keep pressing until it hurts.

The blonde smiled as she nodded as though she understood. Well, she did understand. It took her a short amount of time after her appointment that the phone, was the most important item in her purse, making her feel like a teenager living in this era. She has a niece who told her that she would die without my phone. Morgan found it ridiculous and took it as a joke, but ever since she became active in politics, she felt like her niece’s words were relevant. And she was only fifteen. “Well, you might have a point, but,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m sure the AG can manage for an hour or two.”  The blonde couldn’t help but smirk and raised her eyebrows at what he said. “If I were just another normal girl, I’d say you’re flirting. Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Benton, troubles escalate. Even little ones.“

In his hand, Mac carries a report detailing reasons that amount to a probable cause for the investigation of Simone Walker. As it stands, with his unfortunately limited knowledge, the most he will be able to prosecute her for is breaking house rules. In the current history of the united states, only eight out of thirty six members of congress have been expelled, five reprimanded, and a staggering twenty-three merely censured, which makes Walker, despite being one of the bigger personalities at the Capitol, a small fish. Mac hopes to fry some of the bigger fish, like the man standing before him.

“Good morning, Mr. Vice President,” Mac greets with a firm nod of the head as he’s allowed entry into Julian Berkeley’s office. He’s stripped himself of his usual affable smile, instead wearing solemnity on his brow. “Maxwell Benton, senior counsel to the attorney general,” he states, extending a strong hand towards the older man. 

She’s got the New York Times in her hand, so she’s not really looking up when she takes a step forward in line, immediately bumping into someone who seemed to be doing the same. An apology is already on her lips before she sees that it’s Mac, and her expression is replaced by a grin. “I think that was both of us.” Though she’d like to call most of her acquaintances in D.C. friends, there were only a handful of people who actually fit that bill- and he was one of them. “Good to know I’m not the only one distracted befor emy first cup of coffee.”

The man in front of her seemed to be into his phone more than coffee, so she thought that he was no longer queueing therefore wouldn’t mind if she went ahead in front of him. Her eyes widened when he also moved when she did, his eyes still glued to his phone. “Thanks,” she said and moved without hesitation. “May I suggest focusing more on your surrounding instead of your phone? I believe that will save you from a handful of trouble.”

There are worse people Gwen can run into before 10 a.m. on a Monday. While her reaction to the man when she was on the clock would say otherwise, Mac somehow managed to earn her respect. A twenty is slipped to the barista before she steps to the side, still needing to crane her head a little to look up at the taller man despite the high heels that adorn her feet. “You’re one of the few who wouldn’t.” Gwen remarks, a faint smirk lingering on her red lips. No offense is taken to his decline of her offer, knowing too well a when you take something in this city, you’re expected to give something in return eventually. Not that she’d want to (he’s too fun to go into battle against), but Mac would be the ideal person she’d like to have in her back pocket. 

“Look at you being generous. I didn’t know you had it in you.” The smirk grows wider, before she lets out a scoff that’s paired with a roll of her eyes. “In your dreams, Benton. Actually, not even then.” Her cell phone is carefully slid into the compartment of her purse, arms folding across her chest. “It’s just coffee, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. Don’t take my generosity as a sign that I’ve fallen for your faux charm like a college intern.”

Mac steps forward and orders a large black americano with an extra espresso shot. Drinking, on average, 4 a day is surely going to induce an early death, but at least he’d have given reasons to be remembered by then. “Does that make me special in your eyes, Gwen?” He asks with a tilt of the head, initiating their typical banter of who can get under whose skin first. Perhaps a very public cafe isn’t the most ideal place for this kind of exchange, for the either of them, but Mac has confidence to keep it subtle and sensitive if she can. 

Natalie opens her mouth, ready to release a string of curses and pinpointed insults at the person getting in between her and her coffee, but a second look snaps her mouth shut. The smile that follows is very unlike Natalie– innocent (or as close as she can get) and unprompted by her own cynicism. “Oh, please, you go ahead,” she protests, gesturing towards the register. “I don’t mind.”

