Work Text:
“Why the fuck should I have to worry about optics? I am the President of the United States. I am the sword.” The Boss used air quotes around optics, then flipped off the advisors who were not Saints. The advisors were slightly shocked the Boss even knew about the powers of the sword.
Walking out of the meeting, the Boss was immediately joined by Kinzie.
“They are not wrong.”
“Kinz-ieee.” The whining in their voice was familiar, reserved for when Kinzie actually did her job as press secretary. “It is not like I am thinking of doing a second term.”
Kinzie did not respond, instead staying quiet and hovering a few feet behind.
Walking into the Oval Office used to be glamorous, but it had lost all appeal after the first year. As soon as the Boss stepped inside, they kicked out the guards and walked to the desk, assuming Kinzie had stopped following.
A second later, they were slammed into the wall by none other than Kinzie.
“Kinzie, what the fu...”
Before they could finish, Kinzie clamped a hand over their mouth. The Boss was slightly tempted to lick it, but honestly, Kinzie was too much of a freak for that to deter her.
“You are a surprisingly good president.”
The Boss hummed a muffled I am? because Kinzie’s hand was still in place. It was probably weird that this was sort of turning them on.
“You have the Senate, the House, and SCOTUS practically at your mercy. The amount of bills you have passed is insane. You guaranteed universal healthcare by doing something with Shaundi and Pierce that I do not want to hear about ever again. You made people actually care about flyover states. You introduced a tax bill on the top one percent. You cut the national debt by trillions. The progress of your presidency is only comparable to Lincoln or FDR. You will run for a second term.”
Kinzie paused, horrified. “Fuck, we should get the Twenty Second Amendment overturned. That is how good you are at this. I cannot believe I am saying that out loud.”
“Marry me,” the Boss said, insanely turned on.
“…What?” Kinzie looked at them like a second head had sprouted.
“I need a First Lady, right? I want you.” They said it with zero shame.
“Me? I am your press secretary. That would not work well optically.”
“Fuck the optics. I’ve known you for years. You are former FBI. This is not a Lewinsky thing, and I would rather not be in the same sentence as Buchanan.”
“You actually know your U.S. history?” Kinzie asked, like that was the most unbelievable part.
“I am the President.” The Boss smirked. “I have people who know things for me. You mentioned Buchanan in that memo you sent.”
“You actually read the stuff I send?” Kinzie had always assumed their memos were basically her personal ledger.
“Why does no one think I take this shit seriously? Like no, UnitedHealth’s entire board di-”
Kinzie slapped her hand over their mouth again.
“Never say what you guys did out loud.”
They gave her an “are you fucking serious?” look.
“I can’t marry you. We have no public dealings that would make the relationship look realistic,” Kinzie said. A part of her didn’t actually hate the idea.
“Well then, who?”
“Shaundi.”
“No.”
“Pierce.”
“No.”
“Viola.”
“…Maybe? Look, there are some people I’ve been photographed with, people I invited to the State of the Union, or maybe even an Olympian.” The Boss said Olympian with a smug grin, having won the gold medal for shooting.
“Good luck with that. We’ll reconvene in a month.” Her tone was somewhat somber.
She turned to leave but remembered one last piece of news. “The construction of Freckle Bitch’s in D.C. was postponed by a year due to-”
“I have to murder someone.”
“I’ll get Shaundi.”
—
What followed were the four worst first dates in history.
Date 1:
Set up by Shaundi. A celebrity that’s all she said. The Boss shows up to find Charlize Fucking Theron. They’re a little starstruck but commit to the bit. It’s going well until an assassination attempt occurs. Charlize decides that being First Lady isn’t for her, but does take a photo and give an autograph.
Date 2:
Set up by Matt. A livestreamer who insists on IRL streaming the date. It ends with an explosion and an old gang the Boss had pissed off. The streamer dies, but the public thinks the President is a badass. Good optics.
Date 3:
A former state representative not running for reelection. It’s going surprisingly well until they get doxxed and a swarm of people flood the restaurant hoping to see the Boss. The rep is turned off. Somehow, the kitchen catches fire. The Boss considers permanent bachelorhood.
