leans forwards in his chair.
“I’ve got a proposal,” Rahm says, tilting his head slightly. Kalpen shifts in his chair and finally meets Rahm’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Kalpen manages to make it sound noncommittal and that’s how Rahm knows that he’s actually a decent actor. The guy’s leg is bouncing restlessly, enough to wobble the chair underneath him, and his nerves are displayed for Rahm to see.
“It’s probably a long game,” Rahm says with a shrug. “But if we play it right - you’ll have one smart fucker to work alongside you.”
“I’m already going to be working with a lot of smart people,” Kalpen says, his voice relaxing. “The President seems to attract them.”
Rahm grins. Okay, he likes the guy, because there’s humour underlying his words and sometimes humour’s likely to be the only thing that keeps someone going on shitty White House pay and too long hours and way too much fucking coffee.
It’s why Rahm has Jon Stewart on speed-dial. Just in case.
“I’ll sweeten the pot,” Rahm says, because as much as he’s loathe to admit it he knows he’s going to need at least a little help to bring Misha in. “The particular fucker I’m talking about is a -” even after all these years Rahm still has to force the word out, Barack is right to make fun of him. “He’s a friend. Of mine.”
Kalpen’s eyes widen for fraction of a second before he covers it up with actor reflexes. Because Rahm needs yet another reminder of his reputation, for fuck’s sake. It’s a seed though and Rahm can read the ticking of Kalpen’s mind in the set of his face.
“Why me?” Kalpen asks. Rahm allows a blink of surprise - he wasn’t expecting that question first.
“Because you’re both out of the same fucking business,” Rahm says with a shrug.
“He’s an actor?” Kalpen asks with a twitch of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, on that Supernatural thing,” Rahm makes it sound blasé, like he hasn’t watched every episode of the thing since Misha hit it.
“Oh, cool,” enthusiasm lights Kalpen’s eyes and, yeah, figures that the guy’s a fan. Seems Rahm can’t move for them these days and isn’t it fucking weird to realise that other people know who Misha is, nowadays? “Which one?”
“The angel,” Rahm says, smile twisting his lips. It still makes him laugh. Misha Fucking Collins as an angel.
“Oh, man, he’s awesome,” Kalpen says a little too excitedly. “He does all this work with his eyes and, like, micro facial expressions. I wish I could pull off stuff like that.”
“Well - help me out with this, maybe you can quiz him,” Rahm spreads his hands, offering incentive with the ease born out of years on the Hill.
“But he’s got a pretty steady gig,” Kalpen says, frown lines creasing his brow. “Why would he drop it for this?”
Rahm stares at Kalpen until the guy realises how fucking stupid that question was. He thinks Kalpen is embarrassed when he realises, ducking his head and averting his eyes.
“Okay, yeah, I’m precedent. But from what I’ve read - the guy doesn’t really care for politics anymore.”
“He’s met the President a couple of times,” Rahm says and this time he knows his grin is sharp enough to cut through steel. “Each time he goes away high on motherfucking Hope and Change. There’s only so long one guy, even a guy like Misha, can stand that.”
Rahm knows from personal experience. Not that he’s ever going to let Barack know that. Well. At least - not until he’s out of the White House for the second time.
Kalpen looks at him thoughtfully for a moment then leans forwards and rests a hand on Rahm’s desk.
“What do you need me to do?” Kalpen asks. Rahm smiles. It’s on - and Misha isn’t going to know what’s hit him.
2. September - Misha
Misha’s co-workers and acquaintances think of him as some kind of super-intellectual and to some extent it’s true - he reads a lot in a huge variety of subjects and finds it pretty easy to turn his hand to debate. It’s why he thought he might go into politics once upon a time.
He’s still glad he got out before the shit hit the fan.
So Misha’s co-workers and acquaintances would likely be surprised to learn that he can be just as low-brow as the rest of Average Q Public when he wants to be. He’s watched his fair share of dumb-ass stoner comedies full of poop jokes and cock jokes and homoerotic subtext in his time. This is why he recognises Kalpen Modi (formerly Kal Penn and, really, just how much did that say about Hollywood?) instantly when Rahm introduces them.
“Kumar,” Misha says, taking Kalpen’s hand. “And, what was it, Kutner?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Kalpen nods, lips quirking, and doesn’t take offence at being referred to by his character names. “And you’re the Angel of the frigging Lord.”
“That’s me,” Misha’s smile is genuine. Recognition never stops being new for him.
Kalpen turns out to be just as interesting as Rahm suggested he was and Misha thinks Rahm’s kidding himself if he thinks Misha doesn’t know what he’s doing. They talk about Kalpen’s job with the OPE and the guy’s pretty subtle about it but Misha’s known Rahm for a long time now.
Kalpen excuses himself and disappears to the men’s room and Misha leans across the table to fix a look on Rahm. Rahm tilts his head and holds a straight face, but he’s no Stephen Colbert and Misha can see the smirk in the twitching corners of Rahm’s lips.
“It’s not going to work,” Misha says, shaking his head. “I know you think it will - but it won’t.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Collins,” Rahm says, but this time the smirk escapes. Misha laughs.
“You’re ridiculous, Rahm,” Misha shakes his head again. “Do your best - I’m not going to come work for you guys.”
“Your show is probably going to finish,” Rahm points out, waving 4.5 fingers at Misha. “You’ll need a job.”
“And I told you years ago that politics wasn’t the place for me,” Misha says. “I don’t want a job in the White House, Rahm.”
“So we’ve been busted,” Kalpen sits down as Rahm continues to smirk at Misha. “He was essentially bribing me to try and convince you to choose public service over ludicrous TV money.”
“What did he offer you?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I told him you were my,” Rahm stops and frowns at himself and Misha’s already chuckling before he finishes the sentence. “My friend.”
“That’s, yeah, that’s some kind of incentive,” Misha admits, knowing the friends Rahm will admit to can be counted on two hands.
“You won’t reconsider?” Kalpen asks. “From what I’ve heard you could do good work.”
“I probably could,” Misha agrees, seeing no need to be modest. “But I’m not done with acting yet.”
Kalpen gives him a measured look and Misha dimly recalls that the guy said he’d go back to acting after working for Obama. Misha hates the seed that plants in the back of his mind.
“Play your long game,” Misha says, leaning toward Rahm again. “We’ll see what happens next year.”
Rahm grins, the shark’s grin that used to terrify any interns he came into contact with, and Misha knows the gauntlet has been thrown. Rahm leans back in his chair and cups his hands behind his head as Misha asks Kalpen when he’s going to get on The Daily Show.
3. October - Geithner and Orszag
Tim’s not entirely sure why he and Pete are taking an actor to lunch - he just knows that Rahm had given him that look, the one that says ‘do this or I have your balls for breakfast - and not in a good way’, and he’d been incapable of refusing.
Pete overheard and demanded Tim take him along, apparently he’s a fan of whatever show this guy is on. Tim doesn’t have the time for TV - between spending months doing the jobs of everyone in his department by virtue of him being the only person in the department and practically crying himself to sleep at night over the economy - and the only thing he knows about the show is that it has ‘hot guys’ in it. And that’s only because one of the interns watches it.
Pete’s spent about half an hour quizzing Misha Collins about his show, behind the scenes stuff, and each story of a prank gone awry just makes strings of numbers appear in front of Tim’s eyes. Tim is so tired of numbers.
“Hey, are you okay?” it’s only when Misha speaks that Tim realises he’s dropped his head onto the table, resting his forehead on his doubled-up napkin.
“I’m so tired,” Tim admits honestly. Pete pats him on the shoulder with one of those giant hands.
“Yeah - I can see how you would be,” Misha says, real sympathy in his voice. “You’ve been working your ass off for months - and even though you’ve made your share of fuck-ups -”
“Hey!” Pete protests weakly. There’s a pause and then: “Okay. That’s actually fair.”
“So even though you’ve made your own fuck-ups,” Misha continues. “You’re also constantly copping shit for Bush’s fuck-ups as well. That? Has got seriously fucking suck, man.”
“I don’t think you’re really helping,” Pete says, now rubbing circles absently on Tim’s shoulder. Pete’s woeful at noticing how long he’s breached someone’s personal space.
“I’m not really trying to help,” Misha admits and that makes Tim lift his head. He blinks at Misha.
“What are you trying to do?” Tim asks, pulling his napkin through his hands.
“Trying to figure out why Rahm sent you two as the next salvo in his mission to recruit me,” Misha says with half a smile.
