GO GETTER.

@joedamatojr

Events like this were about courting support and endorsements as much as they were about anything else, and his staff had carefully shaped a list of people to invite - possibilities. Several Senators were among them, and Will knew that the tall, dark-haired man across the way was one of them, but he couldn’t begin to produce a name if he tried. Surely they had met before at one point or another, and he found himself wishing he had Silas by his side. It was Silas’s job to know his coworkers, after all, not Will’s. But this was something he supposed he would have to get used to - fake it ‘til you make it, wasn’t it?

Will approached with the ‘politician’s smile’ that he had been practicing so often plastered to his face. “Good evening. Glad you could make it. I hope you’re enjoying the party.”

Hans sighs, letting his head fall back into the cushions. “Don’t ask me complicated questions.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs. “Yeah, that’s sure to work.” He sits up abruptly then, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at Joe head-on. As a rule, Hans could never look someone in the eye when telling the truth, only lies. Joe has always been the exception to that. “But I mean it. I thought about it. If it were anyone else, maybe I’d want that. But Michael Connelly is a piece of shit and I don’t feel like battling the GOP right now — as much as telling him ‘suck it, I fucked your son’ would bring me an endless amount joy.” He lists off his reasons: “Girls think I’m single, Republicans will still like me, and I won’t ever have to actually commit. It’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy, anyway— what does it matter if we’re public or not?”

Hans pauses, thinking himself to be done. But there’s so much more, years and years of things piling up, that the words just fall out — effortlessly, like they never have before.  

“The whole ‘being out and proud’ thing — doesn’t seem like it’s worth it, you know? I feel like you have to be really passionate about it to actually do it. I’m not anymore. Why is it I have to be in the closet or broadcasting? Hiding it feels like I’m being a pussy, but then publicizing it feels like I’m setting everything on fire. I should just stay in the middle. With the way I built my life, it seems like I’d just be shooting myself in the foot if I did anything else. I’d have to start over. How many times have we started over?” He allows for a beat — for Joe to (hopefully) relate to what he’s saying. “I’m tired. I’m fucking tired. Just… tired.”

He runs his hands over his face, brushing his knuckles against the day-old stubble. “Do I love him?” He shrugs, and it’s not a cop-out. “I don’t know. At this point, I’m not even sure I can do that.”  

They broke something, Hans thinks. And then, Maybe it was never whole to begin with.

“Sometimes I stop to think about shit when it’s three a.m. and I’m ten bumps and a bottle in and it seems like when we were out there just — shooting and fighting and fucking and trying not to die, it feels like the best part of my life. How fucking disgusting is that?” He’s several confessions in and the thought hits him that maybe, this time, Joe won’t understand. The possibility terrifies him above all else. “It’s been what? Seven-ish years? I don’t think there’s been a single day that I thought it was a good thing I didn’t die. Fuck. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”

But he does. He’s saying, I don’t know how to live. Just survive.

“And now I don’t know what to do with myself.” There’s a certain finality to his words, as though they mean, This is it. This is life, at its worst. No way out of it now. “So yeah— what I wanna do? Fuck if I know.” He sits back again, spent. “That what you meant?”

Hans shifts around in his seat and Joe rolls his head to the side so they can really talk. The kind where their eyes can’t lie and honesty is easy. Joe listens to every word along with every sliver of exhaustion clearly reflected, and he reaches for Hans’ hand.

“It’s alright, man.” There’s a pause as Joe hopes Hans takes a moment to try and believe his words before he continues. “There’s no right or wrong way. You wouldn’t walk into a meeting with the blood type on your shirt, so there’s no need to do that about this, if you don’t want to. Not everyone has to know. Not everyone deserves to know.”  Joe states it simply, but he doesn’t necessarily mean to. Aside from the years in service, he’d never struggled so much with the issue. But he’s been with Hans from the beginning, he was there when their lives were at risk, and he’s here with him now.

“But it’s not about that--” Being in the closet, parading it, stuck in the middle. “It’s about...”

