it's good to be queen.

notalexanderward·:

His body reacted before his mind processed what the sound unmistakably was: a gun shot. His days of combat might be over, but his instincts remain. The way he put his arm around Anne and how he tried to shield as much of her body with his own. He could never forgive himself if she got hurt. If she… He dared not even think it. “Yes,” he confirmed to her as he let out a deep breath, and hadn’t realized he had stopped breathing since the shattering sound. She’s fine, Anne is fine… his mind immediately jumped to the next worst case scenario: the president. It’s been the lingering fear that he’s had all these months since Theresa Wright’s death. He couldn’t call Theresa a close friend, but she had put faith in him to promote him and he had failed her. Was history repeating itself? While Anne was speaking with Bella, he was on the phone ensuring protocol was being followed swiftly, and namely, to try and find out where the president was. He leaned towards Anne and her phone, his own at his other ear. “Secret Service has eyes on the president. He wasn’t shot,” he said quickly to the phone so that Bella could hear, though that didn’t put them any closer to finding out what happened or if someone else was injured.

They way they tried to cover one another ended up in a hasty embrace, and she clung to him as he did to her.  It’s endearing the way he protected her, but she she knew the reality of what she had to do if it came down to it.  She’s in charge of the seventeen, first in line, and she needed to keep him and Bella safe no matter the cost.  Out of oath and other intentions, she couldn’t bare a reality where they got hurt.  Bella needed to return home safe to her daughter, and living without Alex wasn’t something Anne wanted to face.

Separating so she could make the phone call, she nodded and repeated everything Bella said on the other line back to Alex.  “West of the main ball room, steel doors are down–no credible threats in the past few hours.”  She tilted her phone towards him when he confirmed to Bella about the President.  There’s a sigh of relief on Anne’s part, some hope that maybe the culprit was already found somewhere by the Secret Service and posed little further harm if they had to begin with…

“Yeah, call me back if you hear anything else.  Or come find us when you can,” she suggested, squinting across the room in Bella’s general vicinity.  All three of them would likely be kept inside the East Room while they worked on tracking down and uncovering the situation.  “We’ll try to make our way in that direction.”  The line hangs and Anne clicked off her phone, keeping her pager at the ready.  A breath, mental preparedness for crossing the room when other guests were panicking.

She turned back to Alex, her expression softening as she waited for him to finish his calls.  “You okay?”  It’s not so much an answer she’s looking for but a ‘I’m here, I’m okay if you are’.  “He’ll be fine, they’ll take him to the bunker.  We’ll find who did it,” she assured, even if she didn’t have the answer right now.  “We should start making our way over there, and find whoever we can talk to from Secret Service on the way.”  They’d all figure it out together.  Ever so gently and before they set off, she took his hand and caressed his cheek, pressing her lips against his forehead.   “I love you.”

The few scattered agents trapped with them were doing their best to reassure the guests; ample time for her to squeeze into the space between him and the next table over, and hug the corner of the ballroom to make her way towards what had been the entrance. Now, an uncompromising sheet of metal filled the open space left by the decorative doors. And then she spotted them, together of course; a few years of collaboration later, and Bella had gotten to know the back of Alexander’s head very well.

“You weren’t too far after all,” she exhaled briskly as she came upon them. “We’re all here, for better or worse.” At the moment, she’ll take for better. Anyone that came ringing at the steel envelope was going to be making a dynamic entry. However, in the time between now and then, any and all of the rampant correspondence had yielded no fruit. Nothing. How infuriating! She was so accustom to delivering tangible results.

“Nothing but the same ravings from a couple of skinheads,” Belacqua scoffed with a dismissive wave of her work phone. “I won’t go into detail.” Not appropriate at all to be repeating, to say the very least- but also not at all relevant, which was more pressing. Her eyes flickered back and forth between them, unsure on who to settle on. “This is...” She paused to find the right word. Surreal? “Bizarre.” The only way she remained so calm was the multitude of lethal experiences. “And humiliating.” The last part came out almost as a scoff. Hosting one of their allies, and they didn’t even have their own house in order!

