#Juan Badillo x f!OC

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 11

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Fingering, shower sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Marcus Pike the Breeding Kink King, a dash of dirty talk, the tiniest whiff of roleplay, sexual activity in a public place, cum eating. False accusations of cheating, gossip rags being gossipy, descriptions of getting a tattoo (needle mention). Summary: The end of your trip to Texas comes with a few surprises, and a meeting with your mother goes far better than expected. But good things do not guarantee paradise forever. Notes: Hi my lovelies! I do apologize for the spotty posting timeline lately. My health has been inconsistent to say the very least and continues to be unpredictable. Thank you for bearing with me and always being so incredibly supportive. I'm certain that I missed fixing some errors in this chapter, but I blame the migraine I've have for the last 10 days. Enjoy this week's chapter!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

The last night you and Marcus are in Texas comes after an afternoon-long barbecue that somehow manages to outdo every barbecue of every previous day. You're pretty sure that you've been nibbling constantly since sunrise but rather than being overwhelmed, you're just sorry that you're going to have to leave tomorrow and not see most of these people again for a long time.

The water in Marcus's hand is for you and he comes over to drop a kiss on your lips as he presses it into your hand. "Band is starting at seven." He tells you. "Do you want to shower beforehand?"

"Probably should." There's mischievousness in your agreement, though, and you tuck a smirk in the corner of your mouth as you take the water from him. "I saved my cutest top for tonight. To be the very best groupie I can be."

"Oh really?" He chuckles at how eager you have been to meet his old bandmates. "I like groupies." He smirks, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you close. "Really like them."

"Do you want to show me how much?" You ask, letting that smirk loose but keeping your voice very quiet even when you bat your eyelashes at him.

"I can do that while we shower." He groans wickedly, winking at you. "Unless you want to save that for after the show?"

"No need to save," you assure him easily, drinking down half of the glass of cold water he brought you and letting your grin grow wider. "There will be hours in between. We can do both."

"Insatiable." He grins back and you, wrinkling his nose slightly and proud about that fact. "I love it."

"C'mon." Grabbing his hand, you head for the house with a bitten back grin. Back inside and upstairs to his room – now appropriately defiled by the fact that you're in that Early Relationship Honeymoon Period and horny as hell – to add his childhood bathroom to the list of places you've fucked on this property.

Marcus smirks when there’s a number of suggestive whistles that ring out. Everyone here aware of how eager the two of you are and he gives a halfhearted wave before disappearing. You might be embarrassed if you cared at all, but his cousins have been nothing but welcoming and accepting. They all seem to share the opinion that Marcus has waited too long to meet his match and you are more than happy to be the one that they have welcomed as their cousin – or nephew or son's – perfect match.

“I love them all, but I need to get you alone.” Marcus huffs as he practically races over to the stairs.

"Alone, naked, and wet, I hope." You're on the stairs just ahead of him, the advantage of one or two steps meaning your ass is right in his face as you hustle up to the second floor.

"How wet you are depends on how good of a job I do turning you on." He can't help himself, reaching out and slapping your ass, something you love if your delighted giggle is anything to go by. "How wet are you?"

“Wet enough that if you even touch me over my clothes, I’m going to moan,” you admit, glancing back at him when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Promises, promises." Marcus reaches out and cups your pussy from behind, jumping up the last two steps to press close to you. "Fuck, I love you." He growls into your ear as he rubs your clit.

“Oh fuck—” Maybe it’s more of a whine than a groan but the arousal in your voice is unmistakable. Pressed between Marcus and the wall, your hips rock to get as much pressure and friction from his hand as absolutely possible. “I—I love you too, baby. Fuck.”

"Shower." He orders softly, pulling away from you reluctantly. He knows he can't fuck you in the hallway and his cock is already pressing against his shorts.

Since the discovery of your interest in a more submissive role sexually, you and Marcus have been enjoying playing with the dynamic. Soft orders for things that he knows will bring you both pleasure. Seeing how well you follow his instructions while he’s inside of you in any way. Right now you move with long strides to get to the shower as quickly as possible, already shedding your clothes along the way.

Smirking as he watches the rushed strip show, Marcus pulls his own shirt over his head. He's never had someone so enthusiastic for his touch and it's honestly its own kind of high. Plenty of women wanted him, but not with the hunger that you constantly display. He can only hope that it never changes. "So sexy." He huffs, unbuttoning his shorts to step out of them as he follows you.

“Oh yeah?” As soon as the water is on, you glance back over your shoulder and throw him the most tantalizing glance you can possibly summon. “Come and show me how much.”

“Fuck.” He hisses and immediately rushes forward to crowd into the shower with you, pressing kisses to your back as he folds in closer to you.

Marcus might be testing the waters with how dominant he’s comfortable being, but he still likes it when you show him how much you want him. When you hum at the feeling of his hands on your skin or moan deep in your throat at the perfect kiss. He even loves moments like these, when you whimper at the way his large hands spread over your body to hold you as close to him as you can possibly be without him being inside you.

“Love you.” He whispers into your skin, not wanting you to forget it in the two seconds since he has said it last.

“I love you, too.” Pressed into that little space together, you twist your head around to kiss him and then lean forward against the wall. There aren’t too many comfortable ways to fuck standing up under falling water, but having him press into you from behind is good no matter where you are.

His hands slide over your body and one sinks between your thighs. Immediately parting enough for his hands with a quickness than has him smiling. “You like when I finger you?” He teases. “Rub your sensitive little clit for you?”

“I like every way you touch me.” Your hips roll as if to prove it, searching for the right angle to get his thick fingers to sink inside of you.

“Greedy.” He chuckles softly. “That’s what you are.” He doesn’t pull his hand away, giving you what you want as two fingers slip inside you. “My greedy girl.”

“Can’t blame me for getting addicted.” You moan, forehead pressed against the tile, when his fingers scissor open inside you. “You feel so fucking good baby.”

“You feel better.” He groans quickly, working you open as the hot water rushes over you.

“Made just for you, baby.” If there was ever anyone you could truly feel that about, it’s Marcus. The way he seems to make you feel complete in ways you didn’t know you needed or even wanted is uncanny and beautiful. And the way he fills you to bursting is just as fantastic.

Marcus worships you with small kisses as his fingers move inside you, groaning in your ear about how good you feel. The thick length of him pressed against your ass. “Marcus—” His name is a whine and a prayer with every long stroke of his fingers. “Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

“I’m going to.” He promises, grinding against your ass as he continues to finger you. “Too bad you still have your birth control.” He moans in your ear. “Dreamed about you pregnant last night. Nice and round with my baby.”

“Fuck.” If anyone had suggested pregnancy or breeding or any of those fertility-related kinks to you before Marcus, you might have laughed them out of your bedroom. But in a few short weeks, you’ve got from wanting children but not looking forward to being pregnant — all the way to getting wet at the thought of starting to swell with Marcus’s baby. The impulse to promise you’ll stop taking it tomorrow is right on the tip of your tongue but you know it’s just a touch too soon. “Yeah?” You breathe instead. “You woke up hard to the thought of fucking me full of your baby?”

“Why do you think I was ravenous this morning?” He asks, chuckling at how he had woken you up. He had been a little embarrassed by the dream, so he hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but realized later that it was dumb to keep it from you. “When you’re ready, I’m going to be feral.”

“We need to start building that house now.” You insist, suddenly possessed of a whole new set of reasons to be eager for more privacy.

He chuckles as he nibbles on your shoulder, moving to the hollow of your neck. “Yeah? You want to paint a nursery right away baby?”

“We’re gonna have to if you keep growling about getting me pregnant.” Something which you apparently find far sexier than you anticipated, if the way your cunt throbs and pulses around his fingers is any indication.

"You love the idea." He challenges softly, humming against your pulse. "It's not my fault you're so perfect I can see the future we have in store."

“I love the idea so much I’m ready to say let’s just buy a house.” The throaty laugh you let out burns into a long moan when he curls his fingers inside you. “Need you, baby.”

"Never want you to say that I don't give you what you want." He pushes your feet apart, careful not to let you slip on the slick tile and pulls his fingers out of you to immediately replace them with his cock. A smooth transition planned to keep you from missing the fullness.

There is more freedom here, at least where volume is concerned, and when your moan bounces off the tile it is music to Marcus's ears. The utterly satisfying fullness of having him inside you is indescribable, even if you have tried to find the words several times talking to Syd. Sharp, powerful strokes will work you both up to your peak quickly, letting you enjoy the water that burns as hot as your skin as he pounds into you.

Marcus has learned that going harder is needed sometimes. It’s something that both of you enjoy and lose yourselves in, always making sure that you are still with him with filthy sweet praises in your ear. “My perfect princess.” He groans. “Taking me so well.”

It’s so much filthier coming from such a sweet, unassuming man like Marcus, and he presses you into the wall with a firmness that leaves absolutely no room for questioning. You are his. He is yours. And anything you moan to each other in the throes of passion is fair game. Filth, praise, and everything in between is welcome as your hips slap against your ass and your throat strangled around the endless cries of pleasure.

It’s never been this good. It’s cliched to even think it, but it’s true. He can barely even breathe when you are surrounding him. Drowning in you happily. “Fuck, I love you.” He promises. His hands squeeze and caress before sinking back between your thighs to rub your clit while he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace.

“Love you so — fuck! — so fucking much.” You practically claw at the wall of the shower when the calloused pads of his fingers find your swollen clit and press in on tight circles. Perfect little circles. “So close baby, so fucking close.”

“That’s it.” He groans. “Want you to cum. Want you to soak me. Need it.” He dips his hips lower and changes the angle that he shreds up inside you.

“Fuck—fuck—can’t wait until you’re fucking me full of your babies, oh god—” He’s already an expert at tearing you apart and putting you back together, and this time will be no exception. Your legs shake with it and your belly tightens, coiling at the base of your spine tightening as pleasure rips through you.

“That’s it, fuck, so good, Princess.” He hisses in pleasure. “Cum for me. Fuck, you feel so good squeezing my cock. I love it.” It only takes two or three more sharp snaps of his hips before you’re calling his name, sure that if anyone else is in the house right now they can definitely hear you but too overcome with pleasure and too full of him to care.

When you cum, it’s like your entire soul melt with his. Your heartbeats align and for a split second, Marcus can’t tell where you end and he begins. Perfectly fused together in ecstasy. As soon as you tighten around him, his thrusts ease, still moving but helping you float down from the precipice. “Good girl, fuck baby, you are so good to me.” He pants in your ear. “So good. Giving me everything, aren’t you? Yeah, you are, I can feel it.”

“Fill me up, baby.” Your legs may be rubber at this point but that sensation of his cum painting your inner walls is worth holding out for. It has you rocking your hips back even more than you need to ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm, hoping to bring him to his.

He loves when you say that. Groaning your name as his pace picks back up. The slap of his hips not quite as sharp, but insistent. “Gonna, fuck baby, gonna fill you up.” He moans in your ear. “Drip me all night.”

From the way his hips start to stutter you know he’s close, and you grind back against him with a low moan. “Gonna be dripping your cum while I meet all your friends.”

“Just the way I want you.” He groans, kissing your shoulder and moaning as he pushes deep, throbbing inside you as he fills you up.

There’s nothing but the sound of running water and panting breath for a minute or two as you both collect yourselves, arms wrapped around each other in the best way you can manage while he’s still inside you and you’re leaning on the shower wall. “I love you so fucking much.” You murmur, giggling softly at the giddy feeling still coursing through your veins.

“I love you too.” He whispers, smiling against your shoulder as the soft aftershocks continue to squeeze him as he softens inside you. “Addicted to everything about you.”

“Glad we agree about that.” It isn’t elegant but you twist around and manage to place a kiss on his jaw. “So…breeding kink, huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles sheepishly as he slowly pulls out of you. “Sorry. I know that took you by surprise.”

“Not in a bad way.” You promise him, fully turning around now, to put your arms around him before you both have to clean up. “Surprising but…potentially shared?”

“When it actually happens is still one hundred percent up to you.” He assures you, wanting you to know he would never pressure you, no matter how much he dreams about the future. “But shared, huh?”

“Surprise,” you tease, reaching for a washcloth.

“Every day is an adventure with you.” He chuckles and steals another kiss before he turns his attention to getting ready for tonight.

You’re right on time despite taking an overlong shower, arriving at the club in downtown Dallas in time to see a group of his old friends gathered at the bar.

“Hey.” A carefree grin lights up his face, reunited with old friends and their spouses. The band is about to leave to get on stage so it’s quick backslaps and promises to catch up later after he introduces you proudly. They disappear and it seems like all the other crowd around you to all talk about Marcus.

It’s much the same as it was with his cousins. Quick questions about you — or the occasional “That’s why I recognize you!” — but mostly wanting to tell stories about young Marcus in the olden days, teasing their old friend and gauging your reaction to their stories to decide if you’re good enough for him. You don’t mind of course. Your friends would have done the same if they hadn’t already met Marcus before you got together.

“Hey now.” Marcus pouts and protests but it’s all in good fun. He’s enjoying the stories; taking him back down memory lane. He hugs you tighter to him as he laughs at a college age story, where he had imbibed a little too much and made a fool of himself.

“Everyone got drunk and dumb in college at least once, didn’t they?” You hug his side and grin at him while his friends tease and chatter. “And I’m sure you weren’t the only college student in the world to skateboard across campus in boxers and a cowboy hat. I’m just impressed you didn’t fall off the board more if you were drunk.”

“Hammered.” He confirms with a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know if I would have felt anything that night.”

“All the better that you didn’t get hurt then,” you laugh with him, enjoying these glimpses into the Marcus of the past. “Though I think we should recreate the look. For posterity.”

“Bachelor party.” He grins, leaning in and kissing you on the nose. “One of those boring co-ed ones where the couple is disgusting and can’t be apart for even one night of debauchery.”

“Cause we’re gross in love.” The smile on your face is blinding, lighting you up from the inside out as you beam at him.

“Yes we are.” He agrees, unable to stop himself from kissing you again, as his friends groan playfully around you both.

“Yeah, yeah.” Marcus’s old college roommate huffs good naturedly and rolls his eyes. This is the guy Marcus had lived with before he moved off campus to live with Lara and he’s always known Marcus Pike to be exceptionally lucky in love. “Lucky bastard.”

“I am.” He agrees with a small nod. “I’m honestly surprised that you aren’t already engaged.” One of his closest college study partners snickers as she shoots you a grin. “He always was rushing into things headfirst.”

“Don’t think he didn’t give me a ring right away,” you joke, holding up the shimmering promise ring on your hand. “But we want to keep our heads on straight, so it’s a promise for now and an engagement a little bit into the future.”

“There’s the Marcus we know and love.” She giggles, taking your hand and admiring the ring. “Honey, it’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it?” The little heart-shaped diamonds wink and shine in the dim lighting of the club and you can’t help but smile proudly. “I told him he set a dangerous precedent with this one. If the promise ring is this beautiful then the engagement ring has to be, too.”

“Knowing Marcus, it’s perfectly designed to set with your promise ring.” She guesses, grinning wildly when he shuffles guiltily. “I knew it!” She throws her arm around his shoulder and smacks a playful kiss on his cheek. “Atta boy!”

“You did not buy it already!” You gasp in shock, giggling with unrestrained joy at the embarrassment and glee on his face.

“It’s safe.” He promises, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to risk them not having the perfect mate when I came back.”

“You’re incorrigibly sweet.” The idea that he’d gone so out of his way makes you melt on the spot, with warmth in your cheeks and a fluttering extra beat of your heart. “And I love you.”

His group of friends cheers when you kiss this time. For all the shit they give him, they are all thrill Marcus has found his sweet soulmate. Right then, the lights dim and everyone turns towards the stage. “Marcus Pike.” His eyes widen when the lead singer says his name. “Report to the stage. There is a bass waiting to be played.”

“Oh fuck yes!” When you squeal with absolute pure excitement you grab his side and practically cackle with glee. Even Agent Bailey is smirking in her plain clothes. “Go, baby! Go!”

“Oh my Gooooood.” Marcus groans as he’s practically shoved towards the stage and he shakes his head, pointing his finger at the band. “I hate you guys.” He moans, even as he shuffles closer, but they just grin.

“Best night ever!” You call back, grinning from ear to ear as you make your way to the front with his friends.

“This is going to be amazing.” Hooking her arm through yours, Stephanie grins at you. “Have you ever heard Marcus sing?”

“No.” And you pout about it for about two seconds before the glint returns to your eyes. “He always demurs and says he’s not that great but I know he’s being humble.”

Marcus shrugs out of his leather jacket and winds the strap of the bass around his neck and back to quickly strum a chord before adjusting the tension to his liking. “I’m going to hurt all of you.” He huffs, even if he’s grinning out at you.

“You fucking love us.” The lead singer, his old friend Leo, reminds him with a shit-eating grin.

Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs, not even able to deny it. “Which songs are we doing?” He asks instead.

“Set list is next to your pedal,” Leo tells him, grin only growing bolder when Marcus doesn’t deny anything. He knows his old friend misses playing. They’ve talked about it. Hence this silly little stunt. “Just like riding a bike, right Pike?”

He snorts and looks out at the crowd, his eyes automatically finding you and he smiles. “Yeah.” He scoffs. “If riding a bike means embarrassing the shit out of yourself in front of your soulmate.”

“It absolutely fucking does, dude.” Leo laughs, slapping Marcus on the back before he steps up to the mic to hype up the already excited crowd.

Marcus winks at you from the stage and looks at the lineup. Most of them are songs that they performed when he was in the band and quite a few that he knows Leo knows he knows. Apparently this wasn’t just a last minute deal. As Leo introduces the band, Marcus starts the bass chords for the first song.

It’s not the night you were planning — swaying to the music with Marcus with a cold beer in your hand while his friends played. This is infinitely better. Marcus is in his element up on that stage, showing off and playing to the crowd and making sure he finds your eyes every so often. Surrounded by friends and an enthusiastic audience, you could see Marcus enjoying many more nights like this. It makes you all the more glad that his friends decided to surprise him.

The crowd is a mix of older and younger people, the songs favorites and he enjoys the energy of the people singing along. Finally finished and sweating, in desperate need of a beer, he grins when you clap and yell.

"You are absolutely incredible." The second he hops down off the stage; you're practically jumping into his arms to give him a kiss. "And I never, ever want to hear anything about your singing voice again. That might be the sexiest singing ever."

He laughs, catching you easily and spinning you around. “Think you might be a little biased, Princess.” He teases, feeling euphoric and like he could do anything tonight.

"So?" The giggle that bubbles out of you is nothing short of adrenaline-infused joy. "I'm still right."

“Shit.” The laughter is infectious and he joins you. “I need a beer.” He admits, squeezing you close.

"Allow me." You insist, and when he makes a face you hold up a hand, still grinning. "Groupie's privilege."

“Groupie, huh?” He chuckles again and slides his hand down to your ass. “You have someone in mind?”

"Yeah," you poke his side and laugh, wiggling the fingers of your other hand in his face. "The one wearing the ring."

“Ring?” He glances at your hand and smirks. “That’s a pretty ring baby, but I could do better.” He flirts. “Dump that guy and run away with me. I’ve gotta sweet van and I know how to treat a lady.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"You think you can do better for me than my soulmate?" Batting your eyelashes back at him and half playing along, you tug Marcus toward the bar to get him his drink. "He's pretty amazing."

“I know I can.” He snorts, grinning at your playful banter. “You’ve never been with a musician baby.”

"Hmmm." An amused hum barely smothers your grin and laughter. "I have heard that bassists are experts with their fingering."

“Then you know.” He nods as you both slide up to the bar and Marcus orders a draft. He turns back to you. “My fingers are magic, baby.” He promises. “I can take you to the stars.”

It's too hard for you not to giggle at that, leaning into his side there at the bar. "I did know that already, though."

He breaks the character he was putting on and winks at you. “I was merely playing my favorite instrument.” He leans in and whispers in your ear. “Your pussy.”

"Marcus." Your tone is very false in its admonishment, and you're still grinning when you swat at his arm. "You can play her any time you like."

“Now?” He arches a brow in challenge.

You should have known he would jump on it, and you tilt your head at him with a wide-eyed expression. "I mean...not here but..." Glancing around the room proves that there is little cover to be found, and you bite your lip. "Bathroom?"

Marcus smirks and nods to the bartender when he sets his drink down. “Come on.” He takes your hand and drags you away, unable to even drink his beer in his haste to make you cum.

Practically able to feel the heaviness of Agent Bailey's eyes tracking you across the club, you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the promise of his hands on you is so close you can already feel it.

Normally, Marcus would never do this. Not now. But somehow, being with his own friends and playing, seems to have tapped into the wilder side he had exposed when he was younger. Not thinking like an FBI agent at this moment.

The club has two single-occupant bathrooms in a back hallway, and Marcus shoves open the door to the nearest one to tug you inside. "Holy shit." You're giggling again, bubbling over with it. "We're so lucky Agent Bailey trusts you."

“Amazing what a background check and a security clearance will get you.” He jokes as he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. He knows he can’t be in here too long with you, it would be rude, but he has to touch you right now. You are just adoring him too much.

It's almost too bad you wore jeans tonight, but you had wanted to keep that feeling of fullness after the shower and truth be told the denim inseam still managed to give you a little stimulation on the way out here tonight. Now Marcus pops the top button open with eager fingers and you whimper softly, biting back the sound so no one in the hall outside hears you.

“Gotta be quiet, Princess.” He coos, smirking at your already lust blown eyes. “Can’t let anyone know you’re fucking a musician in a bathroom, can you?”

You’ve never done anything like this before and he knows that, but with wide eyes and the shivering desire to obey, you nod your head and bite back a needy whine. His hand slides down your panties, finding you slick with new desire and the remnants of his cum covering your lips. He groans your name in your ear and immediately pushes two fingers deep inside you.

It takes effort not to cry out. Not to whimper or moan or keen his name at the sharp, sweet intrusion of two thick fingers deep in your pussy. The vaguely taboo tint of doing something sexual in a public place only makes it better — a surprising feeling that you’ll have to bite for later — and you bury your face in the crook of Marcus’s neck, knowing that it will muffle the little bit of sound that you simply can’t swallow in your own throat. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t tease you. Just pumping his fingers deep and twisting his wrist to rub your clit as he tries to see how fast he can make you cum for him.

It’s like being sent up in a rocket, where all you can do is lean back against the sink in the little bathroom and hold on tight. He knows your body, knows how to make you see stars without breaking much of a sweat, and the adrenaline from playing on stage that’s still coursing through him keeps the pace of his fingers thrusting inside you at an almost punishing speed that feels amazing.

It’s like his playing a song with your body. The soft whimper echoing the timing of the beat of his fingers. Kissing along your neck as he pants against your skin. Already throbbing in his pants, but this is for you. “Good girl, baby. You’re so sweet for me.” He groans quietly.

There's not really much you're doing for him right now except keeping quiet and spreading your legs so he can dive inside you, but you'll fix that later. You'll lay him out on his bed and worship him for as long as he will let you. Right now your back arches and you have to let go of your white knuckle hold on the counter in order to tug him closer, pouring the moan that you want to let loose into a kiss instead.

He feels when you let go. Your moan muffled by your tongue as your walls soak his fingers in their pulsing grip. Feeling your heartbeat through the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’s so good and he loves that you are enjoying yourself as the bar music plays loudly.

"Fucking hell..." When you can finally breathe again you look up him with a hazy smile. "I'm gonna give you the best blow job of your life later on," you promise him with a grin.

He smirks as he pulls his wet fingers out of your fluttering cunt and holds them up to the dim light of the bathroom. They are shiny with your slick and he reaches out to your lips. “Open.” He orders.

That was not at all the response you were expecting, but somehow it far sexier because of that, and even though you've just cum you can feel your pussy fluttering at what he wants you to do. It only takes a second before you open your mouth, letting him put his fingers heavily on your tongue before you obediently clean them of any trace of your slick.

Marcus groans quietly, cock twitching in his pants and all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink to fuck you this time, but he can’t. You pop his fingers out of his mouth and he hisses at your innocent look. “Good girl.” His voice is raspy and dripping with lust.

"I feel like I should start calling you something." Leaning up, you steal a kiss and then rebutton your jeans so the two of you can wash up and go back out to his friends. "But I don't know if you wanted to be that kind of dom."

Marcus chuckles as he watches you in the mirror. “So you’re telling me you want a red room in our new house, hm?”

"I'm not gonna be mad about it if you want one," you answer innocently. "I just had the very intense urge to call you...'daddy' a second ago, but I didn't know if you'd like it. That's all."

Marcus has never been in a situation where someone would call him daddy so he has to think about it. “Only one way to find out.” He decides, patting you on the ass as you move out from the sink so he can wash his hands.

"I guess we'll give it a try later then." The air dryer in the bathroom is loud enough to drown out any other conversation, so you finish cleaning up and steal yet another kiss before dragging him back out into the club feeling like you're living on Cloud Nine.

Everyone in the group knows what happened when the two of you disappeared. At least to some degree. They might not believe that it was only an orgasm for you, but the grins are wide and Marcus snorts at the whistling and clapping from the guys. You brush it off with burning hot cheeks and a grin and go to get fresh drinks from the bar. Tonight has been pretty fucking perfect in every way you can think of. The best possible way to say goodbye for now to Texas, although you know you'll be back as often as you can be.

Marcus accepts this beer quickly, feeling parched and he winks at you before he takes a sip. “I think she might want me to find a band in D.C.” he teases.

"Oh, ya think?" Stephanie snorts, leaning into Leo's side when he comes over to join you at a high-top table.

"Actually..." Leo smirks, looking down at his soulmate before he glances up and around the group. "The guys know this already but...there was a big reason we were glad Pike showed up tonight." He tips his beer toward Marcus in salute. "Tonight was the last Dallas show we might ever play."

“Really?” Marcus frowns instantly, looking around to the group. “You guys are gonna stop playing?”

"We're moving in about a month." Leo announces. His arm winds around Stephanie proudly and he squeezes her tight to his side. "Steph got an amazing job at George Washington Hospital. So we're actually moving to DC."

“What?” Marcus sputters and starts beaming. “That’s great!”

"I'm really excited," she admits, smiling even bigger and brighter than Marcus is. "So maybe you won't have to find a new band after all."

“Well, we’d still have to find other members.” He look at the guys. “Until you come out to visit.”

"Maybe we'll all move East." Their drummer, Clark, jokes. He takes a sip of his whiskey and leans on the table. "Y'all know anyone that needs an electrician or a carpenter? I could be persuaded."

“We’re gonna be building a house.” Marcus snorts. “You’re hired.” He’s joking, because he would never make that decision without you, but it’s interesting to think about. Clark is the best damn carpenter he knows.

"Actually..." Tilting your head to look at Marcus beside you, you shrug your shoulders a little and have a sip of your drink. "There's some work that needs to get done at the inn, too. I've been putting it off because my electrician retired last year and finding a new guy is a pain."

His brows lift in surprise and Clark smirks. “Really, tell me about it.” He encourages.

"It's a historical property," you clarify right away, knowing that that scares some people off. Which is fine with you, really. If they aren't comfortable working on historical structures, you're not going to work with them anyway. "Of course things have been updated, but the structure is colonial so it does require a little bit of tender loving care."

“That’s awesome.” Clark snorts. “I love historic structures. Have you rewired the entire building or are you having to replace as you uncover issues?” He asks. “Code has changed so much since knob and tube. And that’s recent in a historic home, depending on how historic.”

"I've only owned the property for a few years, so we're having to play catch up from the previous owner." His enthusiasm is met with plenty of your own, and you look back at Marcus with a wide grin. "You just watch how fast I adopt all your friends. I was not exaggerating about that being what my family does."

Marcus laughs and leans back. “Adopt away, babe.” He encourages you. “You’ll get sick of them quickly.” He teases, laughing again when they all shoot him a finger.

Two days after touching back down in DC, the early morning meeting that you have with your mother and the communications staffer whose job it is to wrangle all things concerning the First Kids means that you’re up and moving before Marcus. You’re essentially having breakfast at the White House, which is less cozy than having coffee and muffins with your soulmate, but this meeting is important. You really do have things to talk to your mother about.

The staffers show you to the less formal dining rooms in the apartment, a rare time the president allows business to be conducted here, but it’s important that you feel comfortable.

