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Schlatt chooses not to eliminate Tommy and Wilbur, not right away.
Now that he’s been sworn in, he could put those terrorists on death row. He could make an example out of them easily, subdue their supporters in an instant. It was his plan all along, anyway.
But then he remembers the look Quackity gets when Schlatt is angry.
His husband is generally into Schlatt’s grumpiness. Depending on the day, he seems to find most of the things Schlatt does either hilarious or hot, from yelling on the phone to throwing things. Were it anyone but Quackity, they would be long gone, but something about him softens Schlatt, makes him want to give and give and give his heart away and not take a single thing.
When he gets quiet, when he ponders murder, when he’s drunk and depressed and dangerous, it’s a whole other story. Quackity chews his nails and pleads with Schlatt not to act stupid, and it takes all of his willpower not to oblige. The look on his face is unforgettable, and Schlatt’s not going to see it ever again if he doesn’t have to.
(He will have to, he knows, but he doesn’t right this moment, and that’s enough.)
Quackity reassures him that a little is enough. He will be okay if he doesn't go all-out every time someone doubts him. The world will not end because of Wilbur Soot. The world will not end because a couple of brothers are running around in neutral territory without a place they belong. Everyone will be alright.
Live and let live, he tells himself. Live and let live.
Schlatt has slowly lost his taste for a good fight.
It’s not that he no longer has a short temper or a loud mouth. It’s just that fighting has begun to hurt him, to hurt them. Schlatt’s powerful anger and Quackity’s stubborn pride clash frequently, often ending in tears.
And ever since he first did it to his husband, suddenly, bringing people to tears had lost its appeal.
Usually, arguments are fun. They make him feel like he's in control. But with Quackity, he realizes, it's okay to give up control. Quackity doesn't want to hurt him like just about everyone else in the world.
It’s bad to be mean, Schlatt decides. It feels silly to say out loud. He likes being mean to his enemies, to people who don’t believe in things like democracy and law and the free market, but without a watchful eye, his rage had spread from the people he hated to the people he loved. It’s not productive to hurt your allies’ feelings, and it’s terrible to hurt your best friend’s feelings.
He’s just never had a best friend before, so he hadn’t thought of it.
Schlatt has learned that having a husband is a lot of dirty work. He doesn’t get to treat Quackity the way he does the rest of his cabinet. He doesn’t want to treat him like that, anyway. It takes a lot of trust, and a lot of apologies, and a lot of restraint.
He's never felt for anyone the way he does about Quackity before. He's familiar with admiration for people stronger than him. He's familiar with worry for people he loves. But he's never loved someone like this, a love that almost terrifies him in its magnitude.
Slowly, Schlatt has begun to realize that strength isn’t always stepping up to your opponent. Sometimes, strength is knowing when to back down.
Schlatt doesn’t have any use for the bar anymore.
It doesn’t exactly fix his not-a-problem (because President J. Schlatt, ruler of the free world, is not the kind of person to have a drinking problem,) but it certainly helps.
The whole point of his trips to the bar, at least in the beginning, was to have a warm bed to sleep in at night. To have someone to hold, to lull him to sleep with deep breaths or gentle snores. He didn't realize how badly he wanted to be married, to have that gentle domesticity, to have someone snoring next to him at night.
He doesn’t just have someone to hold, now. He has someone to be held by.
It's a ton of effort, not what he's used to. He no longer has the luxury of walking away from conversations he doesn't want to have. He never thought he'd want to compromise on things, but he does it more and more every day. Stir fry or sushi, shower or bed, an old Western or a shitty ironic soap opera; Schlatt finds himself conceding easily on the little things.
It worries him sometimes. Is he going soft? Should he be asserting his dominance inside the home as well as out? He shakes the thoughts away as quickly as they appear. That's the part of him that's still like his father speaking, and his father was weak, mean, and stupid. Schlatt told himself that he'd be a better husband than that asshole the day his mother broke her arm, and years later, he's still holding himself to it. He is willing to do many awful things for his image, his values, his country; hurting those he loves is not one of them.
Trying his best doesn't mean he has to enjoy it. He frequently ends up raising his voice and taking a walk to calm down, even turning to the bottle when it becomes too much to bear. There are times he wants to give up, to scream, to raise his hand and strike his husband... but he doesn't. It's humiliating to talk things through, but he can do it. He feels weak, but he sucks it up.
Besides, he'd give Quackity the moon and the stars if he could, so really, a little communication isn't too much for his husband to ask for.
Schlatt had been afraid, in the beginning. He thought that he was stronger, a more imposing figure, if he stood alone. He hadn't considered that maybe he needed an Eleanor to his Franklin, someone to guide him and his country with him.
He hadn't thought he was the kind of person to deserve unconditional love. He still isn't sure he deserves it. Schlatt can feel Quackity's love in his bones, in his core, in his heart. It's warm and it's soft, nothing like the tough love he received in his youth, and it does more for his self-confidence than any number of votes ever could.
He hopes Quackity can feel it too. He hopes he feels that same warm buzz, the same gentle blanket of love that Quackity gives to Schlatt.
Schlatt prays he makes Quackity as happy and fulfilled as Quackity makes him.