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The low hum of the car's engine reverberated throughout the interior as the last of the crowd surrounding the limo disappeared into the horizon. Two politicians sat in the back, staring straight at the seats in front of them as the still evening air grew thick with tension. Earl Carter, in the midst of his run for president, sat beside Teddy Kennedy, who was currently in his first run for Senate. The difference in their political experience was stark but, in that moment, they worked together as equals. Though, now that everyone had left and the motorcade was through, the car had grown unnervingly silent.
—-
“Are you kidding me?” is the first thing Jordan, a close aide, said to Carter when he heard about his idea to take this trip on his own. Carter, albeit hesitantly, agreed that it wouldn't be an effective strategy (“Bullshit.” was Jordan’s choice of description) and it was quickly arranged for someone to campaign with him. While he understood why he needed to, Carter had never exactly felt comfortable with working with those he associated with the establishment. Especially the northern elite types, who he saw as obnoxious and over-indulgent. He much preferred working with those he knew he could rely on – like Jordan, who he had worked with during his campaign for Governor.
Unfortunately for him, the only person available to do it was Teddy Kennedy, former Priest and current senatorial candidate. Carter had been aware of him for quite some time, as one would be of a Kennedy, but the senatorial campaign had seemed to come out of nowhere. It had been a long couple of years since his brothers were assassinated and a few since he had left the Church. No-one had expected to hear much from him again — especially not in this way — since, apart from a few campaign appearances with his brothers, he hadn't shown much interest in politics at all.
—-
Though his campaign seemed to come out of nowhere, it seemed to have been received pretty well by the general population since the allure of the Kennedy name had never quite faded. Plus, the image of piousness he got from his former priesthood created a sense of warm trust in those who heard and/or met him which felt incredibly needed after the events of that decade.
During the motorcade, Ted had smiled and waved to the masses of supporters lined up as if it was natural to him — and it was, in a sense. Being a priest had taught him a lot about how to interact with the public; how to placate their fears while acknowledging their worries, how to make them feel safe, how to make them trust you — not to mention the years of watching his brothers, both charismatic and passionate, do the same.
The smiles from the crowd were electric, their energy palpable as they reached out to him, their faces lit with a kind of hope that felt both familiar and foreign. They cheered his name, their voices rising in a cacophony of admiration and excitement, their hands stretching toward him as if he were something more than just a man. It was intoxicating, this adoration, but it also left him feeling strangely hollow.
It had been a long time since he’d felt support from anyone other than his mother. Since Bobby’s death, the world had felt colder, quieter, as if a light had gone out and left him stumbling in the dark. The faith he had clung to so desperately after Jack’s murder had nearly shattered completely. Bobby, after all, had been the better Catholic out of the two. Sometimes, Ted wondered why it hadn’t been him who became the priest.
Maybe if he had, he’d still be alive. A small, harsh voice whispered.
Then came Chappaquiddick, the horrible mistake causing the last person who had truly understood him to leave. He had tried to carry on with his duties, but the Church couldn’t shield him from the scandal forever, not with Nixon’s relentless scrutiny. One by one, he lost it all—his priesthood, his brothers, his closest friend. Yet stillness wasn’t in his nature. He waited, biding his time, watching for an opportunity to be useful again. And now, here it was. This was his chance.
But the car eventually moved forward, the cheers of the crowd fading into the distance, and Ted let his hand drop, the smile slipping just slightly as he settled back into his seat. The weight of it all remained, heavier than ever.
—
The silence of the car ride suddenly felt all the more oppressive. Ted’s fingers twitched against the leather seat as the cool atmosphere between the two men became too much to bear. He had always hated silence, even as a child. Growing up in the bustling Kennedy household, he had been the family clown, the one who could always lighten the mood with a joke or a well-timed grin. Silence meant something was wrong, and Ted had made it his mission to fix things when they were wrong. He couldn’t stand the weight of people sulking around him, their unspoken grievances hanging heavy in the air. It reminded him too much of the days after Jack’s death, after Bobby’s—those suffocating moments when the world seemed to stop, and no amount of laughter could fill the void. Now, sitting in this stifling quiet, he felt that same unease creeping in.
"Come to church with me," Ted blurted out, impulsively, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His request seemed to echo throughout the car, bouncing off the polished interior before fading into an awkward oblivion. His fingers curled inwards, forming a tight fist, as he awaited a response from the shorter man beside him. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Carter finally broke it.
"What?" Carter replied, his southern drawl sharp with surprise as his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. He turned to face Ted partially, his expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. The question had caught him off guard, and it showed in the way his shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened.
"After you’re done with your campaign, you should come to my church," Ted repeated, his voice calm but insistent. Despite the apprehension swirling in his gut, he steeled his face, not wanting to come across as suspicious—or, God forbid, weak—to the older man. He forced a casual tone, but his heart was racing.
"I'm Baptist," Carter said, his tone defensive, his arms crossing over his chest. There was a clear distrust in his eyes as he glanced at Ted, warily, as if trying to decipher some hidden agenda.
"Baptist, Catholic…” Ted waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. We're all children of God, aren't we?" he countered, a faint smile playing on his lips. It was the kind of smile that had charmed countless people over the years, but now it felt strained, like he was trying too hard.
"I guess so," Carter conceded, though his brow remained furrowed, his skepticism evident. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. His hands fidgeted in his lap, betraying his unease.
"Then, humor me," Ted said, his voice softening. He turned to Carter, his smile widening as his gaze locked onto the other man’s uneasy expression. There was something pleading in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely showed. He needed this, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
"Reverend, listen—" Carter began, but Ted cut him off.
"Not a reverend anymore," Ted corrected, his smile becoming bitter for a moment. The words tasted sour on his tongue.