“I have no idea,” Tim says, laughing. Pete blinks, startled, and Tim realises it’s been a while since he laughed. “But he gave me this look, you know?”
“Yeah, I know the one,” Misha grins.
“And when you get that look - you do what Rahm says,” Tim finishes. “Even if it makes no sense at all.”
“Do you know what he’s trying to recruit you for?” Pete asks, finally taking his hand off Tim’s shoulder.
“I don’t even know,” Misha shrugs. “When he introduced me to Kalpen Modi I figured it was the OPE - but now he’s sent you guys along I don’t know what to think any more.”
“The man moves in mysterious ways,” Pete observes. Tim snorts. “What?”
“Mysterious ways? Really?” Tim hides a laugh behind his hand. “Do you even know how ridiculous you sound sometimes, Orsz?”
“Eh,” Pete shrugs. “If it makes you laugh it’s worth it. Which, you know, is pretty rare these days, Tim.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tim admits, ducking his head.
“Aren’t you the one who skateboards around his offices?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“He hasn’t done that since the last time Rahm caught him,” Pete says, grinning, and Tim has to laugh too. Even though he was terrified at the time.
“Maybe you should start doing it again,” Misha suggests, raising an eyebrow and grinning.
“You know,” Tim says, cocking his head to one side. “I think I might.”
“It’s your funeral,” Pete says, pulling one of his ridiculous faces.
Misha Collins laughs and Tim gets the feeling that this meeting hasn’t at all accomplished what Rahm wanted it to - given that he feels better about himself, but Misha seems no more likely to join the Administration.
4. November - Gibbs
“Misha Collins, right?” Robert says to the impossibly handsome man in the foyer. The guy looks at him and nods. “Can I call you Misha? Rahm asked me to swing by and walk you in - he’s in with the President at the moment.”
Robert waves a hand at the space beside him and Misha falls in beside him. Robert starts walking, immediately falling into the brisk pace he’s gotten used to, and is pleased when Misha keeps up.
“I’ve just got to swing by the press room,” Robert says, shooting a look at Misha as he dodges an intern. “Do you mind?”
“Uh, no, not really,” Misha says, slipping to the side to avoid someone rushing the other way.
“Good,” Robert nods, picking his route and powering along it. “So - you’re the guy Rahm’s trying to woo, then?”
“Woo?” Misha repeats. He gives Robert a phenomenal look that makes Robert laugh harder than he ought to.
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Robert waves a hand and narrowly avoids hitting a random assistant. “He’s trying to convince you to do something - and he keeps sending you stuff and people to do that.”
Misha nods. Robert, after consultation with Mona and Jim and their unnamed inside source, has determined that Rahm’s been sending Misha cheesecakes every week, cheesecakes plural, as well other increasingly bizarre things that no-one can make sense of.
“So he’s wooing you,” Robert continues. “Any idea why?”
“I interned back in the Clinton era,” Misha says. Robert already knows this. He’s done research. “We sort of got to know each other. He seems to think I should come back to this place.”
“You’d be insane to do it,” Robert says, turning sharply into the press offices.
“So - you’re not meant to be convincing me?” Misha asks, clearly sceptical.
“Of course I am,” Robert says, looking sideways at Misha. “I just think you’d be insane to do it. Insane is good around here.”
“Robert!” CNN appears out of nowhere, as he is wont to do, and Robert sighs.
“What is it, Ed?” he asks, coming to a stop.
“Is there any truth to the rumours of another trip to Iraq?” Henry asks, clutching his notepad.
“Where do you get this stuff, Ed?” Robert asks, keeping his tone light. “You don’t think we’d let you all know?”
“You kept it tight to your chests last time,” Henry says, tilting his head.
“You’re adorable, Ed, really you are,” Robert says, resisting the usual urge to pinch Henry’s cheeks. “But we’re not planning a secret trip to Iraq. You know exactly why we kept the last one quiet.”
“You’ve kept all of Biden’s quiet as well,” Henry pushes. Robert sighs and claps Henry on the shoulder.
“Seriously, Ed, you’ll know when we know,” Robert says, smiling. “And not a moment before.”
Robert has started walking again by the time Henry replies.
“You know - I get more out of Emanuel than I do out of you,” Henry calls out.
“That’s because he’s got a weird soft spot for you,” Robert throws over his shoulder. “He likes you.”
“You don’t like me, Robert?” Henry asks, hiding a grin behind his notepad.
“Ed,” Robert turns and walks backwards. “I love all my Press Corps equally. Now - go and report your unconfirmed rumours to King or Cooper or whoever the hell is on CNN now.”
Henry politely flips him off and Robert laughs, resuming his swift strides forward. Misha is laughing beside him, he realises belatedly, and as he draws to a halt in the Briefing Room he turns to look at him.
“I seriously feel like I’m in The West Wing right now,” Misha says. “The show not the place. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Robert repeats, grinning. He turns to throw a handful of notes at NBC, much to the jealousy of ABC and CBS, before continuing: “And between you and me? That’s how I feel half the time as well. Come on - let’s get you up to Rahm.”
“You actually think I should take a job here, don’t you?” Misha asks as they leave the Briefing Room. “That’s what you meant before, wasn’t it?”
“Hey - if Rahm’s after you that must mean something,” Robert says, shrugging. “And if you’ve got the mentality for it, why the hell not? It’s the most alive you’ll ever feel.”
“His campaign is only going to get worse before it stops, isn’t it?” Misha asks as they approach Rahm’s office. Robert grins.
“Let’s just say - I’m glad it’s not me,” Robert says, patting Misha on the shoulder. “Good talking to you. Keep up the fight - it’s keeping Rahm busy enough that we can do our jobs without the shouting. He hasn’t made an intern cry for a whole week.”
Misha grins as Robert turns away. He’s barely reached his office when Fox appears out of nowhere to demand a comment on a possible Iraq trip. Robert’s going to kill Henry - that’s just playing dirty.
5. December - Axelrod
“Look, kid,” David says, settling down next to the Collins kid. “I can’t be bothered to do my part in getting you to commit to whatever the hell it is Rahm wants you to do. So let’s just pretend that we had the conversation - you turned the job down again - and get on with our lives.”
“Nice to see you again too, Mr Axelrod,” Collins’ grins and waves his hand.
David’s met Collins off and on a few times over the years, knows he’s one of the few friends Rahm came out of his first White House tour with, and thinks he’s a good guy. Smart and obvious about it but somehow not in a way that grates and David doesn’t even know what the hell that’s about.
Rahm’s been obsessed with the guy since about April this year and it took the combined efforts of Mona and Jim to figure out that Rahm was trying to recruit him. Since then Rahm’s called in favours and hammered his own credit card for months' worth of cheesecakes and sent random members of the cabinet on missions.
It’s all completely ridiculous. There are times when David really wishes Rahm could take no for an answer.
“How are things at the White House?” Collins asks with genuine curiosity.
“Quiet, thankfully,” David says, huffing out a breath. “Holiday season seems to have slowed things down a bit. Which is something, at least.”
“You guys really deserve a break,” Collins nods. “I just hope you get one.”
Collins grins again, raising his glass, and David shakes his head, clinking his glass against Collins’.
“Let’s talk about your work,” David says, taking a long swallow from his drink. “If you can call it that. Is Hollywood the hive of debauchery O’Reilly would have us believe?”
Collins laughs, a broad, happy sound and David finds himself smiling reflexively. Maybe he’s starting to realise why Rahm keeps Collins around.
6. January - Kalpen
“Oh my God, please just say yes,” Kalpen says when they meet in New York for lunch. Misha looks at him and gives him a look that seems to say ‘so, where’s this coming from?’
“What’s he done to you this time?” Misha asks, with that knowing little smile that really pisses Kalpen off for some indefinable reason.
“It’s nothing he’s done,” Kalpen waves a hand. “It’s what he keeps sending me.”
Misha laughs and Kalpen frowns, stabbing at his salad with more vigour than necessary. There are few occasions where he wishes he ate meat - having something like a steak to stab into right now falls amongst them.
“I’m serious, man,” Kalpen waves his fork, nearly loosing a piece of lettuce across the restaurant. “He e-mails me every day to find out if you’ve been in touch. He texts me continuously. And he’s started using, fucking, smileys and it’s just getting sinister. No amount of pull over him is worth this.”
“Rahm’s always been pretty single minded,” Misha says, slicing into, Kalpen’s not even sure what Misha’s eating, something ridiculous as usual, he suspects.