When she stepped forward and bumped into him, she laughed lightly.  “Sorry,” she murmured.  “Thank you,” she said before stepping forward to place her order.  Once she had, she looked back at him.  “Seems like you’re very popular today,” Juliette teased as she gestured to his buzzing phone.

Mac’s arm is heavy, he can tell how often he goes to the gym which reminds him to visit the one in his very own building. An over dramatic eye roll accompanies Mac’s words. It’s his arrogance wrapped up in charm that pisses JP off. He has no problem introducing Mac to his colleagues but he’s now made the ‘king of interns’ seem like nothing more than his twerpy little 12 year old brother.

The heat is rising in his cheeks and he’s hoping none of them will notice, considering they’ve all got little smiles on their faces— except for Jack who’s taken this opportunity to turn away and light a cigarette. “No way she did— I call her like everyday she would have said something.” He retorts immediately, earning him an aww from their little audience. 

“But we were going for—” JP proclaims before he’s interrupted by Ann-Marie. “Honestly it’s fine, you should go enjoy lunch with your brother,” something in the tone of her voice leads him to believe she’s not being sincere. But they all agree in unison, and rather than argue any longer JP sighs and caves in.

“Half-pint? Half-pint! I’m like five inches sorter tha— ow fuck you’re gonna’ break my shoulder.” He says as attempts to shrug his brother’s hand off his shoulder. As the light changes to allow them to walk, Jack nudges Ann-Marie and motions towards the crosswalk. Before he can protest, his friends are already on their merry way to lunch— Sienna making sure to say goodbye to Mac. 

JP can’t help but scowl at Mac like he was 12 again. His arms cross over his chest as he turns to face his brother. “Where are we going, what are we eating and you’re definitely paying.”

“Every day?!” Mac repeats, shocked but not at all surprised. The interns’ reaction starkly contrasts his own; JP’s sudden confession merely earning him a breathless laugh from Mac -- out of pity? Embarrassment? Most likely a combination of both with a heavy dosage of the latter. “Christ...”

Whilst Mac has to set himself a reminder to call his parents once a month, here stands JP, happily owning up to speaking to his mother every damn day. It’s no wonder that whenever Mac messages in their family group chat, only Eivind and their father replies. The other two were probably on the phone to each other; what did they even talk about?!

Mac offers a small nod in gratitude towards Ann-Marie, her tone and the way she interrupted JP not going unmissed by him. Perhaps JP hadn’t solidified his place within the group after all. After his reluctant surrender, Mac’s lips widens into a victorious grin. “Don’t worry, little bro, you can vent to me about these lot, and I’ll pretend to listen. Just like the other night,” he says, adding a light chuckle to reassure the interns the comment was said in jest.  

“That’s still an inch bigger than--” All of JP’s antics has always been endearing and loveable, and so Mac fails to contain the boisterous laugh that escapes him. “You kill me, man,” he adds, dropping his hand from JP’s shoulder. 

“Go on then, see if you can speak any fucking louder.” Nick started, the comment originally made under his breath but continued at a louder volume as he became aware that somebody was listening (and there was no turning back on it). “I may be jet-lagged and hungover to fuck but perhaps a little more noise might help to sort that out.”

Brielle was headed back to her office with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee in her hand. The soft rays of sunlight were a pleasant change from the brutally unnatural florescent lighting that seemed to run rampant around The Post’s building. Pausing to lean against a stray wall, Brielle sighed contently, “What I wouldn’t give to have an outdoor office on days like this,” Bri smiled at the person nearby. “If only the weather was this nice everyday.”

Exiting a cab, Christian Louboutin clad feet hit the pavement and it’s a sign of a new week. Oversized sunglasses shield light colored eyes and the designer outfit isn’t complete without the air of confidence she exudes with each clack of her heel. Before she heads to her office a few blocks down, Gwen is in desperate need of coffee. While she may’ve mustered enough energy to get out of bed and get dressed, she doesn’t feel human until caffeine is pumping through her veins. Stepping into crowded coffee shop, crankiness or impatience doesn’t arise despite the slowness from the overworked and understaffed baristas. “Tall non-fat soy latte.” Gwen orders when she finally reaches the front of the line. Her usual with a blueberry muffin, perfect way to start her day. “And whatever the next person wants is on me.” Glancing over her shoulder, she flashes a smile. 

