Author: Regency
Title: Flavored Coffee, Bath Bubbles & Naps
Rating: PG and possibly up
Pairing: Jed/Abbey
Season/Spoiler/Sequel: Season [something]; Night Five; None so far.
Summary: The President says that he isn't one of 'those' people. That doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt.
Author's Notes: Any cannon dialogue is paraphrased or fictional.
Disclaimer: I only own the Secret Service Agents that are unfamiliar.
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'This party is as boring as they come here,' Josh thought. 'Even the President looks bored.' The President stands among a throng of diplomats and congressmen, nodding his head and smiling politely. Josh could read the desperation for escape on his face. Just as he was about to mount a rescue himself, an unidentifiable agent comes up and whispers something into the President's ear. The President makes eye contact and the Agent nods. The President nods in return, with a smile, he excuses himself from the group and steps out into the hall. Josh wonders what's going on.
~~~~~~
Jed's POV
I swear to God, this party is as boring as they come. I'm trying, but I think I'm starting show. If these people keep talking, I'm going to retroactively revoke all international treaties as well as domestic laws and send all of them home. I might regret it tomorrow, but I'll sleep fine tonight. Which would be the first time in a long time. Really, I keep nodding off here and there. I'm waiting to fall over asleep on the floor.
Just as I'm about to strangle the Swedish ambassador for being a pompous ass, an Agent whose name I don't recall, whispers equally exasperating and promising news into my ear.
"Sir, the coffee is ready." I close my eyes and nod my thanks. Turning back to the ne'er do-wellers and hangers-on, I smile and excuse myself, barely managing not to jog for the stairs to the Residence. I'll get there when I get there.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm not one of those people. I do not live on Madison Avenue. Stress? I live on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and words like that have no place here. The People get nervous when they hear that their Commander-in-Chief is stressed in any way. Especially, when he has Multiple Sclerosis. Especially when he's me. This is all Stanley's fault.
"I don't like the word 'stress.' It's a Madison Avenue word. Something that can be cured with flavored coffee and bath bubbles."
"Is that so bad?"
"When you're the President of the United States, yes, it is."
"I don't think it would hurt."
"Don't think what would hurt?"
"You drinking flavored coffee or maybe, taking a bubble bath." I must have looked at him as though he, himself, had gone quite insane. I thought he had.
"Go outside, turn around three times, and spit. And curse...and go away." Stanley just looked and shrugged, before the for the first time actually leaving when I say so. That was unnerving.
I nod to the Agents flanking the bedroom door and slip inside, closing it behind me. As soon as I'm fully inside the heady scent of cinnamon engulfs me and I start to wonder if maybe, I should have done this sooner.
On the serving cart, there's a coffee carafe and a coffee mug filled with an enticingly scented brew. I pick it up and take a deep breath. I think I'm feeling better already. Taking a careful sip, I realize why everyone likes these flavored coffee so much. If this one is anything to go on, they're quite luscious. I lick my top lip to get the froth stranded up there. Heh. Even the froth is good.
I take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed and drink the searing beverage, calmly. I've never thought about it much, but the Residence is so quiet without Abbey in it. Normally, that would unnerve me, but right now, I can't think of anything that could be better. Except, maybe Abbey here with me.
I wander into the bathroom and open a cupboard next to the sink. This is where Abbey keeps her bath stuff. I'm just looking. It's not as though I'd actually use any of it…Oooh, cinnamon and vanilla. Putting down my mug regretfully, I unscrew the bottle top and take a whiff. It smells like Abbey straight out of the shower, before the Victoria's Secret Heavenly Dreams: Divine perfume. I love that.
Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm standing over the bathtub adjusting the water so that the temperature's just right. I pour in two capfuls…and then one more. Just to be sure. Of course, I'm not actually going to get in it. I mean, there's a state dinner going on downstairs, I can't. I just want to see what it smells like. Really.
I peak out of the bathroom and listen to see if anyone's coming. There's no one. I unbutton my jacket and loosen my tie. I lay them across the bed, kicking my shoes off at the end. I'll be putting them back on in a little bit. I turn off the taps and dip my hand into to the water to find it to be quite temperate. I bite my lip. It would only be for a little bit...and Stanley did suggest it. It would be a mental health break. That's just as important as my actual health, right? Well, I think so. Draining the mug, I gather my bathrobe and towels, resting them on the counter between the sinks. I sneak back out to the bedroom to refill my mug, before slinking back in and closing the door to a crack. I'm a bad boy.
I undress and rest my clothes beside the towels on the counter. I shiver and can feel goosebumps rising on my skin. It's cold without Abbey here, too. I take a breath and step into the bath. The bubbles rise all the way to my knees. I'm feeling even better. As I start to sit down, I realize that I left the washcloth over on the counter and that I have to get out to retrieve. I truly consider letting it stay, but grumblingly step out and, almost tripping, I snag it and step back in. Here goes. I slowly ease down into the bath and rest my back against the lip of the tub. I'm immediately warmed from head to toe. From neck to toe, anyway. The water laps at my skin like waves to the shore and I am soothed by it. The bubbles tickle my nose and it twitches on my face. I can't help the listless laugh that erupts from me. I wouldn't have done this if I realized how drowsy it would make me. But it's warm. I like it. Now, I get why Abbey likes doing this so much. It's relaxing.
I feel my eyes start to close and I don't try to stop myself. I'm not going to sleep; I'm just resting my eyes. You know, resting my eyes is starting to feel suspiciously like falling asleep. Ah, well. You win some, you lose some. Man, I should do this more often.
~~~~~~
The agents outside the First Bedroom stand there quietly for a while after the President enters. They expect him to be out in half an hour tops. Half an hour passes. No President. It's quickly approaching an hour since he's entered and neither of them can hear stirring beyond the doors. They share a glance and Agent Sanders silently volunteers to take a look. He knows Maxim has his back.
The agent slips inside and looks around. The service cart is where the steward left it, but the mug is gone. He goes over and presses the back of his hand to the coffee carafe. It's lukewarm. He turns around and sees the President's jacket and tie lying across the bed, his shoes at the end, on the floor. The bathroom door is cracked, but mostly closed. He walks over carefully, having alerted Maxim to POTUS's apparent absence.
His gun at the ready, he stands beside the door and sharing another look with Maxim, nods. He pushes the door open gently and lets it swing back to the wall. They're both immediately hit with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. The first thing Sanders sees is the clothes, towel, and mug, still with wisps of smoke still rising from within. He swings around and sees the President's arm on the edge of the tub. He moves closer. He sees the top of his head. He moves closer. He sees whatever of his body is visible over the water. He looks around and motions to Maxim to check out the rest of the room. He kneels and presses very light fingers to the supine man's neck. He feels a steady and strong rhythm beneath his fingers. He takes a relieved breath and reholsters his gun. Signaling Maxim to follow, he pulls the door nearly shut as before and moves back towards the outer door. Maxim goes out first. Sanders knows that he should probably get the President up and redressed, but…He's always been told that it's his job to protect the President's body. His mind and heart are someone else's concern. He thinks it's about time he started to do a little bit more. And he has been looking absolutely run down for days…God knows it isn't his job, but...he closes the door and retakes his sentry position beside the door.
Maxim only gives him an approving nod and makes no move to report him to Butterfield. The only thing nearly as strong as their protective instinct towards their charges is their oath to one another. Sanders knows he won't tell. So, he doesn't worry. Well, not too much, anyway.
