Chapter Text
“You seem to be working closely with Senator Debella on this new project of yours. Care to speak more on that relationship?” Phillip Carroway of the Daily Bugle holds the microphone out to you, waiting for your answer.
You smile uncomfortably, trying to avoid looking at the cameras. “The senators on the Environment and public works committee are just as valuable to the protection of our environment as the EPA is, though Senator Debella would say we at the EPA do the hard part.” Your cheeks heat at the mention of Claire’s praise of you. Even though you aren’t well-versed in media proficiency, you’re proud of the professionalism of your answer.
“It’s easy to see you’re getting along well with Senator Debella. Is there a reason you’ve gotten particularly close to her even though she isn’t the chair of the environmental committee? Maybe there’s a budding romance on the horizon between the new head of the EPA and a certain senator?” Phillip’s smirk deepens as he watches the way your eyes widen in surprise and your mouth hangs open slightly. The muscles of your abdomen tighten and your throat constricts as you flounder for the right response. No way could you confess your feelings on national television without knowing if Claire feels the same way, and denying it would tell America that you’re a liar, ruining your chances of succeeding at your new position.
You respond the only way you can think of without lying in some capacity. Your knees wobble and your voice shakes as you lean into the microphone. “No comment.”
Walking through the building with an iced coffee in hand–containing two shots of espresso more than your usual order–you notice the uncharacteristically quiet halls. It’s what you’d prefer, not being a morning person, but without the usual hustle and bustle of the early workday you feel eyes on you. It’s then, as you walk past the employee break room, that you hear the sound of your own voice floating from the television mounted to the wall. “No comment.” You cringe at the words, the shakiness in your voice haunting you as you continue on your journey to your office.
You make it a point to not make eye contact, heels clicking on the linoleum flooring as you tilt your head down, weaving through the other people heading to their desks. It wasn’t ever a surprise to you that being the head of the EPA would come with speaking to the media, but you thought it would have more to do with talking science in layman's terms than on your own personal relationships.
Finally in the confines of your own office, you throw your jacket along the back of your chair and hang your bag on the hook beside your desk, not even noticing the light was on without you having to flip the switch. You sigh, sinking into your chair, and take a big gulp of your coffee. All you want is to work on creating policies to conserve natural resources, not deal with the shitstorm that would be Claire’s reaction to your interview.
“ Really , hon? ‘No comment’? That’s the best you could do?” You nearly jump out of your skin when you realize the senator is already in your office. Claire raises a perfectly sculpted brow, watching your fumble for an appropriate response. “Anything to say for yourself or do you have no comment ?”
“Claire, I…” No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to find the words to justify your actions.
“Do you know how many emails and phone calls from my good ol’ constituents of Connecticut I’ve received already this morning?” Claire leans forward, propping her elbows on the dark wood of your desk. “They’ve lost it. Jen is in a tizzy over this.”
You wince, slumping further into your chair. “I’m sorry Claire, I’ve probably ruined your reelection campaign.” It’s one thing to have the senator upset with you, it’s something else entirely to have the wrath of campaign manager Jennifer Barkley centered on you. You can already see the headlines: Shortest EPA Administrator Term In History .
“Oh no, they’re not angry,” Claire lets out a sharp puff of air from her nose. “Angry, I know how to deal with. No,” she shakes her head, “everyone is elated. I’m being congratulated on my bravery for being openly gay in Congress.”
“They’re…happy?” You lift your head from being cradled in your hands.
Claire snorts. “I’m surprised Jen hasn’t sent you a fruit basket yet.”
“Not full of poisoned apples, right?” Nothing could be put past Jennifer Barkley.
“No,” she reassures you. “She’s fucking delighted . She wouldn’t shut up about how brilliant of a campaign strategy a wedding would be. I couldn’t get a single word in to tell her that as far as I know we aren’t dating.”
“I really don’t want the press at my wedding ,” you object. Certainly not after this whole fiasco.
“ Really not my point, hon,” Claire gives you a pointed look. “Why in the world would you say ‘no comment’?”
“I-I,” you falter, “I don’t know?” You wince, your words coming out as more of a question than an answer.
“What do you mean you don't know? You’re the smartest person in DC, you had to know how ‘no comment’ would sound,” Claire argues, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.
“I don’t know how it happened! One second The Daily Bugle is asking me about the new solar power initiatives and the next our relationship is being questioned. I was caught off guard and I panicked,” you explain, hoping she sees where you’re coming from.
“Sweetheart, you can’t panic in front of the press, that’s the first thing they teach you in media training.” She rubs her forehead in exasperation and eyes your coffee cup, which you hand over to her with haste.
“I had no idea what to say and I didn’t know what you would want me to say and I really couldn’t stand there with my mouth opening and closing like a fish, saying nothing –”
“Alright, alright, I know how the story ends,” she soothes, stopping you mid-rant. “But they made a mock-up of new campaign posters with a rainbow background! Everyone knows I’m more of a neutrals gal. It’s my brand.”
“Well at least they’re all supportive, right? No hate mail feels like a win to me,” you smile hesitantly, hopeful you can spin this in a positive light.
“Right, thank god everyone has given us their blessings for a relationship that we’re not actually in.” Claire rolls her eyes good naturedly and finishes your coffee, handing you back the empty cup.
“What can I do, Claire? How can I make this up to you?” You watch her in earnest, anxiously tapping your foot against the floor under your desk.
She abruptly stands, holding her arm out to you. “You’re going to get me another of whatever was in that cup,” she swirls her finger in the direction of your reusable coffee tumbler, “and anything I want from the Starbucks bakery.”
