Chapter Text
If politics is the art of the possible, then the job of a political staffer is defining the impossible – clearly, in short, simple words that even a politician can’t misunderstand. You can’t get the endorsement of the Black Caucus if you support racial profiling, and if the words ‘partial birth abortion’ have ever passed your lips, you can kiss any feminist credentials goodbye.
These things are just true, as immutable as the laws of gravity or thermodynamics. And politicians hate hearing it, hate the idea that after having been elected by the people, having been invested with all the power and dignity of public office…their power is still circumscribed, still hemmed in and impotent.
Amy is good at describing the impossible, good at using terms and words for it that can’t be ignored, but also don’t offend – a necessity when dealing with the hypersensitive egos of politicians. She may loathe the necessity of it, may want to slap them up the head sometimes and ask why they can’t have an ounce of sense, but she is good at it. Not just good at it – Amy is one of the best in the business, and proud of the fact – that’s what got her to the White House after all.
Which is why she can’t help but find it…grimly amusing that she is all but completely unable to accept the mutually exclusive facts of her personal life.
You can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself.
She’s not entirely sure when it happened, which is the worst part.
When he’d come to work for Selina she had sincerely disliked him. Not just because he’d brutally (brutally is too gentle a word really – viciously, maliciously, spitefully) dumped her…mere days after she’d given in and let herself actually like him.
It’s humiliating. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t know, that she’d never said or done anything to let him know that she genuinely cared, that she all but had hearts in her eyes when she saw him. In practice, all this had meant was that she approached him with a slightly less punishing brand of sarcasm, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Dan hadn’t realised how she felt (not that it would have made the slightest bit of difference), but her mother certainly had. Her mother, indeed, had all but fallen off her chair at the realisation – so used to Amy taking everything calmly and in her stride that any strong emotion surprised her.
No one else knew of course, but the embarrassment of having fallen – really and truly fallen – for his manipulations had lingered. She was a sharp, supposedly savvy political operator, and yet… perhaps it added a touch of venom to her tone with him.
But there were other reasons behind her dislike – reasons, Amy had eventually realised, that had more to do with the twisted system in which they operated than with anything particular to Dan as a person.
She hated that he could sleep his way to the top. Not that she was jealous, as he oh so loved to insist. (If he’d ever shown even the least bit of affection for the women he exploited, then she might have been jealous, but as it was…she felt only a distant kind of pity. No one deserved to feel that stupid).
Dan had told her not to judge it till she’d tried it, waggling his eyebrows at her in what might have been a reflex, or might have been an actual come-on, she didn’t know. (He’d been Campaign Manager at the time, high on his own cockiness, so it was just about possible he’d actually meant it).
She’d considered it perhaps the supreme example of Dan just… Not Getting It. (Up until he’d slept with Sophie, at which point she’d had to redefine the term). Amy couldn’t sleep her way to the top. People indulged Dan – considered his on-his-back scheming for power just a quirk – assumed he was sufficiently brilliant to make it to the top anyway – and the worst part was, he didn’t even realise it was happening. No one would ever indulge Amy that way, if she tried it – she knew that, even if Dan didn’t. (Wouldn’t).
And even if they would… Amy’s options would be limited to such exemplars of male beauty as Bill Ericson, Vice-President Doyle or Congressman Furlong. Whereas Dan could cut a swathe through DC’s women, each more lovely, accomplished and politically connected than the next. It was unfair on every possible level. (And she can’t ever explain any of this to him, as he’d only take it as a compliment to his looks or proof of her jealousy, and hold it over her head till the end of time. And truthfully, it was neither.)
None of this is Dan’s fault exactly, and Amy had learned to let go of the anger she felt over it. Not for his sake – for hers – that kind of simmering rage takes energy to maintain, and there are much worthier targets for her wrath. (Like Jonah). But even if she wasn’t angry, she still resented the hell out of it. Sometimes it seemed that he would always, always get what she wanted, without having to do any of the work for it. (She’d tried to console herself with the thought that even so, he was still Dan, and that had to be punishment enough, but it felt thin).
The degree to which she’d missed him after London should have alerted her, really. But Amy’s a busy woman, and never one to just…give into whatever stupid feelings she’s feeling on a particular day. (It could just be gas. Or too much cheese). And Dan had come back with his sadbeard (she had liked the beard entirely too much), made a crack about Jackson being an inferior version of him, and she’d been able to ignore the contented buzzing in her skin whenever he came within ten feet of her.