The family dining room in the White House residence is still beautiful, and honestly you prefer it to the larger state dining room. The smaller and more casual room makes it easier to convince yourself that it’s just a normal breakfast with your mother today. Agent Bailey blends into the background here, noticeably more relaxed when she is around other agents and not working solo. It’s a good morning for both of you, and you move to the sideboard in the room to make yourself a cup of coffee while you wait for your mother to come in.

The communications staffer comes in and greets you warmly, laying out folders by the plates. “Your mother should be here in a few minutes. She was just in a briefing.”

“How are you, Annette?” The senior staffer that’s joining you is a woman that you’ve known for years. She was also on your mother’s staff in Pennsylvania and she is a good friend of the family after so many years working side by side.

“I’m doing well, how about you?” She asks politely and gives you a warm smile. “Your mother told me about your soulmate, I’m so thrilled for you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you.” There’s going to be a lot more talk about Marcus as this goes on if your mother and Annette accept your proposal, but for now you sip your coffee and smile. “The adjustment to DC hasn’t been too bad for you? Everything’s been okay?” A little small talk before your mother comes in and breakfast gets served is actually nice. With everyone being so busy you feel like there are people you haven’t gotten to talk to in ages.

“It’s always crazy, but we are adjusting well.” She smiles. “Brad isn’t too fond of the traffic, but who is?” She snorts. “I keep threatening to steal a diplomatic plate.” She jokes.

"I'll nab them for you," you promise her, sitting back with your coffee and smiling at the way your promise ring glints in the room's lighting. "They can't fire me from being First Daughter."

She laughs, knowing that you are completely joking but it would be funny to see the headlines. “I’ll expect one then.” She teases, picking up her own coffee to sip.

It takes a few more minutes before your mother comes in, but you and Annette sit and chat and pour second (or third, in your case) cups of coffee.

“I’m sorry, Birdie, Annette.” Your mother rushes over to drop a kiss on your head and throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders briefly. “That took longer than I expected.”

“Everything okay?” You’re wildly aware that there is plenty that your mother deals with that you do not have the security clearance to know about, but that isn’t what you’re asking. You’re asking if your mother herself is okay.

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “But I wish that people would stop trying to impress me with long winded reports going over every minute detail.” She huffs with a laugh. “My favorite briefing is from DIA Agent York. He gives me the bare bones information and it’s over in less than five minutes.”

“Would he consider it a blessing or a curse to be out on the State dinner guest lists in appreciation for his speedy briefings?” You ask, practically snorting a laugh at breakfast is served.

“Knowing the kind of man he is, a curse.” She snorts, appreciating your joke but also because she would never willingly let a man like Dave York around her family unless he was protecting them.

“Well, it’s nice to know that the chaos around here is just normal chaos.” The smile you offer your mother is fully understanding. The inn is your own beautiful area of normalized chaos.

“Of course. Thank you for coming.” She acknowledges that her life, her career isn’t the center of her children’s lives and she doesn’t take for granted when they make time for it outside the normal Friday night dinners. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Mom.” An early morning meeting is a small sacrifice to make, especially when Marcus exhausted you last night trying out a sexy little card game you’d had stashed away since Syd’s bachelorette party a couple of years ago. It’s safe to say he liked the suggestions the game came up with. “There’s coffee, amazing food, and my favourite Mom, why wouldn’t I come? Although Marcus’s mother is pretty great. Solid second place in the Best Mom Ever competition.”

“I wanted to ask you how your week in Texas went.” She admits, pouring her own cup of coffee. It’s her third cup of the day so far, but she’s also been up since four.

“Honestly?” You pause when a staff member sets a plate of hot food in front of each of the three of you and a large platter of pastries and fruit in the center of the table. The chorus of Thank you’s is in unison. “It was fantastic. His parents are great, I got along pretty well with most of his cousins, and even met a bunch of his friends from college. It was…” you grin at The admission forming on your lips. “It was really wonderful. His parents are planning on coming up to visit us here this summer.”

“That’s wonderful.” Your mother lights up and she nods. “We will have to have a family dinner.” She suggests. “Here? Personal tour of the White House? Do you think that would be something they would enjoy? I know his father would probably enjoy a game while he’s here as well.”

“Marcus has season tickets to the Nationals so we’re definitely planning on seeing a game.” The omelets that have been set out in front of you are steaming and you dig in to your plate without hesitation. “I was going to ask you about a tour for them so thank you for jumping on that. And I know they would love to meet you guys. A family dinner would be really great.”

“Marcus is wonderful and I can guarantee that it’s a reflection of his parents.” Your mother hums. “And as your soulmate, I think it’s important that everyone meets and gets along.”

“I know his parents already said they wouldn’t be offended if you were too busy, but I do want you guys to meet.” Donna and Matthew Pike had sworn that they would completely understand if they didn’t see hide or hair of your parents during the trip, but that hadn’t sat well with you. Your parents have always made time for the important things in their kids’ lives no matter how busy they were.

“Absolutely not.” Your mother sounds offended by the idea. “There is no reason, barring a world catastrophe, where we should meet his parents at your engagement party or some other event. “No, if they want to have something low key, we don’t have to meet here. But I am eager to meet them.” She shoots you a grin. “Diplomacy can wait for one evening.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t pass up the chance to have dinner at the White House.” The grin you send your mother is beaming and appreciative. “That’s a bragging right not everyone gets. There will be plenty of informal meals in the future.”

“Then I will try to make sure that the chef makes something that will measure up to the amazing food Sydney will be plying them with.” If it wouldn’t hurt your business, your mother would have hired her to be the White House chef in a heartbeat.

“I will carry that compliment back to her on a silver platter.” Now that all three of you are eating — devouring — your breakfasts, you don’t mind getting into things. Of course your mother doesn’t have all day for this meeting, but you expect to be sitting here with Annette for at least a little while. “So, before I put my two cents in, what kind of social media and press presence were you thinking you might wrangle me into?” You’re curious, after all. Since Junie has a clear passion and Alex is handsome and personable, whatever route they chose for you was bound to be a little different.

“Well, I was hoping that we could show how small businesses are vital for our economy.” Your mother looks over at Annette who is nodding. “You are a small business owner and you work with others as well.”

“Okay.” You nod, mumbling the word as you finish a bite of food. “So highlighting the small businesses we work with? Making visible visits to other small businesses? That kind of thing?”

“I know that you utilize some of the local merchants for your supplies.” Your mother nods. “Maybe some clips of you with them? We can do a voice over with the message we want to sent.”

“I’ll compile a list of who we have good relationships with and you let me know who you want to have footage of?” It’s a big plug for the businesses that you do actual work with, so you can’t imagine any of them objecting. “Patronizing your local small businesses is a message I’m happy to get behind.”

“Corporations have garnered too much power in the country.” Your mother agrees. “We need to find a balance between them and a simpler time where everyone shopped local.”

“Alright, that’s easy enough.” Although you’re sure that other complications will arise in time, agreeing to this plan is at least something you’re glad to do. “Anything else?”

A look is exchanged between Annette and your mother. A pause that should be concerning. “It’s about…your soulmate.” She begins.

“What about him?” You frown instantly, not liking the tone that has been chosen for this thought.

“I was hoping that you might sit for an interview.” Annette is the one who voices it. “For the Love is Love legislation that your mother is trying to get passed.

“Oh!” The hesitation in their voices is nothing to do with Marcus, really, and you relax measurably. “Yes. We can definitely do that. And actually?” Looking between your mother and Annette, wondering what they’ll think of this idea coming from you of all people. “I think I can do you one bigger than that.”

“What do you have in mind, young lady?” Your mother almost smirks at the idea that you are suggesting something.

“I know I’m not the kid you expect this from.” The look on her face says that loud and clear and you completely understand why. “But Marcus and I talked it over, and we thought we would see what you thought about a First Family love story. From engagement to wedding to building a house.”

As a career politician, it’s been a rare time where your mother has been speechless, but she just gapes at you, her mouth slightly ajar in shock. “I— are you sure?”

"I mean we're not offering to have a White House photographer follow us around every second of every day, but we know that things are going to get said about us no matter what. Our family are public figures, and Marcus grew up with a father in the spotlight. We figured that getting ahead of the narrative and giving people honest glances into who we are was a hell of a lot better than people just speculating wildly."

“That is an amazingly gracious idea.” She can understand that you are going out on a huge limb and that is so appreciated. “Are you sure you would be comfortable with that scope?”

"We've talked through it," you tell her, knowing that it's probably unbelievable for her to hear this coming from you. "And I'm more confident when I have Marcus with me. I feel better able to handle the extra sets of eyes on my life. So...I thought it made sense not to waste that."

“I think that would be incredible.” She reaches out for your hand. “Only what you will give us though. No more.” Your father had reminded her right before leaving for her briefing that you are her daughter and probably the most private out of the three children. You don’t crave the spotlight at all.

"Marcus thought we could start with the engagement," you tell her, knowing that this is a big leap for you and trying not to be nervous about it. "But I think I should put something on my social media about him being my soulmate first. Maybe some photos from a date with a small announcement?"

“It will mitigate any issues that might spring up.” She doesn’t mention how there has been chatter about the congressman being unhappy about the demise of your relationship. That’s not your concern.

"Our favorite restaurant is family-owned, and we can pick something to do afterward that is still small business or community oriented." That shouldn't be too awfully hard, considering the DC area is always crawling with choices for things to do. You're spoiled for it, really.

“Whatever you think would be best.” She smiles at you. “While I would normally have one million ideas, I think it’s better if this is organically from you.”

“I know Marcus already has my engagement ring hidden away somewhere.” A fact which makes your cheeks burn and your smile turn a little dopey. “But I don’t know anything else as far as that goes. Is it okay if I give him your email so he can touch base with you, Annette?”

“Absolutely!” Annette agrees immediately, while your mother looks impressed that your soulmate has already bought your engagement ring. More importantly is your reaction to that information, you look dreamy eyed and she couldn’t be more happy for you. “I must applaud Marcus for thinking ahead.” Your mother hums, taking a small sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

“We’re both thinking ahead.” A fact which gives you no end of pleasure. The flight back from Dallas had been spent in dreams and future plans, cuddled together looking out the window and making up a list of big and small things you wanted for your future together. “We’re starting to plot out what we want for our house, too. That’s the timeline that’s going to take the longest.”

“Your house?” You had mentioned it before, but your mother ticks her head to the side curiously.

“We’re going to build,” you explain, reaching for a scone from the plate of pastries on the table. “Since the land that the inn is on is more than enough and I own all of it, we’re going to use a portion at the back of the acreage to build a house.”

“That sounds like an adventure.” She’s always known you enjoy doing things your way and it’s refreshing to see that apparently your soulmate understands how much of your being is invested in the inn.

“It’s going to feel like a mansion after sharing my apartment in the inn.” After a little discussion, Marcus had decided that he would rather share the smaller space with you while the house is being built and sublet his current place to Clark — ensuring that his friend can have the new start in DC that he wants. “But we’re excited. It’s a whole lot of planning and big steps forward all at once, and for once I really have a partner who’s on the same page as me.”

“That’s the most important thing.” She knows this from experience. There is absolutely no way she would be the current president if your father hadn’t been on the same page as her as far was what their lives might look like. It’s something she’s always wanted for all of you.

“So…I know it’s more than you were going to ask of me.” Which you appreciate. Your mother recognizing and honoring your boundaries is something she had to work on a lot when you were in your teens and twenties. You look at up her and crack a small, bashful grin. “But it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity for something as uplifting and positive as a White House wedding.”

“A White House wedding?” Your mother’s gasp is surprised, honestly believing you would never even entertain an idea like that. “Are you- you’re joking right? It’s not April Fools Day. That was days ago.”

“I am not joking.” Although you can definitely see why she would be shocked. This is not a decision that you made quickly or easily — or alone. “But I do have an ulterior motive,” you admit, wanting there to be full transparency. “I am hoping that a super-secure and publicly documented White House wedding is a trade off for letting us go on our honeymoon alone.”

She doesn’t even glance at Annette. “Absolutely.” Your mother immediately insists. “There is no way I would want any kind of publicity for your honeymoon. You don’t even have to negotiate for that.” It’s honestly alarming that you think she might want you to do something for her political career on your honeymoon.

“Oh, that isn’t what I meant,” you clarify immediately, seeing naked distress in your mother’s face when she’s normally so good at staying neutral. “I meant…without my Secret Service detail. Give Agent Bailey and Agent Sisson a few weeks off while we go overseas. Marcus is very well trained and definitely enough to keep just two of us safe.”

Her expression eases slightly, relieved that’s not what you are talking about and she nods. “I think that will be entirely appropriate.”

“I’m optimistic that we can make sure this works for everyone.” Sitting in your seat in the family dining room, you lean back with a little extra confidence — bolstered by the fact that you know Marcus is with you every step of the way, just like your family. “Make this happy, and exciting, and something to look forward to.”

“Whatever you want.” Your mother agrees. “Whenever you want.” She adds. “I don’t want you pushing up plans for us, sweetheart.”

“We said we wanted to get started on the house before we get engaged,” you tell your mother, though you have to appreciate her insistence here. Plenty of other parents would hack the timeline if they were in her shoes. “So it will depend on how quickly we start in on those plans.”

“And Marcus wants to stay at the inn while you build?” She asks, lifting a brow in surprise. While she has seen your little apartment and thinks that it’s darling, Sam had always insisted it was too small to share space for even more than a day.

“We talked it through and he feels like it’s more important for me to be close to the inn than for his commute to be shorter. He’s going to sublet his current place to a friend that wants to move up from Texas and then the friend can take over the lease when it comes up. We’ll have a little less space than we would if we stayed in his apartment, but we don’t mind close quarters.” A fact which you will not look bashful about right now…no not at all…

“That’s a very solid plan that you have laid out.” Annette compliments. “It seems like you and your soulmate have made a lot of plans.”

“Right now I’d call it our favorite hobby.” Second favorite, but you’re not talking about your sex life in front of your mother…

The president snorts and rolls her eyes as she reaches for another scoop of fruit. “Sure.”

“Anyway.” Forcibly getting the conversation back on track seems like a smart idea. “Annette is my point person, then?”

“Yes.” Your mother takes the hint with a small smile. “I reasoned you would be more comfortable with her than any of the new staff.”

“And I appreciate that.” You offer both your mother and Annette a grateful smile. “Especially since this is going to involve my soulmate, I’m very glad to have someone that I know and trust working with us.”

“I am eager to meet him.” She hadn’t been present at the state dinner, she had been sick, but from what she can tell she will like him.

“Why don’t you come by the inn and have dinner with us sometime in the next week or two?” You suggest, figuring that would be nicer than a formal sit up in an imposing setting. “Something casual for the first time you meet? So we can all relax a little.”

“That sounds perfect.” Annette knows the value of an informal meeting. It often creates a better mood for the entire interaction.

"Awesome." Having everything moving in a comfortable direction is as much as you could ask from this meeting, and it's nice to see your mother semi-relaxed at the start of a workday. "Well, I'm sure you have eighty-seven things to do today Mom, so I won't keep you."

She winces apologetically and looks at her watch. “I’m actually about three minutes late for a cabinet meeting.” She admits, standing up to move over and kiss your forehead again. “Are you and Marcus coming to dinner on Friday?”

"We'll be there with bells on," you promise her. "Go get to your meeting. I love you, and tell Dad I love him too."

“I will, sweetheart.” She promises. “Annette, I will see you later. Take your time finishing breakfast.”

The unfortunate truth is that the dinner with Annette might be necessary sooner rather than later. Within a bare twenty-four hours of the White House Easter Egg Roll and the official photos that refer to Marcus Pike as your soulmate, the commentary on social media and in online tabloids begins.

Marcus frowns as he opens the new story. It’s not uncommon for articles to be inflammatory, he knows that from the state dinner, but this is all but calling you a cheating liar. “Fuck.” He growls, eyes narrowing on the wording from the ‘anonymous source’.

"What's wrong?" Your nose is stuck in the schedule for next week while dinner is in the oven and you sit with Marcus in the living room, but you glance up when he sounds unhappy.

Marcus sighs and turns his phone towards you so you can read the headline. “I hate to accuse anyone, but this fucking sounds like your favorite congressman ex.”

"Sounds more like your ex, if you ask me." Vanessa might look sweet and innocent, but she can be cutthroat and single-minded in her goals when she sets herself to it. Something she learned from her justice father. "Think they're getting their jollies going after us together?"

“Shit- you think?” He ended things on a good note with Vanessa. Actually, she broke up with him, why would she smear his name?

"I don't know what her motive would be besides trying to get under Sam, but I wouldn't be surprised by it." Leaning forward to read the beginning of the article on his phone, you still frown. "I knew somebody was going to try saying we cheated, but damn."

“We know the truth.” Marcus frowns as he rereads the article. “This seems to imply that we are lying about being soulmates.” He looks over to you with a small grin. “That’s proven easily enough.”

"Hmm." That does make you smile, and you look up at him from behind your laptop. "Are you thinking we should stage a little photo on my social media as a response?"

“Absolutely.” He’s not thrilled about the tattoo you both share, but it’s solid evidence of your connection. “Your reputation won’t even tarnish a little.”

"I'm sure I'll get some snide comments about the kind of tattoo we share, but that's on me." You shrug at the truth of it. "I definitely should have gotten it somewhere else."

He laughs and shrugs. “Doesn’t make a difference now.” He reminds you. “It’s on both of our skin, so it’s proof. You’ve had it for years and so have I. Should we post new pictures and old ones with the tattoos?”

"We can do a little album on my Instagram." The suggestion is a welcome one, but it does mean you push your laptop away and set it on the coffee table to snuggle a little closer to him. "You have old photos with the tattoo in them?"

“I do.” Marcus chuckles. “But….” He shrugs. “They were taken by my ex-wife. She’s not in them.” He assures you.

“That’s fine.” Frankly, if Lara gets involved in the conversation it will just reinforce the fact that Marcus has had your marks for a very long time. “I can bribe Agent Sisson to be our photographer for a photo that has both of us in it.”

“And how do we want to casually set up pictures of our lower backs?” He asks with a grin.

“There’s nothing casual about what we’re doing.” You tuck yourself into his side and grin. “This is answering a call out.”

“To address any unfounded and untrue rumors….” He captions with a snort. “Straightforward. I like it.”

"If we wanted to do this casually, I would just say we should go take some pool pictures." You glance up at him, seeing what he thinks of that. "Violating my mom's no bikini rule for a good cause."

“I like bikini’s.” He agrees immediately, his eyes darkening slightly with lust.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk on your face is nearly instant. "Like we should take a tropical vacation level of like?"

“Like you need to book one immediately.” He huffs. “Texas didn’t count as a vacation.”

"Of course it did!" The fact that he's getting all bent out of shape imagining you in a bikini when he sees you naked on a daily basis is adorably, quite frankly. "And you can't even claim it wasn't sexy. We nearly broke that bed."

“Of course we did.” He laughs. “It’s old and we are horny.” He teases, biting his lip as he pulls you close. “But in a bikini, it’s so much less clothing to take off you.”

"You wouldn't even have to take it off." He's getting ideas and you turn your face up to smirk at him, fully encouraging those ideas to take form. "Just shove it aside. Nothing else needed."

“Fuck.” He hisses, clenching his jaw and imagining fucking you on a beach somewhere.

"Gonna keep that imagine in the spank bank, babe?" You can't help but tease him a little, knowing that you would be reacting exactly the same way if it was Marcus teasing you. But you started it this time so you get to tease.

“Fuck yes, I am.” He snorts. “We would get arrested. But it would be worth it.”

"There's a private beach where we could get away with it somewhere." Leaning up to press a kiss to Marcus's cheek, you're still grinning. "Good to know it's on the fantasy list, though."

“Very high up there.” Marcus admits with no shame. Just the freedom to explore these ideas with you is amazing, even if they are never acted on.

"I think..." The only thing that keeps you from shifting into his lap is the kitchen timer going off from the oven. Instead of climbing on to him you just climb off the couch to get to the baked pasta you put together right before Marcus got home from work. "That maybe we should do half the honeymoon in Paris and the other half on the Riviera? Get some swimsuit time in?"

“I like the way you think.” Marcus chuckles quietly, nodding. “How long are we talking? A few days in each place? A week?”

"A week each?" You pull him up from the couch to come to the kitchen with you. There's still a table to set and wine to pour, and all that good stuff. "Two weeks in France sounds like magic."

“I agree.” He grins and grabs the bottle of wine you had set out. It’s become a routine to have a glass with dinner and he enjoys the selection the inn has, although it annoys you that he insists on paying you for the wine.

"A big, beautiful wedding. Two weeks in Paris. A lovely house for us to move into." Every time you think through the plans you're starting to make for the future, they sound better and better.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus admits, smiling softly at the idea. “Have you thought about the style ideas I sent you?”

"I was showing your Pinterest board to Syd on our lunch today." The collection of Dutch Colonial, Queen Anne, Georgian, and Federal style houses that Marcus had put together to share with you is full of so many ideas that you had lost track of time in the kitchen and was almost late to interview a new member of the housekeeping staff. "She likes the Queen Anne style Victorians, of course."

“Of course she does.” Marcus grins as he lifts a brow. “Which one of those were you most interested in?” He doesn’t really mind what architectural style your home is in, as long as you are happy with the result.

Having decided that the edge of the property where you planned to build was far enough from the inn and her out buildings that you didn’t need to be loyal to the colonial structures, you have a little more freedom to choose what you build. “I think I like the Georgian houses you sent me best,” you tell him, setting down two plates of baked pasta in the table at your customary seats. “It complements the colonial style without being obsessive about matching, and it’s not overly complicated.”

“That’s a good choice, and it still fits with the overall theme of the property.” Marcus agrees. “However…one thing I think is a must in our new house.”

“What’s that?” The two of you settle down and pick up your forks, comfortable in the relative quiet of the apartment while Agent Bailey takes one of her occasional walks around the grounds.

“We have to have an elevator in our house.” He’s gotten used to the elevator at the inn and can’t imagine living without one now.

“Non-negotiable?” You tease, knowing that on the nights he goes to the gym after work he groans his way into the apartment on principle. “Noted. You will have your elevator.”

“Thank God.” He dramatically moans and tosses his head back. “Getting older sucks. You’ll see.” He teases about the age gap, but it’s only seven years. “Heartburn is about to start.”

“I was more thinking of our kids,” you admit quietly, poking your fork into a big bite of sausage and zucchini and pasta together. “What if one of them needs the house to be accessible?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” Marcus agrees. “But we will pray that all our children will be healthy, prepare in case they are not.”

“No matter what, they’ll be cared for and loved.” That, at least, you can both guarantee.

“Plus it will be easier when someone undoubtably breaks a leg.” Marcus snorts, laughing slightly. “It seemed like it was a contest in my family who would break a bone first every year.”

“Kids are gonna be clumsy,” you joke, pointing your fork at him in teasing accusation. “Got it.”

“But they will make up for it with good looks and charm.” He grins back at you and winks.

First Princess Cheating Scandal is the headline splashed across the tabloid on the magazine rack, and your hand twitches before reaching for it. This is the bullshit you absolutely hate about being in the public eye, and now that they’ve started coming for Marcus you hate it even more. The article inside claims that you faked your matching marks — including your scars, which is possible but extremely far fetched — and that you’ve been sleeping together since at least the night of the State dinner.

With another one of those dinners on the horizon and the weariness in your bones over now spending multiple weeks of time on this stupid non-issue, you pay for the magazine and continue on to the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building with it shoved in your purse. Agent Bailey’s advice had been to let it roll off your shoulders because people are always going to gossip, but as much as you’d like to do that it’s possible this might affect your mother’s image. Or your business. Your previously fully booked inn has had multiple cancelled reservations since this whole thing started.

So you walk on, with the little treats you made in a container in your purse and Marcus’s favorite midafternoon coffee order from the shop around the corner to surprise him at the office.

Marcus is pouring over a case when you knock on his office door. He doesn’t keep it closed, preferring to let his team come to him whenever. To feel like they can. Looking up, he sees you and immediately smiles. “Birdie.” He almost said Princess, but since the beginning of this entire ‘scandal’ non-scandal thing, it’s kind of soured the nickname. Immediately abandoning the file, he stands up and rushes around to give you a kiss. “This is a welcomed surprise.”

“I did a little baking with Syd this afternoon and the results were so good that I couldn’t wait to share.” The kiss is a comforting balm, even if it’s short, and you hold up the cup in your left hand. “And I brought your coffee.”

He groans in appreciation, of both the baked goods and the caffeine. “I was just about to get another cup from the break room, but this is better. His hand slides around your back and he rubs it soothingly, seeing the pinch of upset around your eyes but he wants you to talk to him naturally. “Want to come inside? Share it with me?”

You nod and step inside, your own cup from the coffeeshop clutched in your other hand. It’s herbal tea, though. Caffeine didn’t seem like a good idea when you’re already anxious. “Agent Bailey is in the bullpen, I hope you don’t mind.” Now that you’re in a relationship with a well-trained and fully competent federal agent, your Secret Service detail tends to be a bit more relaxed about giving you space.

“Not at all.” Marcus insists, guiding you over to the little couch in his office. “Rodriguez will show her where the donuts are.” He snickers.

“So…” he sits down beside you and you pull a small container of Madeleines out of your oversized purse to offer to him, but the magazine is sitting just underneath and it makes your eyebrows pinch together all over again. “We walked past a news stand on the way here and…saw a new headline.”

“Oh no.” Marcus sighs, he takes the container but sets them aside to give you his full attention. “Bad?”

“Not great.” With a resigned sigh, you pull the magazine out of your bag and hand it over for Marcus to inspect. Under the headline is the now-famous shot of the two of you dancing together and the article inside includes a paparazzi shot of the two of you grocery shopping alongside one torn from your social media of a date night.

He winces at the headline and huffs, opens it, flipping to the article and skimming it. “I want to really get this ‘anonymous source’ into a fucking interrogation room.” He growls, growing more and more upset at the outright lies that are being insinuated. “But it’s fucking hard to be sleeping with you when security from Vanessa’s building has me showing up on a timestamped tape.”

“Agent Bailey was less than thrilled with the accusation that she would lie about anything out of loyalty. You might have to fight her for that interrogation.” Shaking your head as he puts down the magazine, you’re craving his warmth and security enough that you lean in on the couch beside him. “I had an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll like it,” you admit quietly.

“What is it?” He wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close, wanting to protect you from all this. He feels guilty, like you would be better off if your connection hadn’t been acted on.

“It’s….a little dramatic.” You can admit that, too. Although at this point you feel like a dramatic response isn’t uncalled for.

It might be necessary, in Marcus’s opinion. He nods and hums while waiting for you to continue.

“How would you feel about having another tattoo?” The question is posed carefully, quietly, but you had been considering it all the way over and bandied it back and forth with Agent Bailey during your walk. While extreme, it would certainly put all doubts to rest to share a video of you getting a new tattoo and having it appear just seconds after being finished, fully formed on Marcus’s skin.

“No gang or face tattoos.” Marcus jokes, shrugging slightly. “I’ve got no problem if you want to get a tattoo, sweetheart.” He decides. “But I don’t want you to do that simply to prove that we are soulmates. We don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I know it’s not owed.” That thought had never even crossed your mind, actually. “But I want this put to rest and something small that we decide on together would be a nice mark to share under almost any circumstance.” Shrugging a little, you take a sip of your tea and sit back. “It’s just a thought. Obviously I’m not going to just go off and do this on my own. That’s the opposite of the point of it.”

“No, I’m not opposed to it.” Marcus protests softly. “I just want to make sure it’s not from a place of insecurity.”

“Even if we weren’t soulmates, I would think it was sweet to have matching tattoos,” you tell him honestly, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment when your mind was chaotic just a half hour ago.

“What kind are you thinking of?” He asks softly, smiling as you lean against him. He enjoys the warmth of moment. The quiet comfort of you with him.

“I haven’t come up with anything brilliant.” Or even anything original. You had mostly been waiting to talk to him about it. “But something small, that’s reasonably discreet? Behind the ear or on the ankle or something like that? Even the wrist, so you could cover it with your watch when you want. I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

“What about a little flower?” Marcus offers. “Behind the ear. I can cover that with my hair if I need to, and it can be your favorite bloom.”