Mac didn’t mind crowded places. Blessed with a tall stature and a broad frame, he often enjoyed looking over other people as he stood as an absolute embodiment of a yuppie. Inefficiency is something that ticks his nerves; fingers begin to tap at his thigh, jaw clenches and unclenches, eyes narrow with disdain. He makes a mental note to never come to this coffee shop again. 

Then, he hears a familiar voice, and he looks up from his phone. He pairs the voice and the hair colour together to get one of the few people who’ve earned his respect: Gwen Calhoun, and the corners of his lips slowly curl upwards to form a sly smirk. Things just got interesting. 

Jp didn’t tend to head out for lunch when everyone else did, instead opting to bring something packed or bunker down and crank out another hour of work, yet today was a slow day. Nothing coming in, and everything they were tasked with done— for now. So with a bit of convincing he pulled his jacket on and dashed out with the rest of them.

It reminded him of being back at Yale. Walking to the dining hall with his roommate and friends, except minus the thought of making it to his next class. Miriam is trying to tell a story through her laughter as he and a few others wait at the corner. 

Everyone goes silent for a moment and looks in his direction, before he can even process what’s going on he feels a hand hit the back of his head. He quickly turns on his heels to see his brother. It’s a surprise, and knowing what’s to happen next— not a pleasant one. He stumbles back slightly as Mac goes at his torso. Rocky, not one of his favourites but quotes were repeated so often in his house, it be a miracle if he didn’t recognize it.

“Mac!” He huffs. His voice acerbic as he grabs his brother’s fist. “What a pleasure it is to see you,” he says, sarcasm laid on thick. Although this attack may seem out of the ordinary to literally anyone else, he’s been on the receiving end of these for years. 

He turns back to his friends. “Guys, this is my pain in the ass brother Maxwell— or Mac. Mac, this is Miriam, Sienna, Jack and Ann-Marie.” He points to each of them as he lists of their names before turning back to his brother. “Why are you here and how the fuck did you know it was me?”

At JP’s reaction, a smug smirk stretches along Mac’s lips, bright blue eyes holding the same old mischievous glint indicating there is more to come. Evidently, showing off in front of a crowd was a genetic inheritance: look at the way the boy grabbed his fist! D.C. had toughened him up, or perhaps it’s one of his friends he’s trying to impress. 

For any onlookers, Mac almost looks like a bully, so he swings his arm to rest on his brother’s shoulder, flashing a smile at the interns -- he’d already forgotten their names, hadn’t really paid attention when JP was introducing them, Mary and Sarah, was it? -- and offering a head of acknowledgement. 

“The bigger and better one; pleasure,” he quips, and before he can decide which one of them is the most attractive, he’s faced with JP. 

“Alright, you little pit bull, calm down.” he says, chuckling lowly. “Mum told me to take you out for lunch. She’s worried you’re not eating well,” he lies. He wanted to take his brother out for lunch. “The boys in the office are going for steak; I turned that down for you,” he says, pointing at his brother. “So, quit complaining, grab your shit, and let’s go.” 

Mac couldn’t have asked for a better set-up. An unaware brother stands with his back to him, and there’s even an audience who he can only presume are JP’s colleagues. He was asking for it, really. 

“Heads!” Mac calls out as he slaps the back of JP’s head, letting out an all too amused chuckle. “Down low!” A string of undercut punches attack JP’s torso, Mac adding special sound effects with his own lips, as he proceeds to quote his favourite film, imitating Sylvester Stallone’s low, guttural voice. “It really don't matter if I lose this fight. It really don't matter if this guy opens my head, either. 'Cause all I wanna do is go the distance.” It was funny ten years ago, and it’s still funny now. If only Eivind was here.

“I don’t know about you,” Liz started, coffee cup withdrawn from her lips and regarded with a certain distaste, “but I’m missin’ eggnog season already. Might have been the fact you could drink it during the day and all but nothin’ warms my heart quite like it.”