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“No,” Andy says, turning her chair away in disgust. “I understand Amy’s point, that this is a one-time opportunity for an all-female Executive Branch but... her?”
“She does have the benefit of experience,” Josh replies, trying and failing to keep the smirk off his face; Andy can hear it. He might have a lot less hair these days, but he’s still the punk who gave her a hundred headaches in Congress.
“Fine,” Andy grumbles. “Put her on the shortlist.”
***
Amy hangs up the phone in disbelief. The return to Maryland hasn’t been the most fun part of her career, but with her toxicity in Washington, turning down Selina’s offer of ‘running things’ wasn’t really an option.
And honestly? After all those years of never having a damn minute to even pick up her dry cleaning, it started out kind of nice to only have to manage speaking engagements and ghost-write the occasional irate letter to the times.
Unfortunately, that ‘nice’ has now transformed into ‘crushingly boring’, and if Dan could see her now... well, she thinks even he might pull his punches about mocking her. No, wait, it’s fuckweasel, of course he’d kick her when she’s down. Then do that evil little tutting noise about how kicking her messed up his Italian loafers that were bought for him by the daughter of a Duchess or some shit.
God, does Amy not miss his loathsome (squeezable) (mean) (but seriously: squeeze central) ass.
“Madam Vice President?” Amy says, pushing the office door open, disturbing nothing more than Selina’s daily war of attrition with the crossword puzzle that she never, ever completes.
“What’s up, Ames?” Selina puts some pep in the words, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks a lot like how Mike’s press briefings used to sound, because toiling in weird semi-obscurity has taken its toll. How strange, to potentially be changing that with the next words out of her mouth, Amy thinks. She hasn’t changed much of anything but the coffee filters in a really long time.
“I just had a call,” Amy begins. She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping Selina doesn’t start the old ‘catchphrase’ crap about the President calling, because Jesus Christ on a cracker that was old eight years ago, and it really, really is not the goddamned fucking time. “From the White House,” Amy finishes, when the interruption doesn’t come.
And the room goes still then, like the part in an Animal Planet show when some asshole predator is about to pounce on a helpless baby deer or someone. Bambi never, ever catches a break, and right now Amy’s the Bambiest of them all.
“And?” Selina snaps, because patience hasn’t been a fucking virtue in this world since Jane Austen was whining on about dudes who wouldn’t commit.
“The, uh, the President called. Well, the President’s personal aide called,” Amy clarifies. “And she uh, she wants to see you. Friday.”
The screech isn’t exactly dignified, but at least, Amy rationalizes, nothing actually got broken.
***
“She knows this is just a chat?” Andy asks, signing yet another heartfelt message of... something that she hasn’t actually read. Hopefully someone is scanning this crap for more than typos.
“I made it clear, ma’am,” Todd says, rocking back slightly on his heels. As Fridays go, this has been a horror show, and even the indefatigable Todd is showing some signs of wear and tear; if Andy’s not mistaken that’s an unbuttoned top button, even if his tie is still firmly in place.
“I liked the Illinois guy,” Andy muses, moving on to the next set of papers. Something military that she knows she agreed with in the morning security briefing, so that’s not too big a concern.
“Senator Clark?” Todd supplies helpfully.
“Hmm. Is Toby back from New York?” Andy is careful to keep the tone light, just the same as any other questions. “Only I don’t think I’m going to make dinner with the kids, and...”
“He got back thirty minutes ago,” Todd confirms, checking on his iPad. “Did you need him to come down here, or...?”
“No, no,” Andy dismisses the idea. “Just checking the rugrats will be supervised around food and sharp objects.”
“Due respect ma’am, they’re seventeen,” Todd reminds her.
“Due respect, Todd, you’ve met them,” Andy fires back. One of the other secretaries comes to the door of the Oval then, knocking politely and nodding at Todd who springs in to action.
“Vice President Meyer,” the blonde announces, and Andy wonders for the twentieth time if she can’t force people to wear nametags, at least until she gets used to Sam’s staffers.
“Bring her in,” Andy says, managing to keep the sigh out of her voice. She stands, placing the pen back in the drawer (though it’ll be gone by tomorrow, they always are). She smooths out the charcoal gray blazer and pulls a little lint from the matching pants. This running the world thing feels a lot like being a tour guide, so far.
“Madam President,” Selina booms, bouncing into the room like a slightly angry Tigger, wrapped in Prada.
“Madam Vice President,” Andy returns, shaking the offered hand and feeling just a little of the enthusiasm rub off on her. “I’m so pleased you could take the time.”
“Well, when the President calls...” Selina responds, and it’s the requisite amount of awkward, leading up to some ass-kissing. Andy heads it off at the pass.
“Josh Lyman fought tooth and nail to get you on the shortlist, if you want to send him a fruit basket or something,” Andy’s testing the waters, and Josh is as good a yardstick as any.
“Well,” Selina says, smile faltering for just a second. “As you may remember from your Maryland days, Josh is what we call a real motherfucker.
Andy bursts out laughing at that, it can’t be helped. And the meeting goes from being a chore to a pleasure, just like that.
***
“Dan?” Selina asks as she steps back into her old office. She does not like what the intervening occupants have done with the place, and Andy herself should have done better in her two years there.
“Madam Vice President,” he smarms, the gray around his temples still just a hint, and she suspects if would be dyed to hell if it didn’t help him pick up undergrads in Georgetown at the weekend. “How nice to see you back.”
Shove it up your ass, Dan is the response at the tip of her tongue, but Selina fake-smiles it out instead.
“Well, there’s the small matter of confirmation,” she starts to say, diplomatic gears grinding back into life hard enough for her to feel the rust shaking free.
“Oh, I think we both know that’s not going to be a problem,” Dan says, and he’s aiming for kissing ass (how pissed is he to still be flailing around at this level and not working in the White House, huh?) but Selina hears the nagging doubts at the back of her own mind: the easiest confirmation will come from a House and Senate who don’t see her as a threat in two years’ time.
“First thing’s first,” Selina says, hoping it doesn’t sound bone-weary. Dan perks up like a poodle, and it just makes crushing his spirit feel like even more fun. “I’m going to need a bigger chair.”
“A bigger chair?” He chokes. “Oh, right, for the uh, for the spinning.”
“Got it in one,” Selina says, throwing in the finger-guns just to make the despair really fucking settle in. “Amy will tell you what I like, when she gets back from the White House.”
“Amy’s at the White House?” He asks, and the outrage on that pasty face is like the fucking elixir of life.
“Oh, yeah,” Selina says, pretending to read something on her phone. “You know, I think the President’s staff are really excited about working with her.”
“I could go and--”
“Best not to trouble them with too many new faces,” Selina says. “I mean, I mentioned that you’d be joining the staff, but nobody seemed too sure about where they would know you from so...” She sucks air in through her teeth in fake sympathy. “You know how those assholes can be, right?”
“Right,” Dan says, covering badly. “Different administration, same assholes.”
“Something like that,” Selina agrees. “Say, Gary’s not got clearance yet, could you fetch me some tea?”
“Of course,” Dan says, and he almost hides the grimace. “I’ll get right on that.”
Selina sinks into the not-big-enough chair and stares at the phone on her desk. It takes Dan thirty minutes to find tea, and even then it’s the wrong kind and really pretty lukewarm. Selina presses fingers to her temples and calls out to the new secretary whose name she doesn’t have a chance in hell of remembering before Labor Day.
“Did the President call?”
“Not yet,” the secretary confirms, and Selina sighs at the sensation of the years rolling back. Perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.