“Oh absolutely, but it also means I not only have big shoes to fill, but the expectation that I fill them is already looming,” she said. “I’m glad she trusts me enough to give me guidance, though…” Sophie trailed before looking around at the space she inhabited, the grandeur of the dinner again taking her aback. Not quite as large as the night at the Correspondent’s Dinner, but a different kind of awe. “It is, actually. It’s… magnificient. Although I imagine that those who have been to these events over and over again don’t necessarily view it with such… wide eyes anymore… So that probably gives me away.”

"Hm,” she mused. Maybe she had been a little too pessimistic about the evening; the line, the wait- they were still at the White House greeting French governance. How many other individuals had been afforded such an opportunity? How many had the guile that it took to stand where she was?

It was cold inside the room.  Her ankles pressed against the metal curve of the chair, the air vent on her neck, and one hand curled around the base of Alex’s watch.  Every big event they talked about it, a fear that something would go wrong.  A sharp breath at the end of the night when it didn’t and they could just go home and pop a bottle of Burgundy.  Not tonight.  She hadn’t been there when Theresa was shot, but with the way it haunted her, she almost couldn’t believe when the distant sound was real.  She’d jumped and the first thing she’d reached for was Alex’s wrist, leaning over him.  “Fuck, Alex, did you hear that?”  Her pager at her side and emergency contacts next.  She’d trained for this, but not the way her fingers shook and her voice shrieked over the line.

“This is the DNI and CIA, we’ve heard what sounds like a gunshot from within the White House.  I need someone to contact the DHS and get them to issue a lock down immediately…“ more details, demands her message reached the Secret Service faster than someone could push a button for steel doors.  First priority was getting both Presidents and the Cabinet somewhere safe.  Switch devices, dial tone, FBI.  “Bella, are you alright?  Is someone in the building?  We’re near the–” she propped her phone against her shoulder, scanning to her left, “hor d'oeuvres.”

To think she had just set her clutch down; to think the very thought of- get comfortable- had crossed her mind. The first possible explanation was that she was simply imagining things. Someone had dropped the guest book onto the marble in foyer, or an incredibly heavy clutch... or toppled over a statue somewhere behind the ballroom walls. 

Because surely it was impossible. Every precaution had been taken, every lead- given a file, pursued- followed up. Even the ones that amounted to teenage boys huffing paint in their mother’s basements, anxious to make some sort of mark by prank calling the Bureau tip line. It was impossible because she had been behind the reins; of course, along with Homeland Security- who seemed to claim an undeserved paycheck these days.

But private jokes didn’t soothe stained egos.

Everything goes off at once; pager, work phone... “This is Director Prince.” Even the sounding boom of the doors interrupts the first few syllables of Director Kane’s call. But she could guess at the first few words. Holy- “I’m fine, in the East Room.” No point returning the question since Anne was already talking to her. “Anne, the only things I can confirm is- I heard a gunshot somewhere west of the main ballroom, and the steel doors have shut.”

Hor d'oeuvres? They likely hadn’t found their seating yet as she had. Anne was likely further back than she was- and Alexander also, by extension. “I haven’t been reached about any credible threats made in the last few hours.” She tries to keep her frustration in check- mainly because a horde of terrified individuals have recognized she’s a person of authority at this point, and are beginning to swarm.

It’s a matter of coincidence; they both end up at the appetizer table at the same time. He hadn’t intended to speak with her tonight, for there was no need to, and he’d rather keep the world unaware of their agreement. But it would be more conspicuous to turn and flee in the other direction at this point. So instead his usual charming smile graced his lips as he looked at her. “I see you like to be different from everyone else, Director,” he said, looking over her outfit, particularly the dark green shirt that she’d chosen. Practically all of the women at the event had opted for dresses. “Do you enjoy stirring up controversy?” There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“This one is inadvertent, but I’ll fall on the sword.” A blatant yes. Just occasionally, it was a sincere pleasure attending to one’s duties, especially when she found a personality as impish as her own to bounce off of. Best not to disappoint him with reality- which was simple as she didn’t enjoy floundering about like a creampuff on a silver platter.

