Long May She Reign (99 page)

“So.” Susan started lowering herself to the floor. “You need something?”

A JA who was less of an asshole. For starters. “Looking forward to the semester ending?” Meg asked.

Susan nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

No doubt. In fact, she probably had a countdown clock hidden in her room somewhere. “If I see you in the dining hall or something next year, do I say hello,” Meg asked, “or do I turn and go the other way?”

“I don't know. Maybe you could wave at me, from a distance,” Susan said, lifting into another crunch.

Yeah, that would work. Even though the notion really hurt her feelings.

Susan glanced at her. “I'm kidding, Meg.”

In which case, how very hilarious. Or maybe just thoughtless.

“All I was doing was trying to walk to the damn car,” Meg said. “I didn't exactly figure it would be dangerous to sign someone's granddaughter's card.” Since, ordinarily, that would be considered a low-risk activity.

Susan nodded, lowered herself to the floor, took a deep breath, and lifted up again.

“I have a higher than average chance of getting knocked off, any day of the week,” Meg said. “I wish like hell I didn't, but—well, there isn't much I can do about it. If that's enough to make you not want to be friends with me, that's your call, I guess.”

Susan abandoned the crunches and sat up all the way, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Meg, I'm dating a guy whose
job
it is to get knocked off. And the combination of the two of you—” She shook her head. “I need to go run about ten miles, that's all. Then I'll be okay again.”

Meg was going to say something sympathetic, but laughed, instead. “Hey, that's the first time you've ever confirmed it.”

“Don't tell your mother,” Susan said quickly.

Like her mother couldn't find out on her own, if she were so inclined? Except that, of course, she wouldn't be. Bigger fish to fry, one assumed.

Susan blushed. “Anyway. It's none of my business, but try being a little less Jane Wayne next time, too, okay?”

Which would accomplish
what
, exactly? But Susan was one of the rare people—along with Beth—who would tell her the truth. Meg checked to make sure that Dirk and the others were mesmerized by their video game. “Did I, um, look bad? Like I was panicking?”

Susan shook her head. “You looked really
thin
, next to Garth and everyone. But, mainly, as far as I could tell, you were mad as hell.”

There seemed to be a commonality of opinion about that, so maybe she was going to have to believe it. “Did
that
look bad?” Meg asked. “Like I was losing it or something?”

“You did her credit, if that's what you're worrying about,” Susan said.

Well, yeah. Only Susan didn't know the whole story. “I, um—” Christ, if this got out, it would be terrible, so she threw another glance at the Common Room— “might have had a—” for lack of a better phrase— “psychotic break.”

Which got Susan's full attention. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I thought I was being kidnapped again,” Meg said, and shivered. “I mean, I
really
thought so. Then, they had me in this room, where I'd never been, and they all had their guns out, and I
still
thought so.”

Susan shook her head. “That's not a psychotic break, that's just a normal reaction. Besides, even if you'd had a huge flashback, that would have been normal, too.”

It all seemed sort of blurry now—but, then, it had seemed blurry at the time, too. “They pulled my pants down,” Meg said. “I guess they were afraid she'd thrown acid on me or something, but I thought they were about to—well, you know.”

Susan scowled. “What a bunch of clods. If they had more women, that kind of thing would—Christ, maybe I
should
let them recruit me.”

News to her. “They're trying to recruit you?” Meg asked.

Susan nodded. “I keep getting visits from three-letter agencies, too.”

She was pretty small, but demonstrably brave, and in
excellent
shape, and currently on the DC radar, and—it made perfect sense, really. A natural fit. Meg looked at her curiously. “Are you interested?”

“I don't know,” Susan said, but, frankly, sounded pretty interested. “For now, I hear them out. In fact—” She hesitated. “Well, if I had a place to stay in Washington, I might come down for a few days this summer, and go talk to some of them again.”

Aha. The plot took an unexpected twist. “You have a boyfriend in Washington,” Meg said. Martin had to live within reasonable commuting distance, anyway.

Susan shook her head. “It might be too soon. I'd rather—we're not there yet.”

Okay. “Too bad you don't know anyone else who lives in the city, who has
stacks
of spare rooms going to waste,” Meg said.

Susan nodded. “It's a damn shame,” she said, and they both grinned.

*   *   *

ON HER WAY
up to her room, she called Jack, who was very upset and told her he was on his way over, hanging up almost before she had time to say “Hello.” So she called Beth, instead, who was also upset, but somewhat less so, because she had managed to get through to Preston earlier, and had heard most of the accurate details already, including the fact that the President her very own self was flying up in the morning—information which had yet to be released officially.

“Want to hear the sad part?” Meg asked.

Beth laughed nervously. “All of it seems pretty sad, so far.”

True enough. “The bone I cracked is actually one I
didn't
break the first time around,” Meg said. One of the very few.

Beth's laugh was more normal this time. “That
is
sad.”

Yeah. It was. Hurt like a bitch, too.

Right after they finished talking, the medium-secure line rang. She wasn't going to pick up, but the caller ID showed Trudy's number.

“Are you all right, Meghan?” Trudy asked, when she answered.

“Mostly, yeah, thank you,” Meg said. Although she'd be better after she took a couple of pain pills, and possibly another Valium. “But, Mom and Dad flipped.”

“Can you blame them?” Trudy asked.

Not really. “Mom's flying up here tomorrow,” Meg said.

“Yes, your father told me,” Trudy said approvingly. “That's as it should be.”

Months overdue, even. “How long do you think Dad'll be able to hold off until he shows up, too?” Meg asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I expect,” Trudy said.

Probably, yeah. Meg let out her breath. “She looked like a nice, safe grandmother lady.”

