Work Text:
September 11th, 2002
George Bush felt as though the entire weight of the nation's suffering rested solely upon his shoulders. As President, this burden should fall upon him regardless, but Bush felt especially burdened: it had been one year since that fateful day when America suffered the deadliest terrorist attack in her history. Bush, a man who loved his country as fiercely as any Texan—maybe even more than anyone—desperately wished he could do more for the grieving families, the injured survivors, and the victims of this evil.
Bush cast his rod back sharply, watching as it arched high above and landed gently on the lake's surface with barely a ripple. "You're being too aggressive," Laura Bush warned him gently, though she knew George liked it rough and wild. She smiled, pulling back on her line carefully.
Bush grinned in return and winked at her. "You know what I'm after is a real big one," he said, hoping she understood his double meaning. His eyes scanned her body briefly before returning to watch his fishing rod intently. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he'd like to wrap those long legs around his neck.
"Yeah," Laura agreed softly. "Me, too." Her mouth quirked into another grin: her lips looked so kissable! She wore a pair of sunglasses—oversized things that hid half of her face—and was clad in blue jeans with black boots, along with a white t-shirt covered by a faded denim vest. A small red handkerchief was tied around her throat; its ends hung loosely over her chest, teasingly close to falling into cleavage that Bush badly wanted to see uncovered. Her brown hair cascaded past bare shoulders, hanging halfway down her back. She wore no makeup: not a bit of lipstick, not a trace of powder anywhere on that pretty skin.
"George, something's coming!" Bush turned his attention quickly toward where his wife pointed excitedly. Sure enough, there was a huge fish splashing right beneath his hook. He jerked his line hard and fast, forcing the fish to strike upward toward the lure dangling above it. With a loud splash and spray, the fish jumped out of the water, before landing in the water, directly onto the hook, thrashing wildly against its captor.
Bush tugged steadily on his rod, using all his strength to fight against the mighty fish.
"It's a big one, baby." Laura licked her lips enthusiastically as she watched George struggling with the fish, still attached firmly to his line. "You've got him now," she whispered hoarsely under her breath. "Bring him in nice and slow. Don't let him get away." Bush felt himself getting excited by her words; excited by the fish.
He struggled mightily against the leviathan. "This sucker's strong." He grunted loudly as he continued jerking the pole, trying desperately to subdue his opponent.
"Make him bend," Laura encouraged, her voice husky. "Take him up nice and slow, real smooth like, make him beg you to pull harder—to release him from your grip."
"Fuck yeah," George whispered low and deep. Sweat rolled freely down his forehead as began to win his battle, the creature weakening considerably from his constant struggle. Slowly, painfully slowly, but surely, Bush brought the giant nearer to shore until finally, the gargantuan beast lay gasping on the ground beneath him.
It was enormous. Its scales shone brightly beneath the light of the sun, dazzling Bush with their radiance. Every time it opened its mouth to breathe, George noticed rows upon rows of tiny sharp teeth staring back at him hungrily, gleaming dangerously as though warning Bush that if it had just one chance, it would rip him apart with its mighty jaws. This is an alpha predator, Bush thought, a savage monster with nothing but raw power at its disposal—it uses those deadly fangs to hunt and kill its prey relentlessly, without mercy, without remorse.
An epiphany came to Bush suddenly: he saw the beast and its desire to kill, he needed that violence inside of him—the ferocity that fueled him—the same ferocity that had fueled those damn terrorists.
Laura knelt beside the thrashing fish, holding her gloved hands firmly on its body while George drew close. "Hold it steady now," Bush commanded quietly. "We have work to do here."
His wife obeyed silently. "Are you going to put it back?" She asked softly. "In the lake? Back where it belongs?"
Bush shook his head solemnly, placing a heavy boot over the monstrous fish's tail fin to prevent it from moving about further. "No, ma'am. No, I'm not." Bush bent over, raising the blade of a long hunting knife high above his head. The sunlight glinted off the honed steel, reflecting upon Laura's beautiful features momentarily before she turned away, shielding her eyes with her arms. Bush plunged the weapon down sharply, ending the creature's suffering forever.
She turned back to face him, eyes glistening wetly from behind her sunglasses. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she gazed upon Bush. "What did you do, George? Why did you kill that poor creature?"
"Because it's what America needs, my love—power and dominance—ferocity to dominate the world. We'll build our strength—and then we'll make them pay for what they did to our nation."
Laura wiped tears away from her eyes, sniffing softly. "I'm scared, George."
The President hugged his wife tightly against him, rubbing his face in her sweet-smelling hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply; he could smell lavender shampoo mixed with sweat. "Don't be, my dear," he replied gently. "Soon, we'll find those bastards and make them suffer for what they did."
Laura shivered, feeling cold despite the warm summer sunshine filtering through the trees overhead. "I hope so," she whispered, nestling her head against Bush's muscular chest.
George continued stroking his wife's hair tenderly, enjoying the sensation of her soft locks brushing against his fingers. "Don't worry, honey. I'll keep you safe—I'll keep us all safe." He sighed heavily before adding in a lower tone: "You can bet your life on it."