“That sounds completely adorable.” The smile you have for him is beaming, feeling the way your heart bursts at his absolute acceptance and support. The love that radiates off him even in something as simple as knowing how much you love flowers.

“I thought you would like that.” He admits, tapping just behind your ear. “And you are so sensitive when I kiss right here. Especially when I’m inside you.”

“That’s mostly because you’re inside me.” Even though your cheeks burn with it and you slide down a little against his side, you’re still beaming at him. “If we’re going for things that enhance sensitivity then maybe I’ll have to look into piercings,” you tease.

“Don’t tease.” He pouts, twitching under the proper suit. “I can’t think about those kinds of things and be expected to work.”

“Oh, would you like if I had secret piercings?” You raise one eyebrow in interest, surprised to hear such an enthusiastic response to the passing idea.

“Piercings are hot.” Marcus would never deny that. “If you wanted to get some, I would support you completely. Enthusiastically.” He teases with a grin.

You hum at him, intrigued enough by the thought to actually heavily consider it, just imagining his face seeing them and how eager he would be to play with them. “That would be a very personal gift for my soulmate.”

Yes it would be. Marcus hums, trying and failing to hide a small smirk. “Personal is good.” He agrees, “but don’t feel like that’s something I have to have. If you want it, that’s one thing.”

"It's something to think about." It's no secret to him that you like things that mark you as his – your soulmate marks, of course, but your promise ring and occasionally wearing a piece of his clothing as well. Piercings might be something only he would see, but that just makes it all the more meaningful.

“Hmmmmmm.” He chuckles and nods his head. “It is. But I don’t think you came all the way down here to just fill my head with dirty thoughts.”

"I came down to surprise you with coffee and tell you that I love you." When he cocks his head slightly, you end up grinning. "I might have a little date night planned for you tonight. The caffeine has ulterior motives."

"Oh really?" He perks up, smiling slightly as he looks over at you in utter surprise. "So I need to make sure I'm home on time tonight?"

"Actually?" His delight is gratifying, and you squeeze his arm gently at your waist. "I'm taking you right from here. Our night is in the city."

"Kidnapping me, hmmm?" He grins widens and he bites his lip. "What does Agent Bailey think of such activities?"

"Oh, she helped me plan it." And she seemed to have fun with it, too, which made the little diversion even better. "Even made our dinner reservation for us."

"Wow." Marcus makes an impressed face. "That was a plot twist I didn't expect." he laughs. "Am I allowed to know any details or just show up and look pretty?"

"Just be your handsome self when I come back at five to pick you up." You stretch up to kiss his cheek, glad that he seems to be looking forward to tonight and hadn't been looking forward to just going home. "I'm going to scoot home, finish some paperwork, and get all dolled up for you."

"Bring me back an outfit?" Marcus asks, turning pleading eyes on you. "It can be another suit, I just want to freshen up too. Look my best."

"I'll bring something devastating but understated." That isn't hard considering Marcus's wardrobe is extremely well curated, but you still like to pay him the compliment as you pull yourself back to standing. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, babe."

He can’t help but grin a little more, your compliment making his shoulders lift confidently. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises, pressing his lips to yours in the office where there’s privacy, although he will walk you to the elevator.

"I love you." That is for the privacy of his office too, but only because it comes with such a doe-eyed look from you that it's nearly obscene.

“I love you too, Hummingbird.” He promises, the same sappy look in his eyes as he turns to guide you out of the office. His hand rests on your lower back, over the tattoo.

Unfortunately, no date night photos or other positive presence on your social media is enough to combat the now growing accusation and rumors surrounding your soulmate status. It's only two weeks after first presenting the idea to Marcus that you're both sitting in a tattoo studio with the artist that did a beautiful flower tattoo for Sydney's sister AnnaLeigh.

Marcus had asked Juan to come and film the entire thing, so it couldn’t be said that it was spliced together. Although he was sure that comment was coming. Some people couldn’t be pleased no matter what, they didn’t want to believe there was an innocent reason for them being together.

The simple design would not take long to ink into your skin, and the artist helped Juan set up two chairs so that both you and Marcus could be in the shot to capture the instant the finished tattoo appears on Marcus’s skin. The entire video would be shared on your social media, audio included, so you had had to work up the nerve to even just chat with Marcus on camera. Sharing another mark with him isn’t stressful at all, it’s letting the public so deeply into your personal life that is.

“I like the design.” Marcus sits down on the other side of you and takes your hand. “You should have let me do the tattoo this time.” He jokes. “I don’t know what it feels like.”

“We can switch if you want to?” You’re nervous, and he knows it. Not for getting the tattoo, but from everything that has been going on.

“That’s up to you, sweetheart. Whatever you want to do.” Marcus wouldn’t take this experience from you if you want it.

“It’s small,” the artist assures you, seeing anxiety in her clients. “And behind the ear doesn’t hurt very much for most people. I had one woman nearly fall asleep on the table because she liked the humming and the soft vibrations.”

Marcus can handle a little bit of pain. You know that. A tattoo is nothing compared to broken limbs or the incident when he was undercover and was shot — which had sent you in a flurry of cooing and coddling for about three days when he first told you about it. Tattooing is the kind of pain that some people find pleasurable, so you squeeze his hand and nod. “Why don’t you give it a shot? You might decide you like it and we’ll end up here all over again.”

“Is that alright with you?” Marcus asks the tattoo artist, knowing they might not appreciate a change of clientele.

“Fine with me.” She nods as she sets up her tray. “I have both of your information on file and believe it or not this happens a lot. Soulmates come in with a design they’ve chosen but they’ll change their mind at the last minute about which one of them will actually being sitting for it.”

Marcus chuckles and turns you both so he can sit down in the chair. “We’ll both be wearing it anyway.” He agrees. “So I don’t mind experiencing it.”

“I’ve never been shot but I guarantee it hurts less.” You move to let him sit in the artist’s chair and situate yourself by his side.

Marcus chuckles as the tattoo artists eyes widen. “I’m a federal agent.” He explains quietly. “It was just a flesh wound, but she thinks it’s impressive.”

“It is impressive!” And you’re just going to keep telling him so over and over until he caves, but right now you just throw a pout at him to make him laugh.

Marcus gives you the laugh and turns his head to the side, staring at you. “Still not as impressive as you are beautiful.” He murmurs softly, although the video picks it up.

“I love you, too.” The bashfulness in it is only because you weren’t expecting that kind of compliment right now — as the artist about to permanently ink Marcus’s skin is making sure she has everything she needs on her tray. You lean into his side and tip back your head, nothing but pure love in your eyes right before they slip shut at the brief press of your lips to his.

Marcus hums, an automatic sound that comes out of him when you kiss him. Excited that you are as free with your kisses as he is, it’s liberating to indulge whenever the urge strikes you. When you pull back, he grins. “Now I’m ready.”

"Go ahead and lean forward." Sitting down on her stool, the artist beckons Juan over with the camera for the best angle to watch the action and still have you in the shot. "And here goes nothing."

The first touch of the needle nearly makes Marcus jump. He barely resists the urge and then laughs quietly, trying not to move too much. “This is kind of ticklish.” He admits.

"Then it already hurts less than the one I got," you tease, glad that the experience isn't painful for him. Watching him giggle about it and knowing it's being filmed is downright endearing.

“I’m sorry.” Marcus apologizes, even though he has nothing to be sorry for. “I wish your experience was better.” He snorts after he says it. “Maybe not, or I might be covered in ink.”

"It wasn't bad, but it was definitely more than a tickle." The grin you shoot him, though, is knowing. "If you end up liking this so much tonight, we might be covered in ink because of you instead."

“Only areas that can be respectfully covered.” He teases you, sending you a wink as the artist continues to carefully work behind his ear.

"Sounds like a plan," you toss him a smirk in return and the set of you grow quiet after another round of low laughter, so the only sound in the room becomes the resilient buzz of the artist's needle.

Marcus could probably fall asleep if the noise didn’t vibrate in his head. He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “After this, we will have to go get that cream to keep it clean.”

"We can get a Tattoo Goo kit before we leave the shop." His hand is in yours and you squeeze it reassuringly. "It's going to be tender for a bit, but it won't take too long to heal."

“I’m sure you will be completely cuddly as I heal.” He snickers quietly.

"I think having a cuddly girlfriend is mandatory for the healing process," you tell him seriously. At this point you've completely forgotten Juan is here for any other reason besides moral support. Forgotten about the phone in his hands being a camera and the fact that this video will become public for the world to see. This is just a moment between you and your soulmate. And a sweet one, at that.

“You should have seen me when the scar from your appendix showed up.” He snorts. “I was upset that my soulmate was hurt.”

“We were kids.” Sure he’s older than you, but you were so young when you had appendicitis. “Did it really worry you that much?”

“Yeah.” Marcus admits, not ashamed of that in the least. “Not knowing what happened, I kept imagining horrible things. Waited for other scars to possibly show up for at least a week.”

“If you had scarred from your broken leg or when you hurt your shoulder, I probably would have felt the same way.” It’s less of an admission from you and more of a confirmation, telling him in no uncertain terms how much you have always cared about his well-being. “Which is still your gunshot wound is such a big deal.” One of your fingers digs into his arm playfully. “That scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, now if I get shot, you can baby me right away.” He teases. “And tell the plastic surgeon to make the scar invisible.”

"I don't mind wearing your scars." The thought comes out quieter than you mean for it to, holding Marcus's hand tightly in yours. "I'm proud of you. And proud to wear your marks, no matter how many of them there are."

“Hopefully not too many more.” He hopes, smiling at you. “But I’m proud to wear your marks too, Hummingbird.”

The session doesn’t last too much longer. Marcus has a high pain tolerance but the tattoo mainly just tickles him, making him grin and laugh as he chats with you and with the artist for the last few minutes. When she pronounces him done and stands back, there is a moment of silence before the permanence of the piece takes hold on him and transfers instantly to your skin.

A sharp intake of breath at the momentary pain is how you know it has happened, and you glance over at Marcus — and Juan with your phone — just absolutely beaming with happiness. “Does it look as good on me as it does on him?”

Marcus inspects the area, forgetting the camera is even on and recording. He leans in and presses a kiss to the tattoo. “It looks even better, Princess.” He promises with a smile.

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

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My Masterlist!

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Mentions of sick loved ones, mutual pining, personal guilt, relationship turmoil. Summary: After only knowing Marcus for a brief time, you can already feel emotions beginning to build. Will that spell trouble for the relationship you've worked so hard to build with Sam, or will something else altogether begun to sow seeds of doubt? Notes: Once again I'm afraid I have to ask forgiveness in the edit of this chapter. I went away for a few days this week and ever since my chronic illness has been utterly kicking my ass. Hopefully I didn't miss too many errors here.

Game night will probably go down in the year's history as one of the best and most fun times that Marcus has had in a long time. He had laughed until his stomach hurt, his abs aching the next week for at least three days. He's gotten an open invitation back, but he doesn't know if that was a good thing, if he's honest with himself. His attraction to you is something that he's got to get ahold of if he's going to socialize with you more. It seems like everything about you just makes the heavens sing and the sun shine. It's crazy and he hates that, considering you are very happy in a relationship.

Eastern Market is his usual haunt on the weekend, preferring it to a generic grocery store, and he’s lost in thought enough that he doesn’t notice a familiar face at the florist’s stand across the way as he’s walking through the stalls. "Some peaches will be good." Marcus decides, looking through some of the fruits that have been trucked in from warmer states. "Peach smoothies." He decides, walking towards the gorgeous plump peaches on display.

If you were any other person in the world, it would be you who bumped into him and not the Secret Service agent contractually obligated to come along on your errands. As it is, when Agent Bailey defends you from being bumped into by the familiar figure of Marcus Pike, you’re the one who apologizes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, excuse u—Marcus?”

“Oh, hi!” Marcus shakes his head, reaching out and taking your arm. “I am so sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He apologizes. “Was focused on getting some peaches and didn’t notice anything or anyone, obviously.” He flushes slightly, feeling that pull towards you and hating that he looks like a jerk, or maybe just thoughtless, in front of you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

"Not at all." The flowers in your hands and the canvas shopping bags on your arm aren't harmed either, and you find yourself smiling much more brightly than you were even a second ago. "No harm done to me or to Agent Bailey, not to worry. Is it errand day for you, too?"

“Trying to eat healthier.” Marcus admits, slightly upset by the prospect but he figures that just comes with getting older. “Figured the produce here would be better than in a grocery store. Are these for the inn?” He asks, looking at the flowers in your hands and immediately reaches for them. “Let me help.”

"I thought my apartment could use some brightening up." He's seen the organized chaos that you live in and you're not embarrassed by it by any means, but there is a small sting to buying your own flowers just a few days before Valentine's Day. Sam isn't a flowers guy and that's perfectly fine, but you're definitely a flowers girl. When Marcus scoops them up without a second thought and stays by your side, you can feel your cheeks heat up. "I, um—thank you.

“Of course.” He huffs, as if newly made acquaintances should always scoop up flowers from you. “You chose brilliantly. They are gorgeous. Have you already paid for them?”

"Yes, so don't even try." It's just a playful warning that comes with a waggle of your finger, but you really have a feeling that he would try to pay for them if you hadn't.

He grumbles at that slightly. “Well, okay.” It’s almost pathetic that he takes note of what kind of flowers you like and he smirks. “So which flower is your favorite in this?” He asks.

"These," you point out a geometrically fascinating flower with petals that seem to spiral endlessly. "They're called camellias. We called them Winter Roses when I was growing up, but I've always loved them." The intimacy of the question goes straight over your head, just excited to have something pretty to split amongst the small vases in your little space.

“Camellias.” Marcus repeats the flower, filing away the information even though he shouldn’t use it. “They are beautiful.”

"Not everyone has them, so I tend to get my flowers here just to make sure they're in the mix." Barely aware that you're standing in the middle of a bustling market with people trying to move all around you, you have to shake away the warmth settling in you that is definitely not due to any kind of attraction. Nope. Not even a little. Not at all. "You, um..." you gesture to the next stall, where he was originally headed when the collision happened. "Peaches?"

“Peaches? Oh right, peaches.” Marcus laughs at himself and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, I’m – I forgot.” He snorts. “I was thinking about fresh peach smoothies.”

"Ooooo, that sounds incredible." All of a sudden it's the best idea you've heard all day, and you grin mischievously. "It's not exactly standard, but the next time you're craving a sweet after having Indian take out? Make a peach smoothie. It's got that same vibe as a mango lassi but it's slightly sweeter, and it's the most refreshing thing ever."

“I was actually thinking about having Indian tonight.” Marcus admits with a grin. “To reward myself for eating healthier.”

"Best reward in the world." You agree easily. "I told myself I was going to cook tonight and make sure there were leftovers for another day this week, but I am teetering dangerously close to just calling for take-out as well."

"Well..." Marcus almost doesn't offer, because of the fact that you have a boyfriend, but he is truly meaning this as a friendly offer. "If we went to have Indian together, it wouldn't be as bad as ordering it as take out, would it?" He ventures, raising his brows in offer.

You should say no, You should absolutely say no. Not because the invitation is improper in any way — after all, he's a friend. But because of the way your heart bumps and skips at the offer like you hope he means it as more. He doesn't, and that is a good thing. In fact, Marcus and Sam got along fairly well at game night. But you can't help the way your cheeks burn pleasantly. "DuPont Circle?" You ask, confirming that he means he was intending to order from the same place you were. When he nods, you do too. "That sounds really nice."

"This way..." He's immensely happy you are agreeing to come to eat with him. "We can order the samosas and pakoras and not feel any guilt what so ever." He tells you, grinning at you.

"No guilt, but definitely extra time at the gym." His smile is dangerous, but apparently your self-preservation instincts aren't nearly as good as you think they are, because the only alarm bell going off in your head is the one that says Don't Let It Become a Date! which you just brush off. Surely that won't even be a possibility. It can't, because you and Sam have a good thing going. "Although, you're not masochistic enough to have my little brother as your biweekly gym buddy, so your trips are probably far less traumatic than mine," you offer with a laugh.

"Nope." Marcus chuckles. "I just torture myself by running around the Mall during my lunchbreaks instead of spending it in museums or at the food trucks." He snorts. "I just get to smell them just off the Mall."

"Have you lived in DC for three years without doing any of the food trucks out on the Mall?" That might be the most appalling thing you've ever heard in your life, and you nearly drop the peach that you had just picked up to add to your basket.

"Oh no." He laughs at that. "First six months I was here, I fucking lived off food trucks." He admits. "I was undercover and my contact checked in with me through the food trucks."

"Oh, thank God." The both of you laugh as you wipe imaginary sweat of your forehead as though it had made you nervous. "If you had never had Julia's Empanadas, I might have had to drag you down to the Mall right now."

"Then I wouldn't have room for Indian." Marcus groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of how many empanadas he would try to fit in his stomach if you went to Julia's Empanadas. "And I'm really craving Indian."

"I am too." Although, now you're going to be thinking about empanadas for ages. Maybe you'll have to try making some. "How has your week been?" Making small talk is easy with him, as you poke through the fruit bins to find peaches, apples, and pears to snack on this week.

"It's been alright." He shrugs slightly. "Depositions for a few upcoming cases. So I've had to revisit case files and work with the district attorney's office to make sure that there aren't any surprises."

"Paperwork and meetings," you nod in understanding. "I get that. Being my own boss is a hell of a lot more paperwork and meetings than I ever thought it would be."

"Ordering supplies, creating events to drum up interest. Balancing budgets." He nods. "I can imagine that it feels like it's hard to get a free moment for yourself."

The way you nod is tired but proud. Every ounce of hard work that you put into that inn is worthwhile, and you do it with straight shoulders and as much determination as you can possibly summon. "Today is my first day off in...two or three weeks? It's...a lot. But it's so worthwhile. And it means that Syd has her place, too. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"So how did you come to have the inn?" Marcus has been curious about that. "Was it always your dream? Or something you fell into?'

"I really, really liked throwing parties when I was younger." That's the easy way to start, as you both move to the line to pay for your bundles of fruit at this particular stall. "That grew up into loving to have guests over all the time. And then dreaming about running a hotel. So I took my sociology and history double major and got a job a hotel in Philly after college, putting myself through a hospitality degree while I started learning the ropes. It was a lot of years of working my way up, but eventually I got hired as the manager for the Inn at Jones Point under the old owners. They were struggling to keep up with new technology and losing clients because of it, and then..." Your eyes flick up to Marcus, almost apologizing for telling him the whole story. "We found out the reason Anita was having so much trouble learning the new technology was early-onset dementia alongside a sizeable brain tumor. I bought the inn from them when they made the decision that a comfortable end to her life was the most important thing they could do. Michael – Anita's husband – he comes around once a week for dinner and to check up on the place now that she's gone. He likes to keep an eye on it for her."

“That’s….” Marcus softens so much at the background story. “Beautiful. You are maintaining their legacy while adapting it to the new realities of time. Weathering time.”

"That farmhouse has been standing since the 1700s. We're just part of its legacy, not the other way around." The pair of you step up to be next in line, with Agent Bailey standing mere feet away managing to look imposing and nonchalant all at once. "The best part is that it could give Sydney her restaurant, and Juan a way to find himself in all the event planning. We didn't know what a team we'd be until we got going and now it's...it's just amazing."

“That’s incredible, and the fact that the place runs so smoothly is a testament to your hard work.” Marcus praises. He’s read some of the reviews and they are all positive, even the ones that had events beyond your control.

“That’s very kind of you.” Kind is an operative word for Marcus. As are sweet, funny, intelli— Nope, stop it, you’re getting dreamy again. Even the momentary distraction of having to pay for fruit is a welcome one if it gets your mind off that track.

Ouch. Kind is such a word that lands him in the friend zone. Which is where he has to be with you, but it still hurts. No longer edgy or cool like he was when he was in his old band. “What else do you need to get?” He asks, swinging his head around at the options available.

“I’m almost done actually.” It didn’t escape you that he flinched slightly when you were trying to be grateful and at least a little complimentary, and suddenly your stomach flips in fear that he might not like spending time with you are much as it seems. Or that you’d done something wrong. “I just wanted to get some fresh bread. But…I don’t know how much more you have to do.”

“Nothing.” He promises, shooting you a grin. “The least I can do is carrying things. Since you are saving me from a night of trying to cook.”

“Never learned to cook or just never got good at it?” There is a difference, after all, and it isn’t about want. Some people find cooking to be an incredible challenge. He gives you a look when you take your parcel of fruit from the vendor and accepts it on your behalf with thanks. Like a damn gentleman, you think with a pant in your chest.

“Never really had the time or the inclination.” He admits. “It’s hard to be enthusiastic about cooking for one, you know what I mean?”

“But that’s when you get to experiment!” Maybe it’s years of being friends with Sydney, whose world revolves around her tastebuds, but cooking has always been an outlet for you. It’s one of the only things you dislike about your apartment —the teeny tiny kitchen. “You can test out new things and weird combinations, and if it’s not great then the only person who knows is you. But if it’s awesome?” You grin up at him like you’re unveiling some kind of ultimate secret. “You become a rockstar at the next office potluck.”

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a rockstar anyway.” He jokes. “I’m the one who brings in the pizza and Chinese for the late nights in the office.”

“Okay, actually, that does count for a lot.” Walking in the direction of the bakery where you get all of your sweet treats and fresh bread, you readjust your shopping bag on your arm and try to glance around the place to survey your surroundings the way Agent Bailey has been teaching you. A comprehensive knowledge of your surroundings, she calls it. “I can’t really cook for my staff much when they have Sydney’s kitchen nearby, but I leave baked goods in the break room from time to time as a thank you. They work so hard.”

“There’s nothing better than snagging a muffin or a cookie when you’re rushing around.” Marcus agrees wisely.

“Or a slice of pizza.” It sounds like he works hard to keep his team in good spirits the same way you do, and you have to commend that in someone who works in such a dour field. Even art crimes — being less violent in nature, according to what you looked up the other night out of sheer curiosity — can’t possible be all sunshine and roses.

“Exactly.” He nods. “Sometimes we have all night surveillance or going through the evidence when something is time sensitive. My teams work better when they are well fed, and know how much they are appreciated.” He shrugs slightly, “everyone could benefit from know that every now and again.”

"Sometimes the weddings we run are just...they're insane. Or last year we had an entire family reunion take over the grounds for four very long days. I can't imagine it's half as stressful as what you deal with but the days can be really long and busy in their own right." For what it's worth, at least, you do love your job. And it's obvious that Marcus feels just as passionately about what he does.

“Oof.” He winces. “I bet the staff wanted to break out a bottle of bubbly when they were checked out.” Marcus jokes, chuckling slightly. “Yeah a lot of people don’t understand that when you love your job, the long hours are worth it.”

"Yeah." A tinge of regret breaks your smile, barely twitching in the corner of your mouth, and you barely nod. He can't possibly know what kind of a nerve he's hit — hell, you barely know yourself and you're the one feeling it. It just...it stings.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks, immediately concerned when your smile seems almost sad.

"No." You reassure him much too quickly, and flinch in your own right when he looks skeptical. "It's just...not everyone thinks what I do is as worthwhile as, say, something like what you do. A—and that makes sense. Running an inn and upholding the law are—they're not the same. I'm not saying they are. It's just...that important to me. That's all."

“Whoever believes that is wrong.” Marcus insists wholeheartedly. “Running an inn is absolutely crucial. Maybe not to everyone, but to the people who need a little escape, a retreat to relax and revive themselves, your inn is a haven to them.” He is speaking passionately because he believes it. “When I’m out of town on a case, I hope that I can book a little inn. Something more personable than a Holiday Inn, so when I come back, it’s like a little slice of home.”

“I appreciate that. Really. It’s—I guess it’s a sore spot at the moment and I didn’t realize it. That’s all.” And you are absolutely not going to allow yourself to indulge in the image of Marcus coming back to the inn for you. Your place is not his ‘ little slice of home’. Even if you’re wondering what the would feel like if it was real.

“Well, you can always gripe and complain if you need to.” He promises.

“No, that’s—that’s not it.” It’s a little embarrassing, if you’re honest, but that’s only because you’re fighting being attracted to the man beside you. Otherwise you would just be chatting to a friend. “I just…don’t get to spend as much time with Sam as he would like. That’s all. Because we both have busy jobs.”

Marcus winces. “With the job he has, it would be hard unless you didn’t work.” He murmurs quietly. “But what counts is that you make the time you do have together special.”

“That’s what I said. Making the most of our time it’s what is most important.” The topic had come up again in conversation when you and Sam had talked about next steps — through the odd avenue of discussing your commute. His house to the inn isn’t a prohibitive drive, but it will warrant either having a lot of work done on your car or getting an upgrade. Right now you have no commute whatsoever, so you’re barely using your car outside of town.

“My favorite thing to do with my ex-wife was to curl up and watch a movie.” He admits. “Or work on a crossword together.”

“Those…” You laugh quietly, almost self-consciously, and shrug with the air of someone who is just about to give up. “Are the things I do with my good friend Agent Bailey, here. Though she kicks my ass at the Times Sunday crossword every single week.”

He rolls his eyes at himself. “I know it’s an old person’s activity, but I was normally exhausted from the academy.”

“Don’t you dare besmirch the Times Crossword.” A waggles finger and disapproving tsk seems to amuse him and it makes you smile, too. “That’s a mandatory topic of conversation at my mother’s dinner table.”

“Your mother enjoys the Times Crossword?” He asks, grinning at you. “She would get along with my parents. They have two subscriptions just so they can each do their own.”

“I’m keeping that in mind for Dad’s birthday this year.” It’s a brilliant idea. They would love to make a competition of it. It would be the highlight of their week.

“My parents got it as a wedding present and they enjoyed it so much, they kept it.” He tells you, smiling fondly at the memory of the two of them arguing playfully over their crosswords.

“That’s incredibly sweet.” There is a crowd at the bakery, as to be expected, so you and Marcus step into line to wait your turn. “I love the idea of being able to share small things with your partner. They’re every bit as important as the grand gestures, if not more.”

“Sometimes the smaller gestures are the most meaningful.” He admits with a grin. “I love cherry Danishes, and so did my ex. We would find these combo boxes of assorted and she would get the cherry one.”

“Giving up your favorite Danish flavor is not small.” An attempt at lightening the already light and sweet conversation is maybe…just trying to keep your own mind off of things. But that somehow doesn’t keep you from admitting the truth before you can stop yourself. “I have yet to meet the man I would give up my lemon poppyseed muffin for.”

“That’s only because you’ve never traded for a raspberry crumble muffin.” Marcus vows, smirking at the way you look stingy, even though he knows for a fact you aren’t.

“You’re on, Pike.” The smirk on his lips spreads to yours as effortlessly as breathing. “But lemon poppyseed is pretty impossible to unseat.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a raspberry crumble then.” He huffs, looking offended at the idea. “But I don’t think this place has them. I get them from a little bakery near the Bureau. I’ll have to bring you one.”

“I’ll get you a lemon poppyseed from the coffeeshop I go to in Old Town.” Even as its coming out of your mouth you know it sounds like flirting, but the fact is that you just feel so naturally comfortable with him. There is nothing flirtatious about muffins, you tell yourself. Nothing at all. “We can compare notes.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.” Marcus is extremely happy that you would like to make plans with him, any plans. Even if it’s just a friendly wager. “I’ll get the raspberry crumble. I say we each get two. And if you like the other one so much, you have to give up both.”

“Deal.” You put your hand out to him, willing to make a friendly bet on almost anything. That’s gotten you and your brother in trouble before, but this is harmless.

Marcus grins as he takes your hand, imagining that lightning bolts are shooting up his hand. Winking, he laughs, “just don’t be disappointed when you break that little rule of yours for me.” He boasts.

“We’ll see.” The tone of the thing really tries for teasing, but you end up so taken aback by the electricity in shaking his hand that you fluster — which is only compounded when you end up next in line and completely forget the word for ‘sourdough’ in the process.

“I, uh, I want-“ you seem completely out of it, and the bored looking boy behind the counter seems to be getting annoyed with you. “Can we have just a second?” Marcus asks, pulling you back and allowing another couple to go ahead of the two of you. “I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted.” He takes the blame, not wanting to embarrass you.

“Bread?” You manage to supply, feeling like a world class idiot for clamming up on something so routine. If being around him is going to be this big of a problem, you need to get yourself in order.