Date 4:
The most normal one. A reporter from NPR qualified, attractive, put-together, nothing overtly weird in their life. But something feels off. Wrong vibe. The Boss decides to message Kinzie for a bail-out, knowing she’d be waiting for a message anyway.
Boss 8:50 PM
get me out
Kinzie 8:50 PM
Are you hurt? Everything looks fine from my angle.
He had to laugh. He wasn’t sure where Kinzie was watching from, but it was so common now that it was comforting instead of creepy.
Boss 8:51 PM
this boring asf
not first lady gonna work
Kinzie 8:53 PM
Wait, I have to call something off. Why couldn’t you say this two minutes ago?
He had begun typing call what off when fifty goons stormed the restaurant and shot into the ceiling.
“We’re here for the President!”
“Are you fucking serious, Kinzie?” he whispered. His date immediately fled to the bathroom.
Oh well, at least the fight would be fun.
—
Returning to the White House with the Secret Service, bloodied with a graze along his arm, the Boss refused immediate medical attention.
They insisted on seeing Kinzie.
Boss 9:51 PM
be in the Oval Office when i get back.
The message sat on Delivered, but Kinzie had seen it.
The Boss pushed open the doors to the Oval Office with the kind of dramatic force only someone bleeding and pissed off could manage. Secret Service tried to follow, but the Boss waved them off. They quietly backed off.
Kinzie was already inside.
Of course she was. Sitting on the edge of the Resolute Desk like she owned the place, tablet in hand, expression unreadable.
“You should have gotten treated for that,” she said without looking up.
"No shit." The Boss stepped closer, dripping blood on the presidential seal like it was nothing. "Buy me a new carpet later."
Kinzie did not respond. She stood, grabbed a first aid kit from under the desk, and pointed at the chair.
The Boss sat with an annoyed groan. “Why can you not be normal.” There was no real animosity. Kinzie gave a look and pressed slightly harder on the wound than necessary, earning a hiss.
The Boss watched as she cleaned the graze and stiched the wound. Her hands weren’t as steady as they usually where. It was annoying.
"You had people storm the restaurant," the Boss said.
"I tried to call it off."
"You tried two minutes too late."
"It was supposed to look accidental."
"Kinzie, those goons yelled we are here for the President before shooting up the ceiling. That is not subtle."
Kinzie muttered that there were no good assassins left these days, which should have been concerning.
“Kinzie, did you fuck up the other dates too?”
Kinzie’s stitching paused for exactly one second. Not long enough to be guilt, just long enough to be suspicious. She did not look at him. She tied the thread messily and snipped it with the small scissors she kept in the kit.
“No,” she said. “I did not.”
The Boss narrowed their eyes. “Kinzie.”
She sighed, shoved the medical supplies back into the kit, and finally met the Boss’s eyes. Her expression was blank, which usually meant she was lying in a very complicated way.
“They were compromised,” she said.
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer.” Kinzie crossed her arms, as if that made the statement stronger. “Every single one of those people had their information pulled the second they got near you. Someone is always watching you, studying you, and interfering with everything you do. I did not sabotage anything. I just… adjusted the outcomes.”
“Adjusted,” the Boss repeated. “Kinzie, one of them exploded.”
“That’s what happens when you trust Matt Miller.”
“Matt said you told him it was fine.”
Kinzie stared at the wall for a moment like she was mentally deleting that memory. “I told him it was fine in theory. I did not tell him to do it at a restaurant. That was his decision.”
The Boss rubbed their face with their free hand. “So the celebrity was compromised, the streamer was compromised, the representative was compromised, and the NPR lady was compromised.”
Kinzie nodded. “Yes.”
“And you somehow did not tell me this sooner.”
“You were busy,” she said. Her tone was very matter of fact. “And also annoying.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
The Boss stared at her. Kinzie’s arms stayed crossed, her posture perfect, her voice steady, but her eyes were darting everywhere but at him. That was the tell. Kinzie did not fidget unless she had something to hide.
