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“You’re sure you’re up for this?” she asks, adjusting the collar of Ted’s shirt. “You don’t have to do it. I know you told Michelle that you would, but you… I just mean to say, your comfort is more important to me.”
Ted nods, and she sees nervousness in his eyes, but also, that strange kind of calm she always associates with him going past adrenaline and fear. “I’m up for it,” he says. He gives her hand a little squeeze. “Even though, y’know, they could have told me sooner – about the speech, I mean.”
“I know, darling, that wasn’t very nice. I have had a few words with the Chief of Staff already, and…”
“Oh, hon, don’t tell me you’ve scared him off.”
“Hey – need I remind you I am a diplomat, Theodore Lasso?” she raises an eyebrow, in a silent challenge. “I am perfectly capable of eliciting terror while being perfectly polite.”
“I know that.” He smiles at her, and it’s a very particular smile – she knows that smile, and it holds so many promises, promises he simply won’t be able to keep in this very moment. His hand falls on her hip. “Have I told you how sexy you look in this dress?”
She looks down – it’s just a red dress, one between the thousand dresses she has in her closet and all around various strategic points of Downing Street and on the RAF Voyager. “Well thank you, love,” she says. “And you look… well, cozy. I’m afraid I won’t be able to take my eyes off you during all your speech.”
“Too casual?” he sounds concerned, now. “Well gosh darn it, Rebecca, it’s too late to change now. I don’t wanna embarrass you, hon – ”
“You could never embarrass me,” she says. Her hands on his shoulders, she makes sure he’s really looking at her. “Hey – Ted. I don’t care about any of it, you know that. I don’t care about how it’s seen as a betrayal of some sort that the British Prime Minister has married an American, I don’t care about what the fucking Sun will write tomorrow morning, I don’t care about any of it. I only care about you, and I want you to be okay, because I know you hate doing press stuff. I don’t care about you wearing a sweater – even if the sight of it is incredibly distracting, because your forearms… well, you know how I feel about them, and because I know what is hidden under all those layers.” She sees him smile, and she leans in, pecks his lips. “I know you’ll be wonderful – you’re already wonderful, and to me, that’s all that matters.”
He looks… moved, almost, but now there really isn’t any time left.
“Madam Prime Minister? The Press Secretary is ready for you and Mr Lasso now,” a man says – Rebecca’s seen him before, but he must be new in this position.
“Of course – we’ll be right there.”
He nods, and exits the room – she catches sight of Roy, in a corner, muttering something, then listening to the answer through his earpiece. He nods at her, briefly, and for the umpteenth time she blesses the universe for having given her Roy Kent as the head of her security detail.
“Let’s go,” she whispers, and Ted nods, and takes her hand. They’re still holding hands when they enter the Press Room, the camera flashes immediately blinding them, and – well, it’s on.
.
The press conference goes as well as she knew it would – she stays on stage for it, with the Press Secretary and Roy in a corner, and Ted gives his speech about mental health, and answers a few questions from the journalists and reporters there; and thank fuck for Trent Crimm and his absolutely lovely question (she sees how Ted is more relaxed, after that, a chance to talk about his home in Kansas, even though now he’s a Londoner through and through.)
When he’s done – after, she’s sure of it, every single photographer has captured an image of her smiling at her husband like a besotted idiot – she steps in, and there’s a sweet moment when a journalist asks Ted about their marriage and if he’s still holding on tight to that double citizenship.
“Well, y’know, Kristen, I’ve always thought our hearts are expandable, like little balloons, so it wasn’t a hardship to love the UK as much as I love the US. Apart from tea, as I’m sure you know already. Not even my everlasting love for my wife could ever make me like tea. And the Brits have forgiven me about it, I believe. Or at least, their Prime Minister has, if I’m not mistaken.”
“The subtle art of diplomacy,” Rebecca quips, and there’s a current of laughter in the room. Oh, how everyone loves it whenever they mention their marriage – although it’s taken some time, for the press to learn to behave. She extends one hand, rubs Ted’s back for a moment. “Thank you, darling – and yes, actually, as much as everyone would love to know more about the circumstances that led me to formally pardon this infraction on Mr Lasso’s part, I’m afraid I’ll have to refer you to our wonderful Press Secretary back home, Miss Keeley Jones.” She takes a breath – Ted is sitting down in the first row, and he winks at her, looking far more relaxed than earlier. “Now, as for the state of affairs between the United Kingdom and the United States…”
.
The minute the press conference is over and she can step out of the room, she feels lighter, brighter. She isn’t a fan of public speaking – she’s good at it, she has trained for it, but there still is a coil of anxiety curling up in her throat, every single time. Now, however, she can move on to the Oval Office, where they’ll be having refreshments with the President, and she cannot fucking wait to sit down and – possibly – loosen up a little.
Michelle is, after all, an old friend – that’s how Rebecca and Ted met, when both Rebecca and Michelle were, respectively, a Member of Parliament and a Senator; and maybe it’s been a little weird on Michelle’s part, to bring her ex to a political event in the United Kingdom, but… it has all worked out in the end, hasn’t it?
“Madam President,” Rebecca says in greeting, and they exchange their customary two kisses on their cheeks, and look at each other – there’s a laughter brimming in Michelle’s eyes, and she draws Rebecca into a hug.