This is where Joe doesn’t understand. To him, like many things in life, love was simple. You either love someone or you don’t. But he understands what Hans has with Adam is far more complicated than what Joe has had with anyone in his life. This hits him mid-thought.

“Making ‘em happy, right? If you love someone, that’s what you do. A kiss at a gay wedding, he could’ve given you that. But what would I know.” He turns back around to fill his drink, indicating his next words are not a promise: “If you want me to drop it, I’ll drop it.” 

“It was an easier fight,” Joe replies, deflated. Though he’s more comfortable with the reality of it now than he was when he first returned. Especially when there are people like Hans who knows exactly how he feels. “There’s so many of us that feel the same, man. Nothing disgusting about it.” 

“You wanna know the only thing that makes me glad I didn’t die? The end. Our ending. We’ve been through some fucking shit. We can’t not have a good fucking ending, man.” 

There’s a faint smile on his lips as Joe quickly starts again. The way he talks leaves no doubt that he thinks of this often. “Just picture this: you, me, suburbs. Hot country. Your family in one house. Mine right next door. Not too big, not too small. The perfect size. A walkway between two houses. Really fucking happy families, you know? We’re done with this shit--” he points to the pills, “And we’re done with all of this--” he gestures to everything around them, “And there’s no one to bother us. Our problems are like... Little Jenny can’t count to ten or some shit.”

“Oh right I’m sorry, I forgot your my part time instagram stalker,” She says tone laced with sarcasm. She watches as Millie runs off, waving at her before facing Joe again. “It’s like your sole purpose on this earth is to annoy me,” she shakes her head lightly.

She casts a glance around the room, scanning for Max. She’s half hoping he’ll notice the pair and swoop in but the hand on her lower back makes her feel otherwise. Tightlipped, she places her right hand in Joe’s and left atop his shoulder. Though few in the room would care, she can’t help but look around at the crowd. Joe’s words pull her from the recesses of her mind. The absurdity of his statement leaves her stuttering. “I actually much prefer it when you don’t talk to me at all,” she says before looking off in the other direction. As the music starts, she has yet to meet his eye again. “Why me?” she asks simply.

With Millie gone, Joe returns to his usual self when in Corinne’s company. “Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

In contrast, Joe keeps his gaze on Corinne, perhaps even a little frustrated she refuses to meet his. The entire situation was annoying to him, too. Even before Max was involved. The way she got under his skin, annoying. The way it bothered him when she walked in with Max, annoying. But the way she snaps at him again? He nearly smiles. “I’m not exactly holding you at gunpoint, Corinne,” he mutters.  

At her question, he pauses. “Because Millie wants me to.” Not entirely untrue. Then, a little more honestly, “And I’d rather dance with you than see you dance with someone else.”  

Regardless of making up that whole first dance thing, she was looking forward to dancing with Alex and it was something she thought he might appreciate.  Or, at the very least, find amusing when she mentioned it.

“She’s perfectly wonderful,” Anne insisted, not bothered by the little girl’s insistence.  Kids were like that when they wanted something.  “Well, you know what they say, second time’s the charm.”  Maybe she could sweet talk her way out of it to the point she might be forgotten about as the night drew on.  “And the right song, all of that.  You can’t upstage the grooms at their own wedding.”

Her expression brightens a bit when he asked about who she came with to the wedding.  “Yeah, I’m here with,” she almost adds ‘the CIA Director’, but it’s more entertaining to watch him try to guess, “my boyfriend.  You’ll know him when you see him.”  As if the pink dress she wore gave it away, and maybe it did if he’d already made his rounds.

Millie basks in the compliment and flashes a smile so sweet Southern mothers would want to make fresh juice out of it. Joe, on the other hand, struggles to role of the father and accidentally replies with a, “Hardly--” There’s a light thud as the small fist collides against Joe’s back and he’s quick to correct himself. “--Something we hear on a rare basis...”

“We can wait for the right song, right?” "Right,” Millie smiles. 