“Kinzie,” the Boss said quietly.
She did not respond.
“Kinzie. Look at me.”
She finally lifted her eyes, but only for a second before looking at the carpet that was now stained with his blood.
“Tell me the truth,” the Boss said. “Did you fuck with the dates.”
Silence.
She shifted her weight, just barely. “Define fuck with.”
The Boss’ jaw dropped. “Kinzie.”
“I did’t lie,” she said quickly. “I said I did not sabotage anything. Sabotage implies intent to cause harm. I prevented harm. There is a difference.”
“Kinzie. You tanked every single one of my dates.”
“Not every single one.” She paused, then corrected herself. “Alright. Yes. Every single one. But each for a valid reason.”
“Kinzie.”
She lifted the tablet like a shield. “Charlize Theron ignored two security protocols and had three unknown devices in her purse. Also, no actress would use a dumb phone, and also Oscar winning actress Charlize Theron deserves better than the White House.” The Boss nodded because that was actually fair.
“The streamer.”
“He was collecting biometric data. Also he was annoying, and Matt picked him. Imagine Matt if you actually chose that guy.”
“The representative.”
“Her staff leaked your location to Twitter. I had to trigger a doxxing countermeasure.”
“And the NPR lady.”
Kinzie hesitated again.
The Boss crossed their arms. “Kinzie.”
“Even you thought she was boring,” Kinzie admitted. “I know that is not a security violation but it felt like one.”
The Boss blinked. “Kinzie.”
“She talked about gardening for eighty minutes,” Kinzie said with visible disgust. “You looked like you were dying and you literally told me to get you out.”
“That does not make her a threat.”
“I would have to listen to you complaining about her every day. That is a threat to my sanity.”
Kinzie tried to hold eye contact, failed, and her face twitched like she knew how insane she sounded.
“So you did sabotage them,” the Boss said.
“No,” Kinzie replied. “I prevented you from making a mistake.”
“That is sabotage.”
“It is guidance,” she insisted, pointing with the tablet. “You asked me to help find a First Lady. I eliminated unsuitable candidates.”
“All of them were unsuitable.”
“Yes.”
“Because you made them unsuitable.”
“No. Because they aren’t good enough for you.” Kinzie froze as soon as the words left her mouth. The Boss froze too.
It hung in the air in a way nothing ever hung in the air with Kinzie. She usually caught her own mistakes before they existed.
She turned away immediately. “Forget I said that.”
“Kinzie.”
“Forget it.”
“Kinzie,” the Boss said again, softer, but not letting her run from it.
She kept her back turned. “This is a bad idea. You are already a nightmare. You need someone clean. Someone stable. Someone who smiles at cameras. Someone who will not cause an ethics hearing every two weeks. You need a housewife from some weird 1950s sitcom.”
“In a poodle skirt,” the Boss said, delighted at the way her face twitched in disgust.
“Kinzie, look at me. A partner who only exists for optics is my worst nightmare. I do not want a 1950s housewife.” They paused. “I want you.”
Kinzie shook her head fast. “You are bleeding. You are tired. You are doing the thing where you confuse adrenaline and horniness with emotion.” Flashbacks to all the times the Boss described themself as an “unfeeling sociopath”.
“This is not adrenaline.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what adrenaline feels like. I am basically an adrenaline junkie,” the Boss said. “I asked you a month ago. I am asking again. Not joking. Not horny. Not bleeding out. Not panicking.”
They stepped behind her. Close enough to feel the tension in her back.
“Kinzie. Marry me.”
Kinzie paused. The Boss inched closer until their foreheads were almost touching.
“You have been running this presidency with me since day one. You already run my life. You already protect me. You already annoy me more than anyone alive. You are already my partner. What is one more thing.”
Instead of answering, Kinzie said, “I messed up the stitches.”
The Boss smiled like she had said yes and hung the moon for them. “Yeah. You did.”
Kinzie let out a breath. “I will give you an answer after you get medical attention.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said, reaching for her tablet. “I am not marrying someone who dies from an easily preventable infection.”
The Boss laughed. “So you are considering it.”