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It was 6 O’clock in the evening. Normally, at this time, Hillary would be sitting down to dinner with Bill, in the White House dining room. Tonight, however, she was asleep on the couch in their room. She was recovering from the flu, and was still feeling weak and tired. Bill had begged her to take the day off, but she had insisted on trying to get some work done.
Bill walked in and saw her sleeping. She lay, curled up, on the sofa, a soft blanket covering her. He closed the door quietly behind him, so as not to wake her up.
He smiled softly, looking at her there, all balled up. She was uncharacteristically disheveled, and her carefully applied eyeliner was smudged at the corner. He hated that she was sick, but he was glad that she was resting. She worked so hard all the time; it was good for her to have a break. Bill sat down beside her and slipped off his shoes.
He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She always looked so peaceful when she was asleep. He pulled her close to him and wrapped both arms around her, stroking her hair gently. She stirred slightly and nestled closer to him, resting her head on his chest.
He turned on the TV, keeping the volume low, and channel-surfed until he settled on a 20/20 special. He stayed there with her for almost an hour, feet propped up on the coffee table and arms around her, before she woke up.
“…Bill?” she asked, sounding confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting with the press secretary.”
“I cancelled it.” He smiled, giving her a quick kiss. “My wife’s well-being is more important. How are you feeling, darling?”
She looked up at him in the dim light, yawning.
“Better, I suppose. Tired, but I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Now, honey, don’t rush yourself. Take as many days as you need to get over this thing. I don’t want you working yourself too hard.”
“Oh, Bill, I’m fine! Honestly!” she waved him away impatiently, but the twinkle of mirth in her eyes told a different story. Secretly, she liked the way he fussed over her, and he knew it.
He squeezed her tightly and grinned. She loved the way he could seem so mature and boyish all at once.
“Are we sleeping in the bed, or right here?” He asked, chuckling.
“The bed, I think.” She yawned, as if to punctuate her exhaustion.
She tried to get up, but the stiffness in her legs caused her to wobble.
Deftly, Bill swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He didn’t set her down; he just stood there, cradling her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and he buried his face in her hair.
She didn’t know how long he had been standing there, holding her, but she was falling asleep in his arms, and she knew his back must be getting sore.
“Bill.” She whispered.
“Hm?”
“Are we sleeping in the bed, or right here?”
He laughed. “Right here.”
She slapped his arm playfully and he gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
Finally, he set her down, and the two of them made short work of snuggling up underneath the covers.
Hillary shivered against him. Bill raised an eyebrow. The heat in the White House was always on—their room was usually very warm, even in the winter. “You’re feverish, Hill.” Bill said. He laid a hand on her forehead—she was burning up. She shivered in response.
He pulled her closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel the heat from her flushed cheeks. Her feet, in contrast, were ice cold, as they always were. It was a good metaphor for their relationship. He was fire, and she was ice. They fit each other so perfectly. She was cool and collected, and he always knew how to fire her up. Tonight was no exception.
“I’m freezing.” She burrowed deeper under the covers.
“I’ll keep you warm.”
Smiling, she snuggled closer to him, and they fell asleep holding one another close.