“Yeah, bread.” He nods, wrinkling his nose slightly. “What’s that type that I like?”

At this point he could mean him or he could mean you, or he could even just be speaking in theoreticals, but you have you head in straight enough again to blow out a breath and remember yourself. “Sourdough. I forgot the damn word for sourdough.”

“Thats it.” He snaps his fingers and looks back at the boy. “Could we get some sourdough bread?”

“Sure.” The kid looks at the both of you like you’ve gone insane but turns around to bag a loaf of freshly baked bread without a second thought for his strange customers.

Marcus pays for the bread, even with you huffing beside him and guides you towards the clearing. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Only because you saved me from sputtering like an idiot.” It’s beside the point that he is also the reason you were sputtering in the first place. That doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that you couldn’t keep it together that bothers you. “Thanks for that.”

“Not at all.” He waves off your thanks. “Everyone has those moments.” He promises, smiling at you.

There is such a moment of relief when you exhale again that you have to make light of it or else you’re in danger of feeling far more grateful than is probably necessary, and that makes your chest ache in a dull and insistent kind of way. “That’s either very sweet of you or a complete placation, but either way I appreciate it.”

“No placation, I promise.” He crosses his finger over his heart and smiles at you. “Anywhere else?”

“That was the last thing for me.” Even though you have plans to have dinner with him that night you still can’t help feeling a little disappointed that the impromptu shopping trip has come to an end. “Unless you needed something else?”

“Well…” Marcus looks around, not wanting to let you leave just yet. “Maybe I could find a plant to kill?” He asks. “Something to brighten up my place?”

"Bit of a black thumb?" The excuse to not say goodbye yet is welcome, and you end up smiling more broadly than you mean to. "Let's see what we can do about that."

“More that I forget to set up someone to water my plants when I go out of town and they die miserable, thirsty deaths while I’m away.” He flashes you a guilty grin. “I’m a murderer.”

“Very rude of you to do to your plants.” The wholesome, straight-faced nod that you cry for cracks on a giggle, though, and you nod in the direction of an entirely different florist stand than the one you were at before. “What you need is a succulent.”

“That sounds a little dirty.” Marcus admits, not even realizes how flirtatious that sounds.

It does. And you didn’t mean for it to. You were just talking about the type of plant he could get. But then there’s that grin on his face and it’s so fucking puckish and * handsome* that you practically groan about how unfair the whole damn thing is. “Whoops?” You offer, obviously not apologetic in the least.

He snorts and winks at you again. “I don’t mind. Sometimes being a little dirty is a good thing.” It’s borderline inappropriate, so Marcus doesn’t say anything else.

“Sometimes it’s the fun of an otherwise boring day.” But since you’re genuinely afraid you might say too much if you go ahead with this line of thought, and since Agent Bailey is steadily avoiding your eyes like an older sister trying not to bear witness to your trouble making, you clear your throat and change the subject. “I think I snake plant would work for you. They’re really easy to care for and great for beginners or busy people.”

Marcus takes your lead and nods seriously. “I’ll take some advice. Any advice.” He shrugs slightly. “I wish I had the time for pets, but I don’t and it’s wrong to do that to them.”

“If I could have a dog, I would have a little corgi or a Yorkie in a heartbeat.” It comes with an almost wistful sigh, but you feel the same way he does. It would be cruel to the animal you’re supposed to be taking care of. “But since I have no concept of work-life balance? I have plants.”

“I’ll start with plants.” Marcus huffs. “If I can keep one alive? Maybe I’ll move on to cats? They are low maintenance.”

“Cats are fantastic. Sydney and Anna Leigh always had a couple when we were growing up and they can’t be the sweetest animals in the world.” There is a florist that specializes in succulents and potted plants further into the market and you head that way, chatting as you go. “I just always said I would want my kids to grow up with a puppy.”

“Puppy, a swing set in the yard and dinner together.” Marcus adds wistfully, having his own version of that same dream. “Every kid needs a puppy pal.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” And the knot in your stomach tells you that that isn’t a coincidence — that the future you’ve dreamt about probably lines up with the one he wants in so many different ways.

“We had my dog for nearly twenty years.” Marcus tells you. “He was my best friend and the best soul I’ve ever met.”

“I got Alex instead of a dog,” you giggle, silliness tinging the edge of his sweet nostalgia. “My little brother.”

“Isn’t a younger brother the same thing?” He asks with a grin.

“Very much so. And Alex is as much Golden Retriever as he is human.” If he were here, he’d give you so much grief for that comparison, but you stand by it. “What kind of dog did you have?”

Marcus chuckles. “A golden retriever.” He tells you without skipping a beat. “I’ve got a picture of him, wanna see?”

“Absolutely!” They say you’re either a kid person or a dog person, but you’re definitely both. Anything cute and squishy is right up your alley.

Digging out his wallet, it might be a little old fashioned to carry a physical photo of the favorite family pet, but he likes looking at it sometimes. He’s holding his dog, Hansel, in the picture. The white around the dog’s snout indicative of the older age of the golden retriever. “Here he is. Hansel.”

“What an angel!” If you could jump right through the photo and squeeze his beautiful face you would — the only problem is that you don’t know if you mean young Marcus or the dog.

“Wasn’t he?” Marcus hums happily. “He slept in my room growing up. Hated me leaving for college, although I hated being apart from him too.”

"How could you possibly leave that face? Look at him!" Yeah, it's definitely the dog that you're talking about. At least right now.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at the photo, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the canine face with happy memories flooding through him. “He was the best.”

"So would you want another Golden Retriever?" Looking between him and the photo, you think you might be able to guess the answer yourself. "Or will no other Golden ever live up to him?"

“Probably not.” Marcus shrugs. “He was from a litter of puppies at the shelter. It was just a coincidence that he was a pure Golden.” He frowns slightly. “I would want to adopt. It’s the best way to give a loving home to an animal.”

"Adopting is the only way." On that, you can firmly agree. But you point to the florist stand up ahead and touch his arm gently in an unconscious moment of casual comfort. "First, let's get you a plant to adopt."

“Yes, I would prefer adopted over nursery grown.” Marcus jokes, trying to ignore how easy it is to be with you. You can just be a friend. It’s possible and it’s possible he’s lying to himself.

"Wild, orphaned plants wandering the lonely roads with all their belongings tied up in a little bandana on a stick," you tease, conjuring the image of a cartoon orphan as best you can. To the girl behind the counter, you turn your full attention and the best conspiratorial smile you can conjure. "We're looking for something he'll have trouble killing," you confide with a chuckle. "Something like a snake plant, maybe? Or if you have a better recommendation we're all ears."

“It’s best to start them out with a plant before having pets or kids, isn’t it?” She asks with a grin, eyeing Marcus in amusement. “But he seems like the trustworthy type to me.”

"A fine, upstanding citizen if ever I saw one." The smirk you offer her is playful, and you glance up at Marcus beside you. "Plus, I'll be keeping an eye on the situation. For the good of the adoptee, of course."

“Of course.” She nods seriously, even though there is a definitely shaking to her voice, like she’s holding back laughter. “Let me show you the best options for a recovering black thumb.”

It's several minutes of back and forth with the florist who parries your playful banter well, and you end up leaving her stand with not just a lovely potted snake plant for Marcus, but an identical one for your apartment as well. "I had to!" You coo, when Marcus laughs at the little plant that you're cradling like a newborn. "It's so precious! And they're twins! I couldn't just leave it abandoned."

“Well, we have to name them.” Marcus decides. “Twin names.” He grins at you, “what do you think?”

"Luke and Leia," you joke right away, because that will always be the first pair of twins you think of in any situation. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? Oh, do the creepy girls from The Shining have names?"

Considering The Shining was his first foray into horror when he was younger, it was also one of his favorites. "No, they were just called Grady Daughters one and two." He tells you. "But..." He whips out his phone. "They are Lisa and Louise Burns, in real life."

“So are the plants Grady and Burns, or Lisa and Louise?” Either way they’re exceedingly silly choices, and you’re going for it.

“Either one works for me.” Marcus laughs. “It depends on if the plants are male or female.” He jokes.

“I think we probably get to pick,” you joke right back, making a show of rolling your eyes at him even though you’re laughing.

“Hmmmmm.” He pretends to take a closer look at his plant. “I’m going to surprise you.” He decides. “My plant is female.”

“Oh, that’s no surprise to me.” The smirk you shoot back at him is probably the lightest and most carefree you r felt in ages, and just for the moment you’re not going to second guess it. You’re just going to revel in the moment. “All my plants are female.”

He snickers with you and then tilts his head. “Lisa or Louise for you?” He asks, before he answers. “I bet you want the name Louise. You’ll pretend it’s for Thelma and Louise.”

“I—how—” Staring at him in utter confusion does not help matters one bit, but you still don’t have any clue as to how he could possibly have guessed that about you after only having met you two whole times. “So?” You ask after a second, realizing you’re laughing with the absurdity.

You have the most beautiful laughs Marcus has ever heard, and he loves that he caused it. There’s a flash of guilt that comes with the thought and he decides to reel it back into the scope of reality. You are becoming a friend, nothing more. “Who wouldn’t?” He asks, still chuckling. “They were the greatest female duo in modern cinema. In my opinion.”

“They line up against Idgie and Ruth from Fried Green Tomatoes.” You’ll stand by that pairing until the day you die, but the way warmth is spreading through your chest and your fingers ache dully from wanting to reach out for him is a special, damning sort of agony. “And I will die on that hill.”

“I had completely forgotten about Idgie and Ruth.” He admits, hanging his head in shame. “Forgive me.”

“Just this once.” There is still a teasing grin on your face when your phone goes off in your pocket. Sam’s name splashed across your caller ID and guilt crawls through your veins immediately. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing up at Marcus. “Just give me one second.”

Marcus catches a glimpse of the name and it’s like he’s doused with cold water. “Of course.” He murmurs politely, turning towards a little book stand to give you some privacy, beating himself up for flirting with another man’s significant other.

“Hey honey.” The second you pick up the phone with a plant in your other arm and your groceries weighing on your shoulder, that is the second you feel most self-conscious.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice comes over the line and he has a straightforward attitude, jumping into the reason for his call. “I’ve had a dinner invite tonight, some potential donors.” He tells you. “Can you make it?”

“I—” It’s not like it’s an unusual request. If he has a work event tonight then the best possible person he can have at his side is you. The idea of having dinner with Marcus had been so uplifting, and now cancelling on him makes you feel awful. But this is your boyfriend. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make it. Where and when? Is there a dress code?”

Sam rattles off the address and dress code. “Thanks honey, I knew I could count on you.” He tells you before he murmurs to someone else. “Hey, I’ve got to go, I love you.” The line clicks off immediately.

“I love you too.” It’s said to the silence, and you look down at your phone for a moment before pocketing it again. Marcus has stepped away to give you privacy, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other before walking back over to him. “I’m really sorry,” you murmur, actually looking as apologetic as you feel. “Can we postpone dinner tonight?”

“Oh….yeah, of course.” He hates the way the feels rejected, but you have priorities, ones that aren’t him. “That’s no problem at all.” He nods quickly and looks around. “Well, we should probably get your things to your car, right?”

“I—I’m really sorry.” Repeating it just makes you feel worse. But both of you feel worse, unbeknownst to you, and you walk in the direction of your car with Agent Bailey her usual two steps behind. “Something came up.”

“Not a problem at all.” Marcus promises you, plastering on a smile as you turn to him at your car. “I understand. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of things come up.”

"It was really nice to run into you today." There is no word of a lie or even exaggeration in that, and you take your flowers from Marcus's arms carefully, loading it into the backseat with your other bags and Louise the snake plant.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you. Marcus holds up his plant. “Thanks for the help.” He hums. “Hopefully I won’t kill Thelma.”

"If you do, try to make it as spectacular as possible." Offering him a half smile, you realize that you just wish you could give him a big hug, but that would be totally out of line. So instead all you can think to do is shift your weight awkwardly again before opening your car door. "I'll see you around, Marcus."

“See ya.” He nods and turns around to walk to his car. He doesn’t turn around, knowing that it would look weird if he did.

Once you’re in the car with Agent Bailey and focused on getting back home to put everything away and make a cup of coffee before you have to start getting ready for the night, you sigh softly and sit back in your seat. You can feel the curiosity of the Secret Service agent beside you and you wonder if you look as guilty as you. “That was a nice surprise.”

“Yes.” Agent Bailey hums. “Special Agent Pike was quite a surprise.”

“He’s nice,” you defend, very aware that you’re defending yourself and not him.

“He’s very nice.” She agrees. “And exactly who he says he is.” Of course a background check had been done on the agent, which she was glad of now that he had popped back up on radar. Not quite sure what to make of the interaction at the market, it’s also not her place to judge it.

"Well, that's a comfort." The drive back to Alexandria won't take long, but you twist your hands around the steering wheel a few times before pulling out into traffic. "Unfortunately, tonight will be the opposite," you tell her with a dramatic sigh that cushions the blow of having to attend an impromptu event. "Sam asked me to come to a dinner party tonight. Last minute invitation, I guess somebody had a seat they needed filled and asked him."

“I see.” Now she has to find out where you are going to be, who is on the guest least and it means overtime tonight. She doesn’t sigh, but she wants to, much preferring to go to small Indian restaurant over some political function. “I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.”

"I know you have to vet everything." The process seems exhausting, but you would never question the agent's ability to get her job done. "It's a private party at Arthur Connesby's house. The aerospace tech guy? Apparently it's a party for his wife, but everybody invited are Sam's constituents. I have a feeling they're going to spend the night trying to pitch their own interests to him, but if nothing else they might donate to his next campaign if they feel like they got to be friendly with him." It sounds like it will be a fairly boring night of overly rich old men feeling self-important, but Sam asked you to be there and that's why you're going.

“Noted.” The agent is immediately firing off a text to her support team, letting them know about the change of plans tonight.

"I know it's not what we had in mind." The night has gone from staying home and watching a movie and maybe playing cards, to dinner out, to an entire party. It's a lot of jumps in not much time. "And I appreciate you being flexible. Truly."

“It’s my job to protect you no matter what.” She reminds you softly. She enjoys you, has gotten to know you and thinks you are lovely, but you are Hummingbird to her. The First Daughter of the President of the United States and her assignment. She would guard you regardless of what you were doing because it’s her job.

"Right." You nod slightly, eyes cast back out on the road, and try not to slump even a little as you drive. It's not necessary to be everyone's best friend. You know that on a practical level. Right now your energy is better served focusing on the night ahead. "Well, I can still be grateful. So thank you. For...being professional. An very good at your job."

She knows that you are disappointed, but one of the cardinal rules of the secret service is to not be emotionally attached to your assignment. It would be too difficult to make life or death decisions. “Protecting you has been my pleasure.” She promises.

"I appreciate that." For better or for worse, the Secret Service will be a part of your life for the rest of your life. So if you can't be friends, at least you can appreciate each other. For now, though, you ought to focus. A party with your boyfriend's constituents is no place to have your mind wander.

The dinner party is exactly what you imagined it would be. Self important people, boasting about how important they are as they fawn over ‘more’ important people. Or the people who could give them access to the power they wished to have. Sam was in his element, smiling and shaking hands. Listening to ideas with a feigned interest that comes naturally to politicians.

He's charismatic enough to keep their attention but has enough of his own heart left that he does seem to care about issues being brought to him. Unfortunately for these folks, they're talking about a whole lot of things that just one man can't change on their behalf. So all he can really do is listen and express interest in whatever plight it is they have.

You have found yourself in the rather unfortunate position of being inundated by the significant others of these men, and when the party turns to mingling after dinner they somehow manage to whisk you away to the garden where you aren't sure if they're planning on trying to get you to dance with various people, or maybe join their country clubs, You really can't tell which.

“You must tell me, how is living in the White House?” One asks you, under the impression that you are still living with your mother.

“I understand it’s very comfortable.” It’s almost a relief that these women seem not to know a thing about you beside who your mother is. Your greatest fear about the whole thing was being hounded through every day of your life — so far that hasn’t been the case. But it’s been barely more than a month. There’s time. “However, I chose not to reside there.”

“Oh, what a shame.” She hums, wondering why you wouldn’t want to call the most famous house in America home. “I hear that it’s haunted.”

“That is what they say.” And according to your little sister, it’s absolutely true. But an upscale party of relatively stuffy guests like this doesn’t seem like the place to spout tales of your sister taking her homework to the Lincoln bedroom. “And it’s certainly very beautiful.”

“I would love to take a tour sometime.” She tells you, hoping that you might offer to set it up for her. An intimate tour would be amazing.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” You aren’t the sort of person who would exchange favors, so the thought that this could mean a donation for Sam’s campaign in the near future. Instead, you just know it would be something nice. “I can have something put together for you if you like?”

“That would be lovely!” She exclaimed, sending you a warm smile. “You know, you and the congressman make a beautiful couple. Possibly even presidential one day.” It’s a fishing expedition, feeling you out for your thoughts on a possible run.

"Possibly." And two weeks ago, you might have beamed at that implication. At the idea of Sam moving through his career with such gusto and motivation that he makes it all the way to the White House. But seeing what your father contends with as First Gentleman, the idea of being First Lady sounds overwhelming to you. It's even less likely that you would end up in politics yourself. "Sam takes his work very seriously, and he has high hopes for the future of our country."

“And what about you?” She asks. “You made waves, positive ones in my opinion, during your mother’s campaign about your stance on soulmates.”

"I don't have any political ambitions for myself." Of that, you can absolutely assure her. "While I'm more than happy to support the people around me, I'm very happy with my own career."

“At least until Congressman Chase makes an honest woman out of you.” She hums. “Then it’s so hard to balance your own career while supporting the ambitions of your husband.” There’s a rueful chuckle on her part. “Believe me, I know.”

"I won't be giving up my career." This is always a topic of conversation amongst significant others, you've found, and a topic that your father has contended with on multiple occasions. As your mother's career grew, he became a stay-at-home-dad and raised three kids. Because it was something he wanted to do, not because it was forced on him. And that has always been the key to you. "I own a business. So it's essentially my first child already."

“Oh?” Her brows wing up in surprise. “My apologies. I must have misunderstood.” Her eyes slide past you. “Excuse me, I must go catch Mrs. Jackson before she leaves.” She cuts off the conversation and hustles away.

It's a bit on and definitely abrupt, but the conversation wasn't very enjoyable to begin with so you smile politely and just let it roll off your back. Whatever she 'misunderstood' doesn't really concern you. Some gossip article must have speculated on the next steps of your relationship with Sam and you try not to let that kind of nonsense get to you.

“Having fun?” Sam comes up to you, his hand slipping around your waist and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You look amazing, especially since it was so last minute.”

"You always like this dress." The first time you wore it was the nominating party after the Democratic National Convention, and then again to a fundraiser in Chicago. That was the night you met Sam, and he had remarked even then that the dress was particularly beautiful. It seemed like the logical choice for tonight based on that alone. "It's a nice party." The food was predictable but tasty, and the drinks are flowing, just like the way you expected the night to go. "Do we think there will be birthday cake?" You ask conspiratorially, looking up at him beside you with a smirk. "Is that something people still do for fancy fiftieth birthdays?"

“Cake is universal.” Sam snorts and nods. “I have it on good authority the cake is a chocolate raspberry mascarpone cream cake.” He tells you, knowing it will be an idea you carry back to Sydney.

"I know exactly what Saturday's dessert special is going to be." Somehow your best friend will turn a classic cake into something elegant and thoughtful, and you know the entire restaurant will go nuts for it. They always do, when Sydney gets to show off. "Are you having a good night? I know you had high hopes for networking tonight."

“It’s going well.” He hums happily and beams at you. “How about you? Working the other side for me?” He teases playfully, aware you don’t usually like campaigning.

"Nothing that will get me in trouble with my Mom's staff." Not that he would ever ask you to do anything like that. Sam doesn't go in for most of the entitled bullshit that other politicians do. "One request for a White House tour that I'll put through the appropriate channels. Nothing too odd."

“Interesting.” Sam looks thoughtful. “Who asked for that?”

"Shelly D'Amario." The wife of District Attorney-turned-Superior Court Judge Raymond D'Amario was one of the few people you had recognized from press coverage of events supporting your mother's campaign. Her husband's politics were lined up with most moderate Democrats, and he tended to hand down verdicts with thoughtful conclusions at the end of each case. He's one of those people you wouldn't have minded at all sitting at this dinner party with, but unfortunately the Judge was not able to attend.

“Oh.” Sam nods. “I was at another dinner with her and the judge just the other night.” He tells you. “Picking his brain about Constitutional law.”

“She was very nice.” Though instinct takes over, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second before going on. “Did you guys talk…about me at all? About us, I mean? At your dinner?”

“Well, naturally you came up.” Sam admits with a slight frown, wondering if Shelly had somehow insulted you. “Not everyone is dating the daughter of the current sitting President. But I didn’t share any private details about you.” He promises. “Or your family.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” If he was the sort of person who went around sharing personal details with anyone and everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to trust him. Especially not under the condition you met in. Campaigns are cutthroat. “She just…said something that kind of confused me, that’s all.”

“What confused you?” He asks, trying to recall the exact details of the dinner with the judge and his wife.

Without wanting to imply that he might have said anything, you still glance around you to make sure that Agent Bailey is the only one close enough by to overhear you. “She seemed to be under the impression that I would be quitting my job if we ever have a family. And when I said that wasn’t the case, she said she must have ‘misunderstood’ something and walked away immediately.”

Understand dawns in his eyes and Sam shifts slightly. “Well, that’s not something we’ve talked about just yet.” He reminds you. “That’s a conversation we need to have.”

"Right." You couldn't agree more. "Which is why I was confused that she seemed to have heard an opinion about it somewhere before. But it was probably just some gossip article."

He hesitates and then decides to come clean, you don’t like liars. “I might have voice my hopes for our future.” He admits. “It’s not so unexpected, is it?” He asks. “I’ll be spending a lot of time at different events and I will want you by my side.”

"Sam..." There's disappointment in your voice that you don't bother to hide. Of course he's absolutely entitled to talk about hopes, as he puts it, but you can't believe that he would ever think you would give up the inn. "I own the place, honey. It's not like taking a smaller role in an office or shifting to part time somewhere."

“Yes, you own it.” Sam stresses. “But you can have someone else manage it.”

"But I don't want to have someone else manage it." It's really like you can't believe your ears. Sam has never voiced anything like this before within the dynamic of your relationship and he knows very well how proud you are of your work at the inn and how much it means to you.

By the set of your jaw and the frown on your face, Sam knows that he can’t argue the point right now. He shakes his head, smiling at you and taking your hand. “You’re right. I—I wasn’t thinking about how much you love your inn.” He admits softly. “Let’s just forget about it, hm?”

"O—okay." There he is again. Your understanding, supportive Sam smiling at you and taking the stress out of the situation. The man you started dating almost a year ago. Dependable. "Okay."

“Good.” He pats your hand gently and leans in to kiss you softly. “But I do still want to talk about moving in together.”

"After our date on Tuesday?" The Valentine's night you had settled on together is dinner at a small, family-owned restaurant in his hometown followed by a fundraiser screening of short films made by local high schoolers looking to update their school's resources with the proceeds. Community-oriented is the theme of the night.

“That sounds appropriate.” He agrees with a nod. “For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening.” He looks towards your secret service agent. “Will you be allowed to come to my place tonight?”

"I think that can be arranged." The invitation means you'll be sleeping over at his place twice this week, which is definitely more than you've been able to do lately and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you just need to refocus yourself. And stop thinking about Marcus, for fuck's sake. You slip your arm around Sam's waist and lean into his side. "I just have to let Bailey know. Her relief agent will have to be told to go to your place instead of mine."

"Of course." Even though it irritates him, he nods. Understanding that you cannot help it right now. After your mother's term, perhaps you will decline protection.

"I know it isn't perfect." He's bristled about lack of privacy before, and though you can't say that you really blame him? There's nothing you can do about it. Secret Service protect for the President's immediate family is mandatory. And hell, you have a Secret Service agent in your apartment every night. At least when you stay with Sam, your agent usually stays in the living room or their car like a stakeout. It's typically left up to them. But still, you do understand the objection. "I'm sorry. It is what it is."

"I know." He sighs softly, hating that the evening has been sidetracked from what he imagined. "I understand. I just don't like them be so close when we are alone." He admits.

"I know." The last five minutes have become increasingly uncomfortable, but you still stick close to Sam and continue smiling, aware that eyes at the party might be on you just like they are anytime you go anywhere outside of your little haven at the inn. "But better that, than someone breaking into your house."

He doesn't point out that he has a security system and his townhouse is in a gate community. There's no point and it would just further cause an discussion that is best left for the relative privacy of his bedroom - with a secret service agent parked outside in his living room. He sighs. "Shall we get more wine?" He asks, trying to change the subject.

"Sure." There are people starting to dance to the music being piped through outdoor speakers, but you're not really in a dancing mood. There's too much swirling around in your mind to be light on your feet. "Wine sounds like a good plan."

Sam leads you over to the bar, ever the gentleman and stands beside you to look at the drink selections. "They have a nice pinot grigio." He murmurs softly.

"Is that what you want too?" The bar is open, of course, but the catering company has allowed the bartender to put out a small and discreet tip jar for the reasonably large party tonight, and you have a few more bills in your purse that you're happy to add to the jar.

"I think I'm going to stick with the pinot noir." He tells you, holding up his almost empty glass.

You order both glasses without hesitation and tip the very pleasant bartender, handing Sam his glass after it's put on the bar top. Just something nice to get the night back on track. At least as far as the two of you go.

"So I think that we should drink our wine and then dance." Sam suggests. It would be a good visual and romantic as a bonus. He's not calculating, but he does understand that optics are important in politics. It's a good opportunity to romance you and look good for the discreet photographers that are roaming around.

"And at some point, eat cake." Trying to lighten the mood a little is really your go-to for diffusing tension in any situation, and the air around the two of you feels a little thick, so you offer him a big smile instead of getting serious again.

"Eating cake is always a good way to spend a night." Sam agrees, smiling back at you.

"Morning." You haul yourself into the restaurant's kitchen the next morning when you arrive bright and early for your eight-a.m. start time looking vaguely less drowsy than usual. The other member of your Secret Service detail — Agent Sisson — has music taste more in line with yours and you'd listened to Duran Duran on your way back to town this morning. That and a cup of strong coffee means that you're feeling okay but definitely in need of breakfast.

“Wellllllll,” Sydney’s grin is bright as she eyes you. “I see the walk of shame has taken on a festive air.” She teases, laughing as she moves over to pour you a cup of coffee. “I take it last night went well?”

“I have enough time to go upstairs and change before work,” you grumble, though you’re smiling and accept the cup of coffee gratefully. “Usual boring party, but I bring you home a new cake flavor combination to try, and it was nice to see Sam.”

She snorts. “Nice to see Sam.” She mimics. “It’s like you ran into him in the store.” She huffs at you. “This is your boyfriend. The man you love.”

“And that’s why it’s nice to see him more than just one measly night a week.” Given that you have a few minutes, you hop up on a stool at the counter beside her work station and groan in appreciation at the slice of sweet Italian brioche and carefully cut piece of frittata she plates up for you without hesitation. “Oh my god, thank you. All I’ve had so far is coffee. We overslept and both had to run out to get to work on time.”

“Overslept…” she rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach. “I wish I could remember what that was like.” She grumbles. “This one is giving me heartburn all the time and keeping my sleep short.”

“They just really want to make sure you remember they’re there,” you tease, picking up a forkful of frittata and not even caring what’s inside. Everything Syd makes it incredible. “Twenty-seven whole more weeks of this, Mama. Get excited!”

“I am, I promise. But the kid can let me sleep in a little, right?” She huffs playfully. “So how was the dinner? You came back from the market in a hurry so I didn’t get to talk to you. Did you forget about this or was it last minute?”

“It was last minute. He got a spontaneous invitation to a potential supporter’s wife’s birthday party.” Oh my god, spinach and artichoke frittata, so fucking good. “She got the gift of bragging rights that a Congressman and the First Daughter came to her party, and a very nice bottle of champagne.”

“Sounds like a ton of fun.” Sydney likes hobnobbing even less than you do, preferring to be on the service side of fancy events. “So you ate mildly bland catered food and drank way too much wine?”