Sophie had been waiting to make her way through the long lines of photos and handshakes. Not that she was really of any importance, but formalities were formalities, after all. The woman in front of her turned, and Sophie was hard pressed to forget her face. Director of the FBI, Sophie thought to herself, taking inventory.

“Definitely, but it helps to have the woman herself guiding… Makes it a little less stressful to live up to… or maybe more. I haven’t decided yet,” Sophie said, a gentle sigh in her tone. “A pleasure to meet you - I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced - Sophie Hotchner.”

“Belacqua Prince.” She outstretched a palm for a dutiful handshake; the jewelry on her wrists jingled faintly from the sway. So, the girl was the dinosaur’s- respectfully- protégé. It was... nice to witness the encouraging sight of young women emerging throughout Washington. And this one; she still had the faint doe-eyed wonder of a young Alice seeing Wonderland for the first time.

@sophiehotch​

Standing idly by, waiting for one’s turn to shake the hand and the snap the photo; a wonder she arrived so early in the evening and the line was still tedious. Waiting and accomplishing nothing than a few inches every few minutes- that could take its toll on a rather impatient and abrasive personality (no matter how accustomed it was to being muzzled over the years). To combat this, she turned to the young woman next to her. She had to do something; fidgeting was a bad look.

2020 | white house state dinner.

     Date: September 15th, 2020

     Outside of her weekly appearance on TheBlazeTV, the part of her job Sarah enjoyed the most was showing up at the Wall Street Journal offices every day and working her magic on the myriad of articles she had started and still had to finish. She had a few deadlines ahead in the next days and she wanted to be overly prepared to impress her editor – if she played her cards right, she might be getting more responsibilities soon. The goal was to have her name on the cover story, she knew it would take time but she aimed for her stars.

     This particular day hadn’t shown any signs of being anything but absolutely ordinary: she woke up, checked her emails, had some coffee, went to the office. She smiled at a few colleagues on her way to her desk, left her bag on the hanger near her and sat down to work. She heard the familiar sound of the editor’s office door opening and closing a few times, but it was background sound by now: all that mattered was her prose in front of her – until she heard someone call her name, causing her head to jerk up.

     “Intelligence?” the way she stressed the word and tilted her head were clear indicators that she wasn’t the biggest fan of this topic. She didn’t really know much about it and she didn’t respect those who spied on their own people, so it was natural that she stayed as far from writing about them as possible. “They requested you,” was all she got as an answer: when he said that, there was no point arguing. After all, he was her boss and she hadn’t had her big break yet. 

     Fast forward three hours, and she now sat in one of the conference rooms at the office building, waiting for this woman to show up so she could get this over with. When the name was finally announced, Sarah stood up and plastered that winning smile of hers on her face to greet the woman. “Director Prince, I’m Sarah Modrik, I’ll be taking over the interview. Thank you for coming, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” being a journalist ( and having been brought up by her Mom ), the lies rolled easily off her tongue. “Can we get her some water?” she asked the intern who’d walked the woman in, before sitting down and motioning for the other to do the same. With her pen securely held between her fingers and her recorder on top of the table, Sarah crossed one leg over the other and rested her arms on the table, leaning slightly forward. “You don’t mind, do you?” she eyed the recording device and then, Bella. Surely, someone who made a living off spying on Americans wouldn’t care to be recorded herself.

Several years in Washington and it was still amazingly difficult to move more than two streets without practically leaving the J. Edgar Hoover building an hour prior to their appointment time. But she had the opening, and the Journal was all too eager to take it. They understood she was an exceptionally busy woman after all. Overseer management not ending even as she exited her Escalade escort and entered the doors on Connecticut Avenue. The phone rings. 

She answers, of course, she was obligated to take just about every phone call. But this one isn’t of immediate consequence. “Take a message. I’ll get back to them later.” She hangs up just as quickly as she answers.