“Single minded!” Kalpen repeats, louder than necessary, earning glares from the other patrons. “The man’s obsessed.”
“Then I’ve got him right where I want him,” Misha grins and takes a large bite out of his What-the-fuck-ever. It crunches disturbingly.
“Please, Misha, for the sake of my eventual children - please just say yes,” Kalpen pleads. “I keep having nightmares about him.”
“Nightmares? About Rahm?” Misha can’t hide his grin. Kalpen scowls at him.
“I’ll have you know that stronger people than me have nightmares about Rahm,” Kalpen points out.
“The whole of the GOP, for example,” Misha says, laughing. “What are the nightmares about?”
“Mostly about him coming into my house in the middle of the night with orders to kidnap you,” Kalpen says, collecting another forkful of salad. “He - he’s always wearing this catsuit thing. It’s beyond freaky.”
Misha doesn’t contain his laughter and Kalpen sighs. Working for the Administration isn’t supposed to be this hard.
“Oh, man,” Misha says, wiping a tear from his eye. “You should never have got into bed with him, Kalpen. This is what he does to people.”
“The man should come with a warning label,” Kalpen says, spreading his hands and envisaging the label: “Warning - will cause nightmares if exposed to too high doses. If problem persists - hand your resignation into the nearest official.”
“You’ll pull through,” Misha says, grin softening down to a more ordinary smile. “He’ll only be obsessed with this for a year or so.”
“Oh! Only a year,” Kalpen says, throwing his hands up. “That makes everything better, then.”
Misha’s laughter continues to be incredibly unhelpful. Kalpen is never going to sleep again.
7. February - Jon and Stephen
“So - how badly does he want you?” Stephen asks, leaning across the table, raising an interrogative eyebrow. Misha snorts.
“Well - he’s sent about five different people after me so far,” Misha says, shrugging. “I think he’s only getting warmed up, though.”
“You know - I think this might be more entertaining than anything else going on at the moment,” Jon says, leaning back in his chair. Stephen looks at him and grins, nudging him under the table with his knee.
“You know if you give in you have to come on the Report properly so I can shout at you,” Stephen says, turning that grin on Misha.
“Or, if you’d rather not be shouted at, you can always come on The Daily Show,” Jon says, raising an eyebrow. Stephen gasps.
“Stealing guests from right under my nose, Jon?” Stephen shakes his head. “There are no depths to which you won’t sink.”
“You’ve known me long enough to know that by now, Stephen,” Jon rolls his eyes and pats Stephen on the shoulder.
“But, still I place you on a pedestal as a paragon of virtue,” Stephen shakes his head at himself. “I’m not sure whether that says more about me or you.”
“It is a mystery which will never be solved,” Jon says solemnly. Stephen holds his deadpan for a moment longer than it takes to register Misha’s laughter. He breaks, gloriously, and Jon’s heart lifts.
“You guys are amazing,” Misha says, shaking his head. “How about I do both your shows?”
“We can do that,” Stephen says quickly, shooting a look at Jon.
“Actually, yeah, that’s -” Jon stops and thinks for moment. “We can totally work with that.”
Jon pulls a napkin toward him and pats his pockets for a pen. When he can’t find one he looks up to see Stephen holding one out to him, biting his lip to hide a smile. Jon smiles his thanks and starts sketching ideas on the napkin.
“Observe the Jon Stewart in his natural habitat,” Stephen says softly. “He scratches at a primitive writing surface with a primitive device, writing in his own language. It is a marvellous thing to watch, and of great anthropological -”
Stephen’s parted lips are slightly wet against Jon’s fingers and his breath is warm against Jon’s flesh and Jon absolutely isn’t thinking about that. Stephen’s lips curve into a smile before Jon pulls his hand back and flips him off.
Jon slides the napkin over and Stephen looks at it, eyebrows lifting and grin breaking out across his face as he reads it, he snatches the pen and adds a few pieces of his own, turning the napkin so Jon can read it. Jon presses his forehead against Stephen’s shoulder for a second when he breaks into giggles.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back and pocketing the napkin. “That looks good.”
“So - I take it I’m in?” Misha looks between them. There’s something in his eyes that Jon can’t parse and for a moment a little thrill of worry wraps around his spine. “That is - if I give in.”
“You better give in,” Stephen says, grinning. “We’ve just come up with comedy gold for the week we interview you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Misha says. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Jon smiles and bumps Stephen’s knee under the table with his. Stephen’s smile tells him the same thing Jon’s thinking - this is potentially way too much fun to be legal.
8. March - Arne
“Holy fucking shit, you’re huge,” Collins says and Arne bursts out laughing.
It’s pretty much exactly the first thing everyone thinks when they meet him but Collins goes down as one of the handful of people that actually verbalises the thought.
“I mean, um,” Collins clears his throat. “Hi, I’m Misha.”
Arne shakes his hand, watching it disappear into his own, and grins at Collins’ widened eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Misha,” Arne says, making a slight mental adjustment. “Walk with me?”
“Sure,” Misha says, still staring up at Arne with those wide blue eyes.
Arne shortens his stride and lets Misha keep pace with him. Rahm’s arranged for this little appearance - Arne had lost his celebrity guest at the last minute and panicked a little. Rahm’s ‘Calm the fuck down, Arne, I’ve got it covered’ had seemed like a joke until he put Arne on the phone with Misha.
Arne had a feeling that the teenage girls at this school were going to be thrilled that Neil Gaiman had had to drop out. Arne was disappointed himself, though, he’d wanted to meet Gaiman for a long time. Plus the guy had a long association with the ALA.
“So this is a get-kids-reading sort of initiative, right?” Misha asks as Arne leads him through the school.
“Yeah, though, less for kids, really,” Arne says, waving a hand. “We’ve got the kids covered now - early figures suggest the literacy rate is starting to rise. I can’t take all the credit for that, though.”
“Sure you can,” Misha smiles. “You’re the Secretary for Education.”
“Maybe - it just feels like we’ve had a sea change,” Arne shrugs. “Parents have started reading to their kids more. Maybe it’s the President, I don’t know. But this one - this is about teenagers.”
“I thought Harry Potter and Twilight had that one sewn up?” Misha asks, the wideness finally disappearing from his eyes. Arne can see that they’re intelligent, now, and Misha sounds genuinely curious.
“Well, that remains to be seen,” Arne shrugs again. “They’ve obviously done something for literacy rates but, well, it’d be nice if the teens started reading other things as well. Potter and Twilight might be good starting points - but there’s a whole world of literature that isn’t getting read.”
“Oh, man,” Misha is grinning and Arne tilts his head toward him. “You don’t like Twilight at all, do you?”
“I -” Arne stops and huffs out a laugh. “I’m happy it’s kept the Potter audience reading,” he admits, “but it’s not exactly Kerouac or Fitzgerald is it?”
“And it’s not even Shakespeare or Wuthering Heights,” Misha adds, waving a hand through the air. “Even though it borrows liberally from both of them.”
Arne gives Misha a pointed eyebrow and Misha rubs a hand through his hair, ducking his head.
“If I call it research does it make things better?” Misha asks. “Because I really didn’t read it for fun. Okay. For some fun. The writing’s…well, so beautifully purple. It’s a shame, really. Underneath all the boring, not to mention clichéd, romance plot there’s an interesting world in there. Somewhere.”
“Clearly you’ve spent more time thinking about it than I have,” Arne says, smiling. “It should at least give you something in common with some of the students here.”
“Oh, God,” Misha turns his eyes upward. “Please don’t make me field thousands of questions on Twilight.”
“Hey - I’m pretty sure you can handle it,” Arne says. “Rahm showed me some footage of the stuff you do at conventions - this won’t have anything on that.”
“Here’s hoping,” Misha says, crossing his fingers very deliberately.
Turns out that Arne’s assessment is woefully incorrect. He thinks they’ll probably be lucky to escape this one alive.
Misha has fun, though, and Arne thinks that maybe Rahm is right about the White House being the right place for the guy. If you can face down a bunch of screaming kids - shouting politicians and harried Staffers are probably going to be a breeze.
9. April - Hillary
Hillary finds Rahm’s favourite obsession in a quiet corner of the reception. She takes a moment to look at him, tries to mentally age him backwards, and finds that there really is something familiar about him.
“I think I actually recognise you,” Hillary says, causing Misha Collins to turn that pretty face toward her.
“Mrs. Clinton,” Misha straightens slightly, his cheeks colouring.