“Exactly. Which is why this tastes even more incredible than usual.” You point at your plate even while scooping up another bite. “So did you and Juanito ever decide what you’re doing tomorrow? I know you scheduled yourself for the dinner rush, but you’ve got to do something.”

“My husband is amazing.” She promises, beaming in delight. “He actually got us reservations at St. Regis for the Valentine’s Day Afternoon Tea.”

��Oh, that’s so sweet! It’s so utterly romantic I could barf.” The momentary flash of jealousy is nothing, and you’re genuinely happy that they’ll be able to get out and do something. They work so incredibly hard and never complain for a second. “It’s perfect, Syd. I want a full report.”

“I’m excited.” She admits, biting her lip and fiddling with her practical silicone wedding band that she wears in the kitchen. “I’ve also been promised a very relaxing massage and a few orgasms.”

“All things which you deserve very much.” You raise your coffee cup in salute to her and grin.

“At the very least.” She huffs, her own grin one of pure happiness. “I am growing Badillo’s baby.” She reminds you, as if it isn’t common knowledge at this point. She’s so proud of being with her soulmate and she cock her head at you curiously. “Have you given any more thought to that tattoo?” She pries gently.

“Yes and no…” It’s much more yes than no, if you’re honest with yourself, but the fact is that it’s probably not good to think about it as much as you have. It’s like a never-ending loop in your mind and you absolutely can’t shake it. “I just don’t know what good it would do to bring it up. Or who I would even bring it up to.”

“You know who you should bring it up to.” She huffs.

“Who?” You challenge, feeling like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place without doing so much as being awake this morning. “My boyfriend of almost a year who asked me to move in with him and wants to start planning our future? Or the guy I barely know who invited me to dinner yesterday when I ran into him at Eastern Market and looked so hurt when I had to ask him to reschedule that I still feel like I kicked the world’s cutest puppy?” Clearly it’s been on your mind, and Syd is really the one person you can talk to about any of it. But admitting that you’ve been thinking about Marcus feels like cheating and you have always despised cheaters deeply. Being cheated on will do that to a person.

“You ran into Marcus?” Her eyes widen with the new information and she immediately sets down her spoon and walks around the counter to hug you. “Oh honey, talk to me. What happened?” She asks softly. While she might be pushing you to at least ask if you might be soulmates, she doesn’t want you to be upset.

“It wasn’t a big deal…we ran into each other and we finished our shopping together.” It’s such a relief to have a space to talk about it, and yet you know you’re blowing it out of proportion in your head. It was just a coincidence that you ran into him. Not fate. “We were both talking about wanting Indian for dinner so he asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant with him. We were just going to hang out. Then Sam called.”

“And of course you said yes to Sam.” Sydney doesn’t exactly approve of the way Sam seems to think that you wait for his call and will drop everything to accommodate him, but she doesn’t say anything. “How did Marcus take the change of plans?”

“He said he understood and that it was fine.” Which is, technically, what happened. So when you shift your eyes away from hers, Sydney makes a noise and you cave. “He seemed disappointed,” you admit, throwing up your hands. “But I’m probably just projecting that.”

“Anyone would be disappointed to not spend time with you.” Sydney defends immediately, always the best cheerleader for you. “Maybe text him and reschedule?” She suggests. “Friends have dinner, it’s not cheating. You aren’t going out on a date.”

“I know it’s not cheating.” Syd knows better than anyone why you hate liars and cheaters. “I texted him on my way in this morning to reschedule, but I don’t…I don’t know if he’ll respond. He was probably just being polite asking in the first place.”

“I doubt that.” Sydney had seen the covert looks that each one of them had given the other when they weren’t looking during game night. Both of them were curious and she is interested to know about that hummingbird tattoo, it’s not common, despite what you might say.

“Then it’s because I’m best friends with his friend’s soulmate,” you reason instead.

“No, it’s because Juan said that Marcus was trying to be polite but that he was interested in you.” Sydney tells you.

You feel the blood drain from your face shamefully fast, and your eyes dart up to meet your best friend’s. “He said that?”

“Yes.” She isn’t going to lie to you, Juan had told her that. “But, he also said that Marcus respects relationships and he’s not the type of man to make a move on you if you’re in a relationship.” She knows how you feel about that kind of thing and she agrees with you.

“Well…I mean…that’s good? Isn’t it? That just means he’s respectful.” Still , you find yourself sitting on the idea that Marcus likes you and being halfway between mortified and grinning. It feels ultimately childish and yet like your chest is filling full of something very much like joy.

“According to Juan, Marcus Pike is the best man, the best person that he’s ever known.” Sydney acknowledges with a nod, deciding not to comment on your giddy expression. “Even though he was busy with training at the academy, he was always helping with housework or running errands to take care of things.” She shrugs. “His ex-wife was a med student. So I guess she’s a doctor now.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” This mantra of yours is going to get old quick, but you have a partner. A long term one, even. One that until a week or so ago, you had thought you had a future with. Now that resolve is waning and you don’t really know how you started to question yourself so easily.

Sensing that you’ve dug your heels in, she backs off, giving a small shrug. “I’m sure it is.” She hums. “So what are your Valentine’s Day plans with Sam?” She asks. “Did he plan something romantic?”

“We’re going to dinner and then a community fundraiser in his district.” It doesn’t sound romantic, you will admit that, but anything too luxurious you did can be perceived in a very wrong way by the general public if it gets out. A Congressman and the First Daughter going to a spa getaway or the symphony would be seen as being out of touch with the people. “He…wants to talk about the future.”

“And you don’t sound like it’s a conversation that you are eager to have.” She sits down, her own herbal tea in front of her and she frowns slightly.

“I’m…not sure, honestly.” Without hesitation and without filter, the explanation about your conversation with Judge D’Amario’s wife and what Sam said at dinner with them comes tumbling out of your mouth and you can’t help but cringe to yourself when you get it all out in the open air. “Am I overreacting? Please tell me I’m overreacting.”

Sydney winces and gives you a small shrug. “He has known from the beginning that you aren’t the type to want to be a typical politician’s spouse and give up your career.” She reminds you. “Remember that night out in Alexandria? Where we were bar hopping? I had a very frank conversation with him about that.”

“You did?” Your forehead scrunches as you take a sip of coffee. “Then why would he think I would be willing to have someone else manage the inn?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that.” She admits quietly. “But I think he gave them his true ideal. You quitting and being by his side for all his accomplishments.”

“It’s not that I’m not proud of him.” Some would argue that that is what it signals, but you and Sydney are not those types of people. “He’s doing such good work, and I do want to have kids and a house and all that domestic stuff. I just…I don’t want to give up working. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life standing behind a podium waving politely. I’m—I want to be me, not an extension of my partner.”

“I know that.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But does Sam? Really? I think that he can convince you that it’s what you want.” She huffs. “I know he’s a good guy, but is he the right guy?”

“Not everybody finds perfect,” you remind her quietly, knowing that that is exactly what she has with Juan. Their version of perfect is about support, respect, and unending silliness, and you’ve always craved the same. But there aren’t many men in the world like Juan. Not many at all.

“That doesn’t mean you need to settle.” She tells you, squeezing your hand gently. “If you are happy, I’m happy. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“To be honest?” Closing your eyes for a second to swallow a sigh, the best you can do is shake your head. “I didn’t think I was settling. But now I can’t help but wonder…”

“Then you owe it to yourself, and to Sam, to make sure before you commit any further.” She suggests, knowing that you would feel horrible about divorcing later on.

“How?” It’s an honest question, since the situation is tangled up in guesses and implied maybes. “Break up with Sam because Marcus might be my soulmate? What happens if I’m wrong and I regret the whole thing? Sam would never take me back and I would deserve it.”

“Ask Marcus to show you the tattoo.” She hums. “That’s not cheating. It would be no different than seeing him in swimming trunks.”

“If he ever responds to me.” Which you sort of doubt. You sort of did just drop plans with him the second your boyfriend called. But you are the kind of person who makes your relationship a priority. You always have been.

“And if he doesn’t….” She shrugs. “You just deal with that.” She frowns. “But I would be upset if you had done the same to me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a right to be upset with me.” Marcus has a right to feel however he feels. He’s human, after all. “This whole thing is just so out of left field. Especially after spending all of last year talking about freedom of affection and being happy with a partner who isn’t your soulmate.”

“Except you had never potentially met your soulmate.” She pauses and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, if you don’t want to pursue it, don’t. Juan won’t say anything and I’ll just encourage him to hang out with Marcus on a guys night.”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly, poking at the remains of your breakfast with a frown. “First let’s see if he speaks to me again. I gotta go change my clothes for work.” A heavy blanket of tension works on you that wasn’t there when you came home, and you drag yourself off the stool with a swallowed sigh. “Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, wishing for a moment that Juan hadn’t run into Marcus. Hadn’t mentioned a tattoo that was throwing you into a spin. “I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thank you.” Coming around the counter, you wrap your arms around her tightly and inhale, trying to remember your yoga and let the stress roll off your shoulders and not carry it into the work day. “And I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

“I know.” She grins into your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, bitch.” She teases. “I will go to war for you, bury bodies and not even think twice.”

"No hesitation." You link your pinkies together, the same way you have since you were little kids. "I really have to go change now. But thanks for listening to me ramble and fret."

“Anytime.” She scoffs, waving away your thanks. “You’ve listened to me plenty.” Lately it’s been about being a good mother and not completely wrecking Baby Badillo, but she understands the need to just vent. You’re there for one another, both of you, through thick and thin.

______

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My Masterlist!

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 3

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Disagreeing amongst partners, disappointments, unexpected turns, denial of feelings, unwanted revelations. Summary: It's Valentine's Day and no one's date seems to be going quite the way they expected. Notes: Apologies for the posting delay, my lovelies! Please enjoy 💖

Ch1 ~ Ch 2

When you still haven't heard from Marcus the next day, you're really pretending not to be bothered by it. You go about your work as usual, take care of your guests, manage a few nibbles of lunch, and work through the Valentine's check-ins with Malachi to make sure that everything goes smoothly. The whole day is chaotic and the inn is completely sold out, and yet you can't stop glancing down at your phone to see if you've gotten a text back.

You've just slipped into the kitchen after your shift to see Sydney after her spa-and-afternoon-tea date when the restaurant's hostess on duty comes in with a reservation slip to add to the board. The restaurant is basically fully booked now, with a few last minute cancellations and reservations working themselves out throughout the day, and a part of you wishes you could just stay here tonight and keep working, but you promised Sam. And you promised your mother's office that there would be social media updates tonight. This date might as well be public, so there is no backing out now.

“Hey babe!” Sydney grins as she looks up from the cake she is decorating, the piping bag in her hand full of dark chocolate buttercream. “Checking in before going to get ready?”

“Yup. Just came in to say hi and check the last minute reservations.” You take the slip from Sydney’s hostess with a flourish to tack it up on the board, and immediately make some sort of inhuman squawking noise that has your best friend whirling around in the kitchen.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She demands, rushing over to the board. From the noise you made, it’s either incredibly good or incredibly bad.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Not technically, anyway. But you hand over the slip with obvious discomfort — or maybe a tinge of something else deeper and darker — on your face. “It’s…I guess…Marcus has a date tonight.”

“What? Oh…” she takes the slip and reads it, frowning slightly as she looks up to see you fidgeting and looking away from the paper. “Well, um, I guess that means he will be here and it’s good that you are going out with Sam.”

The frown that has formed on your face cuts deep, and you put down the empty mug you had grabbed to pour yourself a late afternoon cup of coffee with a slam. “Of course it’s a good thing.” You state unequivocally, not wanting to deal with or admit to the burning feeling in your chest. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s a very good thing.”

Sydney doesn’t comment, just pins the reservation to the allotted slot: 7 pm for two. There’s a note on the reservation to have a bottle of champagne brought to the table with dessert, so she’s not sure what to make of that. It seems unlikely that he’s taking his mother or sister out for a romantic meal.

“I have to get changed.” Comes the unnecessary announcement as you pace a little square around the corner of the kitchen only to end up facing Sydney again. “I just wanted to say hi, and I hope you and Juan had a good day.” Before this…intrusion into your thoughts, you had wanted to know everything. Every single thing they ate at tea and did at the spa. Now you feel like throwing up from pure discomfort.

“We did.” It seems wrong to rub it in your face right now, since you seem to be having some sort of reaction to the idea that Marcus would book a date here. She has to wonder if there’s meaning behind it, or if he had just imagined bringing someone here because it was a wonderful little place. The dining room of the restaurant is intimate, perfect for romance, especially tonight with the lights lower and the decor that had been brought out for the holiday.

“Good. I—okay. I’m going to go up, then. Malachi has a full reservation book and there’s an extra bellhop on tonight for the full house.” Sweeping out of the room is probably an overstatement, but you certainly move fast enough that Agent Bailey has to hop to in order to keep up with you as you head for the back stairs. Suddenly you have all the nervous energy in the world to walk all the way up to your apartment instead of taking the elevator.

“Okay…bye.” Sydney calls out, eyes wide at the dramatic exit and she pulls out her phone to send a quick text to her husband.

You might have tried a little harder than was strictly necessary to look good tonight. Not because Marcus might see you — that doesn’t make any sense — but to try to shut up all the whirling thoughts in your head about your loyalties and your attachments. You’ve been with Sam for almost a full year. It’s eleven months next week. And he deserves your complete attention. So if he gets you in your best little black dress and the earrings he gave you for your last birthday? That’s good, too.

Sam is nothing if not punctual, actually showing up fifteen minutes before you needed to leave. One of his office aides had run out to get you some flowers, now in hand, and he smiles widely when he sees you. “Wow.” He hums, whistling appreciatively. “I feel underdressed.” He jokes, wearing a smart suit like he normally does.

“You haven’t been underdressed since the day you were born.” Sam is perpetually put together, so you have definitely stepped up your game from the jeans and cheeky blouses that would normally have been good date clothes in the past. “Hi honey.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He offers you the flowers with a smile. “You look incredible. These are only half as beautiful as you.”

“Thank you, honey.” The large bouquet is all red and pink buds, clearly done up for the holiday, and you let the day’s earlier tension roll off your shoulders as you inhale the sweet scent. “Let me put these in the vase in my office and we can get going?” Upstairs in your place they’re beautiful, but downstairs means anyone who sticks their head in your office will see them.

“Of course.” He nods and looks towards Agent Bailey. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Agent Bailey.” He tells her politely. “Would you mind following us to the restaurant tonight?”

“No surprise stops, Congressman?” Following behind isn’t unusual, but Bailey still had to do her job. Any unexpected additions to the night just complicate matters.

His smile tightens slightly. “Just the itinerary you have planned out.” He comments, slightly irked that he has to have plans approved through the Secret Service. It’s not exactly his idea of pleasant.

“Ready to go?” It only takes a moment to get your flowers in water, and you reach for Sam’s hand. After spending your time getting ready reminding yourself to focus on your relationship and stop being so wishy-washy, you’re trying to put your best everything forward for tonight.

“Absolutely.” Sam smiles broadly, his shoulders rolling back and he puffs his chest out proudly. “Let’s go get romantic.”

The restaurant that was picked out is small and welcoming, a  homespun but upscale bistro owned by a couple from New Orleans that moved up to Maryland sometime during the raising of their children. You had read the website while you were getting ready for tonight. The place boasts an impressive menu and a fan favorite étouffée, as well as an entire family working every aspect of the restaurant. From what you can tell, it looks like a perfect date spot. When you pull up it’s brimming over with people, too, which makes you even more excited. Busy means tasty, of course.

“Well this looks promising.” Sam comments, looking over at you. “What did you say the menu was?” He hadn’t really paid attention to where it was, just that you had said it was a good choice for a dinner out and photographs. You know how to work PR from your mother’s campaign, something he admires.

“New American through a New Orleans lens.” That’s what the website had said, and you could swear you already hear jazz pouring out the front door.

“Interesting.” He doesn’t particularly care for spicy foods, his stomach never agrees with it, but he trusts your judgement. “It’s perfect for the photographer and I’m assuming there’s some heartwarming backstory to the place?”

“Family owned and family run.” You can practically hear the silent commentary in his head, and you touch his arm as he holds the door for you. “I read the reviews in advance. Not everything is spicy. Don’t worry.”

“You know me too well.” He throws you a grateful look and leans forward to open the door for you to enter the bistro.

“Good evening.” The hostess at the front of the restaurant knows exactly who you are, just like everyone working tonight does. Just like their entire family does. Getting a visit from the Secret Service and having a discreetly placed photographer arrive just a little while ago gives the whole night an extra flare of the unbelievable. With two menus in her hand, she smiles a shaky, bright grin. “Please come right this way.”

Sam’s hand is on your back, knowing that a lot of eyes are turning from the staff to the patrons. It’s expected when your significant other is a recognizable face. He doesn’t miss that they put you and him at a table in the middle of the room.

There are small vases of red carnations on every table, and candles, and neat purple tablecloths that look like they have been given a little extra pressing for the occasion. You thank the girl politely and smile, not thrilled to have all eyes on you but already knowing that there is nothing you can do about it.

Sam is the one to pull out your chair and help you sit down before he pulls his own chair out. “Shall we order a bottle of wine?” He asks. “Or would that not look good?”

“How about a half bottle?” You suggest, showing him the part of drinks menu that lists half bottles. “Celebratory but responsible.”

“Perfect.” Same agrees, knowing. It wouldn’t be a positive image to have drinking and driving be recorded.

“Whatever you want to choose.” He’s pickier than you are in general, and definitely about wine, so it’s up to him.

He smiles at you in gratitude and immediately dives into the wine list to see what they have available.

“Oysters Rockefeller to start?” As a Maryland boy he loves seafood, and there’s some sort of odd determination in your mind to prove to yourself that your focus is entirely on Sam.

“Absolutely.” He agrees while wholeheartedly and when your server approaches, he finds in a polite smile to give them.

He orders the wine and your appetizer, and beams a smile at the flustered waitress before the two of you are left — sort of — alone again. Agent Bailey has gone to sit with the designated White House photographer at a separate, discreet table. It leaves the two of you to pretend that this is just as normal a date night as any other. “So,” you hum, looking over the menu. “How was work?”

“It was good.” He had kept his office hours short today, like most of the House, so he could get out on time. Plenty of other members had plans or just didn’t show up at all today. “Worked on the bill I want to introduce.”

“How close are you to having the draft done?” The House Judiciary Committee has been an important posting for him, and though you can’t claim to understand the nuance of every single detail of the bill he has been working on, you know that it is a big offering to make from such a new member of the committee.

“First draft is almost complete.” He tells you proudly. “Only a few more hours of work to be honest. My team has been working hard on it.”

“The first bill you’re sponsoring yourself is a big deal. I’m glad you’re proud of it.” Given how much of his work is paperwork and legal-ease, it’s good to have something tangible to work on and be proud of. Certainly not everyone who works in the government can say the same.

“Thank you.” He smiles, leaning back as the waiter comes back with the glasses of wine. “Hopefully it’s just the first of many.”

"I hope so, too." He has high hopes for his career, and you know he'll work hard for it. There's just the tiny voice in the back of your head reminding you that he might not value your success as highly that is bothering you. Still, you raise your glass to him and smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” Sam smiles and taps his glass to yours before taking a sip. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“I thought we could talk about it tonight?” The mention of a proposal specifically makes you shiver in a way you didn’t know you could shiver, but here you are. “Starting with…the logistics of it all.”

He admires the practicality of your statement and nods. “What are your concerns?” He can hear that you have them and hopes that the two of you can come to some kind of agreement. He’s negotiated a lot in his position and knows there is always give and take for things to work.

“I…” He’s practical. Pragmatic. And you know that. It’s something that you have always said you liked about him because it balances against your tendency to dream. “I want to move forward. Take another step.” In your impulse, you reach across the table and take his hand. “But I’m not sure I’m ready yet. So I’d like to do it slowly.”

“Maybe a drawer for when you stay over?” He offers, lifting a brow. “Space for a toothbrush?”

“That’s kind of what I was thinking, yeah.” A relieved smile spreads, glad to see that he isn’t upset at your still moving slowly in this relationship. Moving too fast in the past is what you blame some very serious relationship failures on. “Maybe try to see each other more than just once a week? Work permitting, of course. I know we’re both busy.”

“That was kind of the point of moving in together.” Sam reminds you, although he’s not put out by it. “Maybe we can, but you will have to spend less time at the inn.” He hums. “You are always there. You even live there.”

"I know." That's on you, and you know it. But you still shift in your seat like you've been called to the principle's office. "I have to cut back on late nights. Malachi is more than capable of running the place any time of day and the new night manager is doing really well."

Sam nods, it’s a conversation that he’s had with you several times but nothing has changed so far. “I understand being passionate about your work.” He reminds you with a smile, reaching for your hand. “But I also want you to be passionate about other things too.” He squeezes your fingers. “Maybe kids, one day?”

"You know I want kids." That is never something that you have hemmed or hawed about. Wanting a marriage and a family is something you were pretty up front about. "Kids, a dog, the whole white picket fence thing."

“I know.” It’s a good thing too, because he wants the same thing. Although he knows that can’t really happen if you are running yourself ragged at the inn. “Just wanted to make sure that was still the case.” He jokes.

"It is." Your fingers squeeze his gently. "I haven't changed my mind about what I want."

“That’s good.” Sam smiles and feels a little better about the fact you aren’t jumping at the chance to move in with him. He had expected less resistance if he was honest with himself.

"So the next time I come over I'll bring some things to keep at your place?" A little bag of work clothes and duplicate toiletries at his house sounds positively quaint, but very sweet.

“If that’s what you want.” He agrees, leaning back again when the waiter comes with the appetizer. “Are you still planning on staying tonight?”

You pause long enough to thank the waiter and for both of you to order your entrees and have a sip of your wine after the waiter goes again. "Of course I was planning on it. It's what we talked about. But...I felt like packing a bag to bring over tonight felt a little...presumptuous? I didn't want to jinx it."

“Nothing presumptuous about it.” Sam disagrees with a smile, knowing he would have loved if you had started bringing things over. “But we will do things on your schedule, as long as our end goal is the same.”

End goal. That part still bags at you a little and you still aren’t sure if you’re overreacting. Marcus seemed to agree with us, and so did Sydney…and it’s making you wonder. But will it ruin the night to make a fuss over it? There’s really no way to tell. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page about all of it.” You decide, making sure there is no worry or waver in your voice as you reach for an oyster. It’s just a conversation. Just a conversation with your boyfriend. No big deal. Just clearing the air.

“Good.” There’s a moment’s pause where the two of you start to split the appetizer, each of you tasting it and Sam hums in approval. “I say we live together for at least a year.” He looks up at you. “What do you think?��

“At least a year before what?” The clarification seems important, since the two of you seem to have slightly different expectations. It’s slight, but it’s there.

Sam chuckles slightly. “Before the next step?” He asks playfully, shrugging slightly.

“That makes sense.” But not knowing exactly what he meant makes you feel a little foolish, so you huff a laugh and have another sip of wine. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“You seem off tonight.” Sam tilts his head curiously. “Fight with Sydney? Never thought I would see that.”

“No, god no, nothing like that.” A fight with Sydney is about the farthest thing from the truth. The trouble is…you can’t really tell Sam the truth. It would be a ticking time bomb in the middle of your relationship. To not only think that you might have met your soulmate but to suddenly find yourself caring immensely about what that could mean? Hell, even being attracted to him? It would be a disaster. And you can’t blame him because you would feel exactly the same way if Sam came to you after meeting the girl that the universe says is his perfect match. Instead? All you can really do is make an excuse. “I haven’t really been feeling myself for the past few days.” That is very much true. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let it affect tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sam’s brows pull down. “Do we need to ask them to box up our meals? The photographer can take their photos now and we can go home if you aren’t up for a night out.” Despite his own views of how the night would go, he would never drag you around if you’d rather be in bed sleeping.

It’s sweet of him to offer, but you know he would be disappointed. And, unfortunately, no amount of sleep is going to pull you out of the Marcus-shaped funk you have found yourself in. No, sleep won’t help. And tonight is supposed to be about you and Sam, so it’s going to be. “That’s okay,” you assure him, shaking your head and promising yourself that the smile on your face won’t falter again tonight. “I’d rather spend tonight celebrating with you.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” He’s giving you a doubtful look, but he doesn’t call the waiter over. “Maybe it’s just that you need a night away.” He suggests. “I have a late morning scheduled so we can sleep in.”

“Unfortunately, I have an early morning.” You bite your lip, knowing he’ll hate that. “We have a big event tomorrow night and they’re showing up early in the day. Early bird check in, venue set up, all of it.”

Sam is quiet for a minute and then looks down at his plate again. “Well, I guess that can’t be helped.”

"It's all hands on deck right away." And suddenly you feel horribly guilty about it, even though it's your job. It's something you do out of love and a deep passion for the industry that you've chosen to work in. But a morning of just sleeping in sounds so nice.

“You don’t need to explain.” It’s not like you would change your plans anyway, but it definitely sours the idea he had for the next morning. “You have priorities.”

“Yes, I do. Just like you would if you had a day full of meetings to handle.” He sounds cold, and it bothers you so much more than you would have thought. Like you’d had disappointed your parents with a bad grade on your report card instead of telling your partner than you’re anticipating a demanding work day. “I would support you if that was the case, so I don’t understand why you seem so upset with me.”

“Because we had talked about it.” Sam reminds you. “Two days ago.” He clenches his jaw and takes a breath before releasing it. “You’re right, you have work and it’s important.” He agrees. “Forget I said anything.”

“We did talk about it two days ago. And we talked about me staying over, but not about doing anything the next day. Because I told you weeks ago when this group booked their party that it was going to be a big deal.” Barely managing not to drop your fork in the table, your eyes drop to your lap and you can feel the pressure of disappointment driving at the backs of your eyes like fire and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself. “I feel like we haven’t been communicating as well as we used to.”

“After we talked about you staying over, I asked if you wanted to have a lazy morning and you said ‘sounds good’.” Sam realizes you had told him about the booking. “We got our signals crossed. It happens. We will need to work on it.”

“Yeah.” You nod, quietly sitting back in your chair again while being very aware of the pairs of eyes that have all turned to witness the First Daughter argue with her boyfriend over their romantic Valentine’s dinner. Fuck. Mom’s going to kill me. “Yeah,” you agree with a vague nod of your head. “We’re just a little off. We’ll work on it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam promises with a smile, reaching out and taking your hand again. He doesn’t want you to be photographed looking unhappy, because then rumors would fly. Public figures aren’t allowed to have bad moments. “We will make the best of tonight.” He tells you. “Or…we can go back to your apartment if you’d prefer?” He offers. “That way you can sleep a little longer?”

"You normally hate staying at my apartment." The water pressure is better at his house, you'll give him that. And the bed is bigger. But the breakfast at your place is far superior every single time.

“I know, but I also know that you have an early morning and I would like to compromise.” He offers.

His hand fits around yours, anchoring you to the table and to him, and you remind yourself to breath. A miscommunication isn't an argument. And even if it is, an argument isn't the end of the world. "I would really like that," you agree, squeezing his hand just a touch. Trying to show him silently how much you appreciate that he's willing to bend a little for you. It has never bothered you that you go to him — stay at his place, attend his work and social events, usually let him pick restaurants for dates as well. But it's nice to feel a little give in your direction as well.

“Alright, then it’s settled.” He nods quickly and smiles at you. “We will have to swing by my house to pick up a change of clothes though.”

"We can do that." You'll tell Agent Bailey after dinner, and the message will get relayed. It will all be fine. Whatever is causing this gap between you and Sam, you'll figure it out. Starting with a little bit of compromise. "And tonight we'll clean out a drawer for you at my place. We'll each have a drawer."

It’s on the tip if his tongue to refuse, to remind you he doesn’t like staying at your place. It’s too busy and he likes privacy in his home, not people coming and going at all times. “It’s a plan.” He decides to say instead, happy that the meal is coming out.

The restaurant is busy tonight, full up with reservations for dates and girls’ nights out. Tables are packed full and the kitchen is bustling, but Malachi sits calmly at the reception desk making sure that all of the inn’s reservations for the night are being taken care of to the best of his ability. The less you have to worry about tomorrow with that incoming party, the better.

