Work Text:
Late November 2016
Bill walked into their study puzzled by the music: he had been hearing the upbeat tempo blasting from the room Hillary was occupying for some time and at first he was surprised by her unusual choice, as he knew she liked “older” sounding music. Then, he had heard the unmistakable notes of a song featured prominently during her presidential campaign and he wanted to check if everything was alright. Or - better said - if she was alright
You don't have to feel like a waste of space
You're original, cannot be replaced
If you only knew what the future holds
After a hurricane comes a rainbow
Oh, yes - Katy’s “Firework”, he thought.
Now that he was standing in the doorframe, right on the entrance to the study, he recognized the song. Hillary was with her back to him, but he could see she was discretely wiping a lone tear from her cheek with her fingers: he wasn’t sure if she was reminiscing about the campaign or she was just overwhelmed by the message of the song, but she probably had had one of her post-election bouts of sadness. They were sparse, but they did exist, no matter how much she kept telling herself, and others, that she was alright.
He knew he should leave her alone, but the desire to comfort her always overpowered him, so he quietly advanced to stand behind the chair she was sat in and wrapped his arms around her neck, quietly whispering: “Hey, hun…”
With a teary smile she softly rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand and said:
“Hi, baby... I have this UNICEF ball where I’m presenting Katy with an award, so I was listening to her songs to draw some inspiration - maybe a quote to throw in the speech. Now I’m on her second album.”
“Alright babe… do you mind if I stay for a while and listen with you?”
“Ok… but let’s skip this one, I already know it. Actually, it might be the one with the best lyrics to reference in a speech, but I’ll just read the leaflet on the CD, I don’t have to hear it for the millionth time”
“Anyway, Hills, where is the lyrics’ booklet? You know I’m a bit hard of hearing, I might understand them better if I also red them.”
“Uh, ok, it’s there.” she said pointing to the desk near her “What’s the next song called?”
“Peacock”
“That’s a weird title…” she furrowed her brow before pressing the button on the small remote control in her hand to change the track, before Bill could glance at the lyrics and stop her.
“Hills, honey, you don’t want to hear this, it has nothing that you can use…”
I wanna see your peacock, cock, cock
Your peacock, cock
Your peacock, cock, cock
Your peacock
I wanna see your peacock, cock, cock
Your peacock, cock
Your peacock, cock, cock
Your peacock
Thirteen seconds. Thirteen seconds - the intro had passeded- and Hillary was still puzzled.
“A peacock? Like, this person is a zoo keeper or something?”
“No, babe” he was trying to talk over the loud music, trying to convince Hillary to pause, but the rapid pace of the lyrics made it almost impossible for him to explain the situation fast enough, before it all became self evident in the text of the song itself.
Word on the street, you got somethin' to show me, me
Magical, colorful, Mr. Mystery,
I'm intrigued, for a peek, heard it's fascinating
Come on baby let me see
What you're hiding underneath
“Yeah, yeah, he has a peacock…” continued Hillary “I’m not understanding much of this…”
Words are mislead
Such a tease
Wanna see the show-ow
In 3-D, a movie
Heard it's beautiful
Be the judge
And my girls gonna take a vote
Come on baby let me see
What you're hiding underneath
“Wait, so if the girls are gonna vote… Bill, don’t tell me…”
I want the jaw droppin', eye popin', head turnin', body shockin'
“Yeah, Hillary it’s not an actual peacock…”
I want my heart throbbin', ground shakin, show stoppi'n, amazin'
“…but it’s a metaphor for a dick.” he finally concluded as she started to smile slyly and, now, tears forgotten, she bit the point of her tongue with her front teeth before exclaiming with a sneer: “I don’t know why you wanted to keep it from me, William: this really seems like your kind of song…”
Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock?
Don't be a chicken boy, stop acting like a beeotch
Imma peace out if you don't give me the pay off
Come on baby let me see
What you're hiding underneath
Forgetting the song altogether, he gave her an incredulous look, his mouth hanging open, while shaking his head in mock disbelief: “Hillary Rodham… what a mischievous naughty girl you are! I’m sure there’s some song for you too in this…” and while the song kept on playing, despite his desire to start dancing stupidly in an attempt to make her laugh further with some lyrics-appropriate pelvis moves and self administered butt slaps, he was franticly reading through the lyrics to find something equally wicked as a rebuke to Hillary.
It was too late, though: Hillary, now fully grinning, was miming the gestures to the lyrics, with exaggerated movements:
Oh my God no exaggeration
Now all this time was worth the waiting
She was fanning herself with her open hand, fluttering her eyelashes, only to bring the back of said hand to her forehead and swirl around in the office chair feigning a fainting spell. She was just being silly and he was loving it, secretly relieved because it was the first time since Election Night he had seen her so carefree. Hoping she would continue to have fun, he kept on with the disapproving stare, because he knew Hillary was going to enjoy trying to make him smile along her, pulling the most ridiculous moves she could muster.