The armed gentlemen- maybe even more so, the click of her heels on the marble floor- are a signal for bystanders to disperse. Through the fast pace of her walk, her heart rate is still even; inexplicable given the conflicting thoughts that run rampant in her head. Perhaps she would temporarily receive the cold shoulder from the administration staff, but that was something she could live with. The opinion that mattered most to her in the eventual outcome would be that of the President himself. Only he had the power to make her bear witness to any real consequence.  

She briefly considered dialing Rory Moskowitz, or even the Oval Office extension beforehand. But that wasn’t who she was, and wasn’t the age old saying that it was better to beg for... understanding than permission? They needed her, in some ways she admitted to needing them. She was confident that once she explained every line of thought in her motives, they would come to see that she had not violated their accord.

A short elevator ride and turn down a hallway later, she finds Sarah Modrik- the woman of the hour (even if she may not know it yet)- equipped with a pad of paper and a ball point pen. Fresh faced and ruthless, Belacqua almost feels a kinship with her. Almost.

“Ms. Modrik, a pleasure.” Obligatory handshake, obligatory mask. But water sounded nice. At least taking the sips would allow her to mask her occasional pauses and thought processes. “Yes please, thank you.” To the intern she merely said: “Sparkling if you have it, dear.” Though it does cross her mind that she may have to look into their name if they were to be close to this conversation.

She followed Sarah’s eyes at the recording device. Was that a joke? She’s not sure considering the girl’s face was awfully serious. Bella almost laughs. Almost. Was she supposed to be intimidated by this girl’s glowering? It reminded her of her daughter’s pout at age five when she found a frog in the backyard and both her parents insisted that she couldn’t keep it. “Of course not.” She sat and mimicked the girl’s posture, save that she kept her hands expertly folded in her lap.

It wasn’t likely what she wanted to hear. But if that made this all fall through, so be it. He’d rather let her down gently now than promise her something that he couldn’t deliver. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that. “I hope we can continue to be honest with each other.” If, indeed, they became allies. And perhaps she’ll find he’s less of a liar that one might expect, at least to those he trusted. Though he could count his friends on one hand, he had been honest with them. Alex and Anne had known about his surprise plan, even though he knew that might have been a risky.  But one cannot underestimate the value of allies. It might be what wins him the election. Will hasn’t so far proven the type to go to people and get what he needed from them; this business of favours. So he’s running around town all day making it happen. But he knew that this would be the case since before he joined the ticket. He was going to have to do overtime to make this happen. But oh, he was willing to do it. And if Bella could help? All the better. “No such thing as too early.” He does appreciate her bringing this to him now and it certainly mattered more if she could helped him now rather than oh, she wanted something far after he’s won and they were bargaining with each other. “Someone like me?” He asked with a sly smile. He’ll indulge in the compliment. For all that he’s done so far, it’s been less recognized that some might think. Besides, many thought Will and his campaign team were the masterminds behind the July 4th surprise. But a few, like her, have seen through that. This was all still a risk. For as competent as she was and despite the looming threat in the far-off future. There are no moves that are always one hundred percent advantageous. He can’t help, of course, but wonder if this was a trap by the president. He needed somehow to confirm that she was truly intending to be on his side.  “You may have seen that I’ve come out against the handling of the investigation of the late president’s assassination. You are associated with that.” There’s no accusation that he truly meant she was, and the accompanying gesture said: I know it’s not your department. But the public is too stupid to know that. “You would need to distance yourself from that publicly as I couldn’t suggest appointing someone who was wrapped in that,” he told her calmly, and while what he was said was to his benefit, it’s also all logical; he couldn’t possibly keep her on if she represented everything he thought was wrong with the Berkeley administration. Nor would Will possibly ever consider it. 

“Tell the truth?” She almost laughs, but it manages its way out with a thin lipped smile. “You mean about how intelligence was hurried along?”