It was just that Dan was actually competent – unlike three quarters of the people she usually dealt with – and that when he was around Jonah only hit on her half as much. (Amy did not want to know why, though she could guess. Some kind of twisted respect for Dan’s ‘territory’ which made her nauseous even to consider). And being in love wasn’t...like that. Amy watched movies from time to time – it was supposed to be dramatic and beautiful and make you a better person. It wasn’t a happiness rippling under the surface of your day, inflecting every moment of it, but barely noticeable by itself.
Oh she’d known she was attracted to him. Her reaction to that goddamn beard – if nothing else – had enlightened her on that score. It was almost infuriating how little impact his frequently appalling actions had on her attraction to him.
But it was when he’d slept with Sophie that she’d known. Known from the sick feeling in her stomach, the way she suddenly hadn’t known what to do with her hands, her fingers shaking even as she tried to clench them into fists.
She hadn’t cried, not even once. She hadn’t. Her voice might – might – have cracked once when she found out – but she wasn’t going to give him the goddamn satisfaction.
(She’d wanted to).
He’d taunted her with it – knowing he’d hurt her, and using it as a weapon against her (she’d always known Dan would) – but he didn’t really understand just what he’d done.
(She doesn’t understand why this is the thing he chooses to taunt her with. He’d joked about Jackson – once – winked at her, and let it slide, which was so out of character that she almost couldn’t believe it. She’d prepared herself for weeks of taunting, but other than a certain – less sharklike than usual – smile at her whenever Jackson was mentioned, he’d said nothing. But with Sophie it was like he’d wanted to dig the knife in even further, like he was almost enjoying it. She is endlessly grateful that he hadn’t found out about her text messages).
What Sophie had used him to do to her. And she couldn’t ever explain.
(She and Sophie, perhaps from being too close in age, had never, ever gotten along. And for most of their lives, Sophie had been considered the success of the family – pretty, popular, charming – Homecoming Queen and Chair of the Yearbook Committee. And then, pregnant at nineteen, and just dumb enough to think dropping out of college was the way to handle it. None of it, none of it, was Amy’s fault, but what did that matter – she’d dared to graduate college and work for a President while Sophie was flailing, and that was unforgivable. And Sophie, who may not have had a chess player’s brain, but did have an eye for weakness that was near predatory, had slept with Dan not because she liked him (she didn’t) but because Amy loved him. Sophie had known how Amy felt about Dan before Amy had. She'd known that Amy would never be able to look at him without thinking of it, and tainting Dan – even more than he’d tainted himself – was revenge enough for her. It would have been brilliant if it hadn’t been so petty – as though being boasted about by their mother was a crime Amy had committed.)
She couldn’t ever tell Dan this.
(She even more couldn’t tell him that her high school boyfriend had only asked her out on the off-chance he might see her sister – and that her college boyfriend had kissed Sophie the one time she visited her at Penn – and that he was just the latest in a series of wounds Sophie had tried to inflict).
Dan doesn’t know any of the back story, but still, she can’t ever forgive him. (He’d actually dared to ask her out the day after, as though nothing had changed, which she almost couldn’t believe – except she could, because it’s not like he had any emotions above the level of lizard).
It doesn’t change how she feels, but that’s fine, Amy’s used to repressing all of that, and frankly, even when she was at her most starry-eyed about Dan, he only occupied thirty per cent of her attention. (Which is like five per cent more than any other man she’s ever felt things for, but whatever, who cares).
All of which just makes it all the more hilarious when, following Selina’s spectacular failure to gain the presidency, he approaches her with a proposal.
A political consultancy. Their own political consultancy, to be specific.
It’s really kind of brilliant. Neither of them can go back to lobbying – Amy would rather tear her hair out, Dan has, predictably, burned his bridges, and neither of them have connections with the Montez administration anyway.
They make a good team – she balances out Dan’s inability to think strategically (she could have told him that leaving burn victims all over Washington was a bad idea – she did tell him – but it’s only in the last year he’s considered listening), and the combination of his complete lack of scruples and his tactical skills (Dan is capable of higher levels of conversational jujitsu than anyone ever seems to realise) means he’ll do the jobs even she finds too distasteful.
Besides, after years of being at Selina’s beck and call, Amy wants the joy of getting to choose her clients, of being in demand for her political nous, rather than alternatively abused and ignored for it.
Admittedly, she wouldn’t ever have thought of it – it was Dan’s entire idea, credit where it’s due – but it’s such an obvious next step that she has to agree to it. (So what if it keeps him in her life. That’s not why). (It might be why). He calls her one Saturday afternoon, asks her to meet him at an office (their office) (that he’d already rented), and she knows it’s the best professional move.