Marcus smiles as he walks up to the desk, guiding Vanessa up with a warm hand on her lower back. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, especially on Valentine’s Day, so he had once again tried one of the dating apps. Tinder Without Marks was kind of the opposite of Mate Marks and he appreciated that. There wasn’t any emphasis on tattoos or scars, just on personalities. He had been talking to Vanessa since you had bailed on his offer of dinner and tonight was the first date. “Reservation for Pike.” He greets Malachi warmly.

"Special Agent Pike!" Malachi was not going to forget that face or those shoulders anytime soon, and he smiles genuinely for what seems like the first time all night. Holidays are always a lot of extra running around. "Reservation for the restaurant tonight?" He would have noticed the name if the FBI agent had reserved a room at the inn. He definitely would have noticed that.

“Yes.” Marcus nods and smiles. “How are you Malachi?” He remembers the concierge’s name and greets him like a friend. “I knew that coming here would be a fantastic treat.”

“And…Miss D’Amario.” When the concierge’s eyes light on the woman beside Special Agent Pike, he nearly bursts out laughing. This is going to be the biggest gossip amongst the staff. Multiple staffs. “Does chef know to expect you? Or should I let her know?”

Marcus tilts his head and looks at Vanessa. “I didn’t realize you’ve been here before.” He had told her where he had made reservations, but she hadn’t said. “Do you come often?”

“Once or twice.” She admits with a sheepish smile as Malachi comes out from behind the desk to escort them into the restaurant. “Usually just to run errands. My boss…he comes here a lot.”

“Interesting coincidence.” Marcus muses as the two of them follow Malachi. “You never actually said who you worked for.” He reminds her.

She hadn’t. That’s true. Because on a dating website all kinds of information can get taken out of context or photoshopped into other things. All she had said before now is that she works on Capitol Hill. “Congressman Chase.” She tells her date, a little more secure in handing this information over after having looked into him and agreeing to this dinner. A girl can never be too careful, after all. “I’m the senior aide in his office.”

To his credit, Marcus doesn’t freeze, although his eyes blow wide. He can hear Malachi snicker quietly, although the agent isn’t sure why. Even though he doesn’t have anything against the congressman, the knowledge that she is his senior aide dulls the excitement of the date almost immediately. “I met him just the other day.” Marcus admits. “My friend and former colleague is the event planner here.”

“You know Juan?” Vanessa seems to ease immediately, the tension of meeting a stranger off the Internet soothing with the knowledge that Juan Badillo is an excellent judge of character. “Okay. So you know who owns the inn, then. And why I’m running errands here fairly often.” She smiles when Marcus pulls out her chair for her and thanks him before sitting. “I’ve always wanted to try the restaurant but never have a chance.”

Marcus smiles and nods, even though he’s not exactly sure how this dynamic would work. “Then it’s a good thing I got reservations here.” He tells her and picks up the menu. “Do you want some wine? I think I would like some.”

“That sounds great.” She nods happily, not catching the change in his demeanor even in the last few seconds.

He’s still not going to be rude. Vanessa is a lovely woman, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for being here on a date with her. Not even if you know her and she works for your boyfriend. “Are you a red, white or rosé kind of woman?” He asks, scanning the selections and looking back up at her.

“Usually white. But if you like red I’m happy to try something new.” Vanessa is happy to let Marcus take the lead, not feeling strong enough one way or the other to have a preference.

“There’s a wonderful Prosecco on the menu.” Marcus offers, lifting his brows. “It’s Valentine’s Day after all, and we aren’t alone. We should celebrate.”

"Perfect." Her smile spreads again and she sits back, looking over the menu and regarding the man across from her. "So what department of the FBI are you in? We haven't really talked about work yet."

“Art Crimes.” He supplies wondering where you and Sam are. A discreet glance around the restaurant was a relief and a disappointment not to come up with you. “I’m actually the head of the department.”

"So...is that forgeries and thieves? Like in caper movies?" Vanessa sounds suitably impressed even though it isn't the part of FBI work that gets glorified on tv or in movies. "I didn't know that was a whole department on its own. You must have a lot of responsibility."

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” Marcus admits. “Although I’m sure you have plenty yourself.” He chuckles. “I wish that it was like the movies, or that show White Collar that was on a few years ago. I could use a Neal Caffery sometimes.”

"Oh, I don't think I've ever seen it. I guess I have a little homework to do." On whatever the show is, plus on art as a whole. Art class or art history...museums in general aren't really Vanessa's thing. It just never seemed very practical. "Paperwork is okay when there's a rhythm to it. Sometimes I even turn on music quietly in the office while I'm copying and filing. It's really helpful even though it's kind of a no-no."

“Why would that be a no-no?” He wonders if Sam is a stick in the mud. “Most of the time, I encourage my team to listen to music, it helps engage your mind.”

"We try not to have anything on in the office that could interfere with being understood on the phone," she explains, like it's some kind of party line or sage advice that has been handed down to her. "Staying on message is important. And it's hard to stay on message if you can't be heard."

“And what’s your message?” He asks, finding it slightly intense, but he’s not the politician.

"Right now, our message is about serving our community. Working to bring business into our district without threatening existing small businesses, and making sure that we take safety standards into account." Obviously very proud of her work, Vanessa sits up straight in her chair and folds her hands in her lap with the air of someone being interviewed. "The Congressman is paving his own path and we're all on board for the ride."

“I see.” He can approve of such a message, admire it even. The congressman is obviously working for the best of his district and there is something noble about that. “That’s a good message to have.”

“It really is.” When Vanessa nods, it’s eager. “He’s on the fast track to the White House. It’s a privilege to get to work for him now.”

“A fast track, you say?” Marcus works so hard to keep from frowning, not liking the way that it makes it seem as if you are a steppingstone for Sam. Even though that shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

“Absolutely.” She pauses long enough for the waiter to return for their drink order and explain the beautiful Valentine’s prix fixe menu before leaving them be again for a few minutes. “Congressman Chase has seven more years to be the youngest president ever elected, and he can do it.”

“That’s a lofty ambition.” Marcus agrees, wondering how much of dating the current president’s daughter is included in those plans for the White House.

“It’s going to be great.” She laughs, not the least self-conscious, but shrugs her shoulders. “I like my job a lot. Sorry if I get carried away a little.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus waves that away, although he’s sure he sees hero worship in Vanessa’s eyes, and perhaps a crush on her boss. Nothing wrong with that unless they are being inappropriate and he can’t see the congressman doing that with his ambitions. Some congressmen, sure, but not Sam. “I wish a lot more people enjoyed their jobs like that.”

“It makes hard work worth it,” she agrees, though she does demure and tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “You…must love art? To be so involved with those crimes specifically?”

“I have come to really appreciate it.” Marcus tells her. “I never really stopped to look and think about much art before, but some weekends, I enjoy going through the museums for pleasure and not trying to research a piece.”

"DC is a very good place if you like museums." Even if she's not very big on them herself, she knows that to be absolutely true. It's where she ends up bringing family whenever they visit, so she has seen quite a few of the Smithsonian museums by now. She'd just rather be at a game.

“They are nice. Especially if a game gets rained out.” Marcus agrees, leaning back when the waiter comes back with the first course. “Thank you.” He hums and looks up at Vanessa. “This looks amazing.”

“It really does.” Vanessa looks as delighted as Marcus does and she offers him a sincere smile. “I’m very glad you decided to ask me out tonight.”

“I am too.” He smiles at her even if he feels guilty that he’s not as glad has he had been before he realized the connection to Sam Chase and therefore….you. He picks up his Prosecco and holds it up. “To positive first dates.”

“Absolutely.” Their glasses make lovely clink as they tap together and Vanessa smiles again, very glad that she decided to take this step to try to get over the crush she has on her boss.

“Looks like the inn is fairly packed tonight.” Sam hums as he pulls into the employee only portion of the oyster shell parking lot. He’s not upset for you business-wise, but he wished there weren’t so many people there.

“The night manager had the idea to keep our sitting room open for some live music, and it seems like people have stayed. It must have been a success.” The rooms aren’t sold out tonight because there are early check-ins for that party in the morning, but managing to keep people in house and engaged is a huge deal.

“Interesting concept.” Sam’s not really sure if that would attract the kind of clientele that you want here, but he’s a politician, not an inn owner. “Hopefully not too late?” He asks, wondering if it will be noisy into the late night. That’s not romantic.

“It should be over soon,” you promise him, seeing that your watch reads almost eleven o’clock.

“Good.” Once out of the car, he rushes around the hood and wraps his arm around your waist. “I don’t want them to interrupt our plans for tonight.”

“Nothing’s going to interrupt us.” Heading for the back door, you can pop right into the elevator to head upstairs without having to interrupt anything that’s going on or get sidetracked by Malachi. You just want to take a peak into the sitting room but that’s all. “And you can sleep in, in the morning after I’ve tired you out.”

"Is that a promise?" Sam asks playfully, allowing you to lead him away from the elevator and down the hall.

"Absolutely." The rest of the date had smoothed out, being a relatively quiet and pleasant night Now that you're back at the inn with a bag of Sam's things to stash away in your bureau, you're feeling a little bit flirtier and more upbeat. "And when you come downstairs after you finally drag that excellent butt out of bed, I'll have Syd make you some breakfast."

“I do love her breakfasts.” Sam groans, smirking at you playfully. “So you are planning on wearing me out completely?” He squeezes your waist and looks ahead towards the music.

"I'd say you deserve a night of intensely deep sleep, and I intend to make sure you get it." There is a little line waiting for the elevator as guests start to go up to their rooms for the night, so you hang back with Sam and look toward the sitting room instead. The music coming through is atmospheric and sweet and you are right about to lean your head on Sam's chest while you wait — when you spot someone unexpected in the sitting room.

Marcus had decided that just because Vanessa works for Sam doesn’t mean that he can’t have a nice night with her. The music had sounded lovely floating from the sitting room and he had asked if she wanted to stay. Now, they are dancing and he hasn’t thought about you in at least five minutes.

It's not exactly a gasp, but you end up trying to swallow whatever noise of surprise you were going to make when you spotted Marcus with his date in the the other room — and instead of keeping your reaction to yourself you end up choking on your own damn spit and coughing hard enough to worry Sam.

“Are you alright?” Sam pats your back and leans in with a worried look on his face while you wave him away. “What’s—” he glances around the room and immediately stiffens. “What is he doing with Vanessa?” He asks, his voice bristled with a slight anger he can’t shake.

"Vanessa?" You hadn't even seen who he was with, just choked at the sight of Marcus enjoying a quiet, romantic moment with another woman — something which you know shouldn't bother you but it had been a whole five minutes since the last time you thought about him so apparently that is your maximum. "Like your aide Vanessa?"

“How does he know her?” Sam ignores the question, staring holes into the FBI agent that is currently slow dancing with said aide and making her beam up at him in a way that has Sam wanting to drag her away from him.

"I don't know." He's practically fuming, and your forehead furrows as you turn your eyes back from the couple in the other room to Sam beside you. "Why does it matter?"

“I find it funny—” his tone definitely says otherwise, “that this man just magically shows up, gets invited to a game night and is now cozying up to my top aide.” Sam knows that he’s already been tagged by the DNC as a rising star, his own seat on the council is indicative of that, and now there’s this FBI that is showing up everywhere.

"He's friends with Juan." The defense in your voice is impossible to miss, and you cross your arms defiantly over your chest like you're waiting for him to pick a fight. "Maybe they were introduced by a mutual friend? Met in a coffee shop? Found each other on a dating app? Who knows?"

“And they just happened to book your inn as a date?” He scoffs slightly, unable to believe that fanciful tale and narrows his eyes as Marcus twirls Vanessa around and pulls her back against him.

"Why don't you go interrupt them and find out if you're so curious?" This has taken a very deep turn for the worse, and you can only be glad that the last guests waiting for the elevator near you have gone up so you're more or less alone now. Of course Agent Bailey is nearby, but she never comments.

“No.” He wants to. That’s the problem, and he knows it’s not a good move. Frowning, he turns away from the dancing couple. “Let’s go upstairs. The music is horrible.”

It's not. At all. But this isn't about the music and both of you know that silently even if it isn't said out loud. Sam jams his thumb in the 'Up' button for the elevator again but you say nothing, glancing back at the sitting room one more time to wonder if Sam is upset about the date that is happening for the same reason you are. And if he is...what does that mean for the two of you?

Once upstairs, Sam steps out of the elevator and sighs. “Can we just have the apartment to ourselves?” He directs his question to Agent Bailey, not looking at you.

There are certain protocols that have to be upheld, and Agent Bailey looks to you before starting them. “Ma’am?”

In your mind it’s awfully rude, knowing that asking her to sit in the hallway means hours and hours of uncomfortable sitting, but you also know that Sam is…in less than a good mood right now. And while you’re cranky too, you would rather try to smooth things over if you can. “If…you wouldn’t mind?”

“Please stay here.” Bailey directs you both. She’ll do a sweep of the apartment to make sure no one is waiting for you, and then she’ll take a chair into the hallway. She won’t say so, but she doesn’t mind not hearing a fight if it happens. Or the makeup sex. Neither one is her favorite.

Once you two are alone, Sam sets his bag down, aware that the mood of the evening is ruined and it’s his fault. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks, not even sure if he wants to stay at this point. Especially if Vanessa and that agent will also be spending the night under this roof. He’s not happy to see his best aide here, and usually he’s always happy to see her.

“Can you explain to me why you’re so upset?” It’s definitely uncomfortable, this tension that hangs in the air now, and you try not to let your eyes drop to the right before going back to him. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just surprised. He’s the one who got mad.

“It’s— I’m not—” There’s not a rational reason why he’s upset, and logically he knows this. “I don’t like the fact this man seems to be everywhere.” You had told him about meeting Marcus at the market and it seems as if he’s suddenly everywhere when a few weeks ago, no one knew this man was even in the area. “Strange in my eyes.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” That’s what you’ve told yourself, anyway. It has nothing at all — nothing whatsoever — to do with the universe putting you into situations where you’ll bump into each other. Not at all. “The Secret Service did a background check on him. He’s totally clear.”

“Then I guess I’m just overreacting.” Sam sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “I should go.” He knows that if he stays, the night won’t proceed like it was planned and he’s better off going home. You don’t seem too happy with him. “Unless you want me to stay?”

What you want, and what you should do, and what seems like the healthiest decision for your mental health all are different things. You should tell him to stay, brush it off, and try to salvage the evening. You want to go downstairs and interrupt that damn date to find out if Marcus Pike is as good a dancer as he seemed to be in the small space of the sitting room. But what’s best for your mental health? Is probably neither of those things. “Maybe I can come over this weekend and we can try to have a less stressful night at your place instead?”

Sam is silent for a moment and then nods. Understanding that something has fundamentally shifted in your relationship and trying to figure out what that might mean for the future. “Sounds good.” He agrees and looks at his bag before picking it up. “I’m sorry about how the night ended.”

“So am I.” The air between you feels different. Colder or heavier or just more tense, but you won’t back down just for the comfort of having him next to you in bed tonight. That isn’t fair to either of you.

Instead of a romantic kiss, Sam leans in and presses his lips to your cheek. “I’ll text you when I get home.” He promises, stepping back and frowning slightly before nodding. He had honestly expected you to change your mind, but he won’t beg to stay, knowing it’s not the best idea.

“Get home safe.” A long moment passes with thick air hanging between you before Sam nods again and opens the door, stepping out of your apartment and back in to the elevator. “It’s just us tonight,” you tell Agent Bailey, who comes back into the room the moment she hears the door. “The Congressman has gone home for the night.” And of referring to him by his title instead of his name isn’t a big fucking clue to you right then and there, it should be.

It’s not surprising, given the way the evening has turned sour, but it’s not her place to say anything. “Very well.” She nods. “If you need anything, let me know.” She intends to stay outside and let you sulk if you need to. She hadn’t missed ’the Congressman’ title instead of Sam.

“You can stay inside.” Banishing your Secret Service detail to the hallway is one more thing that rubbed you the wrong way. “I’m just going to go to bed. But the coffee you like…the vanilla caramel one? It in the cupboard above the coffee maker. Any time you want to make some.”

“Thank you.” The couch you don’t mind her sitting on is a lot more comfortable than the chair in hallway and she appreciates that you don’t mind her using the bathroom either. “Is there anything you need before you go to bed?”

“No.” You’re too afraid to ask if you did wrong by letting Sam go home, so you don’t even consider it. “Tomorrow’s an early morning. Agent Sisson coming to relieve you early?”

“Five.” She nods. “If you need to be up earlier, I will be here.”

"I won't be up until after that." Unless you can't sleep, which is a serious possibility considering how poorly the night went and how half of your thoughts are currently downstairs in the sitting room. "So I'll see you tomorrow, Agent Bailey."

“Goodnight, ma’am.” It’s best to keep things formal, although she feels bad that your evening did not end up like it was supposed to. And incredibly interested in the reaction of the congressman to Marcus Pike’s presence.

"Good night." Going to your room alone isn't what you wanted for tonight, but it feels like it's for the best. All you can do now is hope that you sleep.

The next morning is a flurry of activity, but Sydney notices that you aren’t rushing in from the parking lot when you come into the kitchen, looking like you didn’t get much sleep last night. “Good morning sunshine.” She teases, reaching for the coffee pot to pour you a cup.

Teasing barely earns her a grumble in return, but you gratefully accept the cup of coffee she pours you and turn to doctor it immediately. “That early check-in group should be here in a half hour.”

“I already have a breakfast spread ready for them.” She motions to the counter and the baskets she has already started filling with baked goods. The bowl of fresh fruit is inside a hollowed-out watermelon. “I couldn’t sleep.” She explains. “Indigestion.”

“There’s a joke in there about swallowing too much cum, but I’m too tired to make it.” You huff though, trying for a smile for your best friend. “It looks great, Syd. Thank you for working so hard.”

She sees through you instantly and frowns, moving around the counter and wiping her hands on the ever present rag tucked into the pocket of her chef’s jacket. “What’s wrong?” She asks, feeling your forehead and looking like an over anxious mother hen worrying over her baby. “Are you not feeling good? Juan, Malachi and I can handle this if you need us to.”

“Not a chance.” Considering you never take sick days even when you’re actually sick, there is no way you would make your team handle a big event without you. “It’s nothing. I just…had a bad night. That’s all.”

“Everything alright?” She frowns, tutting at your stubbornness and moving over to the espresso machine to give you a shot to help boost you up.

“Sam and I had a little…series of tiffs,” you admit with a sigh. There is a pan of her fresh baked broscia nearby and the Sicilian brioche-style bread is calming to you to be crammed full with jam and butter so you grab one still warm. “We got into it at the restaurant over me having to be at work early today and then again later when he flipped out about Marcus being here on his date.”

“Marcus?” Her head whips around and she gives you an utterly confused look. “One, why was he here? Two, why was Sam upset about that?”

“He must have stayed after dinner. For the musician that Malachi brought in.” Sam had been cranky about it, but you thought the singer at the piano had been lovely. “He…uh…Marcus, that is…did you see who his date was? When they came in for dinner last night?”

“I didn’t see, it was crazy in the kitchen, but Malachi told me that it was Vanessa.” She huffs. “How the hell do they know each other?”

“I don’t know. But the same question made Sam so upset that he ended up leaving my apartment last night instead of staying over.” The best you can do is shrug your shoulders. Because as much as it bothers you? You know why it does. There’s no mystery there, only guilt. “He thinks there’s something suspicious about Marcus, apparently.”

“Something suspicious about Marcus Pike?” She chokes out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it. “The FBI agent? The man who was an Eagle Scout?” She and Juan had pulled that nugget of information out of him at game night.

“Because apparently, he’s ‘suddenly everywhere’ when none of us had seen him before.” Jam and butter join your bread roll and you sigh a little at the comfort of it. “I think it’s just confirmation bias. Like we probably were in the same places as him before, we just didn’t know to look for him.”

“Well…Juan would have recognized him.” Syd reminds you. “So that’s not exactly true, but I understand what you mean.” She sighs and hesitates for a moment. “Do you think it’s him or because he was with Vanessa?” She knows the other woman has a crush on Sam, it’s obvious from the hero worship stars in her eyes when she’s around. She knows Sam isn’t the type to cheat, but maybe there’s some feelings there that are repressed.

“I feel like that didn’t help.” Coffee and a little breakfast is helping. You can think a little straighter even if you don’t like the thoughts. “I know Vanessa has a thing for him. It’s not subtle. But before now I didn’t think there was cause for concern the other way.”

“It could be that Sam thinks that Vanessa could give away information that he could use if Marcus wanted to cause problems between you and Sam.” She rationalizes. “Slightly conspiracy theorist in my mind, but I could see how it could be construed.” Sydney enjoys playing Devil’s advocate, even if she likes Marcus and doesn’t think he is angling for anything.

“Before last week, I didn’t think there were problems between me and Sam.” It’s disconcerting to realize, as you stand here and talk through it with your best friend, that your relationship has not been as steady as you once thought. “Now? I don’t know.”

“Other than his overreaction, what makes you think that?” She asks, aware that you’ve been a little edgy lately but every relationship has ups and downs at times.

“He seems…really agitated lately. Much more upset than usual about having an agent around. Last night he wanted Agent Bailey to sit out in the hall while we slept, how does that make sense? And making comments about the future of our relationship to other people?” To Vanessa’s parents, now that you think about it. It sometimes slips your mind that his most trustworthy aide is also the only daughter of one of his largest donors. “Everything just feels on edge.”

“Have you talked about all this? Like really sat down and talked?” She frowns, not liking what she is hearing, although it could just be a case of miscommunication.

“Before now there hasn’t really been a reason.” Or at least, there hasn’t been such an obvious compilation of reasons. “And considering he never texted me back when he got home last night, now I’m wondering if he’ll be willing to sit down and hash things out.”

“I’m sorry.” She slides the shot of espresso over and reaches for your hand. “I like Sam, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s better to find out now, than down the road.”

“With the whole soulmate thing and now this kind of…weird accumulation of things?” You shake your head and just sort of shrug awkwardly. “I feel discouraged in a way that I really wasn’t expecting.”

“I’m sorry.” Immediately feeling guilty, Sydney’s shoulders drop and she bites her lip. “I shouldn’t have teased you about finding out what kind of hummingbird tattoo he has.” She hadn’t expected it to cause so many problems, or for you to be so resistant to it. Before Sam, you would have demanded to see the tattoo right away just to disprove the soulmate theory. “What can I do to help you?”

“Honey, you’re growing a literal human. You have enough to deal with.” It’s disheartening, and confusing, and frankly you’re shocked that you’re so willing to throw up your hands. That’s not like you at all.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t be there for my best friend.” She argues, frowning at you. “Your shit is my shit, remember? I’ll be expecting you to do a rotation getting up with the baby.” She jokes, wanting you to laugh a little.

"If we still lived together, I absolutely would." Being in this apartment upstairs is actually the first time you've ever lived alone — taking over the role of caretaker for the inn when Sydney moved out of the apartment you had been renting in Old Town to buy a house with her soulmate. "At this point I feel like I'm between a rock and a hard place...and one of those blockages is purely made up of how confused I am over...just feeling like I want to throw in the towel instead of working things out. That's not who I am. Or not who I have been."

“Honey, sometimes you just…don’t want to work things out. That doesn’t make you a failure.” She hums. “You might just realize that you have different goals.”

"But why do I feel that way?" There's only a few bites of your bun left and you know that today is going to be a peckish day. You tend to nibble when you're worried. "Is it just because I'm having doubts? And why am I even having doubts? It's...soulmates never mattered to me before this."

“Maybe it’s because of the man and not the soulmate aspect?” She probes gently. “Let me ask you this….if you weren’t in a relationship with Sam, would you be interested in Marcus. Even without the soulmate possibility?”

"I—" It feels dirty. A kind of guilt you really don't like and makes your skin crawl. But this isn't a situation you're going to lie about. Not when you're literally asking your best friend for help. "I mean...probably. Yeah."

“Then you should step back. From Marcus or Sam, that decision is yours. But some space might be needed to figure out what you are feeling.” Syd suggests.

"All the social media shit from our date last night is going to go viral really fast if anyone gets a whiff that we've broken up." Just as astonishing as the idea that you would even consider ending things, it's alarming how fast your heart knows the right decision to make. Or at least what you perceive as right in this moment. "It's going to be a shitshow..."

Sydney doesn’t comment on the fact that it seems like you’ve made up your mind, just humming. “Take it slow. It doesn’t have to be some kind of announcement.”

"The last thing I want is to have to make an announcement." The end of your coffee cup comes all too soon, and you fill it up again with a sigh. This morning is going to be a lot for many different reasons. "Syd...you would stop me if you thought I was making the wrong choice, right?"

“I would definitely try to talk to you.” She promises. “I like Sam, I really do, but if you don’t see yourself marrying him, well—” she shrugs. “Just give yourself a week, how about that?”

"Have I really reached the point in my life where it's not worth staying with someone that I don't see myself marrying?" That is a fairly rude awakening because of how honest it is, and you stifle a groan in one hand. "You're right, and I know you're right. But the State Dinner for the Spanish royal visit is in just over a week. The last thing I want is to have to go to that alone."

“To make it fair, give yourself that time.” She tells you. “Give him an honest try and if you still can’t see it, then you have your answer because Sam is the type to want marriage.”

"I want to get married, too." You always have. Ever since you were little. You reveled in family weddings and dreaming in your own big day. You had even talked to Marcus about it at the market. But whenever the future comes up with Sam, it ends up feeling tense now. "I just...it's a lot to even think about, Syd. You and Juan just...you're so good together. I don't think I'll ever get that lucky."

“I think you will.” She encourages. “My relationship with Juan isn’t without work.” She reminds you. “We still have to communicate and work through issues.”

"But it's worth it because you love each other so much." The sentence is out of your mouth before you have a chance to really sit on what you're saying, and just seconds after you hear yourself say it, your shoulders fall in defeat. "Oh...fuck..."

“What is it?” She asks, frowning at the way you just seemed to deflate.

"It's worth it for you and Juan to work through your issues because you love each other so much." Repeating the phrase makes it hurt all the more, because you didn't realize until this exact moment that it doesn't apply to you. At least, not anymore. "I...don't think I feel the same way..."

“Oh honey.” Her expression softens and she is immediately around the counter again, this time pulling you in for a big hug.

"I'm okay," you insist, through very obvious tears that announce the contrary. "I'm okay." You have to be. You have work to do, and you can't greet a large family party here to announce and celebrate an engagement with runny mascara. "I...have to be okay."

“Listen.” She lets you go and takes your shoulder to look you in the eyes. “You are going upstairs. Ahhh.” She stops you when you start to protest. “Take ten minutes, take an hour, take all day, but take some time to yourself before you start running around dealing with the very obvious results of love.” She tells you. “I can get them started with food and then Juan can take over to take them to the venue.” She shakes her head, huffing when you open your mouth again. “No, I’m not listening. Now go.”

"I'll be back in ten minutes." The best thing you can do for yourself today is keep busy, but she's right that you need to have a clear head for things to go well. "I just...I didn't know this was going to happen today. Or ever."

“I know, babe.” She squeezes you again and sighs. “But I’m here for you. Completely.”

"Thank you, love." Squeezing her tight against you as much as you can, you steal your second coffee away with you from the kitchen and head back upstairs with Agent Sisson following behind.

Sydney sighs as she looks at the door you disappear through for a moment before turning back to her work. The best way she can help you right now, is to make sure the incoming clients are happy.

Walking out through the back hall, you clutch your mug of coffee and try to hang onto a thread of dignity until you get back upstairs. There are more tears pressing at the back of your eyes and you absolutely do not want them shed in public. The elevator is in use, apparently, and you jam your finger in the button a second time for good measure before blowing out a sigh. What a great fucking Valentine’s last night turned out to be, and what a terrible fucking day this is looking like…

The little toiletry kits provided in the rooms are a godsend and both Marcus and Vanessa quickly clean up after the alarm had woken them. “Can’t believe we drank so much and we don’t have hangovers.” Marcus hums, riding the elevator down to get a quick breakfast with his Valentine’s date. They had ended up finishing a bottle and then having another few glasses while dancing. Feeling too drunk to safely get home, the night manager had agreed to let them take one of the rooms on the promise they would check out early. He has been grateful and eagerly agreed. “How about you?”