“Boyfriend?” Joe asks, and recalls the time he first heard Anne’s name. It resulted in an explosive argument from one side of the dinner table to the other. He remembers clearly not finishing his plate, and feeling starving for the rest of the night. The memory brings a smile to his face. “Unless he’s wearing a ‘Hello, I am Anne Kane’s boyfriend’, I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to spot him.” He shrugs. “Or is this your ‘boyfriend’ just to get this one off your case?” He asks, making speech marks with his freehand. 

     Despite her husband not paying the most attention to her, Katherine wasn’t a stranger to getting interested looks ( and more ) from men. After all, she was an attractive woman who wears her power well, and knew how to use her silver tongue just right. His lingering eyes weren’t news, but certainly a validation she so longed for that she was still desirable. “Thank you,” she took his words as a compliment, because behind that stare could only lay one way of thinking.       The way his eyes glimmer and his grin widens could only mean something mischevious went through his mind ( in that sense, he resembled her husband a little too well ). A soft laugh slipped off her lips at his suggestion. “I don’t think he’s that good,” she confided in him, as if they were two youg children, doing exactly what their parents had warned them against. And, perhaps, they were, in a way. She certainly was. “I’ve never done that before,” she admitted, making a pause before adding, “But I don’t think it’d be very appropriate, considering who I’m here with,” she didn’t even mention his name. The illusion that anything might happen between her and this man was enough to spark her night with Wyatt. Maybe.

“Never?” Joe repeats, and he can’t read whether she means dancing or dancing. Perhaps it’s the reason why he’s enticed to stay. He likes to work for things, and it certainly feels as though she’s making him do just that. “It’s super easy, if you do it with someone that knows what they’re doing.” 

In fact, when the other man said that he thought the tobacco bill was stupid (even if that wasn’t the most critical analysis of it), it was exactly what Silas wanted to hear and enough to cool his intent to berate him about his previous voting record. Not that Silas was by any means going to forget about it.  He appeared just as unbothered as before, even though there was another jab at his ego. But he’s too used to it by now. “So witty,” he said, but it was clear that there was going to be more than that. “You might actually have some potential compared to some of our colleagues. It’s too bad you don’t do anything with it other than find ways to amuse yourself.” Was it a backhanded compliment or friendly advice? Impossible to say.

Joe’s expression completely betrays the surprise he feels from Silas’ response, and he hates how it’s the positive kind. He hates how quickly he is to believe Silas’ words and how much he wishes they are true. He hates how he can’t seem to move past it, or return the same snarky remark that’s amused Silas in the first place. 

And so, regretfully, he looks at Silas and asks, “You think I have potential?”

“No, no,” Hans waves a hand, dismissive. “It’s not a big deal. It’s fine. Actually, it’s probably better. ‘Cause if it’s so secret, he’s not gonna want—” He tries gesturing it, but it hardly means anything. “More.” He shrugs, “You know how that goes.” 

“And say what? ‘Pull the stick out of your ass’?” Hans laughs, “He likes it.” He laughs again. Thank god for Vicodin; he feels lighter already. “Let him keep it.” 

Off Joe, he just listens, nodding along as a lazy smile lingers on his lips. Of course, he agrees — word for word, his feelings are mirrored in Joe’s, as they usually were. “Yeah, fuck all.” He rests the glass on the edge of his hip, playing with the way it tipped to one side, then the other; thinking about how it’s empty, and whether or not he should change that. “What do you wanna do, anyway?”

“Sounded like a big deal two fucking seconds ago.” Joe frowns, wondering why Hans is suddenly trying to brush it off. “You love him, don’t you?”

Joe scoffs at Hans’ comment, shaking his head and taking a large gulp of his drink, which is much needed after that imagery. “No, I’ll say: keep the stick, but grow the fuck up.” There’s a short pause, where it sounds as though he’s finished, but he aggressively adds, “Or I’ll push the stick out through your throat and make a skewer out of you.” 

“Oh no.” What he means to say is ‘oh, no’ but it rushes from his lips to sound instead like Vir is genuinely dismayed by Joe’s presence. Which, really, there’s no reason for him to be - he’s no 30-something blonde with great tits. “I mean, no, no condolences necessary. I’m happy. See?” He flashes his pearly whites with two thumbs up. 

