Work Text:
“In the hours of mourning, we lower the flag to half-mast. Citizens of the United States of America, we ask that you say a prayer for the first family. August 18th, 2026, at 11:36 am., President Donald J. Trump has passed away-”
Jill switched off the television to find that her husband was nowhere to be found. The least he could do was sit in front of the television with his wife just to be in the company of her. The passing of his political rival ushered a lot more than absence. The way those two fought for the presidential seat in 2020, she would think he’d be celebrating. A celebration, right? Right?
Joe sat on the edge of the closed toilet with a stream of tears down his withered cheeks. The cat managed to sneak in when Joe rushed in here after hearing the news. Willow purred and weaved between his legs as Joe softly whimpered and took a swig of his Bud Light. The beer felt cold and clammy like the feeling of his lost rival’s hands shaking his before the debates used to begin. The bitter taste slipped down his throat before he quietly set the bottle down to take his wrinkled hands through his dwindling, white hair. He should’ve been prepared. He should’ve known Donald wasn’t long for this world. Surviving two assassination attempts to fall like this. It was due time, but it was too early for Joe.
Joe rubbed his hands over his eyes, rubbing hard enough that the colors and shapes were all the back of his eyelids would show him. They danced and swayed the way Donald’s hair would when the wind blew out on the golf course. The golf course. He and Donald were due for a game in a few weeks. Joe already called him, telling him that he’s bringing his best driver. Did Donald know on that call? Did Donald dare not to tell him? Did Donald dare not to tell his rival that his passing was near? How could he… Donald, how could you?
Stop it! Joe nearly yelled to himself, he couldn’t blame Donald. Donald was gone. There was no reason to blame him.
His time to himself in the toilet couldn’t last much longer; Jill knew where he liked to hide away. It was either here or in the corner of the parlor. He used the windowsill to stand from the toilet seat and do his best to shuffle over to the sink. Using the counter as his guide, he eventually found the sink as Willow leapt up there next to him, nudging her head into his side. Willow always had a way to tell that Joe was upset, she’d rub her head into whatever she could reach, paw at his shirt cuff or pant leg, let out a soft cry, anything to remind him she was there. Joe splashed the sink water across his sunken face and sucked up any snot he could.
“Joe, honey, is that you in there?” He heard Jill's voice from outside the door,
He sighed and stuttered out, “Y-yes, dear, it’s me.”
“Do you need your orthopedic back pillow, honey?” Jill spoke, now overtly present on the other side of the bathroom door.
“I-I’m good, dear, just wash-washing up now, d-dear,” Joe managed to get out.
Between his grief and his persistent stutter, it felt nearly impossible to get a word out to her. He wouldn’t dare utter something like this to his wife. She could never understand. His…his love? Could he call it love? Love for a rival? That’s blasphemous. But is it blasphemy to be so riddled with insatiable grief for someone you called a rival? Let alone even a friend? Love for a rival. That was it, wasn’t it? Joe loved Donald. There was no one he could tell. He glanced over at Willow, who sat poised with her tail lightly thumping against the counter. He rubbed her soft head before opening the door. He nearly walked right into Jill, forgetting she was right outside the door, waiting for him.
“Good lord, honey, you nearly knocked me down.” Jill laughed, still slightly buzzed on the news of Donald’s death,
Joe scratched out a laugh in return, begging a smile to tug at his withered lips to avoid any suspicion of his previous predicament, “S-sorry dear, you know my memory is a little short-sighted with age.”
Surely that was true; he couldn’t ever remember his anniversary, his kid’s age, his own. But he could never forget the way that Donald would look for him in a crowd, the sound Donald would make when Joe’s name was mentioned, the way they could share joy with scores on the green, the way Joe’s name never left his lips at rallies, the way he ordered his followers to raid Congress in the name of Donald’s obsession with Joe. That’s something he could never forget. He could never forget Donald.
Joe lay in bed with Willow at his side, slowly stroking her gray fur to Willow's delighted purrs. Willow was the only one who could understand.
“Oh, Willow,” Joe choked out, stifling back as much of the tears as possible, “I think I loved him.”
The tears. They burned. They burned in hot, fiery streaks down his wilting face. The burn seared into his lap, puddling onto his pants. His chest heaved and wheezed with sobs choking out of his quaking heart. His shoulders fell heavy with the weight of the cry. The cat nuzzled her head closer to Joe as he heaved and sobbed. Jill was busy cooking dinner and wouldn’t find him till it was finished. He only had this time to himself. This was all he could have. Willow stared back up at Joe’s tear-filled eyes, radiating a sorrow no man should ever feel. With the blur of wet, hot tears, Joe could do nothing but think. The joy and humor of their last debate, the glances exchanged at Jimmy’s funeral, the hurt and sorrow when Joe dropped out of the race. Donald had to have known. He sat there, bawling as a widow of a World War soldier, aching in the heart like an arrow struck him straight through the back, so grief stricken he knew he wouldn’t be able to eat Jill’s dinner. Donald would have done the same for him. Or all of it would have been for nothing. Donald had to have loved him back.
But Joe would never know. Donald was gone. Joe would never know.
Jill called dinner from the kitchen and Joe felt the pressure in his chest ache even more, the heaving, the wheezing, he coughed and sniffled up as much as he could but it was too overwhelming.
“Citizen’s of the United States of America, we regret to inform you that merely hours after President Donald J. Trump’s passing, his predecessor, former President Joe R. Biden was found dead this morning, passing from a heart attack.”