But of course, that truth being that Secret Service is directed by Homeland Security. Someone like Belacqua was merely there to pick up the pieces, at the President and Attorney General’s discretion, of course. They give her a timeline and expect results. She got her man- obviously- but had Berkeley capitalized on the chaos to pass a possibly unconstitutional bill? Perhaps. Did he and the DOJ bring down the decision to immediately close the case upon discovering the journalist’s body? Maybe.

The nation was reeling, and was vulnerable- Julian took charge, but was he outwardly compassionate? Perhaps not. Especially not his wife, who all but skipped gleefully up the steps to the front door of the White House. But were there still questions floating around the Bureau, the CIA- who had been dismissed so much that its Director still inquired about the intelligence surrounding the assassination- absolutely. 

What Silas didn’t know was that all of this was necessary. If he knew the type of individual that sat across from him now...

“I see your point,” she nodded once. The smile was gone; back to business. “It couldn’t hurt to help drag myself- the Bureau- out of that grim light.” She means that sincerely; it wasn’t their fault. They were just their to clean up the mess. Maybe there was a silver lining to be had in all of it. At least she could absolve the Bureau of the Wright stain.

It’s logical, he’s right. It makes sense. He wants to know how far she’ll go to secure her reign. But if he was expecting her to burn her bridge to the White House without a guarantee, he was mistaken. Still, she came here to make a deal- something that would benefit her. There was no backing out. She refused to walk away with nothing.

She would need to handle this carefully. She had an accord with her co-conspirators to never betray them. But Belacqua was frightening and clever. She could give Silas what he wanted without inciting the wrath of the Democratic campaign. Something that would give Bell’s base new energy without dismantling the Berkeley stronghold. Something that Republicans could eat up without the Democrats taking too seriously. This would be a small slight to Julian’s ego, nothing more. And she expected him to understand given everything he’s done to be where he is. Julian understood the cost of winning.

They killed for him, he could take a day of odd press for her. She could reason with him, but she would need cushioning. 

Upon Bella’s empathy, Lola can only sob further. Something about female empathy — and her own blockage to ever experiencing so. Her own mother could never understand it, now, or ever.

Mija. Her breath picks up. Lola could count on one hand the amount of times women of her own bloodline had said those words.

(In hindsight, perhaps this was why Lola was ever so taken aback by Bella’s empathy. If anything, it felt out of place. Like more than she’d ever been deserving of.)

“Hombres,” Lola laughs. “Hombres son….” She can’t finish the sentence — if only because she lacks a clear outcome. She loves Cristian, deeply. And will, always. But right now, the hatred runs just as deep. “Eres hermosa,” she says — an understatement, “pero yo soy… simplemente tu fan.” Not as smooth a fix as her drunken mind had hoped for. “Men are forgettable. And I need to forget him. I do.”  It’s nonsense. Every since Lola’s first breath, Cristian had lingered there, ready to take his place. She loves, adores him. It’s foolish to assume anything but. “Thank, you, Director. Again.” 

Hombres. Bella’s suspicions are confirmed.

All of it was an ancient pain every human was destined to be familiar with. For some, it defined them- and they could never come back from it. For others, it encouraged them- and catapulted them into an unseen direction where they found their niche. For Bella it had certainly been the latter, but that was not to say even she was not occasionally preoccupied with the sting of loss.

She smiles through the sniffling words, taking the girl’s hand in her own. “You don’t have to forget, but you may have to choose.” She didn’t believe it was good to forget; pain can make a woman smart or it can make her stupid. “In a woman, beauty and tenacity intersect. Wake up everyday choosing yourself, and you’ll see that you’re capable, and deserving, of more than you know." As will everyone else. If they’re not appreciative, then they’re unremarkable and undeserving. 