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” he says. “Oliver won’t say it because he doesn’t think love should have a political affiliation and all that, but we both know that Republicans don’t have a lot to gain from being here. So. Thank you.” He nods to Joe’s black getup then. “Is that what you wear to every wedding, or are you the only other person who’s aware that today is Fitzgerald’s death day?”

"Oh God...” Joe grimaces when Vir smiles, as if he’s bitten into a lemon, or something rotten, or witnessing someone actually be happy at the prospect of fucking one person for the rest of his life. 

“Eh, it’s nothing. I wanted to show my support.” And it was important he did as a Republican. Whatever came tomorrow would be dealt with... tomorrow. “Besides, I hear Oliver has a hot sister.” Joe winked. 

     Kate did a slow turn, hand holding his gently, and she is – in fact – able to see Hans observing them. She didn’t catch the words he mouthed to her dance companion, or the way Joe winked right back at him. In their eyes, she might be as clueless as they get. Right then, all Katherine was focused on was her husband not suddenly showing up. Wyatt wasn’t the most jealous ( she, on the other hand, was furiously ) but maybe seeing his wife in the arms of another man, in the middle of the dance floor, wouldn’t have sat well with him. However, he’s nowhere to be found, and Joe pointed that out, much to Katherine’s dismay. “I know him alright,” she agreed, head turning back once more to look at Hans, now standing behind her. She’d wanted to make a statement with her attire ( wearing white to a wedding… ) and, on her accout, she was succeeding greatly. At the mention of her husband, she hummed quietly. She was still deciding what her endgame was with this, although ( for now ) nothing but a harmless dance came to mind. Or, at least, nothing she’d consider. For now. “You are a good dancer,” she tried to explain everyone’s eyes on the pair, though she was certain they both knew the real reason was what the ring on her finger screamed. “Or maybe my choice of dress has something to do with it,” she murmured, voice lower as if she was telling him a secret. Was she talking about the color or the equally interesting choice of cleavage?

"Your dress...” Joe glances down, a second or two longer than what’s acceptable, and meets Kate’s eyes again, “... is very bold.” 

It takes a certain type of person to wear a white dress to a wedding, regardless of whether there’s a bride or not. And those type of people make up the kind of company that doesn’t absolutely bore him. The more time he spends with Kate, the more she seems to fit this category. The fact that Hans is fond of her too is simply a cherry on the top.

 “White dress, black suit, great dancing,” he drawls quietly, leading Kate through the music. “Who could blame ‘em?” C’mon, Wyatt, where are you? And then, a new thought. It brings his grin to widen, and his eyes betray his intentions. He leans in a little, dropping his voice as if to share the secret and says, “You know who else is a good dancer? Hans.” A smirk. “The three of us should dance together before the night is over.”

Corinne can’t stop herself from pouting at the little one’s declaration of her dismay for her mother. Either she’s a heartless wench or Joe drove a woman to the point of insanity…she’s banking on the later. 

  “Oh, I’m sorry princess,” she says to her before meeting eyes with Joe again. Though she can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his comment. “Because I’m such a bad influence right?”  She says  trying to hide her smile. 

Now its Corinne’s turn to look between Joe and his tiny companion. She pauses for tension before sighing and facing his daughter. “I’ll have one dance with daddy, but only because you asked so nicely,” she says before looking back at Joe. “One dance only I’m here with my bo— with someone,” She extends her hand as an invitation to the dance floor. “You coulda’ just asked me directly you know,” she whispers. 

Joe’s grin is fixed in place as they interact, and it grows even wider when Corinne accepts the dance. That is, until she mentions who she’s with and he lazily rolls his eyes. "Your boyfriend? You can say it. We both saw.” It bothered him when he saw them together, and it bothers him now when she makes the slip, and he cares little to hide it in his tone. “Plus, he’s all over your Instagram. Old news.”