"Right, sorry. But, listen to me, I..." Carter trailed off, searching for the right words. He looked uncomfortable, as if he were wrestling with something he didn’t want to say. His eyes darted to the window, then back to Ted, and for a moment, it seemed like he might open up. But then he closed his mouth, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"I know you don't like me," Ted said, cutting to the heart of the matter. He had always been able to read people, to sense their feelings even when they tried to hide them. And with Carter, the distaste was painfully clear. Emphasis on painfully.
"Then why are you asking this?" Carter shot back, his tone sharper than he probably intended. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, as if he were trying to control his emotions.
"I'm not your competition," Ted said, eye contact unwavering. He leaned slightly forward, as if to emphasize his point. His voice was calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made it hard to look away.
"I don't think you are," Carter replied, though his suspicious tone betrayed his thoughts. He shifted in his seat, clearly uneasy. His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to figure out Ted’s angle, to uncover some hidden motive.
"You don't have to lie to me, Governor. It's very clear that you think I'm a privileged bastard—" Ted began, his voice raising with a stubborn defiance.
"I wouldn't say that," Carter interrupted, though his face betrayed him. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away, unable to meet Ted’s gaze.
"You think it, though," Ted replied, sadly.
There was a long pause, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Carter stared out the window, his jaw working as if he were chewing over his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and reluctant.
"...You aggravate me," Carter finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He seemed embarrassed to admit it out loud, as if the confession made him vulnerable in some way.
"I'm sorry," Ted apologized with as much sincerity as he could muster. He meant it, too. He hadn’t set out to antagonize Carter, but he could see now how his presence, his very existence, might feel like a threat.
"No, you're not. You— you think you can just waltz into becoming a senator with no experience, like it's some kind of birthright," Carter snapped, his frustration boiling over. His voice rose, sharp and accusatory, and for a moment, the tension in the car was almost unbearable. He glared at Ted, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions.
“I know it's a big leap." Ted said, his voice calm but tinged with guilt. His mind, however, was anything but calm. Carter has touched on a persistent thought that gnawed at him, one he couldn’t shake: Should he really be running? He couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t earned it, not like his brothers had. Jack and Bobby had been giants, men of purpose and destiny, and look where it had gotten them—both gone too soon, their lives cut short by violence. The weight of their legacies pressed down on him, a constant reminder of the risks that came with the Kennedy name. He had already screwed up enough, hadn’t he? That’s what caused him to leave the Church, what caused Joey to leave. What really gave him the right? And then there were the darker thoughts, the ones he tried to push away but couldn’t. What if the same fate awaited him? If he died, who would take care of the kids? His family had already endured so much loss. His mother, Rose, had buried three sons and a daughter — how could he bear the thought of her losing another, especially at her age?
Carter was silent, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ted's troubled face. After a long while, he sighed and slumped into the chair, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long campaign.”
"I understand that.” Ted smiled softly. “But you can be honest with me.”
Ted’s gaze was steady, almost unnervingly so, as if he could see right through Carter’s carefully constructed facade. His blue eyes seemed to pierce through, probing for the truth Carter had been trying to bury. It was disconcerting, the way Ted could look at him like that, like he already knew everything Carter was thinking. Like he knew about the simmering resentments Carter had been nursing for months. The way people like Ted's privilege seemed to open doors effortlessly, while Carter had to claw his way through every obstacle. The way the Kennedy name still loomed so large, even now, even after everything. Ted’s stare wasn’t accusatory, but it was knowing, and that made it worse. Carter shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that gaze, feeling exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to look away, to break the connection, but something in Ted’s expression held him there—a quiet challenge, or maybe an invitation. A strange feeling churned in his gut as he tried to read that expression. Whatever it meant, Carter could sense Ted wasn’t planning to let him hide behind excuses anymore.
“Again, I'm not your enemy. I don't plan to run anytime soon." Ted added, his voice calm but firm. He held Carter’s gaze, his blue eyes steady and unflinching. There was no hint of deception in his expression, only a quiet resolve. He wanted Carter to understand that this wasn’t about politics, not really.
“Why are you here, then?" Carter asked, his voice quieter now, though the edge of suspicion still lingered.
"To offer you my support," Ted said simply, his tone earnest. He spread his hands slightly, as if to show he had nothing to hide.
"Ah." Carter plainly stated, unconvinced. He leaned back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest again. His skepticism was palpable, a wall that Ted was struggling to break through. Carter’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to Ted, as if he were weighing his words carefully.
"I’m being honest. If you need anything, I'm here. I will always respect a fellow man of faith," Ted said, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. There was a sincerity in his words that was hard to ignore, a quiet conviction that seemed to cut through the tension in the car. He wasn’t just saying this to be polite; he meant it.
There was another long silence. Carter leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable. He stared at Ted for a long moment, his brow furrowed, as if he were trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the image he had in his mind. Finally, he spoke.
"Fine." Carter grumbled as Ted's eyes lit up. "I appreciate it. I hope your election goes well," Carter said, his voice measured, his tone carefully neutral. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was a truce, of sorts, though the underlying tension remained.
"And yours too." Ted replied simply, extending his hand.
Carter hesitated for a moment before shaking Ted's hand. Ted’s grip was firm, almost too firm, as if he were trying to convey something unspoken through the strength of his handshake. There was a subtle tremor in Ted’s hand, a faint but unmistakable sign of the strain he was under, though his face betrayed none of it. The handshake lasted a beat longer than necessary, as though they were both clinging to something intangible, something neither of them could name. The two men exchanged a brief nod. The tension in the car had eased, but the weight of their conversation lingered, leaving Carter with much to think about.