Hillary definitely recognises him. She has a vague memory of Rahm dragging him around one day, showing him off to people. At the time she’d wondered just what was going through Rahm’s head and was a little worried they were about to have a scandal.
But, no, Bill took care of the scandal all by himself, didn’t he?
“Um, I think we met once, ma’am,” Misha says, ducking his head. Beside him his wife hides a smile behind her glass.
“I remember,” Hillary smiles. “You’re also one of Rahm’s friends, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been accused of that, ma’am,” Misha says, shifting from side to side.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Hillary confides. “There’s not many people that can maintain a friendship with him for so long. He’s a good man - just not exactly the most friendly person in the world.”
“No, ma’am, he’s not,” Misha shakes his head and smiled.
“So - is that why he’s got such an obsession with making you work for him?” Hillary asks, widening her smile.
“I’m not even sure, any more,” Misha says and Hillary’s inordinately pleased that he doesn’t call her ma’am again. “It started out as a game, I think, but he’s gotten really serious about it really fast.”
“None of us can really predict what Rahm’s going to do next,” Hillary offers. “Let alone how far he’ll go to get what he wants.”
“Yeah, I know,” Misha smiles. “And the more someone says ‘no’ the harder he fights.”
“And you keep saying ‘no’,” Hillary laughs. Rahm’s complained to her on more than one occasion. “You must have balls of steel.”
Misha laughs, a surprised laugh, Hillary’s favourite kind of laugh, and she really does recognise him. It makes her smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” Misha nods his head. “And Rahm knows it.”
Hillary laughs this time, raising her glass to Misha, and thinks that she’ll have an assistant keep an eye on Rahm’s private battle. It promises to have an entertaining conclusion.
10. May - Rahm
“I give up,” Rahm says, keeping up a deadpan that Colbert would be proud of.
“W-what?” Misha stutters the word, he’s so surprised. It’s all Rahm can do to control a grin.
“Look - I’ve done everything within my power to get you to join us,” Rahm says, shrugging. “And even though you haven’t got a job right now? You still won’t play ball.”
“It hasn’t even been a year since you started this campaign,” Misha says, eyes still wide. “You never give up this easily.”
“I’m tired, Misha,” which is true enough that Rahm doesn’t have to force a deadpan. “And, really, there are much better things I could be doing.”
“So - I - I won?” Misha asks, disbelieving.
“You won, Collins,” Rahm shrugs and spreads his hands.
“This isn’t just a ploy to lure me into a false sense of security?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Would I do a thing like that?” Rahm asks. Misha gives him a look. “Okay. Would I lie to you about doing a thing like that?” Another look. “Fuck you, Collins, just accept my graceful fucking surrender, okay? Fuck.”
“Shit,” Misha says, blinking. “You really are giving up. Fucking hell, Rahm, this is like a world first.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go fucking bragging about it, okay?” Rahm growls. “Or I will fucking end you.”
“You have no power in my world,” Misha wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah - but Ari’s my brother, remember?” Rahm lays his cards on the table and offers a grin.
“Oh,” Misha says, blinking again. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Rahm nods. “Fuck is right.”
“Surrender accepted,” Misha says, raising his hands. “And I’ll try not to gloat. You know. Unless it’s to Stewart and Colbert.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Rahm points a finger at Misha and doesn’t need to fake a scowl. “They do not need to know how this went down.”
“Wow, the respect of two Fakenews pundits means that much to you?” Misha asks.
No, Rahm thinks, but if you tell them you’ll fuck this whole thing up. Rahm has a plan and he’ll be damned if Stewart and Colbert fuck it up.
11. June - Obama
The phone is ringing. Misha looks at the clock and wonders who the fuck is calling him at this time of the morning. He answers the phone with something approaching a grunt.
“Misha Collins?” Misha knows that voice. Misha would know that voice in his sleep.
“Holy shit!” he exclaims, sitting up. “I mean, uh, good morning, Mr President.”
“Good morning.” And, damn him if Misha can’t hear the man smiling down the phone.
“Um,” Misha says, brilliantly. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Obama says in the voice of someone who clearly doesn’t care because he’s been woken up at all times of the night before. “But I’d like you to reconsider Rahm’s offer.”
“Oh,” Misha says, blinking. Then: “Oh, that bastard. That lying, cheating bastard.”
Obama laughs down the line and it’s infectious.
“Apparently I’m a trump card,” Obama says, laughter still in his voice. “But I want you to know that this isn’t actually coming from him. I’m just a little tired of him using my staff to try and recruit you - they’ve got better things to be doing.”
“I don’t know, sir,” Misha says, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I got out of that years ago because I didn’t want the taint.”
“Son, as I understand it,” and, boy, does it feel weird to be called son by someone who isn’t really that much older than Misha, “you’ve been working in the acting business for years.”
“Um, yeah,” Misha scrubs a hand through his hair. “That’s a good point, sir.”
“If you can do even half as good a job as Rahm seems to think,” Obama says, serious. “We’d be happy to have you here. Just - think about it seriously, Mr Collins.”
“I - I will, Mr President,” Misha says. He means it. Which is a surprise.
“I’ll let you get some more sleep,” Obama’s smiling again, Misha can hear it.
“Thank you, Mr President,” Misha says. “Have a good day, sir.”
“That’s what I always hope for,” Obama says and the line goes dead.
“Holy shit,” Misha says to himself, flopping back against the bed.
“Just take the damn job, Misha,” Victoria says, rolling over. “You can’t say no to the President.”
“Yeah,” Misha says thoughtfully.
Just like that - he’s actually thinking about it.
12. September - The Daily Show
We join the interview half-way through…
Jon: So - the last time you were here you were promoting Supernatural, the CW show you were starring on as an angel.
Misha: That’s right.
Jon: Why don’t you, um, tell the viewers at home what’s happened to you since then.
Misha: To put it simply, Jon, I was blitzed by an unnamed member of the Obama Administration. Bombarded with job offers over a ten month period. You wouldn’t even believe some of the people I’ve spoken to.
Jon: And - what happened with that?
Misha: The long and short of it, Jon, is that I’m going to be working for the Obama Administration for the foreseeable future.
Jon: *grins* So it worked, then?
Misha: *sighs* Yeah. It worked.
Jon: So, what position are you going to be taking up? I know the other actor who crossed over recently, Kalpen Modi, is working at the OPE.
Misha: Yeah. I - I don’t really know yet. I have a terrible feeling that I’ve been earmarked for something in the West Wing.
Jon: At least you already have some experience - you were a White House intern back in the Big Dawg’s years.
Misha: Yeah. And thankfully I didn’t pick up any suspicious stains while I was there.
Jon: *giggles* Why do I have a feeling one of your new bosses isn’t going to like that joke.
Misha: *grins* They knew what they were getting, Jon. They’ll just have to deal with it.
Jon: Well - I genuinely look forward to whatever work you’re going to do down in DC. Good luck to you.
Misha: Thank you, Jon.
Jon: Misha Collins, everyone. Supernatural Season Five is out on DVD now - and you can see his future work in something called the ‘White House’ for, well, for the next few years at least. And next week he’ll be appearing on our sister show, The Colbert Report, so be sure to tune in for that.
(As an aside - Attractive Government Conspiracy actually falls during this fic.)
OBLIGATORY WARNING - THIS IS RPF, DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT THAT IS. DO NOT READ IF YOU DO KNOW WHAT THAT IS BUT IT OFFENDS YOU. DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK IT'S WEIRD TO WRITE ABOUT WHITE HOUSE STAFF AND CABINET MEMBERS AND ACTORS AND COMEDIANS.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, tracy_loo_who, ENJOY.
1. April - Rahm
Rahm met Kalpen Modi once or twice during the campaign (on opposing sides to start with). Guy was really invested and it took Rahm a while to place why he recognised his face. He spent a little while convinced that he’d seen him up on the Hill. Then he caught an episode of House on rerun and all became clear.
(Rahm had looked him up on Wikipedia, out of curiosity. This had resulted in Ari receiving a loud phonecall listing everything that was wrong with Hollywood at about ten decibels over a comfortable volume.)
The story hits the US while they’re on their way back from Iraq. Rahm is wired, skin still tingling from the permanent adrenaline rush of keeping Barack safe in Baghdad, and he hits the blogs as soon as they get in.
His GoogleAlert throws half a dozen articles at him, all reporting with varying degrees of accuracy that Supernatural is only going to run for one more season if the boss has his way. Misha was never much of a planner so Rahm figures he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.