“And miss that face you just pulled? No chance.” After letting Millie go, Joe takes Corinne’s hand, the other against the small of her back and leads her to the dance floor. “Why...” He begins as they take their place, voice low, and once she’s opposite him he asks, “Do you prefer it when I’m direct with you?”

Silas doesn’t even flinch at the unsavoury implication. Unlike many of his colleagues, his skin was far thicker than it looked, and he wouldn’t let a man like Joe D’Amato think for even a moment that he had managed to be clever enough to irritate him. He smiled, one as sharp as his gaze. “Oh, you misunderstood. It’s for Democrats. And for Republicans who can’t vote correctly.” The gun bill might have been months ago and all but forgotten, but Silas had apparently not seemed to forget who had voted against party lines. “I should start a betting pool about your vote on the upcoming tobacco bill. Seems like easy money, hm?” 

“All of that? For us? Oh, Silas, you shouldn’t have...”

Ironically, Joe wants to shoot himself in the face, but only after shoving the barrel down Silas’ and see how quickly he’d shit the bullets out. He expected the Republican rage to be a pain in his backside, but not to this grating extent. 

“The tobacco bill is stupid,” he states bluntly. Sorry, Adam. Will this make Silas shut up about the gun bill? Most likely not.  “But if you’re in need of some cash, I’m willing to help you out, my man.” 

Alexi was pretty sure that this was going to be his most bizarre interaction at this wedding. His brows rise at the, ahem, letters that get spelled out… He doesn’t really care, since well, his position wasn’t exactly a secret, though he would like to not alarm the general populace.   He’s subtly stuck his hand in his pocket, giving a friendly smile, but already initiating a plan to extricate himself from this situation if he got stuck deeper in. And god, if the guiltripping was bad before, it multiplied tenfold. She might have had a future as a spy. “Call me old-fashioned and superstitious,” he laughed lightly, easing into the excuse so smoothly that it could have seemed real, “but I believe in fate. I want your dad to dance with the right person.” And, as he was sure that she was going to hate it, he reached towards her and gently pinched her cheek. “I can tell you want that for your dad too.”

Joe can't help but laugh, but it’s in a friendly manner. It’s blindingly obvious how little, if at all, Alex wants to dance with Joe, which means it’s obvious to Millie and he knows she’s enjoying this too. 

Before Millie can reply, Joe takes a step closer to Alex, turning Millie away from them. “I know you don’t want to dance with me, but my daughter... she’s very stubborn, and will be upset I don’t show her myself that men can dance together.” Strange claim considering they’re at a gay wedding, but alas. 

Then, Joe continues slowly, tone deeply serious, as if he’s doing a Shakespeare reading, “That’s why I need a one dance.... Got a Hennessy in my hand... One more time ‘fore I go...”

Hans sighs, “It’s not an interesting story. He said he’d go with me, like — go with me — and he did. We got a hotel room, it was nice, we had dinner, we fucked, it was fine. Then the next day I see him at the reception and he won’t even let me come near him. Says he ‘can’t do this’, or whatever, I didn’t stop to listen. So really, nothing new. Just Adam being Adam.” 

 “We don’t have to talk about him. Actually, I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about him.” He sinks back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. So caught up with his own shit, Hans felt too out of the loop with Joe’s own affairs. “What have you been up to? 

"Oh my God...” Exasperated, Joe groans and throws his head back, rubbing the corner of his eye. “This dude is starting to really piss me the fuck off.” You could hear it in his voice, the genuine vexation which differs from his usual ‘he’s boring’ annoyance. He looks back to Hans and reaches for his drink. “How long is this going to go on for, man?”

Introducing Millie:

Daughter of Mark and Laura Thompson.

Mark was a veteran. They didn’t serve together but they met at a rehab group.

They became friends quickly as they had many things in common, such as suffering from addiction. 

Mark was there when Joe relapsed, and shortly after when Joe gave rehab another try. 

When Joe returned, he found out Mark died from an overdose. 

Having overcome the initially strained relationship with Sophie, he’s grown close to both her and Millie.

Tries to help out as much as he can, though it’s mostly financial, of which Millie has caught on to and doesn’t hesitate to take advantage. 

