Chapter Text
Thomas Massie was sulking.
Not because Johnson refused to give him floor time for the hundredth time, or because someone inevitably added some pork to a bill he had loved to vote ‘aye’ for. It was not even because his colleagues, who seemed to believe the United States was the world’s police force, wanted another resolution condemning an action of war taken in another country.
No. It was something more stupid than that. But Massie preferred to believe that something less stupid, less frivolous, was the reason for his angst. His wife. It was their anniversary. Well, the anniversary of their wedding vow renewal, but that meant the same thing to him. And on this special day, instead of being home honoring her memory, lighting candles or visiting her grave, he was stuck in a vote doomed to fail. He was a worthless husband for that. Couldn’t even keep Rhonda’s memory alive. Why did he think he could please her in the first place?
Was it evil of him to say that he wouldn’t have minded that much had the real event he was sulking for not happened? Probably. And so be it. Politicians, god damn them, they were so evil anyways. And Massie had already worked through much of his grief. But he wouldn’t have minded it this morning. Because who would be waiting for him when he arrived at his office?
Ro. Ro Khanna. Representative from California’s 17th district. Progressive. Liberal. Activist. Massie couldn’t be more different than him. Ro was a career politician, Massie an engineer at heart. Ro wanted government-funded welfare, Massie wanted a state focused on self-sufficiency and a free market. Ro probably also treated his wife better than Massie ever could for Rhonda. She was still living; Rhonda was not.
Massie couldn’t recall when Ro started coming to his office before every congressional session. Was it when Rhonda passed away? Was it when they first talked about co-sponsoring a bill together as representatives who had barely ever spoken even a polite “hello” to each other? Or was it just one random Thursday? Regardless, their first conversations were awkward, much like high-school-aged teens forced to converse with a teen of the opposite gender. They exchanged pleasantries and talked about their lives before, after, and away from Washington. That was it. Massie never really understood why Ro wanted to talk if it was just the same things every day.
But somehow, slowly but surely, Massie began to open up to Ro. He told him about Rhonda and their memories together, from high school prom and sneaking out of their dorms at night to building a house from scraps of metal and wood in the Kentucky frontier. In return, Ro told Massie about himself. He told Massie about his experiences helping his father in an automotive factory and growing up in the background of Gandhi's nonviolence movement. He told him about his two kids, his wife, and his love for urban Palo Alto, somewhere Massie could not fathom living.
Massie told himself not to pay any mind to their growing friendship, though. A moderate Republican having a moderate Democrat friend would be acceptable to everyone, a shining example of bipartisanship at its finest. But a progressive and a conservative? Massie was inviting people to come point and laugh at his naivete.
But Ro seemed forever unfazed by what others would say about their friendship. He greeted Massie kindly in the halls of the House building and came over to his desk on the house floor to talk, pushing through crowds of new representatives who, basking in their power, didn’t know their manners yet. They were interviewed by the media together (those vultures…) and Ro smiled his characteristic smile. Gosh, Ro was so good on television. Massie looked about as attractive as a balding middle-aged engineer with glasses far too big for his frame and a forced, awkward smile that always felt out of place.
In all other words, Ro was perfect, and Massie was not.
But that wouldn’t have mattered, either. Massie always felt out of place in the House. He was an engineer who went to MIT, someone who built his own house, someone who sent christmas cards of his children posing with guns. No wonder his colleagues side-eyed him.
So what did matter?
Four words.
“You’re just another Republican.”