Rahm knows what he thinks Misha should do next. He just doesn’t know how to get him to do it. Yet. (It’s always yet when it comes to Rahm)
It keeps coming back to him, over and over again, that Modi is actor. Like Misha. He’s also, from what Rahm’s seen and heard, pretty fucking smart, endlessly likeable and bursting with ideas. It’s familiar. Rahm can almost taste the beer from that first night he dragged Misha out when he thinks about it.
There’s hardly any gap in age between Misha and Modi, he thinks. He also thinks: how can I use this to my advantage? Because he’s Rahm fucking Emanuel and that’s what he does.
He arranges a meeting. Some useless pretence that he’s forgotten by the time Modi is shown into his office, eyes skittering, just as jumpy as half the interns in the building.
“Shit, Modi, sit down before your bones rattle out of your fucking skin,” Rahm says pointing at a chair. “You’d think you thought I was going to fucking eat you or something.”
Modi starts and frowns at himself before taking the offered seat.
“Call me Kalpen,” Modi says, waving a hand. “The whole last name thing is a little too military for me.”
Rahm smiles, and he doesn’t have to make an effort to tool it down from its usual sharpness, and leans forwards in his chair.
“I’ve got a proposal,” Rahm says, tilting his head slightly. Kalpen shifts in his chair and finally meets Rahm’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Kalpen manages to make it sound noncommittal and that’s how Rahm knows that he’s actually a decent actor. The guy’s leg is bouncing restlessly, enough to wobble the chair underneath him, and his nerves are displayed for Rahm to see.
“It’s probably a long game,” Rahm says with a shrug. “But if we play it right - you’ll have one smart fucker to work alongside you.”
“I’m already going to be working with a lot of smart people,” Kalpen says, his voice relaxing. “The President seems to attract them.”
Rahm grins. Okay, he likes the guy, because there’s humour underlying his words and sometimes humour’s likely to be the only thing that keeps someone going on shitty White House pay and too long hours and way too much fucking coffee.
It’s why Rahm has Jon Stewart on speed-dial. Just in case.
“I’ll sweeten the pot,” Rahm says, because as much as he’s loathe to admit it he knows he’s going to need at least a little help to bring Misha in. “The particular fucker I’m talking about is a -” even after all these years Rahm still has to force the word out, Barack is right to make fun of him. “He’s a friend. Of mine.”
Kalpen’s eyes widen for fraction of a second before he covers it up with actor reflexes. Because Rahm needs yet another reminder of his reputation, for fuck’s sake. It’s a seed though and Rahm can read the ticking of Kalpen’s mind in the set of his face.
“Why me?” Kalpen asks. Rahm allows a blink of surprise - he wasn’t expecting that question first.
“Because you’re both out of the same fucking business,” Rahm says with a shrug.
“He’s an actor?” Kalpen asks with a twitch of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, on that Supernatural thing,” Rahm makes it sound blasé, like he hasn’t watched every episode of the thing since Misha hit it.
“Oh, cool,” enthusiasm lights Kalpen’s eyes and, yeah, figures that the guy’s a fan. Seems Rahm can’t move for them these days and isn’t it fucking weird to realise that other people know who Misha is, nowadays? “Which one?”
“The angel,” Rahm says, smile twisting his lips. It still makes him laugh. Misha Fucking Collins as an angel.
“Oh, man, he’s awesome,” Kalpen says a little too excitedly. “He does all this work with his eyes and, like, micro facial expressions. I wish I could pull off stuff like that.”
“Well - help me out with this, maybe you can quiz him,” Rahm spreads his hands, offering incentive with the ease born out of years on the Hill.
“But he’s got a pretty steady gig,” Kalpen says, frown lines creasing his brow. “Why would he drop it for this?”
Rahm stares at Kalpen until the guy realises how fucking stupid that question was. He thinks Kalpen is embarrassed when he realises, ducking his head and averting his eyes.
“Okay, yeah, I’m precedent. But from what I’ve read - the guy doesn’t really care for politics anymore.”
“He’s met the President a couple of times,” Rahm says and this time he knows his grin is sharp enough to cut through steel. “Each time he goes away high on motherfucking Hope and Change. There’s only so long one guy, even a guy like Misha, can stand that.”
Rahm knows from personal experience. Not that he’s ever going to let Barack know that. Well. At least - not until he’s out of the White House for the second time.
Kalpen looks at him thoughtfully for a moment then leans forwards and rests a hand on Rahm’s desk.
“What do you need me to do?” Kalpen asks. Rahm smiles. It’s on - and Misha isn’t going to know what’s hit him.
2. September - Misha
Misha’s co-workers and acquaintances think of him as some kind of super-intellectual and to some extent it’s true - he reads a lot in a huge variety of subjects and finds it pretty easy to turn his hand to debate. It’s why he thought he might go into politics once upon a time.
He’s still glad he got out before the shit hit the fan.
So Misha’s co-workers and acquaintances would likely be surprised to learn that he can be just as low-brow as the rest of Average Q Public when he wants to be. He’s watched his fair share of dumb-ass stoner comedies full of poop jokes and cock jokes and homoerotic subtext in his time. This is why he recognises Kalpen Modi (formerly Kal Penn and, really, just how much did that say about Hollywood?) instantly when Rahm introduces them.
“Kumar,” Misha says, taking Kalpen’s hand. “And, what was it, Kutner?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Kalpen nods, lips quirking, and doesn’t take offence at being referred to by his character names. “And you’re the Angel of the frigging Lord.”
“That’s me,” Misha’s smile is genuine. Recognition never stops being new for him.
Kalpen turns out to be just as interesting as Rahm suggested he was and Misha thinks Rahm’s kidding himself if he thinks Misha doesn’t know what he’s doing. They talk about Kalpen’s job with the OPE and the guy’s pretty subtle about it but Misha’s known Rahm for a long time now.
Kalpen excuses himself and disappears to the men’s room and Misha leans across the table to fix a look on Rahm. Rahm tilts his head and holds a straight face, but he’s no Stephen Colbert and Misha can see the smirk in the twitching corners of Rahm’s lips.
“It’s not going to work,” Misha says, shaking his head. “I know you think it will - but it won’t.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Collins,” Rahm says, but this time the smirk escapes. Misha laughs.
“You’re ridiculous, Rahm,” Misha shakes his head again. “Do your best - I’m not going to come work for you guys.”
“Your show is probably going to finish,” Rahm points out, waving 4.5 fingers at Misha. “You’ll need a job.”
“And I told you years ago that politics wasn’t the place for me,” Misha says. “I don’t want a job in the White House, Rahm.”
“So we’ve been busted,” Kalpen sits down as Rahm continues to smirk at Misha. “He was essentially bribing me to try and convince you to choose public service over ludicrous TV money.”
“What did he offer you?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I told him you were my,” Rahm stops and frowns at himself and Misha’s already chuckling before he finishes the sentence. “My friend.”
“That’s, yeah, that’s some kind of incentive,” Misha admits, knowing the friends Rahm will admit to can be counted on two hands.
“You won’t reconsider?” Kalpen asks. “From what I’ve heard you could do good work.”
“I probably could,” Misha agrees, seeing no need to be modest. “But I’m not done with acting yet.”
Kalpen gives him a measured look and Misha dimly recalls that the guy said he’d go back to acting after working for Obama. Misha hates the seed that plants in the back of his mind.
“Play your long game,” Misha says, leaning toward Rahm again. “We’ll see what happens next year.”
Rahm grins, the shark’s grin that used to terrify any interns he came into contact with, and Misha knows the gauntlet has been thrown. Rahm leans back in his chair and cups his hands behind his head as Misha asks Kalpen when he’s going to get on The Daily Show.
3. October - Geithner and Orszag
Tim’s not entirely sure why he and Pete are taking an actor to lunch - he just knows that Rahm had given him that look, the one that says ‘do this or I have your balls for breakfast - and not in a good way’, and he’d been incapable of refusing.
Pete overheard and demanded Tim take him along, apparently he’s a fan of whatever show this guy is on. Tim doesn’t have the time for TV - between spending months doing the jobs of everyone in his department by virtue of him being the only person in the department and practically crying himself to sleep at night over the economy - and the only thing he knows about the show is that it has ‘hot guys’ in it. And that’s only because one of the interns watches it.