Whereas normally she would have either snapped or flipped him the bird and walked off  in the presence of a child— his child, she opts to maintain her composure. She opens her mouth to rebuttal but they’re both interrupted by a little voice. 

At first Corinne melts but then her brain finally catches what the little one says. She takes a step towards the girl in Joe’s arms and takes her tiny hand in her own (and again her heart flutters) “Aren’t you just the sweetest,” Corinne smiles at her before casting a glance at Joe, “Is that true daddy? Am I really the one you always talk about?” She raises an eyebrow as he stutters through an answer. 

She lets go of the little one’s hand and adds “Right, I’m sure it’s all one big ‘ol complicated mess. Stuff kids don’t need to hear about,” she dismiss the topic with a wave of her hand. “Glad to know I’m an important topic of conversation in your home, I’m sure her mom must love that,”

Joe looks down at the way Corinne holds the girl’s hand and he blinks between them both. He hadn’t expected the kid to go down this direction, possibly even a little off-script. Perhaps ‘a dance’ doesn’t translate well into ‘a fuck’ for six-year-olds. 

"Her mom...” Joe pauses; always a bad liar, he wastes time trying to think of a good story. Luckily, the kid chimes in with in a disheartened, “I don’t want to talk about mom.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk about mom,” Joe shakes his head, returning his gaze to Corinne. The way she remains frosty towards him in front of a child makes him feel some type of way, or perhaps he’s still thinking of the way she said ‘daddy’. “But you are talked about. Mostly when telling trouble here what not to be when she’s older.” The remark slips from his lips, which earns him a pinch from the girl. 

More and more people gather towards the dance floor and the kid leans her head into Joe’s chest and pouts her lips, “Are you not going to dance with my daddy?” Joe glances at Corinne, raising his brows and shrugging in a ‘up to you’ manner.

A sheepish, embarrassed look flooded his face at the very light reprimand. He hadn’t thought that he’d said anything bad! He’d only meant to be helpful! But he’d at least that maybe this awkwardness would have ended the conversation. No chance, apparently. But a man who could hold up under torture wasn’t going to be so easily swayed. He looked down at the little girl, putting on a friendly smile. “How about I dance with you, little lady? Would you like that?” He drawled, hoping that might put her in a good mood. He did like kids and he didn’t want her to be upset. And maybe it would give the dad a couple minutes to scope out for another dance partner. 

Resilient. Noted. Joe’s willing to test how far it’ll go.

The child looks up at Joe with an expression that reads: you’re not paying me enough to fucking dance. Joe fakes a gasp and looks down at her. “Honey, do you know how lucky you are? Mr. Ward is very cool, and you can’t spell cool without the C,” and then he whispers loudly, “I A...” 

She frowns and looks back to Alex, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. “Why don’t you want to dance with my daddy?”

“That’s alright, I don’t mind.”  She’s all smiles when the little girl ran up to her, always having liked kids and she hated to say ‘no’ to that pleading voice.  Maybe one dance wouldn’t hurt, but she was wary to get swept up in the dance floor before she congratulated the newly weds (and before she finished her drink).  “Sorry, hon, I’ve already got a dance partner.  I promised him my first dance,” she explained, getting herself out of it in some form.  Her attention turned toward the ‘father’.  “But I’ve got a few security friends you could try to ask.”  She nods to the hidden corns of the room where a few other people in dark suits lingered.  If you’re into that.  “I’d be happy to introduce you, as whoever you want to be.”  She didn’t know him well enough to speak on that.

First dance?! Did people still believe in all that romantic bullshit? Needles to say, Joe’s baffled. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised she’s all old-fashioned and traditional because, well, she looks it. Despite himself, he smiles a wide, friendly grin. 

“Waddya say, kiddo?” He looks to the gremlin. “Can Director Kane introduce us to someone else so she doesn’t break her promise?”

“No!” Atta girl.

Joe laughs. “I’m sorry, she’s stubborn.” Then, the gremlin disagrees loudly, in which Joe mouths an unsubtle ‘she is’. “You’re here with someone, then?”