I just shed a tear
I am so unprepared
The little bastardette actually wiped the teary trace left from before, pouted and batted her eyelashes.
You've got the finest architecture
End of the rainbow looking treasure
She had stood up and sauntered to him sensually, sliding one hand down his chest and hovering over his crotch without touching it. Neither of them was really turned on, but the emphatic style of her attempt at seduction was more humorous in nature, so he chuckled, biting his lower lip, while looking her straight in her blue eyes.
Such a sight to see
She neared her face to his, licking her lips
And it's all for me.
“After almost 20 years!” she exclaimed.
It took him a fraction of a second to understand her jab.
“No - you didn’t!” he shrieked with feigned indignation.
She sat back on the chair and started to laugh in full, head thrown back with her characteristic chuckle and he felt a smile tug at his lips too. He felt finally reassured: she was going to be ok, she was going to recover. Still adopting his “pissed off” face, he snatched the remote controller from her hand, while she was too busy laughing, and went back to the second track of the album. A bubbly song started to play and he declared:
“Well, this one made me think of you!”
As the first words started to blast, he raised his index up in the air to draw attention to the phrase
I smell like a minibar
“This is you on your wild nights!”
This a hickey or a bruise?
“Aaaaand this was that time before the Rolling Stones concert when you forgot to bring your concealer with us in the limo, so the hickey I gave you showed and you were making all kind of excuses”
“Ok, but it’s not my fault then…”
“Oh, shut up, you were very willing and encouraging me”
“Yeah, but…”
“Listen up…” he raised his index once again and she stopped talking to listen to the lyrics
Trying to connect the dots
Don't know what to tell my boss
“You and I both know this totally refers to Cartagena and that prank call you pulled on Barack. And remember, Barack was the one who had to call me, Hillary, because your secret service detail was too scared to tell me in what state you were, ok?!”
Pictures of last night
Ended up online
I’m screwed
Oh well
“And yep, those pictures from Cartagena ended up on the Internet, so this is totally you.”
She tsked, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief and poorly disguised pride. “Never had a ménage a trois like she says, though…” she suggested innocentely.
“I’m still holding out hope” he quipped, grinning and wriggling his eyebrows, before pulling her in a strong but playful embrace and smooch her mouth still grinning against her lips.
“You have been in handcuffs when slightly drunk, though, even though it wasn’t an arrest like she says… at least not a legally sanctioned one”
He winked, recalling their little inhebriated roleplays. Her low chuckles reverberated through his body and they were soul-mending vibrations, the best kind he could ever hope for. After a couple of playful kisses, she wrapped her hands around his neck and, rising herself on tiptoe because she was only wearing a pair of fluffy warm socks around the house and couldn’t reach him if she didn’t stand en pointe, she gained access to his beautiful mouth to swipe her tongue inside and slowly kiss her husband, while they were tightly pressed together and he was drawing circles with his hands down her back to soothe her and spread his comforting warmth.
They separated with a wet smack of lips and she buried her nose into his shirt and murmured a muffled “T’hnks babe” while nuzzling his chest. He kissed the top of her head and briefly inhaled her familiar smell, before bringing one of his large hands to caress the nape of her neck and give little pinches that provoked goosebumps and made her giggle once again.
Despite it all, he could still see she was wiping a tear away and he silently stared at her with his intense blue gaze.
She stopped the music and in the deafening silence one could hear her little sniffles more clearly. She gave him a wet smile and said:
“I know you think that when you first got into the room I was crying over “Firework”, because it was a song from my campaign. I can see why you would think that and it’s true- it makes me a bit sad to listen to it again, but I was actually crying from joy. Well, not joy - love, I guess.”
He was intently following her discourse while squeezing her hands into his and drawing small tender circles with his thumbs on the backs of them.
“Well, there’s this bit at the beginning of the first song of the album that made me think of you. Well- of how you act towards me and why I love you so much. And I was crying because of that. I know - it’s difficult to explain. And the worst part of it all is that the song is called “Teenage dream” and we are almost seventy…” she started to chuckle “anyway, I think it’s best if I just play it, so you can listen to the bit I was telling you about.”
She lowered her gaze to the remote and fumbled a bit with it to get to the right song, then she took a big breath, like she was bracing herself for something and the lyrics started
You think I'm pretty
Without any make-up on
You think I'm funny
When I tell the punch line wrong
I know you get me
So I'll let my walls come down, down
He felt a grip to his heart, because they were some of Hillary’s insecurities, right there, laid out in the open at the beginning of a song which she had just admitted reminded her of them - of him. He enveloped her in a tight embrace, peppered her face with little kisses and nuzzled her nose before kissing her mouth, again and again, every kiss deeper, with a desperate tenderness.
Her biggest dream might have been crushed, but that didn’t mean she had stopped fighting, living and dreaming: she was continuing, onwards, unstoppable as ever, never looking back, just as she always did.
You, make, me
Feel like
I'm living a, teenage, dream
The way you turn me on
I, can't, sleep
Let's runaway
And don't ever look back
Don't ever look back