(She is also laughing internally because Dan – somehow – doesn't grasp that this will tie her to him in everyone else’s eyes far more permanently than if she was just his girlfriend. Sexual relationships are disposable for him, but a political partner…that’s a real commitment).
The one part that she kind of dreads is telling her parents – who will hate it and not understand it and possibly hit Dan with some kind of club (well, that one was just her Dad).
So she times the conversation strategically. They have a ‘family lunch’ on Sundays (she misses the White House so much, it always gave her the perfect excuse to miss these things), but this one she’s going to have to duck out of anyway (she and Dan are flying out to Illinois to meet Senator Daley – who may, or may not, have ambitions for the next election, and either way, wants the best).
Her father is predictably furious, her mother all in favour of the idea (she loves the idea that Amy is going to be so important one day), and Amy thinks she’s just about made it when she gets a text from Dan. He’s outside and she has to go.
She kisses her father’s cheek, and leaves, dragging her suitcase in one hand and checking her phone with the other. She has just made it to Dan’s car (he’s leaning against it, sunglasses on, looking unfairly handsome and also in need of a solid punch to the jaw – which is how he usually looks, to be fair), when she hears the door behind her bang closed.
“You had to do it, didn’t you?” Sophie snarls at her. “You couldn’t just let me have one thing.”
Dan is staring at the ground (Amy’s almost pleased to see that he finally has the sense to recognise the minefield that is her relationship with her sister). Amy sets her suitcase upright, turns and squares her shoulders. She is not the mood, she does not feel like it, she doesn’t have the time, but if Sophie wants a fight, then goddamn it, Amy will give it to her. “Do what?”
“You had to just stomp all over it, couldn’t let me have one day where I was –“
“Where you were what?” Amy says (growls really), “Sighing over your new boyfriend, like you don’t do that every week?”
“He’s not new,” Sophie says, and actually stamps her foot, seriously, that is a thing that just happened. “He’s different, and they like him and you can’t even try to be happy for me, can you?”
“I’ll be happy for you when it lasts more than two weeks. Until then, use a condom,” Amy says. (She is a terrible person for saying this. She really doesn’t fucking care).
“Jesus,” Sophie says, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, remember? Just because you’re, like, in love with this douchebag doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer. Don’t you ever forget anything?”
“It wasn’t goddamn Vegas, read a map for once in your life Sophie! And no, I don’t forget.” She’s losing her composure in fury now, because Sophie does this every time, every single time the spotlight’s not on her for a minute. “I don’t forget any of it. Not Phil, or Ben, or… when I’m on my fourth husband will you be trying to sleep with him?”
“Maybe,” Sophie says curling her lip in a way that almost makes her ugly, “if you actually managed to fall for someone with a soul that wouldn’t happen. But I guess you’d need to have one first. Or, at least, be, you know, interesting, or something. But that might be the one thing that's too much work for you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy catches Dan’s flinch at that comment, which is just…bizarre. “Go back inside,” she says, “Tell them all about your new boy, I really don’t care.”
“He’s coming for lunch next week,” Sophie says, actually looking almost happy for a moment. “You’ll meet him, you'll see – he’s amazing. I wish you had someone like that in your life. But someone like that wouldn't want you."
“Just go.”
And mercifully, she does. And Amy’s left standing there, feeling like the worst kind of wreckage. She can’t even in look at Dan. She’ll deny it to the end of time, of course, but she feels like Sophie just carved her heart out for him to see.
She grabs her case, puts it in the trunk, banging it down with a lot more force than is necessary (she wants to scream. She wants to scream really fucking loudly) and gets into the passenger seat, all before Dan moves an inch.
He gets in eventually, staring at her warily (she’s not going to cry. She won’t give him the goddamn satisfaction).
“That was –“
“We have a plane to catch.”
“Don’t you want to…talk about it?”, he says, almost gentle, but with an eagerness underneath that means he’s scented blood.
“With you? Not in a million years.”
There’s a moment where he keeps staring at her, and she keeps staring out the window, and she wants him to take her hand and tell her he’s sorry and he never realised how much he hurt her, but he’s going to make it up to her, she’ll see, she’s all that matters to him.
She wants it so much she can hardly breathe. But you can’t fall in love with Dan Egan and then be surprised when he acts…well, like himself. So he turns the key and drives them to the airport and Amy thinks about all the drinks she is going to need.
Chicago is going to be torture.