“Normally I would say I’m still drunk,” Vanessa admits with a sheepish laugh. “But I’m okay. I think it’s just a miracle and I’m not in the habit of questioning those. Though I could use some breakfast.”

“I’ll get you fed and then get you home so you won’t be late to work.” Marcus promises. He will be late, but he had already told his team to come in late, so it’s just paperwork that he’s missing.

“In case no one has ever told you before, you are a consummate caretaker.” It makes a girl like Vanessa feel very special, who spend her working hours caring for someone else and her downtime making sure to live up to her parents’ expectations, and while Marcus Pike isn’t quite her dream man — he’s handsome and sweet and she would be stupid to ignore that.

"I like to make sure people are happy and safe around me." Marcus shrugs off the praise with a small grin. "I took you from your house, it's only right I deliver you back to it." He hums as the elevator stops and dings before the doors open. "Now to get you fed."

When the elevator doors slide open in front of you, the most unwelcome sight in the world is waiting. The vision of Marcus Pike and Vanessa D’Amario in the same clothing you saw them wearing last night, looking refreshed and giddy huddled together in one corner of the elevator car makes you want to turn on your heel and flee back into the kitchen. And you probably would, if you weren’t rooted to the spot in shock and trying to remember how to breathe.

Vanessa murmurs your name in surprise. "I—I didn't expect to see you here this morning!" Her eyes dart around, almost nervously as she expects Sam to pop up. "I—uh, is Congressman Chase here?" She asks, "I thought— he said that you had a date." Normally dates between you and Sam included sleepovers.

“He’s not here.” You won’t invite questions by giving extra information, but when your feet remember how to work, you step out of the way to let them off the elevator. “I—um—I was just headed upstairs.” Sam is going to be in a very foul mood if he’s coming off a bad night and Vanessa walks in looking freshly fucked, and that almost makes you sob all over again. “N—nice to see you, Vanessa. Marcus.”

Marcus can't even do more than just nod and lift his hand and wave slightly, feeling foolish as he watches the doors slide closed and your eyes meet his in a kind of silent agony. "Well," Vanessa giggles and Marcus can't help the way that he swallows guiltily, like he's done something wrong. "I guess that's one way for my boss to learn I had a date."

______

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My Masterlist!

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 5

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Flirting, probably incorrect White House descriptions, this is almost definitely not how receiving lines actually work, celebrity chef cameo, the tension is building. Summary: Marcus pulls out all the stops at the State dinner, and June accidentally spills the beans. Notes: I unapologetically love this chapter. The State dinner is straight out of An American President and we even have a West Wing character sighting as well!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

If Sydney hadn't gone and called in that favor with one of the stylists she knows, you sincerely doubt that you would have been ready for the dinner in any way, shape, or form. The gown, the jewelry, the shoes — all of it is lovely and sumptuous in a way you think you'll never get used to, but you will be sending this particular stylist an enormous thank you gift from the local chocolatier for all the wonderful work she did on you. Despite the help, though, you're feeling remarkably nervous as you pace around your apartment waiting for enough time to pass that you can actually leave to pick up Marcus.

It almost feels wrong being picked up by you for the State dinner. He understands that it’s not a date, just a friend doing another friend a favor, but he was raised as a gentleman. He was taught to show up to the door of a lady’s house, escort them and show them a good time and then deposit them back onto their doorstep safely.

It's a sleek, black car that shows up in front of his apartment building. Nondescript in that way that reads definitely government issued but also not important enough to follow, and of course that is deliberate. It isn't your car. No, he's seen your little blue sedan several times already. He wouldn't even know it was you if he hadn't gotten your text and spied Agent Bailey in the passenger seat. When his buzzer goes off a second later, it's distinctly your voice on the other end.

“I’ll be down in two seconds.” Marcus promises, grabbing the small brooch he had seen when he was at an antique store running down a lead on a case. While it might not be protocol to give you a brooch, he felt like it was more appropriate than flowers for the occasion.

"You might want to let me up!" You counter, quickly before he walks away from the speaker. "I have something for you."

“Oh, uh, sure.” Marcus flushes even though you can’t see him and hits the buzzer to unlock the security door.

In what feels like just a few seconds, you rocket upstairs in your full gown and best peacoat. It wards off the February chill nicely and has pockets deep enough for your best gloves without crushing them. The little white cardboard box clutched in your hand was retrieved this morning, and you hope he appreciates the small, albeit grateful gesture.

Marcus checks his reflection in the mirror next to the door and opens it quickly. He isn’t sure if you know what apartment he is in and he doesn’t want to leave you guessing.

"Hey." He looks devastating the second he opens his front door, dapper and clean cut in his tuxedo with what looks like a fresh haircut to boot. There is a little less guilt when your stomach flips at the sight of him and you feel a flutter in your chest, but you tell yourself that it's just nerves for the night to come. "Please accept my heartfelt thanks for tonight, in the form of the best muffin you will ever eat," you offer, holding out the bakery box and hoping he hasn't forgotten your little bet.

He tilts his head in confusion for a moment before a slow smile breaks across his face. “We’ll have to see about that.” He vows as he takes the box as gently as it if were a priceless work of art. “You can’t eat mine, but I also picked up a gift for you.” He explains as he sets the box down and picks up the antique velvet box. “I was in this little antique store on Tuesday, and as soon as I saw this, I knew it was made for you.”

"You really didn't have to." Even standing there in the entryway of his little DuPont Circle apartment, the heat in your cheeks spreads all the way down your neck and shoulders instantly. Carefully cracking open the velvet box reveals a stunning circular brooch with the Presidential seal set in gold in the center, surrounded by small but stunning stones that shine either clear or light blue when you turn them to hit the light from different angles. "Marcus, it's stunning."

“I thought it was perfect for tonight.” He explains, overjoyed that you like it. He had talked himself out of giving it to you three different times but then thought that it would be rude not to give you something as thanks for allowing him to take part in such a historic occasion.

"I wish I could wear it tonight." Apologetically, you pluck at your burgundy-colored skirt where it sticks out under the bottom of your coat. The soft blue and deep purple-red would clash entirely. "I'll have to make sure I pick the next dress specifically to match it."

“No, I didn’t expect you to wear it.” Marcus hastily corrects. “I just thought it was appropriate for the occasion.”

"It's wonderful." Though it doesn't keep you from wishing you could, and you slip the jewelry case into your jacket pocket for safe keeping. "Thank you. For the perfect gift and for being my lifesaver tonight."

“I don’t think escorting you to the State dinner is anything like lifesaving.” Marcus jokes. “But I’m here for you.”

"Are you ready to go?" You won't debate with him all the ways that he has very definitely saved your skin from an enormous amount of worry and explanation. Just as long as he knows that you're grateful, that is all that matters.

“Absolutely.” The key fob in his pocket is simply to get into the door and he has left his gun locked in his safe, but his badge is in his breast pocket. He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

"No time like the present." The offer of his arm is elegant and old fashioned, and the two of you step into the elevator together. Agent Bailey is there waiting, of course, and ushers you back into the car to make sure you get to the White House on time.

Marcus nods politely to the Secret Service agent. “Agent Bailey, nice to see you again.” He murmurs, aware that the woman is working and cannot spend too much time chatting with him.

"Special Agent Pike." She nods back, the acknowledgement appreciated as much as the professionalism. The car that the President sent came complete with a chauffeur so she at least does not have to split her focus between driving and protecting. "We're right on schedule," she tells you both, once everyone is back in the car — then promptly raises the privacy barrier in the sleek town car.

“Well.” Marcus chuckles at the gesture and looks over at you. “We’ve been dismissed.” He jokes and adjusts in the seat slightly so he can talk to you and not crease his jacket. “Should I be offended?”

"Not at all." Although you can see how someone else might think so. "I think she's nervous. The first State dinner is a big deal. We're all a little nervous."

“Everything will be great.” He assures you, resisting the urge to take your hand and squeeze it. “I understand it’s a large undertaking, but security will be on top of their game and everything will move like a perfectly trained team winning a World Series.”

The baseball metaphor makes you smile, and you carefully buckle yourself in just before the car pulls out into traffic. "I think the kinks in the system they're worried about are me and my siblings," you admit ruefully. "Just because we were good on the campaign trail and for the inauguration doesn't mean we will be now, so they're just waiting to see if we all behave."

“I think that you and your siblings want nothing more than to make your mother proud and that is a reflection of her through you.” He observes, having listened to your stories about your brother and sister.

"You have far too much faith in my brother." The small laugh from your lips as you sit back is pure amusement, but he's right. None of you would ever do anything to interrupt so an important night. "Maybe if there wasn't royalty coming tonight. Because Alex is an agent of chaos, but only the good-natured kind."

“What young man isn’t?” Marcus snorts.

"His partner." You chuckle slightly, knowing how calm and collected your brother's boyfriend is by comparison. "Alex isn't out publicly. But he's known his soulmate since they were kids, and David just goes everywhere with him as his inseparable best friend. He'll be at the dinner tonight, too."

“It’s good that he can be with him tonight.” Marcus nods, not even having to say that your brother’s secret is safe with him. He wouldn’t dream of misusing that information.

"David's a sweetheart." He's good for Alex, and an active member of the family just like Sydney is. They were essentially adopted into the fold very early on. "He's going through law school with Alex at Georgetown. Family law, like adoption cases and child welfare. And I really think he's going to be a great lawyer." It's easy with Marcus, you reflect again, watching the streets of DC pass by the window beyond his profile. These are things that you hadn't even told Sam until a month or more into the relationship as you had been very careful about guarding your family's secrets at any cost. With Marcus you just seem to...open up.

“That’s great.” Marcus agrees. “I have a lot of respect for the good lawyers that are trying to make a difference in the world.” Marcus has met a lot of lawyers over his career and he can tell a difference in the ones that are genuinely there for the law and people’s rights and ones that aren’t very scrupulous.

"Then you and David should get along swimmingly." Feeling the nerves in your belly as the car pulls through the busy city streets, you offer him a warm but thin smile. "Sorry if I'm talking a lot," you offer. "That's my way of being nervous."

“Nothing wrong with that.” He assures you. “You talk out all your anxiety and I will listen.” He bites his lip and again is wondering why he has such a strong urge to comfort you and hold you close while you babble.

"Watch out." There's a softness in the way you smile so reflexively that you just sink into it, wishing you could reach for his hand. "Or I just might invite you to more of these things if you're going to be such good company."

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no.” He snorts. “I would hate to be invited to amazingly historical events as a bystander and not work.”

"We'll see how little work you think it is when my family has gotten used to you and you start getting tapped into family debates." You snort right along with him, knowing that if he does come around your family often enough — an idea that you somehow don't hate even one single bit — it will happen fairly quickly. Nobody adopts their kids' friends quite like your parents do, and nobody likes debating as much as your parents, either.

Marcus laughs. “Sounds like dinner time conversation in the Pike household.” He admits, grinning at the memories. “My mother always believed in ‘healthy’ arguments so we debated early on and often. Even if she agreed, she could take the opposite positions just so we could rationalize what the other view would be thinking.”

“Sounds just like my house growing up.” You snort, though, rolling your eyes. “Hell, it sounds like them now, forget then. I had to negotiate my own damn birthday party because debates and negotiation are how everything gets done in my family.”

“Birthday?” He raises his brows and smiles. “You have one coming up?” He asks, wondering how old you will be. He thinks late twenties but he could get wrong, not exactly remembering the whole spiel on the first family during the election cycle.

“Thirty.” When you nod your head it comes with a slight shrug. “Next month. My parents tend to…it’s Mom, mostly. They make a big deal out of birthdays. And personal achievements. And pretty much anything else they consider important in life. It’s part of their philosophy of uplifting their kids, but it can get…heavy.”

“I get feeling that celebrating is great, but sometimes you would just like to do your own thing?” He asks, tilting his head. “Perfect birthday?” He challenges.

He's completely right, but there is a sort of naked and vulnerable feeling to admitting that he understands you so well this quickly that makes your heart skip and your palms sweat — not necessarily both positive feelings. "Sleep late, pancakes for brunch, then a ball game in the afternoon and dinner with my partner. Anything else that happens is extra, but those are the pillars of the perfect birthday." It's a little bit of a pipe dream, all things considered, but you smile nonetheless. "Oh! And cake. Birthdays have to have cake. Even if it's just a cupcake, it's got to be there."

“That sounds perfect.” Marcus groans, nodding. “Well—I have….” He pauses, wondering if he would overstepping boundaries. “I have season tickets for the Nationals, even if they aren’t my team.” He flashes you a grin. “You’d be surprised how many favors I can pull with a pair of tickets, field level.”

“Honestly? I don’t think I would be. A day at the park is kind of the perfect relaxer. To me, at least. Everything lifts away and you can just breathe.” Laughing, despite yourself, that lift is in your chest right now. Wondering if he’s really offering what you hope he’s offering. “I probably sound silly. But I just…I love going to baseball games. It almost doesn’t even matter who’s playing. It’s the experience of going that I love.”

“Eating ballpark dogs, drinking overpriced beer.” Marcus nods. “Have to get a bag of peanuts, it’s a crime not to.”

“I’m a Cracker Jack girl. Always have been.” It’s nostalgic and silly, and being able to just chat without tension has pulled the anxiety away from your bones. “The people around you are in a good mood, the game is fun, and hopefully you get to go with someone you enjoy. It’s the perfect afternoon, or evening, or whenever.”

“Best way to spend a Saturday night in my opinion.” He flashes you a grin. “Quick, tell the driver to drop us off at the Navy Yard.” He jokes. “We’ll go to the game in formal wear.”

“If I hadn’t promised my mother that I would behave, I might take you up in that.” It draws a groan from you, playful and light, and when you glance out the window to find yourselves pulling up to the White House already, you laugh again. “That was a fast drive.”

This time Marcus does reach over and take your hand in reassurance. “You will be wonderful. I’ve seen you around the inn, you’ve got this.” He squeezes gently and lets go. “You have a natural ability to put people at ease.”

“You’re…incredibly sweet.” This time the pang of guilt in your heart isn’t about how handsome his smile is, it’s how much you want to just hold onto his hand and not let go. It’s about how good touching Marcus felt, even for the briefest second. It’s…about the fact that you haven’t technically broken up with Sam yet because he’s been so sick.

“Thanks.” The smile he gives you covers the resounding gong of disappointment in his heart. Reminding him once again that the seemingly perfect woman for him isn’t available. You are dating an up-and-coming congressman and he’s gone out with Vanessa two more times. Both of you agree that it’s a little awkward how close the playing ‘seven degrees’ goes, but that it shouldn’t hamper the two of them from enjoying the other’s company. “That’s me. Sweet.” He tells you with a grin right as the car comes to a stop.

“Sweet is underrated and underappreciated,” you tell him honestly, waiting for the door to be opened and a hand to appear that will help you out in this enormous dress. “More men should be sweet.”

“I guess that’s true.” He snorts, reaching out to help with the back of the dress so you don’t have any mishaps.

The flashbulbs seem unnecessary, but with the help of the man helping ladies from their cars and Marcus with your dress, you pass through the line of new arrivals in no time. The agent at security checks your name off the list and inspects Marcus’s ID closely even after you hand over your invitation that formally lists both your names, but that’s protocol. Next step is the metal detectors and soon enough you’re being escorted to the receiving line. “Ready?” You ask Marcus quietly, knowing this might be the first President he’s ever met and recognizing that for the important occasion that it is to him.

“I am.” Marcus has met many esteemed members of congress and governors, but a president is a new on for the books. “Are you?” He asks, looking over at you earnestly. “Let me know if you need a break and I’ll need to use the bathroom or something.”

“The receiving line is going to be the most daunting part, I think.” There was some back and forth about whether or not your escorts — you being the kids — would stand with you in line but in the end your father made the case that Alex should be able to have David with him so it was all in. “But I’m okay. This is just going to be a lot of smiling politely as you stand between me and my brother. Probably a lot of telling people your job title. Then we’ll get to eat and drink and that will be worth it.”

“Hopefully no one asks if I can fix a parking ticket for them.” He snorts. “It’s kind of concerning how many people think the FBI can influence traffic tickets.”

“If anybody asks that,” you lend him a smile and slip your hand into his arm again. “You just refer them to me. I can’t do anything about it either, but they’ll either feel special or laugh.”

Marcus laughs as you guide him towards the small room where he assumes the family is assembled before the beginning of the dinner.

"There she is!" It's your father who spots you first, pulling you forward and into a tight hug as an attendant nearby takes your coat and Marcus's as well.

"Hi Dad." It's not as if you didn't see them just last night, but really and truly — everyone is nervous. "Everybody, this is Marcus." The ‘be nice’ is implied, but only because you said it explicitly last night. "Marcus, this is...everybody. My Father, my little sister June, my brother Alex, David and his brother Noah, and...of course...my Mother."

“Nice to meet you all.” Marcus doesn’t fawn over your mother, giving them all a warm smile and reaching out with a handshake for them all. “Junie, right?” He asks the younger girl, smiling when she hums and nods. He greets Alex and David by name as well, making your brother shoot you a questioning look before he moves on to your mother and father. “Your daughter has nothing but wonderful things to say about all of you.” He assures your father and then your mother. “Her pride in her family is obvious every time she speaks.”

“Oh Birdie, you didn’t say he was handsome,” you mother teases, knowing you did not say anything about the young man’s appearance one way or the other. He is your type, though, and she wonders in the way a mother does, if there is anything you haven’t told her. “Special Agent Pike, we are very glad to have you here tonight. My daughter has spoken nothing but wonderful things about you as well.”

“Happy to be here.” He admits, wincing slightly. “Although I hate that the congressman is sick.” He mentions Sam so the family knows that he is aware of your relationship status. “When Birdie called, I was happy to do her the favor.” He wonders at the nickname but doesn’t ask, knowing he didn’t hear it during game night, so it must be a family thing.

“Anybody else ready to embarrass me right off the bat?” The nickname is…less than ideal, given that you still haven’t talked to Marcus about your — potentially shared — tattoo, and you try not to flinch. “Dad? Alex? You guys up next?”

“Relax, Slugger.” Your Father flashes a grin even as he steps forward to shake Marcus’s hand. “We have the whole night to mortify you in front of your friend. No need to rush.”

Marcus laughs and feels at ease in the presence of your family. There’s a very happy sense of unity that is rare. “I promise I won’t hold the embarrassing stories against you.” He promises you with a wink.

“Very gracious of you,” you huff, but it’s all toothless. They’re your family, and even though they’re merciless sometimes, you love them. It keeps you all honest.

“I know.” He likes the fact they all chuckle and move back to your side. “Are there any protocols I need to be aware of?” He asks seriously, shifting the conversation back to the dinner. “I do not want to accidentally cause an international incident.”

“The king and queen are your Majesty the first time, and after that it’s sir or ma’am,” your Father explains, silently approving of the question with a glance and smile in your direction while he talks to Marcus. “Other than that, mind your manners and find any of us if you need a rescue. Birdie has your back and so do we.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Marcus nods and looks over at you. “Ready?”

“Mom?” Of course, she calls the shots. And the fact that she’s here in the room with you and not being escorted from the West Wing straight into the dinner is fairly impressive.

“Let’s line up.” She nods, gesturing for Junie and Noah to be first. “Kids in ascending order, and the king and queen will join us in the ballroom.”

Marcus offers you his arm again, wanting to formally escort you to your position, even if he is a supporting player tonight. Of course he will be written about, but he doesn’t focus on that, this is about the President having a wildly successful first State dinner.

"Madam President." The aide that appears looks official and tense, signaling that the night is ready to begin. There is...what would you call him? An announcer? A man in a tuxedo introducing each of you as you enter the room. When it gets to you and Marcus there is an odd sort of haze on the whole thing, and you swear you're trying not to think too hard about how much you like the sound of your names side by side like that. It feels just like when you were in middle school and doodled your name in your notebook next to your crush's.

Marcus straightens slightly and he reaches over and covers the top of your hand with his gently. “It’s kind of surreal.” He admits, whispering to you.

"The inauguration still feels like a fever dream," you murmur back, squeezing his fingers a little to show support. That you completely agree and understand. "Just smile and look like you're having fun and you'll be fine."

“Would it be wrong if I did enjoy myself?” He asks softly, wondering if you really hated events like this. “Maybe if you pretend to be undercover, it will help make it interesting?”

"It wouldn't be wrong." Once you fall into place beside Alex, you take a deep breath and smile — smiling at Marcus is remarkably easy and you decide not to think about it too hard. "These things...the spotlight, I mean?" You whisper to him, making sure not to move your lips too much so anyone watching can't tell what you're saying. "It just makes me nervous. That's all. I'd be glad if you actually enjoyed yourself."

“I only enjoy myself if my partner does.” Marcus leans in to murmur into your ear, explaining his view. “So it’s my duty to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

"I'll try not to make it too hard for you." The feeling of his breath fanning over your neck should be criminal, and it takes everything in you not to shiver and to lift your eyes to meet his instead of shying away. "But I get the feeling you don't shy away from a challenge."

“Never.” He promises. “Not even if it takes all night.”

He can't have meant it as an innuendo, but for the first time all night you're grateful for the voluminous skirts of your dress. No one has any idea that you just squeezed your thighs together wishing it was. "I'll remember that," you hum, turning to pay polite attention when the President is announced entering the ballroom.

Marcus realizes that it could have been taken another way and straightens as quickly as possible. His cheeks burning and he hopes that he didn’t offend you, even though you don’t seem like the type to easily be offended.

"I hope you can dance, G-man." Alex murmurs from Marcus's other side, quiet enough that you can't hear him and sending your escort a knowing smirk. "The girl has princess fantasies a mile wide." He's thrilled to not see Sam but won't say so until he knows the self-centered Congressman is out of the picture entirely. Instead, he'll play his hand quietly from the sidelines.

Marcus hums and glances over at you as you straighten your spine even more as the doors open. “She certainly looks like one.”

"Attaboy." Your brother laughs softly, giving Marcus an approving nod before he, too, straightens out of respect for his mother.

He can’t respond, but he wonders why your brother would say something like that. Only pondering on it for a moment before there are one thousand flashing lightbulbs making halos appear in his vision.

With the receiving line in place, the guests of honor are introduced next, and they make their way down the line with polite interest. So far, they have only met the President and First Gentleman. When they reach you and Marcus, you curtsy and thank god for all those times you watched The Princess Diaries as a kid. You're at least not blanking out on how to be polite to monarchs.

Once the line starts, it seems like it will never end. Marcus shakes hands and recognizes faces, all of it becoming a surreal blur after a bit. Trying to take the time to check in with you, his hand finds your back and he presses gently, offering comfort when he notices that you shift slightly.

If he had any idea his hand was right over your tattoo, he might have felt differently about the gesture. You can’t know for sure, of course. All you do know is that every time he touches you, you want to wilt into his arms like some ancient damsel and there’s no way to logic yourself out of it. There’s no explanation or reasoning beyond wanting him. But — you remind yourself each time you glance up to meet his eyes and silently tell him I’m okay because you’re here supporting me — he’s dating Vanessa. He’s with someone else and this is just a favor for a friend.

Marcus feels guilty, so fucking guilty because he’s absolutely in-tuned to you. He tries to be observant and thoughtful, but unlike with his ex, or even Teresa and Vanessa, it’s so easy with you. It’s like he can sense your emotions and adjust to them. Hating that he wants to see you look at him like he is wonderful every day and not sure why he feels like you should.

By the time the line ends you aren’t just mentally exhausted, you’re hungry to boot. “I have no idea how many people we just met,” you admit in a whisper, when you take his arm again to be escorted to your seats. Your father had smartly separated each of his children to a different table tonight to cut down on potential shenanigans, so you and Marcus have been placed with a few members of your mother’s staff and a few esteemed guests. There are no judges or members of Congress here, so conversation should stay light and entertaining.

“Three hundred and twenty-six.” Marcus supplies as he walks with you to the table. “And I’m absolutely in need of a roll and a drink.”

“You kept count?” It’s impressive and just a dash nerdy, making you reach for the nearest passing waiter to snag two glasses of champagne in appreciation. “Pretty cool that Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem came, though. I’m bummed Pedro Almodóvar turned down the invitation.”

“I’ve seen some of his works.” Marcus nods. “He’s a good visionary.” He had been impressed with the foreign dignitaries and celebrities alike, finding it to be slightly overwhelming. “It will be interesting to see who is sat with us.”

“He’s remarkable.” The last few things you’ve seen from the Spanish filmmaker were truly moving, and you had happily dragged Sydney and Juan along to the theater with you. “Apparently he’s working on something new. So he couldn’t be here tonight.”

“I think that’s a good reason to not be available to attend.” He murmurs, smiling slightly as you tip back the champagne. His own is still untouched. “Here.” He offers to exchange glasses.

“You said you wanted a drink?” That had been the entire reason for grabbing the glasses early, and you tilt your head at him. “Don’t worry, there’s a five-course dinner to soak it up.”

“Your glass is empty, though.” He insists. “I can wait for the waiter to come around. You’re still thirsty.” He doesn’t mention that you still seem nervous as well.

“Be careful,” you warn, as playfully as you possibly can while your stomach knots at the thought. “If you’re too good at this I’ll want to bring you to every fancy dinner and party.”

He chuckles, knowing that wouldn’t happen because of your relationship with Sam. The congressman will be the one to escort you next time. He exchanges glasses with you with a smile. “There.”

“Come on.” After another grateful sip, you slip your hand back into his arm and feel that gentle lift of tension again, the same way you’ve felt each time he’s touched you tonight. It goes hand in hand with the fire in your belly. “I see my mother’s deputy chief of staff at our table, but he’ll be up and down a dozen times during dinner.”

He wonders if the seating arrangement was made when he wasn’t attending and Sam was. It would make sense and it’s another reminder that he doesn’t actually belong here, with you. “Then you will have time to relax.” He reasons.

“I’ll be okay.” You can promise him that, despite his attention and seeming insistence to the contrary. It’s like he can sense your nerves, but you don’t want him to miss out on any fun because he’s babysitting you all night.

He doesn’t argue with you, aware that you have more experience in these situations than he does, so he just nods. “Are we sitting down now, or can we escape to the bathroom?”

“I think we have a few minutes, if you need it.” There will be speeches and the like before the first course is served, and there is wiggle room to be found. “Do you need me to show you?”

“Would you mind?” He knows you could probably use a breather, even if you don’t want to mention it. There are a lot of people who fawned over you and your siblings simply because of your proximity to the most powerful person in the country and he imagines it’s exhausting.

“It’s this way.” On the edge of the ballroom in an alcove of sorts, with a Secret Service agent whose name is temporarily escaping you standing by in a tuxedo. “I’ll wait for you. This place is a maze if you’re not ready for it. I got lost in the residence for an entire hour on my first day there.”

“That had to be fun.” Marcus snorts, shuffling slightly. “I don’t really have to go.” He admits. “I just thought you might like a moment.”

“You are…remarkably good at taking care of me.” A fact which is slightly disarming, in as much as it is infinitely comforting. The trouble is that it makes you lean into him in a way that seems far too intimate for the moment. But you’ve chosen not to care if you so much as even think about it for a second. “It is…deeply appreciated.”

“I’m glad you don’t find it annoying.” He admits with a small laugh. “My ex sometimes told me it felt like I was undermining her autonomy.” He quotes.

“She objected to being cared for?” That makes you frown instantly, wishing you could reach back in his past and soothe the hurt left by an ungrateful partner. “I can’t imagine that. At all. Hell, half the time if I didn’t have Syd right there in the kitchen to feed me, I would probably forget to eat. Workaholic’s curse, I guess?”

“Oh absolutely.” He nods. “Sometimes the best feeling in the world is just someone calling up and asking if they should bring home dinner, right?” He asks. “That’s all I was trying to do. My dad would be exhausted after work and he’d still call Mom to see if she felt like cooking or if she wanted him to grill something or pick something up.”

“It’s caretaking.” Something you see so deeply in your best friend’s relationship with her soulmate and you have silently started to wish for yourself. Something that you yearn for the way you see it around you. It’s what your parents always strived for, although they sometimes fell short. Their strengths are elsewhere. “I’m…not used to it,” you admit after a pause. “And I appreciate it. Wholeheartedly.”

“Good.” He flashes you a relieved smile. “Although, if you get annoyed or I overstep, you just tell me, okay? I know it’s not my place, that’s Sam’s, but for tonight, you’re in my care.”