Pete’s spent about half an hour quizzing Misha Collins about his show, behind the scenes stuff, and each story of a prank gone awry just makes strings of numbers appear in front of Tim’s eyes. Tim is so tired of numbers.
“Hey, are you okay?” it’s only when Misha speaks that Tim realises he’s dropped his head onto the table, resting his forehead on his doubled-up napkin.
“I’m so tired,” Tim admits honestly. Pete pats him on the shoulder with one of those giant hands.
“Yeah - I can see how you would be,” Misha says, real sympathy in his voice. “You’ve been working your ass off for months - and even though you’ve made your share of fuck-ups -”
“Hey!” Pete protests weakly. There’s a pause and then: “Okay. That’s actually fair.”
“So even though you’ve made your own fuck-ups,” Misha continues. “You’re also constantly copping shit for Bush’s fuck-ups as well. That? Has got seriously fucking suck, man.”
“I don’t think you’re really helping,” Pete says, now rubbing circles absently on Tim’s shoulder. Pete’s woeful at noticing how long he’s breached someone’s personal space.
“I’m not really trying to help,” Misha admits and that makes Tim lift his head. He blinks at Misha.
“What are you trying to do?” Tim asks, pulling his napkin through his hands.
“Trying to figure out why Rahm sent you two as the next salvo in his mission to recruit me,” Misha says with half a smile.
“I have no idea,” Tim says, laughing. Pete blinks, startled, and Tim realises it’s been a while since he laughed. “But he gave me this look, you know?”
“Yeah, I know the one,” Misha grins.
“And when you get that look - you do what Rahm says,” Tim finishes. “Even if it makes no sense at all.”
“Do you know what he’s trying to recruit you for?” Pete asks, finally taking his hand off Tim’s shoulder.
“I don’t even know,” Misha shrugs. “When he introduced me to Kalpen Modi I figured it was the OPE - but now he’s sent you guys along I don’t know what to think any more.”
“The man moves in mysterious ways,” Pete observes. Tim snorts. “What?”
“Mysterious ways? Really?” Tim hides a laugh behind his hand. “Do you even know how ridiculous you sound sometimes, Orsz?”
“Eh,” Pete shrugs. “If it makes you laugh it’s worth it. Which, you know, is pretty rare these days, Tim.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tim admits, ducking his head.
“Aren’t you the one who skateboards around his offices?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“He hasn’t done that since the last time Rahm caught him,” Pete says, grinning, and Tim has to laugh too. Even though he was terrified at the time.
“Maybe you should start doing it again,” Misha suggests, raising an eyebrow and grinning.
“You know,” Tim says, cocking his head to one side. “I think I might.”
“It’s your funeral,” Pete says, pulling one of his ridiculous faces.
Misha Collins laughs and Tim gets the feeling that this meeting hasn’t at all accomplished what Rahm wanted it to - given that he feels better about himself, but Misha seems no more likely to join the Administration.
4. November - Gibbs
“Misha Collins, right?” Robert says to the impossibly handsome man in the foyer. The guy looks at him and nods. “Can I call you Misha? Rahm asked me to swing by and walk you in - he’s in with the President at the moment.”
Robert waves a hand at the space beside him and Misha falls in beside him. Robert starts walking, immediately falling into the brisk pace he’s gotten used to, and is pleased when Misha keeps up.
“I’ve just got to swing by the press room,” Robert says, shooting a look at Misha as he dodges an intern. “Do you mind?”
“Uh, no, not really,” Misha says, slipping to the side to avoid someone rushing the other way.
“Good,” Robert nods, picking his route and powering along it. “So - you’re the guy Rahm’s trying to woo, then?”
“Woo?” Misha repeats. He gives Robert a phenomenal look that makes Robert laugh harder than he ought to.
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Robert waves a hand and narrowly avoids hitting a random assistant. “He’s trying to convince you to do something - and he keeps sending you stuff and people to do that.”
Misha nods. Robert, after consultation with Mona and Jim and their unnamed inside source, has determined that Rahm’s been sending Misha cheesecakes every week, cheesecakes plural, as well other increasingly bizarre things that no-one can make sense of.
“So he’s wooing you,” Robert continues. “Any idea why?”
“I interned back in the Clinton era,” Misha says. Robert already knows this. He’s done research. “We sort of got to know each other. He seems to think I should come back to this place.”
“You’d be insane to do it,” Robert says, turning sharply into the press offices.
“So - you’re not meant to be convincing me?” Misha asks, clearly sceptical.
“Of course I am,” Robert says, looking sideways at Misha. “I just think you’d be insane to do it. Insane is good around here.”
“Robert!” CNN appears out of nowhere, as he is wont to do, and Robert sighs.
“What is it, Ed?” he asks, coming to a stop.
“Is there any truth to the rumours of another trip to Iraq?” Henry asks, clutching his notepad.
“Where do you get this stuff, Ed?” Robert asks, keeping his tone light. “You don’t think we’d let you all know?”
“You kept it tight to your chests last time,” Henry says, tilting his head.
“You’re adorable, Ed, really you are,” Robert says, resisting the usual urge to pinch Henry’s cheeks. “But we’re not planning a secret trip to Iraq. You know exactly why we kept the last one quiet.”
“You’ve kept all of Biden’s quiet as well,” Henry pushes. Robert sighs and claps Henry on the shoulder.
“Seriously, Ed, you’ll know when we know,” Robert says, smiling. “And not a moment before.”
Robert has started walking again by the time Henry replies.
“You know - I get more out of Emanuel than I do out of you,” Henry calls out.
“That’s because he’s got a weird soft spot for you,” Robert throws over his shoulder. “He likes you.”
“You don’t like me, Robert?” Henry asks, hiding a grin behind his notepad.
“Ed,” Robert turns and walks backwards. “I love all my Press Corps equally. Now - go and report your unconfirmed rumours to King or Cooper or whoever the hell is on CNN now.”
Henry politely flips him off and Robert laughs, resuming his swift strides forward. Misha is laughing beside him, he realises belatedly, and as he draws to a halt in the Briefing Room he turns to look at him.
“I seriously feel like I’m in The West Wing right now,” Misha says. “The show not the place. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Robert repeats, grinning. He turns to throw a handful of notes at NBC, much to the jealousy of ABC and CBS, before continuing: “And between you and me? That’s how I feel half the time as well. Come on - let’s get you up to Rahm.”
“You actually think I should take a job here, don’t you?” Misha asks as they leave the Briefing Room. “That’s what you meant before, wasn’t it?”
“Hey - if Rahm’s after you that must mean something,” Robert says, shrugging. “And if you’ve got the mentality for it, why the hell not? It’s the most alive you’ll ever feel.”
“His campaign is only going to get worse before it stops, isn’t it?” Misha asks as they approach Rahm’s office. Robert grins.
“Let’s just say - I’m glad it’s not me,” Robert says, patting Misha on the shoulder. “Good talking to you. Keep up the fight - it’s keeping Rahm busy enough that we can do our jobs without the shouting. He hasn’t made an intern cry for a whole week.”
Misha grins as Robert turns away. He’s barely reached his office when Fox appears out of nowhere to demand a comment on a possible Iraq trip. Robert’s going to kill Henry - that’s just playing dirty.
5. December - Axelrod
“Look, kid,” David says, settling down next to the Collins kid. “I can’t be bothered to do my part in getting you to commit to whatever the hell it is Rahm wants you to do. So let’s just pretend that we had the conversation - you turned the job down again - and get on with our lives.”
“Nice to see you again too, Mr Axelrod,” Collins’ grins and waves his hand.
David’s met Collins off and on a few times over the years, knows he’s one of the few friends Rahm came out of his first White House tour with, and thinks he’s a good guy. Smart and obvious about it but somehow not in a way that grates and David doesn’t even know what the hell that’s about.
Rahm’s been obsessed with the guy since about April this year and it took the combined efforts of Mona and Jim to figure out that Rahm was trying to recruit him. Since then Rahm’s called in favours and hammered his own credit card for months' worth of cheesecakes and sent random members of the cabinet on missions.
It’s all completely ridiculous. There are times when David really wishes Rahm could take no for an answer.
“How are things at the White House?” Collins asks with genuine curiosity.
“Quiet, thankfully,” David says, huffing out a breath. “Holiday season seems to have slowed things down a bit. Which is something, at least.”
“You guys really deserve a break,” Collins nods. “I just hope you get one.”
Collins grins again, raising his glass, and David shakes his head, clinking his glass against Collins’.