She had to be here for a reason. He was waiting to hear it. So the smile remained on his lips, but his gaze was more focused as she unraveled what exactly was the purpose for this meeting. A potential problem for him, as she so put it, but he knew that everything was being framed in a certain way. His lips lift a little at the compliment, but that’s done as conscious effort rather than merely compelled by ego. For all his narcissism, there’s a great deal of it that was a front. The man that they’d all seen, that they thought that they knew, based off of what had occurred at the July 4th. The fact that everyone believed that it was in-character for him was only a testament to the myth he’s created.  And so, with a single sentence, they are three years into the future: 2023. It felt like a lifetime away, while the campaign raged on, and he was not yet vice-president. Of course, he has been thinking that far ahead. All the moves he made now, that will determine how the four years after go. He doesn’t interrupt her, even if her effectiveness might be able to be countered with the fact that a president has died on her watch, and there’s the fact that he’s criticized the investigation. It doesn’t matter necessarily if that wasn’t her department; perception was everything in the public’s eye. But he stayed perfectly silent because he knew this was the time to listen. The machinations of where he played into all of this have been revealed: the executive nomination. He’s not the president, but no doubt his influence over the campaign so far might indicate how close he is to the man. And besides that, how he can play the game. And then, there’s the threat. It’s crystal clear, despite her civil tone. But Silas can respect it. He too, rarely used antagonism, unless he was facing a particularly difficult individual. To them both, they understand this was a chess game. They spoke, player to player.  It’s true that what she said would be headache, to restructure the whole FBI, though unbeknownst to her that he had some other friends in intelligence that he was intending to keep around. He could make do, if he had to. But if this conversation has shown anything, it’s that he’d rather have Bella on his side than against him.   And just like that, they come to the end, with the price to be paid. He had to consider carefully what he wanted to say, and indeed, what he wanted to do. Despite how he seemed in the public perception, he doesn’t care about who he worked with. It was easy enough to say yes, sure, and be done with it. But he had no idea what Will thought of her and potentially keeping her around. “I couldn’t say yes to you right now without lying,” he told her honestly, the careful expression indicating that he was taking this all very seriously. “But I am interested in working together, Ms. Prince. To see to it that what we both want occurs.” She wants to continue to hold her position and he wants to be vice-president. He wasn’t going to give her something for nothing. Not even for a threat. But if she wanted to help him? Well, then they were in business.

He had heard her out at least. This wasn’t a complete waste of her time, nor was he a complete idiot; he didn’t cast her out completely. The diplomatic answer wasn’t surprising; maybe she had come on a little strong. Her face masqueraded the sting of disappointment well enough. He didn’t cave as easily as she wanted him to, but she at least had a foot in the door. 

“I appreciate your honesty; it’s refreshing, given the fickle nature of Washington.” 

This was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted (or there was hell to pay if she didn’t). He’s polite, but vague. So she tried to empathize. Belacqua is aware that he has likely received similar conversations since the very passing minutes he agreed to co-pilot the Republican coup. But just as well, he admired tenacity and frankness- it didn’t waste his time. Time was precious to him, as it would be even more so in the upcoming months. 

She reminded herself again that she had a foot in the door, and rather than focus on the loss of an easy victory, she had to press on. 

“I can understand that it’s early for guarantees. Maybe even a little early for the entire discussion,” she conceded (just in case he did truly feel blindsided). But shouldn’t he admire her more for addressing the threat before it rears its head? Waiting until 2023 would see her in a panic. She would be desperate, and Bella didn’t do desperate. She had never begged for anything and she certainly wouldn’t start now.

“But I like to think ahead, especially when someone like you has entered the arena.” The half smile is genuine at least. He gets things done, she gets things done; already they seem to respect each other. “I’ve seen your best, senator. If you can give me that, I’ll leave here confident that I’ve placed myself in your hands.”

To her, Bell wasn’t even on the map. Not an issue. Silas could whisper whatever he liked in the veteran’s ear and it would manifest. Or perhaps she overestimated him. Maybe Bell had a bigger voice in this after all- not that she would accuse this out loud- which would all be revealed in time. Regardless, going to Bell was too conspicuous. Something the White House would definitely contact her about.  

Working together. She could see that his face was gravely serious. She had his full attention, at least for now. Even better- she had his curiosity. He wanted to watch her make something happen, she deduced, exactly what that was- he wasn’t entirely forthcoming. A little annoying. Yet also the tiniest bit exciting. This was the part she was almost most looking forward to.