You look back at her in wonder, limply grabbing onto her elbow. “You don’t hate me? You're not going to get me fired o-or make me tell the press I cheated or something to get you out of this?”
“Of course I don’t hate you,” Claire flashes a smile at you, and it isn’t her politician’s smirk, it’s a real smile, calming you slightly. “But you’re absolutely not going to correct my definition of GMOs at the next committee hearing.”
You make a small noise of dissatisfaction as she leads you from the office. “Don’t you think that’s pushing it? I don’t need Senator Rollins worried about his lawn being genetically modified and calling me about it every weekend.”
“Hon, you convinced the whole country that we’re secret lesbian lovers. I think you can do this one thing for me. Just once,” she pleads with you, pressing the down arrow outside the elevators.
You wring your hands in front of you, unconvinced. “But it’s my duty as a scientist to correct all the misconceptions, that’s why I go to the meetings.”
The elevator dings as the door opens and Claire ushers you inside with a huff. “It’s just one ti—you know what, fine. Just buy me a coffee and a danish,” she pauses, “and a cake pop with the sprinkles I like. This thing will blow over in a few days when everyone forgets. Some congressman will be caught with his mistress and we’ll be old news.”
“Alright,” you agree and the elevator sinks to the ground floor. “If that’s what you want.” You still feel slightly guilty over not agreeing to her other terms, but misinformation makes your stomach churn.
Claire glances at you from the side of the elevator, looking like she wants to say something else, but the elevator doors open and she shakes her head instead.
The mention of Claire’s name draws the attention of both you and the senator towards the television mounted on the far wall of the coffee shop.
“We all knew Debella was a lesbo what with the pantsuits and all, but the new EPA director? That was a surprise. A hot surprise.” Some senator with a southern drawl rambles on outside of the capitol building, his horrible mustard yellow tie clashing with the red of his face.
“What details can you give us about the budding romance? You must have seen something during all those meetings,” Phillip pries, tilting his microphone back in the direction of the balding man who pats his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating in the afternoon sun.
“Aw, yeah. Senator Debella doesn’t take her eyes off the girl. Such intense eye sex between them that I was always scared they were gonna rip each other’s clothes off right there on the table.”
“Oh please,” Claire snorts and sips her coffee. “If I was going to have my way with you it wouldn’t be on the senate floor where creeps like McDewey could see.” She smirks at the way your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open slightly. “What? It’s true.”
Before Claire can give you a heart attack, you clear your throat. “Why don’t we take a walk,” you suggest, not waiting for an affirmative answer before tugging on her sleeve and dragging her outside.
The sun is bright and you’re mildly annoyed that you hadn’t thought ahead and grabbed your sunglasses before exiting your office, but the annoyance easily slips away as Claire fills the silence with details of her latest meeting on her reelection campaign. Honestly, you doubt you even register every other word that she says, reveling in the sound of her voice instead. You think you could listen to it for the rest of your life without missing any of your favorite music. Claire leads you to a bench underneath a large oak tree that provides just enough shade to cover the wooden arms.
“Hon?”
You don’t look up from the tree trunk where a squirrel climbs up the bark, lost in thoughts of all things Claire–the sweet honeyed tones of her voice, the way her hair always smells like a delicious blend of ambery vanilla, clover, and citrus. When you don’t answer, Claire scoots toward you and leans forward across the bench.
“Sweetheart?”
She startles you out of your thoughts. You blink, reconnecting yourself to the present. When you come to, you realize her nose is only a breadth away from yours. She’s so close that you can see the light dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. From this distance, you can see the veins of darker blue weaving through the iciness of her irises. Claire is breathtaking, even up close where most peoples’ imperfections are readily apparent.
“Hi,” you sheepishly answer, your cheeks heating from her sudden proximity.
“Hi,” she smirks with amusement. “Am I so boring that you need to zone out when I talk?”
“No, no, definitely not. I was just thinking,” you rush to explain. “You could be talking about the mechanics of a stapler and I’d still be interested. You have this way of speaking that just begs people to listen. It’s no wonder that you’ve won every election you’ve ran in with the amount of charisma–,”
“Deep breath,” Claire stops your rambling with a chuckle and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear while she talks. “Maybe it is best that you went with ‘no comment’. If the media hears you talking about me like that they really will start planning that wedding, hm?”
You didn’t think it was possible but you feel your cheeks burn stronger than before. “I’m so sorry Claire, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, hon,” Claire assures you with a smile and a hand on your cheek. She pulls back and checks the time on her watch with a sigh. “Listen, I have to go. I have a meeting at capitol hill in a half hour.” She stands and holds out an arm to help you off the bench. “I don’t have enough time to walk you back, I’m sorry.” She smiles apologetically.
“Don’t worry about it,” you dismiss with a shrug. The woman always insists on walking with you back to your office when you go out for lunch together and it’s sweet enough to make your teeth hurt, but you can manage on your own just this once.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Claire hesitates, studying your face for any sign of the contrary. When she sees your confident smile, she concedes. “And no more interviews with the press, alright?”
You roll your eyes with affection. “Yes, Senator,” you drawl. Blue eyes flash with an emotion you can’t quite name and you’re unsure if you somehow crossed an unspoken line.
Before you can let your worries get the best of you, Claire leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Good girl,” she praises, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. You’re almost certain she heard the hitch in your breathing as she stood up straight.
Your eyes follow Claire’s movements as she turns to walk away, stopping to spin back around and wave goodbye. Once she’s too far away and you’ve lost her form in the sea of tourists, you start to head back to your office. Neither you nor Claire notice the man slithering into the shadows from the foliage across from the bench you sat at.