Chapter Text
Elizabeth Hamilton had a lot of opinions about Owen Park. Most of which were perfectly reasonable, the kind that anyone who had the misfortune of meeting him would surely agree with her on. Others were… less reasonable. The kind she would never admit out loud, not even to herself. After all, what was a Secretary of the Interior without a few secrets? The Cabinet certainly wasn’t known for its transparency.
She sighed as she signed the last page in the towering stack of paperwork that sat on her desk. Something about selling all the national parks to oil companies. Or leasing them. Or bulldozing them outright. She didn’t really care to read through the papers again to remember which. Her office loomed around her, grand and old and dusty, the ornate walls were lined with portraits of former Secretaries who all seemed to be judging her silently. Even now, staring at them too long sent a shiver down her spine.
She lowered her head to her arms, taking in the peacefulness the familiar position brought her.
And then the phone rang. Of course it did.
Elizabeth groaned, lifting her head just enough to glare at the noisy object. She considered ignoring it, but she’d already been told off twice this week for ‘unprofessional conduct,’ something she doubted applied to her. Especially considering how stressful her job was, she was practically keeping this place from falling apart! She straightened, her back popping unpleasantly with age, and yanked the handset off of it’s stand.
“Hello,” she said crisply. “Madam Secretary speaking.”
“Where are you?”
The voice was familiar. Annoyingly so. Elizabeth blinked, her red acrylic nails beginning an impatient tap against the desk as she searched her brain. She never understood why they still used these old unintelligible things, it was impossible to understand anything.
“Who’s speaking?” she asked finally. The person on the other line didn’t answer, however, instead choosing to repeat the question.
“Are you in your office?” The speaker crackled into her ears, the words strangely soft even when being spoken through an obsolete landline. She was about to repeat her question, when even her thoughts were cut off by a sudden sound.
CLICK
She stared at the now silent brick in her hand for a long second before slowly lowering it back into its rightful place.
Whatever. She wasn’t going to waste precious mental energy on weird phone calls. She had far more important matters to attend to, like…sleeping. Yes. That was crucial. How was she supposed to make world-altering decisions with a foggy brain?
She folded her arms on the desk again and closed her eyes, the portraits watching her in disapproval as she drifted off anyway.
____________________
Owen Park wasn’t a fool, despite what many may think. He knew things. He knew that he was nearing his last term. He knew that the smartest choice would probably just be to resign now, walk out with dignity instead holding onto power as pathetically as he was now. Yes, he knew these things, but even despite the rational part of his brain screaming these truths at him, something kept him planted there.
Whatever that thing was, he couldn’t know for sure.
Sometimes he thought that he was just as unsure as he was clever, a fact that irritated him beyond measure.
He was unsure of why he was driving to Elizabeth Hamilton’s office, but he knew he was doing it anyway. He told himself it was practical. That it was due to the rather tiring meeting he had just had, full of the same old exhausting conversation it always was. And Madam Secretary, annoying as she was, at least was one of the few people in this country who didn’t prefer to skirt around issues. It was a rather easy lie to believe. But even then, Elizabeth was hardly the sort of person one visited. She had a silver tongue and an infuriatingly sweet voice that belied the situations she managed to talk herself into.
And yet, he didn’t want to fire her.
This thought, too, was added to his steadily increasing list of things he was unsure of. An alarming percentage of which was attributed to the woman inside the building he was now standing in front of. He didn’t like that. Presidents were meant to be in charge, they were meant to have clean lines of justice who their subordinates were. What existed between him and Elizabeth was anything but clean. It felt too messy, too…familiar.
Stopping at the large wooden door, his hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He had half a mind to turn around and drive away, but something in him wouldn’t let him move away from his spot at her door.
He went in without knocking, definitely not because he was embarrassed. He was the president. Presidents didn’t knock.
Especially not on the doors of their rather infuriating secretaries.
His gaze skirted around the familiar interior before landing on her, narrowing in disappointment. Sleeping, of course. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved knowing that he wouldn’t have to speak to her just yet and risk losing this moment of blissful silence. He couldn’t just stand there staring at her forever, however.
“Elizabeth,” He said sharply. “get up.”
He watched as she immediately sat up at the sound of his voice, his gaze lingering on the red mark left on her otherwise pale cheek, the way her glasses were left a little askew. He wondered why he noticed these things.
“Mr. President!” She gasped, a little ashamed at being caught by her boss in such as position before her eyes hardened and her posture straightened. “What brings you here?”
Her eyes followed him as he sat down in front of her desk without a word, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance which only left her more irritated. She, in return, met his gaze with open frustration. It was always like this, their mutual hatred almost passing for mutual understanding. He wondered why he enjoyed that as much as he did.
He observed her for a moment too long, annoyance shifting into something less defined. “Have you ever considered dressing less…like that?” He finally asked, his gaze betraying him by flicking down once more at her extremely low cut red blouse.
She almost laughed at just how strange he was, instead settling for a small scoff. If there was anything the president was good at, he certainly knew how to catch her off guard. He spoke as though there was anyone besides him who had an issue with her clothing, it wasn’t the 1800s anymore.
“Mr. President, if I may, your tie is tucked into your pants. I don’t think you have any room to talk about my outfits.” Owen turned red at that, yanking the fabric free. He felt mortified. She had a point, he didn’t know why he commented on her at all. Yet another addition onto that list, he supposed. Another reason on why it would be best for him to resign before embarrassing himself further.
Silence settled between them, thick and awkward. He cleared his throat after a few moments, choosing to ignore what had just happened.
“Yes, well, I just wanted to remind you of the Cabinet meeting tomorrow afternoon.” He lied smoothly, subtly wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. He wasn’t sure why they were sweaty, it’s not as if he was embarrassed. Never. He just was getting warm.
Elizabeth actually did laugh at that, though it was more of a bark than anything. “You mean the meeting that everyone was emailed about? Twice?”
He narrowed his eyes at that. “We all know about your struggles with reading emails, if the last meeting was any indication, seeing as you missed that one.” He retorted easily.
She didn’t say anything to that.
For reasons he didn’t really want to look too closely at, the silence disappointed him. He didn’t know when he’d began to expect more from these conversations with her, or even why he felt almost unsettled when they ended too easily. He shifted in his seat, annoyance turning into discomfort once again.
He was actually almost relieved when she spoke again, her nails beginning that insufferable rhythm against her desk again. “Is that all?” Her voice trembled a little, betraying her frustration in a way that satisfied him as he leaned back in his seat. No, he wanted to say, that’s not all. But he knew logically that he had already overstayed his welcome, and that he would be forced to come up with another reason if he wanted to talk with her longer.
Owen Park didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he for some odd reason wanted to willingly speak to her, or the fact that he was considering making up a whole new dinner party just to continue the conversation.
“Yes, Elizabeth,” He muttered, sounding as if the words were physically difficult to get out. “That will be all, I’ll take my leave now.”