“Let’s talk about your work,” David says, taking a long swallow from his drink. “If you can call it that. Is Hollywood the hive of debauchery O’Reilly would have us believe?”
Collins laughs, a broad, happy sound and David finds himself smiling reflexively. Maybe he’s starting to realise why Rahm keeps Collins around.
6. January - Kalpen
“Oh my God, please just say yes,” Kalpen says when they meet in New York for lunch. Misha looks at him and gives him a look that seems to say ‘so, where’s this coming from?’
“What’s he done to you this time?” Misha asks, with that knowing little smile that really pisses Kalpen off for some indefinable reason.
“It’s nothing he’s done,” Kalpen waves a hand. “It’s what he keeps sending me.”
Misha laughs and Kalpen frowns, stabbing at his salad with more vigour than necessary. There are few occasions where he wishes he ate meat - having something like a steak to stab into right now falls amongst them.
“I’m serious, man,” Kalpen waves his fork, nearly loosing a piece of lettuce across the restaurant. “He e-mails me every day to find out if you’ve been in touch. He texts me continuously. And he’s started using, fucking, smileys and it’s just getting sinister. No amount of pull over him is worth this.”
“Rahm’s always been pretty single minded,” Misha says, slicing into, Kalpen’s not even sure what Misha’s eating, something ridiculous as usual, he suspects.
“Single minded!” Kalpen repeats, louder than necessary, earning glares from the other patrons. “The man’s obsessed.”
“Then I’ve got him right where I want him,” Misha grins and takes a large bite out of his What-the-fuck-ever. It crunches disturbingly.
“Please, Misha, for the sake of my eventual children - please just say yes,” Kalpen pleads. “I keep having nightmares about him.”
“Nightmares? About Rahm?” Misha can’t hide his grin. Kalpen scowls at him.
“I’ll have you know that stronger people than me have nightmares about Rahm,” Kalpen points out.
“The whole of the GOP, for example,” Misha says, laughing. “What are the nightmares about?”
“Mostly about him coming into my house in the middle of the night with orders to kidnap you,” Kalpen says, collecting another forkful of salad. “He - he’s always wearing this catsuit thing. It’s beyond freaky.”
Misha doesn’t contain his laughter and Kalpen sighs. Working for the Administration isn’t supposed to be this hard.
“Oh, man,” Misha says, wiping a tear from his eye. “You should never have got into bed with him, Kalpen. This is what he does to people.”
“The man should come with a warning label,” Kalpen says, spreading his hands and envisaging the label: “Warning - will cause nightmares if exposed to too high doses. If problem persists - hand your resignation into the nearest official.”
“You’ll pull through,” Misha says, grin softening down to a more ordinary smile. “He’ll only be obsessed with this for a year or so.”
“Oh! Only a year,” Kalpen says, throwing his hands up. “That makes everything better, then.”
Misha’s laughter continues to be incredibly unhelpful. Kalpen is never going to sleep again.
7. February - Jon and Stephen
“So - how badly does he want you?” Stephen asks, leaning across the table, raising an interrogative eyebrow. Misha snorts.
“Well - he’s sent about five different people after me so far,” Misha says, shrugging. “I think he’s only getting warmed up, though.”
“You know - I think this might be more entertaining than anything else going on at the moment,” Jon says, leaning back in his chair. Stephen looks at him and grins, nudging him under the table with his knee.
“You know if you give in you have to come on the Report properly so I can shout at you,” Stephen says, turning that grin on Misha.
“Or, if you’d rather not be shouted at, you can always come on The Daily Show,” Jon says, raising an eyebrow. Stephen gasps.
“Stealing guests from right under my nose, Jon?” Stephen shakes his head. “There are no depths to which you won’t sink.”
“You’ve known me long enough to know that by now, Stephen,” Jon rolls his eyes and pats Stephen on the shoulder.
“But, still I place you on a pedestal as a paragon of virtue,” Stephen shakes his head at himself. “I’m not sure whether that says more about me or you.”
“It is a mystery which will never be solved,” Jon says solemnly. Stephen holds his deadpan for a moment longer than it takes to register Misha’s laughter. He breaks, gloriously, and Jon’s heart lifts.
“You guys are amazing,” Misha says, shaking his head. “How about I do both your shows?”
“We can do that,” Stephen says quickly, shooting a look at Jon.
“Actually, yeah, that’s -” Jon stops and thinks for moment. “We can totally work with that.”
Jon pulls a napkin toward him and pats his pockets for a pen. When he can’t find one he looks up to see Stephen holding one out to him, biting his lip to hide a smile. Jon smiles his thanks and starts sketching ideas on the napkin.
“Observe the Jon Stewart in his natural habitat,” Stephen says softly. “He scratches at a primitive writing surface with a primitive device, writing in his own language. It is a marvellous thing to watch, and of great anthropological -”
Stephen’s parted lips are slightly wet against Jon’s fingers and his breath is warm against Jon’s flesh and Jon absolutely isn’t thinking about that. Stephen’s lips curve into a smile before Jon pulls his hand back and flips him off.
Jon slides the napkin over and Stephen looks at it, eyebrows lifting and grin breaking out across his face as he reads it, he snatches the pen and adds a few pieces of his own, turning the napkin so Jon can read it. Jon presses his forehead against Stephen’s shoulder for a second when he breaks into giggles.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back and pocketing the napkin. “That looks good.”
“So - I take it I’m in?” Misha looks between them. There’s something in his eyes that Jon can’t parse and for a moment a little thrill of worry wraps around his spine. “That is - if I give in.”
“You better give in,” Stephen says, grinning. “We’ve just come up with comedy gold for the week we interview you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Misha says. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Jon smiles and bumps Stephen’s knee under the table with his. Stephen’s smile tells him the same thing Jon’s thinking - this is potentially way too much fun to be legal.
8. March - Arne
“Holy fucking shit, you’re huge,” Collins says and Arne bursts out laughing.
It’s pretty much exactly the first thing everyone thinks when they meet him but Collins goes down as one of the handful of people that actually verbalises the thought.
“I mean, um,” Collins clears his throat. “Hi, I’m Misha.”
Arne shakes his hand, watching it disappear into his own, and grins at Collins’ widened eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Misha,” Arne says, making a slight mental adjustment. “Walk with me?”
“Sure,” Misha says, still staring up at Arne with those wide blue eyes.
Arne shortens his stride and lets Misha keep pace with him. Rahm’s arranged for this little appearance - Arne had lost his celebrity guest at the last minute and panicked a little. Rahm’s ‘Calm the fuck down, Arne, I’ve got it covered’ had seemed like a joke until he put Arne on the phone with Misha.
Arne had a feeling that the teenage girls at this school were going to be thrilled that Neil Gaiman had had to drop out. Arne was disappointed himself, though, he’d wanted to meet Gaiman for a long time. Plus the guy had a long association with the ALA.
“So this is a get-kids-reading sort of initiative, right?” Misha asks as Arne leads him through the school.
“Yeah, though, less for kids, really,” Arne says, waving a hand. “We’ve got the kids covered now - early figures suggest the literacy rate is starting to rise. I can’t take all the credit for that, though.”
“Sure you can,” Misha smiles. “You’re the Secretary for Education.”
“Maybe - it just feels like we’ve had a sea change,” Arne shrugs. “Parents have started reading to their kids more. Maybe it’s the President, I don’t know. But this one - this is about teenagers.”
“I thought Harry Potter and Twilight had that one sewn up?” Misha asks, the wideness finally disappearing from his eyes. Arne can see that they’re intelligent, now, and Misha sounds genuinely curious.
“Well, that remains to be seen,” Arne shrugs again. “They’ve obviously done something for literacy rates but, well, it’d be nice if the teens started reading other things as well. Potter and Twilight might be good starting points - but there’s a whole world of literature that isn’t getting read.”
“Oh, man,” Misha is grinning and Arne tilts his head toward him. “You don’t like Twilight at all, do you?”
“I -” Arne stops and huffs out a laugh. “I’m happy it’s kept the Potter audience reading,” he admits, “but it’s not exactly Kerouac or Fitzgerald is it?”
“And it’s not even Shakespeare or Wuthering Heights,” Misha adds, waving a hand through the air. “Even though it borrows liberally from both of them.”
Arne gives Misha a pointed eyebrow and Misha rubs a hand through his hair, ducking his head.
“If I call it research does it make things better?” Misha asks. “Because I really didn’t read it for fun. Okay. For some fun. The writing’s…well, so beautifully purple. It’s a shame, really. Underneath all the boring, not to mention clichéd, romance plot there’s an interesting world in there. Somewhere.”
