Chapter Text
Owen Bartlet knew how meetings in the White House went by now, it was a familiar pattern. His favorite part of it by far now were the catfights between Elizabeth and the President, they were an entertaining clash of egos that usually occurred before anyone could even pretend they were reading their papers. Which made it even more frustrating to him when they just wouldn’t begin. Nearly ten minutes had gone by now, yet still the atmosphere continued to be stubbornly professional.
Not at the fault of Elizabeth, she was acting just the same as ever. First, she made fun of the way Owen Park sat down in his chair before he had even opened his mouth to speak, then she insulted his quiet voice, then the way he had done his hair that morning. By the third jab, he could tell she was reaching. But after every petty insult, she had been met with only silence. No response, no choked sound of anger, not even just a raised eyebrow.
The President seemed intent on not engaging with her today, and it was almost unsettling to watch. Park always had a retort, that was the point. It was a White House tradition. Though more than being unsettled, Owen Bartlet was more annoyed than anything. Why wasn’t Mr. President biting at any of the usual jokes? And more so, why were Elizabeth’s comments falling so flat today? As if they didn’t have the passion and bite behind them that he, and everyone else in the White House, had grown to love?
Glancing around the room again, he was unsurprised to see his own expression on everyone else’s face. A few aides shifted in their seats. Someone opened his mouth to interrupt the staring contest going on between Elizabeth and Park, before thinking better of it. Clearly, they had come to expect the same thing he had; to have a calm meeting was now a strange occurrence, one that left everyone unsure of where to look.
It was interesting at first, seeing the hard look on the president’s face, but every delayed reaction only irritated Bartlet further. The tension had nowhere to go, it just sat there like an uninvited guest at their discussion table. If Mr. President was going to just sit there and starve everyone of an entertaining reaction, Bartlet saw no reason for these meetings to even exist.
He almost sighs when Elizabeth tries again, her voice strained with something like frustration as she reached for another excuse to use it, he guessed it was another overused insult.
“And just why are you wearing such a–“
“Elizabeth,” Park cut in, successfully stopping her from finishing what was sure to be a weak insult. Bartlet felt the air get a little heavier. Park had never reacted like that. Never so firm. Never nearly so direct. Seriously, what was happening today?
Park finally looked away from her as he spoke again, looking at his papers for what felt like the first time this meeting. “Do you really think this kind of behavior is appropriate for a Cabinet meeting?” he continued, his tone clipped and controlled, as if he hadn’t been encouraging and even engaging with it just last week.
Bartlet met Elizabeth’s eyes as she slumped in her seat, and for the first time since he could remember, she didn’t have a retort ready. Her hand came to rest on her desk as her nails began that familiar tap once again, faster than usual, her mouth closed tight as if she were physically struggling to swallow the rest of her insult.
He watched as her nails stilled, only serving to make the silence more unbearable. After a few more moments of quiet from her, she stood, her chair making a loud groan as it scraped back before she turned and left as suddenly as she had shut up. He heard her heels clicking in sharp, angry clicks against the floor, growing quieter and quieter, but his gaze was on Park. Waiting for him to finally react, finally do something, but he only cleared his throat, straightened his papers, and spoke again.
“All right,” he said, sounding a bit choked up, “Let’s continue.”
Maybe this meeting wasn’t as boring as Bartlet thought it was.
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Elizabeth’s footsteps sounded loud in her ears as they carried her further into the ginormous building, her path aimless, she was moving more on instinct than purpose. She wasn’t quite sure of where she was actually going. She gripped her papers close to her chest, nails scraping unpleasantly against them, as if they could shield her from the sickeningly rapid pace of her heartbeat. Her thoughts were numbingly loud in her head, overlapping and incoherent, but one was irritatingly insistent.
He didn’t even argue back.
It wasn’t just that—he reprimanded her like she was some sort of normal employee and not… not the woman who was going to impeach him. He made her look like a fool in front of everyone. Since when did he get to decide when this ends? Since when did he get to set the rules? The way he spoke to her was disrespectful, of course she walked out. Anyone with an ounce of self respect would have.
It barely registered when she pushed open the bathroom door with far more force than what was necessary. She threw her papers onto the sink counter as she slammed the door shut behind her, her hands flying up to cover her face. She groaned into them, sliding down the overly ornate door to sit on the floor that definitely didn’t get cleaned nearly enough. The floor that didn’t get cleaned because Mr. Park cut the cleaning budgets, she hated him for that too, the thought felt a little like a healing balm to her upset mind. He was an awful man and an even worse president, he deserved all the insults he got.
But it just didn’t feel right when he didn’t play along with her.
It was a trick of some kind, Elizabeth was sure of it. It was just like him to act aloof just to humiliate her in front of her peers. He was probably laughing to himself right now, with that smug face of his. She refused to believe otherwise. She was better than that, better than him and his cruel pranks and his stupid jokes.
Standing up from the floor, she dusted off her skirt, took a steadying breath, and finally dared a glance in the mirror, smoothing her glossy brown waves. Still the same person, still the same sharp eyes and features she had grown into over the years. The realization brought a sense of relief to her. She looked confident, nothing like how she felt inside. The disconnect wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, it was comforting.
Fine. Let him get through the rest of that meeting by himself. She was going to do much more important things while he sat there and tried to feel important about himself. When others stoop low, Elizabeth Hamilton stoops lower. Much lower.
She straightened her collar and adjusted her sleeves as she met her own gaze with a small grimace, her resolve only hardening despite the sickness in her gut. She knew exactly what she was going to do.
She wasn’t going to let him win.