“Hello, dearest,” she says. “I have to say, Downing Street looks good on you.”
“Oh please – I feel like I’ve aged ten years in just one year,” Rebecca shakes her head, as Michelle goes to hug Ted. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since the election.”
“Well there’s the State Visit to the UK, in a couple of months, right?”
“Oh yes – but I’m afraid the Buckingham Palace people will steal you away from me, they tend to do that.”
“Details, details. Ted, how are you? I see Rebecca has managed to convince you to speak, today? I’ve been told it was a great speech. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there – I should have been there, but I had to take a godforsaken call with the Russian ambassador, and then there was another thing with my Chief of Staff – he’s terrified of you, Rebecca, by the way…”
“No he’s not.”
“Told ya,” Ted says, and she swats lightly his arm. “Y’all are both terrifying, if I gotta be honest. My ex is the President of the United States and my wife is the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and I feel like I’m just some guy. You know, the protagonists of those apocalyptic movies? Some random guys who interact with big people on a daily basis, usually played by Nicolas Cage.”
“That’s… an accurate description,” Rebecca quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t know if just some guy is an accurate description, though.”
“Prime Minister Welton’s arm-candy?”
“No.”
“The Goofy First Gentleman?”
“Haven’t heard that one.”
“God, you two are so disgustingly married,” Michelle smiles. “I was watching bits and pieces of the conference – I think the ambassador has noticed the fact that I wasn’t looking at him all the time – and, well, guys, you may have made this country believe in true love.”
“Well just think about how you could be standing right here with that Mannion prick instead of me,” Rebecca says. “I’d take the disgustingly married couple any day.”
“Don’t even place that image in my head, Rebecca. I have popped a bottle of champagne open when you won – and it was like three in the morning.”
.
They stay in Washington for a week – there’s so much to do, for Rebecca, since this is her first official visit in the US, and she doesn’t see Ted as often as she would like to. It usually is in the evenings, when Michelle is whisked away for some late-night call or something similar, and Rebecca finally gets to climb on the enormous bed in the west wing of the White House, where she finds her husband still up, waiting for her.
“I told you to go sleep, darling,” she says. “I know the jet lag is still kicking your arse.”
“I can’t sleep without having kissed you one last time – it simply doesn’t work that way.”
She slips under the cover, and hugs his middle. “Come here, you,” she murmurs. He kisses her – as promised, it’s deep, long, torturous, and extremely comforting. There is something, in Ted, that grounds her, every time, like he’s a certainty, a rock in a sea of unknown.
“Is it too late to call in the UK, do you think?”
“It’ll be a quarter past six there, honeybunch. I don’t know, it feels a little early for them, yeah.”
“I fucking hate the time zones,” she sighs. “I hate being away from them.”
He shifts, looks at her, and he seems somewhat guilty. “I… I have spoken to them.”
Her heart hurts, but it also quiets down. “Oh, Ted – you have?”
“Yeah. Henry is fine, he’s gone swimming today, and he said he’s seen the press conference and – that he’s proud of me,” there’s a lump in Rebecca’s throat, but she forces it down. “And Lily is fine too. She told me to give mummy a big hug from her, and that she’s counting down the days with Auntie Keeley.”
“That girl,” Rebecca shakes her head slightly, presses her lips against his chest. “Thank you – thank you so much, love, really.”
“You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart.”
“But I do,” she looks up, and she feels the tears push at the corners of her eyes. “I feel like a horrible mum, most of the time – I have so many, so many things I regret, and so many doubts, and I am afraid that one day they’ll resent me for all the energy I’m giving to my job and taking away from them. But I know they have you, and… well, I couldn’t ask for a better partner. And they couldn’t ask for a better dad.”
He traces the tracks of her tears with his thumb. “You’re not a horrible mom, Rebecca. You’re their hero, and you’re showing them it’s possible to be a wonderful mom and a wonderful leader, and they’ll never resent you for it, I promise you that.”
She nods, a small thing, but it’ll have to do for now – she’ll never manage to be at peace about this, no matter how much Ted tells her that it’s going to be fine. Maybe, one day, Henry and Lily will be adults, and they will tell her that their childhood has been good despite the environment where they grew up, and maybe at that point she’ll be able to believe them.
For now, Ted hugs her and keeps her close, and he swipes on his phone, shows her a picture of the four of them. He kisses her brow as she sheds a couple of tears, because she misses her babies so much. And she promises herself that tomorrow she’ll call them, luncheon with the French ambassador be damned.
“It’ll be alright, Rebecca,” he whispers against her skin. “You’ll see, honey. What was your campaign slogan again?”
She huffs, but she smiles. “We believe.”
“And do you believe me when I tell you it’ll be okay?”
“I may be persuaded,” she murmurs. “Thank you, love.”
“Sleep now,” he encourages her. “I’ll be here for you.”
I know, she thinks, or maybe she whispers it, she doesn’t know. What she knows is – she wakes up to the sounds of her children through the phone, and breakfast in bed, and a little daisy Ted has stolen from the pot on the windowsill, and – well, yes, maybe it will be alright, if she believes, just a little.