“Clearly you’ve spent more time thinking about it than I have,” Arne says, smiling. “It should at least give you something in common with some of the students here.”
“Oh, God,” Misha turns his eyes upward. “Please don’t make me field thousands of questions on Twilight.”
“Hey - I’m pretty sure you can handle it,” Arne says. “Rahm showed me some footage of the stuff you do at conventions - this won’t have anything on that.”
“Here’s hoping,” Misha says, crossing his fingers very deliberately.
Turns out that Arne’s assessment is woefully incorrect. He thinks they’ll probably be lucky to escape this one alive.
Misha has fun, though, and Arne thinks that maybe Rahm is right about the White House being the right place for the guy. If you can face down a bunch of screaming kids - shouting politicians and harried Staffers are probably going to be a breeze.
9. April - Hillary
Hillary finds Rahm’s favourite obsession in a quiet corner of the reception. She takes a moment to look at him, tries to mentally age him backwards, and finds that there really is something familiar about him.
“I think I actually recognise you,” Hillary says, causing Misha Collins to turn that pretty face toward her.
“Mrs. Clinton,” Misha straightens slightly, his cheeks colouring.
Hillary definitely recognises him. She has a vague memory of Rahm dragging him around one day, showing him off to people. At the time she’d wondered just what was going through Rahm’s head and was a little worried they were about to have a scandal.
But, no, Bill took care of the scandal all by himself, didn’t he?
“Um, I think we met once, ma’am,” Misha says, ducking his head. Beside him his wife hides a smile behind her glass.
“I remember,” Hillary smiles. “You’re also one of Rahm’s friends, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been accused of that, ma’am,” Misha says, shifting from side to side.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Hillary confides. “There’s not many people that can maintain a friendship with him for so long. He’s a good man - just not exactly the most friendly person in the world.”
“No, ma’am, he’s not,” Misha shakes his head and smiled.
“So - is that why he’s got such an obsession with making you work for him?” Hillary asks, widening her smile.
“I’m not even sure, any more,” Misha says and Hillary’s inordinately pleased that he doesn’t call her ma’am again. “It started out as a game, I think, but he’s gotten really serious about it really fast.”
“None of us can really predict what Rahm’s going to do next,” Hillary offers. “Let alone how far he’ll go to get what he wants.”
“Yeah, I know,” Misha smiles. “And the more someone says ‘no’ the harder he fights.”
“And you keep saying ‘no’,” Hillary laughs. Rahm’s complained to her on more than one occasion. “You must have balls of steel.”
Misha laughs, a surprised laugh, Hillary’s favourite kind of laugh, and she really does recognise him. It makes her smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” Misha nods his head. “And Rahm knows it.”
Hillary laughs this time, raising her glass to Misha, and thinks that she’ll have an assistant keep an eye on Rahm’s private battle. It promises to have an entertaining conclusion.
10. May - Rahm
“I give up,” Rahm says, keeping up a deadpan that Colbert would be proud of.
“W-what?” Misha stutters the word, he’s so surprised. It’s all Rahm can do to control a grin.
“Look - I’ve done everything within my power to get you to join us,” Rahm says, shrugging. “And even though you haven’t got a job right now? You still won’t play ball.”
“It hasn’t even been a year since you started this campaign,” Misha says, eyes still wide. “You never give up this easily.”
“I’m tired, Misha,” which is true enough that Rahm doesn’t have to force a deadpan. “And, really, there are much better things I could be doing.”
“So - I - I won?” Misha asks, disbelieving.
“You won, Collins,” Rahm shrugs and spreads his hands.
“This isn’t just a ploy to lure me into a false sense of security?” Misha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Would I do a thing like that?” Rahm asks. Misha gives him a look. “Okay. Would I lie to you about doing a thing like that?” Another look. “Fuck you, Collins, just accept my graceful fucking surrender, okay? Fuck.”
“Shit,” Misha says, blinking. “You really are giving up. Fucking hell, Rahm, this is like a world first.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go fucking bragging about it, okay?” Rahm growls. “Or I will fucking end you.”
“You have no power in my world,” Misha wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah - but Ari’s my brother, remember?” Rahm lays his cards on the table and offers a grin.
“Oh,” Misha says, blinking again. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Rahm nods. “Fuck is right.”
“Surrender accepted,” Misha says, raising his hands. “And I’ll try not to gloat. You know. Unless it’s to Stewart and Colbert.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Rahm points a finger at Misha and doesn’t need to fake a scowl. “They do not need to know how this went down.”
“Wow, the respect of two Fakenews pundits means that much to you?” Misha asks.
No, Rahm thinks, but if you tell them you’ll fuck this whole thing up. Rahm has a plan and he’ll be damned if Stewart and Colbert fuck it up.
11. June - Obama
The phone is ringing. Misha looks at the clock and wonders who the fuck is calling him at this time of the morning. He answers the phone with something approaching a grunt.
“Misha Collins?” Misha knows that voice. Misha would know that voice in his sleep.
“Holy shit!” he exclaims, sitting up. “I mean, uh, good morning, Mr President.”
“Good morning.” And, damn him if Misha can’t hear the man smiling down the phone.
“Um,” Misha says, brilliantly. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Obama says in the voice of someone who clearly doesn’t care because he’s been woken up at all times of the night before. “But I’d like you to reconsider Rahm’s offer.”
“Oh,” Misha says, blinking. Then: “Oh, that bastard. That lying, cheating bastard.”
Obama laughs down the line and it’s infectious.
“Apparently I’m a trump card,” Obama says, laughter still in his voice. “But I want you to know that this isn’t actually coming from him. I’m just a little tired of him using my staff to try and recruit you - they’ve got better things to be doing.”
“I don’t know, sir,” Misha says, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I got out of that years ago because I didn’t want the taint.”
“Son, as I understand it,” and, boy, does it feel weird to be called son by someone who isn’t really that much older than Misha, “you’ve been working in the acting business for years.”
“Um, yeah,” Misha scrubs a hand through his hair. “That’s a good point, sir.”
“If you can do even half as good a job as Rahm seems to think,” Obama says, serious. “We’d be happy to have you here. Just - think about it seriously, Mr Collins.”
“I - I will, Mr President,” Misha says. He means it. Which is a surprise.
“I’ll let you get some more sleep,” Obama’s smiling again, Misha can hear it.
“Thank you, Mr President,” Misha says. “Have a good day, sir.”
“That’s what I always hope for,” Obama says and the line goes dead.
“Holy shit,” Misha says to himself, flopping back against the bed.
“Just take the damn job, Misha,” Victoria says, rolling over. “You can’t say no to the President.”
“Yeah,” Misha says thoughtfully.
Just like that - he’s actually thinking about it.
12. September - The Daily Show
We join the interview half-way through…
Jon: So - the last time you were here you were promoting Supernatural, the CW show you were starring on as an angel.
Misha: That’s right.
Jon: Why don’t you, um, tell the viewers at home what’s happened to you since then.
Misha: To put it simply, Jon, I was blitzed by an unnamed member of the Obama Administration. Bombarded with job offers over a ten month period. You wouldn’t even believe some of the people I’ve spoken to.
Jon: And - what happened with that?
Misha: The long and short of it, Jon, is that I’m going to be working for the Obama Administration for the foreseeable future.
Jon: *grins* So it worked, then?
Misha: *sighs* Yeah. It worked.
Jon: So, what position are you going to be taking up? I know the other actor who crossed over recently, Kalpen Modi, is working at the OPE.
Misha: Yeah. I - I don’t really know yet. I have a terrible feeling that I’ve been earmarked for something in the West Wing.
Jon: At least you already have some experience - you were a White House intern back in the Big Dawg’s years.
Misha: Yeah. And thankfully I didn’t pick up any suspicious stains while I was there.
Jon: *giggles* Why do I have a feeling one of your new bosses isn’t going to like that joke.
Misha: *grins* They knew what they were getting, Jon. They’ll just have to deal with it.
Jon: Well - I genuinely look forward to whatever work you’re going to do down in DC. Good luck to you.
Misha: Thank you, Jon.
Jon: Misha Collins, everyone. Supernatural Season Five is out on DVD now - and you can see his future work in something called the ‘White House’ for, well, for the next few years at least. And next week he’ll be appearing on our sister show, The Colbert Report, so be sure to tune in for that.