“I know, that's one of the reasons I called,” Trudy said, sounding unhappy. “I'm sorry.”

Well, hell, it wasn't
her
fault that one of her peers had gone around the bend. And if the lady turned out to claim to be some twisted version of a Catholic,
that
wouldn't be her fault, either.

“I'm going to come visit you on Saturday,” Trudy said.

Which was very thoughtful, but not necessary. Meg shook her head. “You don't have to do that. I mean, it's really nice of you, but—”

Trudy cut her off. “I already have my reservations, dear. I'll be there in the afternoon, and if you want, we can have supper together, unless you and your friends already have plans.”

Of
course
she wanted. “I think C-Span'll be showing the White House Correspondents' Dinner,” Meg said.

“Well,” Trudy said, and Meg could almost hear the smile in her voice. “Then, we'll have to order room service or takeout, won't we.”

Yep.

She was just about to check her voice-mail when Jack rushed through the half-open door, breathing hard.

“Did you run the whole way?” she asked.

He nodded, panting. “Except for the part when I was being sly, so that reporters wouldn't notice me.” He took off the baseball cap which had been pulled down to cover most of his face, and she was offended to see that it was a Yankee's cap.

“What's that?” she asked, even though she knew perfectly well what it was.

He flicked the hat out into the hallway, where she hoped it landed in the most undignified way possible. “Wore it on purpose, Meg, so they'd figure there was
no way
I was someone you were dating.”

Oh. “That
was
sly,” she said.

He nodded, looking very pleased with himself.

Not the method she would have picked, but it had been effective, in its skin-crawling way.

He sat down on the bed and kissed her so hard that they didn't talk for a while.

“You all right?” he asked finally.

She nodded. “Yeah. Not my ideal day, maybe.”

“Not mine, either,” he said.

No, probably not.

“Saw some guys outside on my way over here, looked like they were sealing up a mailbox,” he said against her mouth.

Meaning that people from the advance team, and her mother's security detail, and the White House Communications Agency, and so forth, were starting to arrive, and the complicated logistical dance of preparing for the President's imminent arrival was under way.

“We having company tomorrow?” he asked.

An intuitive leap; how nice. “We are,” she said.

He nodded. “So, there's not a chance in hell I'm going to get to spend the night here tonight.”

Alas, no. Among other things, the WHCA people were going to appear at her door soon, to sweep her room, and install new high-tech super-secure phone lines, and that sort of thing. But, it was still pretty funny that that had been his first thought.

They had barely started kissing again when the drop-line rang, and they both looked at it.

“Aw, crap,” he said, sighed, and took his hands off her breasts.

While she talked to each member of her family in turn—Steven's sole contribution was a muttered “Sorry you got hurt again and stuff,” Jack picked up her psychology book and started going through the chapter they were supposed to have completed by Friday. He used a blue pen to underline various phrases and sentences as he read, which was an unexpected bonus, since it meant that she might be able to get away with just skimming those specific parts later on.

“I really need her to do this,” she said quietly, when she was talking to her father, since she was worried that his feelings might be hurt.

“I know, Meg,” he answered. “It'll be good for both of you.”

“But, I'm guessing you're coming in the afternoon, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

When she hung up the phone, she was amused to see that Jack felt compelled to finish the section he was reading and neatly close the book before he kissed her again.

Except, maybe they should hold off for another minute. “Hang on, okay?” she said, picked up the drop-line again, and asked to be connected to Steven directly.

“
What?
” he said impatiently, when he came on the phone. “I already talked to you and everything.”

“I'm
okay
, Steven,” she said. “I really am. And my agents were excellent. Fast as hell.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end.

“So, what's the deal?” he asked. “Now, we've gotta be afraid of
old ladies
?”

“No, she was just a nut,” Meg said. “It's not going to be, you know, a trend.”

“Man, it better not be,” he said grimly.

Yeah. As of today, Secret Service profiling guidelines had become much more complex. “I just wanted to be sure you and Neal are okay,” she said.

He made an extremely offensive noise, and she decided to take that as a yes.

They talked for another few minutes, and she got him relaxed enough to tell her more about the new dog her family had, in fact, adopted over the weekend—a shepherd/collie mix they had named Sam, who had only had two accidents in the house so far, and was mostly sleeping on Steven's bed at night, and when they finally hung up, she felt a lot better—and hoped that he did, too.

Jack closed her psychology book for the second time. “More making out now?”

Hell, yeah. Ideally,
a lot
more.

They were in grave danger of getting too carried away for her to be capable of answering the door, when the inevitable knocks from WHCA and everyone started to come, so she pulled away from him, and patted the side of his face lightly. He nodded, took a few deep breaths, zipped himself back up, and then moved so that they were sitting next to each other at the top of the bed, with his arm around her.

“So, we're not going to do it tonight?” he asked.

Could he maybe
try
to be less phallocentric? She shook her head.

“That way,” he said, “when I meet her, I could be thinking, ‘Hey, lady, you may run the world, but
I
nailed your daughter last night.'”

Jesus. Could he possibly think that was funny? She didn't look at him, because she was afraid to see whatever expression might be on his face.

“We kid, because we love,” he said.

It was a joke. Okay. A person could make an inappropriate joke, without being a sociopathic—

He cleared his throat. “And I meant the part about the, uh, love.”

Christ, if she was going to spend the rest of her life associating any kind of remotely barbed male humor with—she realized what he had just said, and stared at him. In fact, it was entirely possible that her mouth fell open.

Jack flushed slightly. “Okay, so not only did I say it
first,
which'll get me drummed out of the Guy Corps, but I just said it to someone who I'm pretty sure isn't going to say it back.”

She was still staring at him—
frowning
at him, more accurately—when she realized that he was waiting for her to respond.