president johnson

@justleader

a sharp look up; why has no one informed her this is happening today? “uh, president johnson.” well, that’s a great way to start a sentence. “how can i be of assistance?” 

       it’s been A LONG TIME COMING. scully had assured tamsin over and over again that she didn’t need to get married, that she was secure enough in their relationship without a certificate or a ring. but now that the day is here, she has to admit she’s THRILLED. she stirs when she feels movement. of course tamsin’s trying to get up. the question makes her smile though and scully nods.

       ❝ i think I’D LIKE THAT. you know…assuming we’re not on the brink of WAR or anything. ❞

“war is averted for now, love.” she replies, softly. “i’ll see if tim can wave down the chef for us. provided they're not busy trying to yell at the caterers.” this was going to cost a small fortune, but Tamsin was the daughter of a businessman who amassed large amounts of wealth in both legal and nonlegal ways. 

me: *sees @justleader on my dash* me and scully:

me: is loved by @starbuckskeptic​

me and tam: 

 “i told you i’m fine.” she’s not. there’s a shaking to her voice, a certain sadness that wasn’t there that morning. that wasn’t there before her doctors appointment. by all accounts, tamsin was healthy. how long that would last was made to be seen. there’s a cold chill that runs down her spine and the president bends down to pick up the pen dropped. the pen is grasped, but her vision starts to swim, fingers grasping at the desk as she slips from her chair. she barely notices when tim leaves his post, going to kneel beside her. she doesn’t feel his fingers on her forehead, but she does feel him pressing a handkerchief to her nose. she focuses on that. her vision slowly starts to return to normal, and her voice is shaky when she speaks.

“maybe i’m not so fine.” she jokes. not a joking matter, especially with the dry blood clinging to under her nose. “i…uh don’t want to talk about it.” she’ll have to. soon enough that was. when it became harder to hide the rapidly progressing HIV. could she even call it that anymore? did she dare to label herself with the more stigmatic label? she knew what her doctor would change it to.

“i need to…need to make….damn it.” she can’t think. “my wife. i called you here for something to do with amber. it’s a personal question more so than a professional one. i need someone to watch the twins when amber and i head to germany next week. i was wondering if you’d be willing.”

         “ well, yes, but y’know– people always make a big deal about it, ” amber snorts, then laughs quietly. “ and you think they don’t eat pineapple? the kids love it. though they tend to prefer i bribe them with sugar for doing well. ” more jokes, but then smile fades as she hears that. “ oh, jeb again? when is he ever going to learn? ”