“It’s—” You have to swallow the objection, knowing that it wouldn’t be right to tell Marcus before you even tell Sam what your plans are. And while the impulse to confide in him is deep, you have to wonder if it’s because you might have that soulmate connection, or just because you have a crush. “Just for tonight,” you offer instead, choosing to embrace that with open arms.

He nods and tries not to read anything into it. Hating how he hopes that is longing in your eyes. It’s not fair and he smiles. “Do you need to powder your nose?” He asks teasingly.

“I might as well.” Glancing around, there are eyes everywhere and you know they’re watching. Plus, it would probably do you well to step away from Marcus for a second and calm the fuck down. “Someone is probably watching and it will get remarked on in some gossip column if neither of us does.”

“I can step inside the bathroom then, after you go into the women’s room.” Marcus offers, not wanting to put your reputation on the line.

"If nothing else we should probably wash our hands after that receiving line," you offer, trying to diffuse any tension that surely lives only in your head. "I'll be right back."

“Good call.” He flashes you a smile and waits for you to disappear into the bathroom before stepping into the men’s room. “Get it together, Pike.” He huffs to himself as he stares into the mirror. He had shaved right before you arrived and had gotten a haircut this morning to make sure he looked his best. “You gotta get over this little thing.”

A mere ten feet away, you're staring yourself in the mirror giving yourself almost an identical short, stern lecture and shaking your head. This thing is going to get out of hand. And maybe you can't rein it in completely, but you have to at least behave your damn self until you can properly break up with Sam. Marcus washes his hands and dries them, straightening his bow tie before he steps out of the bathroom to wait for you.

"Let's go back to the table." You appear only a minute later, having lectured yourself silently in the mirror long enough and washed your hands thoroughly for good measure. "My father played with the seating chart a little so there would be some people at the table for you to talk about art with."

“That will be fun.” He doesn’t mean that sarcastically, aware that he learns odd facts and titbits about art.

"Hopefully you mean that." Lending him a smile, you nod your head and put out your hand to him. It's an offering if he wants to take it, and if he doesn't that's okay too. It will probably help you chill the fuck out to have a small gesture rejected, if you're honest with yourself.

He doesn’t think you want to hold his hand, so Marcus takes it, squeezing it gently and then wrapping it over his extended arm. “I get to be formal tonight.” He jokes, sending you a small wink.

In absolutely no way is that a rejection, and your cheeks burn as you absorb that small gesture and walk with him back to the table. You manage to sit just as the speeches are beginning, and survey the table for anyone you recognize while everyone is paying rapt attention to the stage.

Josh, your mother's Deputy Chief of Staff, is seated to your left. Guests you recognize as being staff members at the Spanish embassy are seated on his other side. Beside them are the counselors from the State department who are apparently staples on the White House guest list and have been for the last eight years. You have no idea who they are beyond that, and the random detail that your father mentioned they are foodies. Which makes sense, as they are seated next to famous chef José Andrés and his wife. Considering they are seated next to Marcus, you must deduce that these are the art lovers your father was so glad to introduce to your new escort.

Marcus makes note of the exits, the Secret Service positioned strategically and for a brief moment wonders what it would be like to protect someone like this. He doesn’t know if he has the fortitude for it, becoming emotionally attached to the people he works with. It’s what made him an effective leader but also would make him a poor protector as a career. He glances back at the podium and listens carefully.

The speeches are...a bit endless. After what must be thirty full minutes of gratitude and platitude, well written jokes that are mostly poorly delivered, and even a few self-deprecating cracks, all the speakers seem finally to be done and the waiters pour out of the woodwork with the first course. Every course is influenced by your Spanish visitors and the menu is printed out neatly on a card at every seat, which you know very well you will be keeping in a stack in a shoebox in your apartment as the best keepsake from every single White House event.

“It looks delicious.”

Marcus smiles at the woman who speaks up as the plate is sat in front of her. “I can only imagine the chaos that is occurring in the kitchen.” Marcus replies. “They have been working hard and it shows.”

"Every meal I have ever had from that kitchen has been exemplary," you promise them, knowing that you are currently the table expert on the quality of the White House kitchen. "The whole menu sounds very promising." Gazpacho with garlic shrimp for the first course, and the traditional Spanish tomato soup is garnished with lovely bits of the fresh vegetables that make up the refreshingly cold puree.

“And that is saying something, considering her best friend and business partner is a culinary artist.” Marcus brags. “She eats fantastically every day.”

"Oh?" That catches the attention of the chef sitting two seats over from Marcus. He and his wife both perk up measurably to find those who love food nearby. "Please say more," he chuckles.

"I...run an inn." Apparently you're going to spend at least part of tonight chatting with a world-renowned chef that Sydney is going to be so mad she missed this. "And my best friend is the executive chef of the restaurant on property." The chance to brag on her behalf will absolutely not escape you. "She was just nominated for a James Beard Award, actually. She's absolutely remarkable."

“I can attest to that.” Marcus seconds as he picks up his spoon. “Her food is absolutely incredible. I’ve not had such good food since I was actually in Italy. And it might be better.” He boasts. This is his friend’s wife and better yet, he’s not stretching the truth. Her food is that good.

“Better than in Italy?” Chef Andrés’ eyebrow raises in discerning interest. “We may have to visit. If it is possible?”

“Possible?” You almost choke on air at the request, but manage to hold your composure long enough to nod in a reasonably human manner. “We will make sure that it is possible. It would be an honor.”

“You won’t regret it.” Marcus promises. “You should honestly book a night at the inn. Their brunch is probably my favorite but their dinners are amazing as well.”

“You should hire your boyfriend to do your PR,” Andrés teases, the smile on his lips stretching wider when his wife rolls her eyes in amusement. “If it is as good as you say, I must try it, yes? Bring my wife?”

Marcus chuckles, hating how he almost perks up at being called your boyfriend. “I’m afraid that I’m just a friend.” He explains with a smile. “But I know good food and a charming, romantic atmosphere when I see one.” He tells him. “You take your wife for a weekend and she will be singing your praises.”

The two guests beside him seem to tut at Marcus’s correction but say nothing else on the topic, instead beginning to eat along with the rest of the table after you delicately pass them a business card from your clutch.

“So what is it that you do?” The chef’s wife asks, glancing at Marcus.

“Oh.” He’s a little thrown off by the question but he smiles. “I’m the head of the Art Crimes department for the FBI.” He explains. “We investigate thefts, forgery rings and work with Interpol.”

“How fascinating!” Her eyes light up with the declaration. It obviously isn’t a polite interest, which is nice for utter strangers seated next to each other at dinner. “To investigate these forgeries you must be very well versed in all sorts of art.”

“I have learned my fair share and the some about art.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “Honestly, sculpture is my favorite. Although there are not a lot of forgeries in that area.”

“I imagine it would be much harder to accomplish,” she agrees, seeming to consider the thought before going on. “Do you create art as well? Or stick to protecting it?”

“I am a phenomenally bad artist.” Marcus snorts and laughs at himself. “Stick figure bad. So I try to just protect the art created by others.”

“I bet you’re better than you think.” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, but you just can’t imagine that Marcus Pike is bad at…well…anything. He seems to radiate positivity and confidence.

Marcus sends you a warm, amused look, positively happy that you would try to protest that. “I’m afraid that my fingers are only good for playing instruments.”

Tutting and rolling your eyes playfully, you nearly huff at him but end up grinning. “You say that as if it’s deficient in some way. Playing an instrument is extraordinary.”

“Three.” He admits with a grin.

“Three?” Your jaw nearly drops out of indignation, as though he were keeping something from you. Which is patently ridiculous. “I only knew about one!”

He bites his lip playfully. “Guitar, bass and….” He snickers quietly. “Violin.”

“No.” When you nearly erupt into giggles you have to stifle it behind your napkin. “That’s discipline! Or did you decide it wasn’t cool enough and that’s why you picked up guitar and bass?”

“Actually….” He shrugs. “There was a girl.” He can look back and laugh now. “She didn’t think playing guitar or bass was ‘real music’ so I made a bet that if I could perform Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, she would go out on a date with me.”

The rest of the table has faded into the background, with a hall of focus encompassing you and Marcus entirely. You’re not sure when it happened but everyone else just became a smiling face and white noise compared to the man next to you. “Please tell me it worked. That would be a shame if it didn’t work.”

There’s a flash of something bittersweet, there and gone before most can even register it as Marcus nods. “We were married for three and a half years.” He looks around the table and grins, trying to make sure no one feels sorry for him. “Think that was a good play.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment floods your system immediately and your cheeks burn with it. “It…was your wife. Of course it was your wife. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—that was thoughtless of me.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Marcus is adamant about that, reaching over and patting your hand. “I admire your stance on non-soulmate relationships.” He admits. “Even if my ex wasn’t my soulmate, she’s a wonderful woman and I grew in our relationship together. More people could use that.”

“It’s just that I think everyone should be able to choose,” you admit, having been struggling with the topic as much as you have recently. “This idea of only having one perfect match chosen for you? It doesn’t mean it’s the only way to be happy. My parents are soulmates, my brother has a soulmate, our friends are soulmates — I’m happy for all of them. But not finding your one preordained needle in the haystack of the world shouldn’t mean you don’t get a shot at happiness.”

“No,” Marcus agrees. “Happiness shouldn’t be tied to one person or one thing.” He longs for his soulmate, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t open himself up for others.

“That’s all.” There is no show to put in here. No soapbox to stand on. It isn’t a campaign event or even an interview. It’s just talking — and talking to someone you suspect more and more might be the needle you were meant to search for. “I would love to meet my soulmate,” you admit after another moment. “But I want it to be my choice to love them, not the world’s.”

“If it weren’t for the tattoo, I would wonder if my soulmate existed.” Marcus admits. “The scars, I can’t even remember whose is whose, but…my soulmate doesn’t want to be found and I will respect that.”

“What would make you think they do want to be found?” The idea that whoever is tied to Marcus wouldn’t want to be found by him seems ridiculous now that you know him. But you know that’s personal bias.

“Never been on Mate Marks.” Marcus shrugs. “Not once. Just figured they aren’t interested.”

“Not everyone can be on Mate Marks.” You remind him gently, but deflect right away. “Maybe she’s a movie star.”

“Maybe.” It hurts him in a very raw way so he changes the subject. “Perhaps there’s supposed to be some kind of dramatic meet cute.” He shrugs, turning towards the Chef and his wife. “How did you two meet?”

“She was hanging out with her friends.” Andrés regards his wife with a warm smile. “At my restaurant. Many, many years ago. But I could not take my eyes from her once I saw her. I was—” He pauses for a moment, searching for the word, and then grins when he finds it. “A goner. For such beauty, how could I not be?”

“Love at first sight.” Marcus hums at the romanticism and whimsy of it. “You are a lucky man.” He admits. “There is something so beautiful about that.”

“There are many beautiful ways to fall in love.” The chef contends with a shrug, as if to say any love is good. And he does have a point. “Sometimes the one best suited to us is directly under our nose, sometimes they are a surprise. But always, they are worth finding.”

“Love is always worth it.” On that, Marcus can completely agree. “I’ll drink to that.” His champagne glass has been swapped for a new one and he holds it up. “To love, in all forms.” He offers. “The world is better for it.”

“Here here.” On your other side, Josh raises his glass and the rest of the table follows suit, all of you drinking a toast while your mind begins to work.

Marcus takes a sip, noticing that you look introspective and he wonders if you are thinking about Sam. Instead of prying, he sets his drink down and takes up his spoon again, listening to the conversation start around the table again and this time, it’s not focused on him.

The courses go by like clockwork. Every bite is delicious, every sip of accompanying wine is refreshing. Conversation becomes easy with the rest of the table and as all the guests relax the atmosphere becomes more and more party-like.

Watching your mother begin the dancing with a king is something entirely surreal. There’s something sort of spectacular about seeing this woman that you know as everything from determined to downright silly getting up there and whirling like she hasn’t a care in the world. She glows in that spotlight, soaking it up and radiating the same appreciation back out to the rest of the room — but she only gets brighter when the song changes and your father steps up to take her hand for the next dance.

Marcus watches the First Gentleman bow slightly, the grin on his face making him look years younger and there’s a moment where Marcus is envious. He wants a life like that, a life like his parents have. Love is love and he appreciates that, but he wants love. Vanessa isn’t in love with him, and he’s not in love with her. Not in a way that would have him picking out wedding venues with her. They have companionship and fun. He gets the feeling that she’s trying to get over someone and that’s okay, but he wants to have someone light up when they see him like the President just did for her husband of over thirty years.

As other couples start to join in, you see your siblings join the dance floor — probably to gossip, that's in keeping with a tradition they started when your mother was Governor of Pennsylvania — and your hand twitches on the table wishing you were brave enough to just reach for Marcus like you want to. To find out if he dances as well as you've dreamt that he does. Because that thought has permeated every single dream you've had this week.

It must be a tradition to have the entire first family on the floor and Marcus decides that you won’t break it. He stands and offers you his hand as he moves around the chair. “Shall we join them?”

A shaky breath passes your lips, but your hand settles in his before you can second guess yourself. You want to dance with him and you can dance with him. It isn't overstepping or cheating or anything of the sort. "I promise not to step on your toes," you murmur, not bothering to temper the brightness of your smile. Though that is partially because you really can't feel how much you're glowing in this moment. It's not something you've ever felt before — not like this, at least.

“I have a feeling you are a better dancer than me.” He guides you to the edge of the floor with quiet pride and bows.

"It's just practice." The smile of assurance on your face as the do the formal thing and curtsy never flickers. You take his hand and let him guide you to the floor, knowing that it isn't necessary here for most people to learn ballroom dance. No one is expecting a perfect tango out of the couples on this floor. As long as you and Marcus can make your way around the floor in a reasonable facsimile of a dance, all will be well. "Haven't you seen Sabrina? Just pretend you're David Larrabee."

Marcus smiles as he steps close and settles his hand on your waist. “Did I mention my father insisted that I learn to dance?” He asks as he starts to move to the song. “Dancing helps coordination.”

"How could I possibly be a better dancer than you now?" Have you had lessons? Sure. Of course you have. All three of the First Kids of Pennsylvania took them so as not to embarrass their parents at formal events. But all that knowledge seems to leave you in a flash with Marcus holding you close like this. You're pretty sure you even forget how to breathe for a second. "Is there anything you can't do? And don't say art, because I still don't believe you."

“It’s really bad.” He promises with a laugh. “I never graduated beyond first grade stick figures.”

"Well..." As the two of you begin to turn in time with the music, the breath returns to you only to be whisked away again with every turn. "Your dancing is..." With your cheeks burning again, you feel like you can barely look him in the eye. "It's top notch, I promise."

“Then the lessons paid off.” Marcus laughs. “Dad said they would. Didn’t believe it when I was seven, but now I see the light.”

“If I ever meet your Dad, remind me to thank him.” Whoever the couples around you are, whatever the band is playing, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Everything about this moment is perfect, and there really is no talking yourself out of it at this point — this crush you have on Marcus Pike is officially out of hand.

He smiles and nods, no comment needed as he sweeps you around the dance floor and he tightens his grip on you. “Hold on.” He warns, right before he dips you low.

A collective gasp from the room full of spectators is followed by titters of laughter and exclamations then punctuated by applause, but you are holding on. You’re holding on to Marcus with an iron grip on his shoulders, laughing in your own right but it’s disbelief and a sort of bubbling giddiness that you can’t quite describe. It’s all-consuming just like your focus on him, so much so that you don’t even notice the flashbulbs going off in the ballroom.

It’s been a long damn time since he could say that he has had this much fun dancing. You are a great partner, seeming to fit into his arms perfectly. Moving with him naturally and his matching grin when he pulls you upright is beaming.

“I—” What can you really say? If you weren’t in a room full of people and if you weren’t still technically in a relationship, that’s the kind of move that would have you reaching up to kiss him in a heartbeat. As it is, you barely manage to stop yourself from licking your lips a little at the thought. His eyes and his smile are brilliantly bright and you wish you could just let your pounding heart speak for itself. But all that comes out as he starts to whirl with you again is “Wow.”

“You like that?” He asks, even though his tone makes it clear he is aware of your astonishment and delight. “Figured you needed a moment where you can look back and pretend that you were the princess at the royal ball.” He jokes. “The glass slippers are in another room though.”

“You’re never getting out of this,” you tease, feeling the burning in your cheeks even as you get your footing back, and with your eyes still locked in Marcus. “Four more years of these things if you’re going to dance with me like that. Get ready, Pike.”

He could tell you that he would gladly dance with you, but he doesn’t. He just laughs and steps away so he can twirl you around.

All it does, besides give you that feeling again of being a princess floating on air, is seal how doomed you really are in your mind. When your twirl back into Marcus’s arms, you swear you actually sigh outright. It’s all just too dreamy and you’re forever in Sydney’s debt for making you ask him.

The song is quickly coming to an end, and Marcus is aware there are too many speculative eyes on the two of you, so he doesn't spin you or dip you again. He doesn't want to cause issues with Sam, just enjoying the dance with you and got a little carried away. His mother would accuse him of subconsciously showing off and that might be true, but he brings you to a stop when the music ends and hates that he hates when his hands slide away from you so he can clap politely. "Sorry." He hums as you both clap. "Got a little carried away."

“You never need to apologize for having fun.” You assure him, knowing that you certainly aren’t sorry for your part in it.

"I'm sure the press corps absolutely loved it." Marcus laughs. "At least your Agent Bailey didn't think I was attacking you. That would have been mortifying, being tackled to the floor for dipping you." It's a joke, not particularly a good one, but he needs to get over this feeling of rightness. To distract himself from the want of pulling you close and pressing his lips to your stained ones. Obviously he needs to not do that and corny jokes puts a little distance from him and that thought.

“Don’t let Bailey fool you. She’s a softie.” The other half of that thought is that she would never mistake a romantic gesture, but it’s just wishful thinking to one dance to be a romantic interlude.

The music has a thirty second delay to allow dancers to join or exit the floor and in that time, Alex comes up to the pair of you. "May I cut in?" He asks, standing beside Junie and David's brother that Marcus hadn't caught his name. "David doesn't want to dance, for obvious reasons."

“The reason is his two left feet,” you tell Marcus with a knowing grin. “I’ll be right back. Unless everyone mobs you for a dance after what they saw you can do.”

"I'll dance with him." Junie offers with a matching grin towards her sister. She hadn't missed the dreamy look in your eyes and wants to see if it was because of the dance or the man. "If you don't mind?"

Marcus shakes his head and looks towards her date for the evening. "May I?" It might me a little archaic, since Junie has full autonomy over who she dances with, but it was polite manners who ask the escort for their blessing and Marcus was nothing if not polite.

“Go for it,” Noah’s answering nod is easygoing, and he has to admit he’s curious too. There is speculation amongst them now and he wants to know what Junie has to say after dancing with him.

Marcus offers his hand to Junie, bowing just like he had with you before sweeping the younger girl into his arms. "Your escort is a friend?" He asks, curious since he looks so much like David.

“Pretty much family at this point,” Junie confirms, taking the elegant bow to mean that she should attempt a curtsy just before she gets pulled into the dance. She wobbles a little but makes it. “He’s Alex — our brother’s — best friend’s little brother.” Not being sure how much you may have told FBI Marcus Pike about Alex or the family, she carefully doesn’t say more. “So we’ve known each other a long time.”

"It's a shame that David has a case of the left feet." Marcus glances over at the table where the law student is passionately talking to a judge that had been seated with them. "Hopefully Noah is not the same?" He admires the protectiveness of the younger girl's tone and approves of it wholeheartedly. You protect family and that’s something special amongst siblings.

“Not at all. That’s why he’s here.” She laughs at that, realizing it’s silly, but doesn’t quite care. “We all had to have someone with us for this one, and I’m not much for the dating scene so Noah gave me a rescue. He’s basically my other brother.” The steps are easy enough to be led through, or else Marcus Pike is a very good lead, and June turns with him a few times before she starts thinking that smile on her big sister’s face was about the dance as much as the man. He’s good, but he’s not Fred Astaire, so it has to be a combination.

"Very nice of him." Of course there would be a million different selfish reasons why he would want to come, but it's also a very nice gesture. "Friends that are family are the best." He agrees.

“Firmly agree.” June nods with authority, holding on tight as Marcus turns her around in the dance. She can see why you liked this so much — those fairy tale fantasies you think are secret must have loved being twirled around a ballroom.

There is a moment where Marcus could dip June, but he doesn't. He knows that people are speculating and he keeps a respectable amount of distance between him and your younger sister. Knowing that it could be taken out of context if someone really wanted to stir up trouble. He does spin her though, making her laugh as he pulls her out of it.

“Oh, you’re going to get yourself invited to all of these,” she laughs. It’s a little archaic in her opinion, but a pretty face with good manners and talented dancing shoes is like an endangered species at these things. Especially one who passes the background checks. “Did Birdie tell you about her birthday yet?”

"She did." Marcus laughs. "Talked about having to negotiate." He wonders at the nickname again and glances over to where you and Alex are dancing and laughing together. "Where did the nickname Birdie come from?" He asks. "I've only heard family use it."

“She was a giant ornithology nerd when she was a kid,” June explains easily, not thinking any of the question. “Bird feeders everywhere in the backyard of the house in Philly. There’s a bunch at the inn, too. She even got a bird tattoo when she was old enough. Mom freaked out.”

Marcus doesn’t stiffen, which is a credit to his undercover training. But he’s instantly on alert. You have hummingbird feeders at the inn. “Oh?” He manages to keep his tone causally interested. “What type of bird?”

“It’s this hummingbird and flowers design that she got on her back.” June shrugs again, even in the dance. “Why would you get a tattoo on your back where you can’t see it? That never made any sense to me.”

“On her shoulder?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Shoulder tattoos are pretty popular. You can show them off or cover them up.”

June snorts, lowering her voice. “Who even gets a tramp stamp anymore? Her shoulder would have been way better.”

It’s like the world fucking stops when he hears June’s confirmation of what he had suspected. You are his soulmate. The undeniable attraction and need to be around you is suddenly explain. Though, you had to have known, and worse, you kept it a secret. Marcus feels his heart clench, although he smiles and chuckles at the horror on the younger girl’s face. “Easy to conceal.” He offers, making it seem like his whole world hasn’t shifted off its axis. He’s hurt, deeply, but he cannot make a scene - nor would he.

The song ends either in the nick of time or far too soon, and a Junie thanks Marcus for the dance before trotting off to disappear into the crowd and out of sight. This is a very easy room to disappear in, after all.

Marcus needs a drink, but he waits on the side of the dance floor as Alex brings you over. “Nice dance?” He asks.

“Nice enough.” Alex had talked your ear off about something David said at dinner and then asked a million questions about Marcus, so you’re feeling a little warm in the cheeks and a little knotted in your stomach. “You?”

“Absolutely.” He paints a smile on his face and offers his arm as he turns you from the dance floor. “Your sister is a charming young woman.” He compliments. “I need a drink, how about you?”

“Please.” What you need is courage, after talking to Alex, and a drink is that in liquid form. “And…I wanted to ask you something? If that’s okay.”

“Your sister has already warned me I will the attending these from now on.” Marcus jokes, although he’s not sure he would want to attend. To know that you were aware of the potential soulmate connection and not breathing a word of it hurts in a way he cannot describe. Especially after the conversations you’ve had about choices. You’ve taken his own choice away from him in a sense.

“Yeah…” A huff of a laugh comes out of you, and you take Marcus’s arm to walk away from the dance floor but it isn’t as relaxed as before. You have to wonder if more of this sounds that terrible to him. Or more of you? “Dad said that any friend we have who was a good dancer was going to end up on all the invitation lists by default.”

“Of course.” A subtle, slapping reminder of what he is to you goes a long way to not saying something. The bar is thankfully devoid of too many people and he quickly looks towards you. “What will you have?” He asks politely.

“A Manhattan with Statesman?” You glance over at the bartender and he nods and sets to work. Asking Mar is what you want to ask is so loaded and terrifying that you really are going to need that courage.

“And I’ll have a triple Statesman on the rocks.” Marcus adds, knowing that a double won’t be enough.

"Was Junie really that bad?" you tease. But if the answer is yes you'll be furious.

“No, she was wonderful.” Marcus assures you. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“I wondered if I could ask you something?” You’re practically shaking in your heels, but you may never get the courage to ask again and short of straight out asking to see his tattoo, this is the next best thing for confirmation. “At dinner you said you have scars? Yours and your soulmate’s and you’ve sort of forgotten whose is whose?”

“Yeah?” There’s no way you can know how the casual question rips him apart but he shrugs slightly and tilts his head curiously at you. “They are old.”

“Like from when you were a kid?” The ache in your chest is undeniable, wanting so badly for him to confirm things for you. The scar from when your appendicitis operation is fairly unique. The surgeon must have desperately needed new glasses or worse.

“I know the scar right here is from my soulmate.” He points to his side and shrugs. “Assuming their appendix burst or something.”

The smallest breeze in the world could knock you over right now. A single breath would be enough, but neither you nor Marcus seems to be breathing at the moment. The only noise between you is the pounding of blood in your ears and the dull thud of two glasses hitting the bar beside you which knocks you out of your trance. “Appendicitis sucks,” you manage to murmur ineloquently, and rummage frantically for a tip in your clutch.

“I’ve never had it, so at least there’s not a double scar.” Marcus hums, watching you search through your bag. “I’ve got it.” He promises, reaching to his wallet and pulling out a bill.

“Thank you.” Even a few seconds to shut your eyes and take a drink isn’t enough to steady you, but you have to fake it. Right now you’re shaking like a leaf. “Soulmates are…they’re interesting…” you manage, trying your best not to just burst out with it in the spot. You have to break up with Sam first, you tell yourself over and over.

“Sometimes.” Marcus agrees, wondering why you are talking about this now. Is it to rub it in? To test him? He picks up his drink and takes a sip.

“I’m sorry.” Taking your drink away from the bar, concentrating on not spilling it will help you not shiver or shake as much, but you still shake your head. “I guess I’m…distracted. And that’s not fair to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Marcus promises you softly, wondering why you are having such an extreme reaction right now. Like you are having an internal crisis. “I’m here for you.”

“You can’t possibly know how much that means to me.” And how much it makes you ache in turn. How much you wish he would be there for you as a partner. As a lover. But he might not even want you. Just because you’re soulmates — there it is, you’ve admitted it to yourself — doesn’t mean he will choose to be with you. He might be ecstatically happy with Vanessa.

He smiles and takes another sip of his drink, honestly unsure of what to say right now. Taking a drink seems like the safest option and he wishes he were brave enough to down the smooth whiskey in one belt and order another.

There really was a solid chance that you would be able to keep your head on straight but then you looked at him again. The way your resolve crumbles in the face of those big, brown puppy eyes is laughable. “I decided I’m breaking up with Sam,” you blurt out, instantly squeezing your eyes shut and berating yourself internally for it.

He’s nearly spitting his whiskey out when you say that, choking slightly and coughing. “I— I’m sorry.” He murmurs, patting himself on the chest. “I hope that it’s not because I came with you to the dinner?”

“What! No. No…I—” You can’t say it has nothing to do with him because that’s a lie. Meeting Marcus was the catalyst that led you to the decision. Meeting Marcus has been tumultuous and eye opening. “The decision has been coming for a little while, I think.”

“Okay.” He is relieved about that. “The last thing I wanted was to cause issues with you and the congressman.”

“And I don’t want to cause any between you and Vanessa.” As much as you may wish he wasn’t seeing her, it isn’t for you to decide. His life is his choice, entirely and completely.

It’s interesting that you would say that. Considering that he’s never said anything beyond inviting you to dinner. “You won’t.” He promises.

“Right.” The confidence he says it with makes you feel utterly small, and you force yourself to laugh just so you don’t say anything else stupid. “Of course not. That was a silly thing to say.”

“It’s not silly.” Marcus doesn’t like the way you seem to deflate slightly. “I just mean we are all adults.”

“Yes. We definitely are.” The way it stings your heart is very real, but this is not the time or the place to feel that feelings in its entirety. Instead, you remind yourself to smile and calmly sip your drink.

It feels like the night has gone sideways for multiple reasons and Marcus isn’t sure why. He finishes his drink and looks over at you. “Need another?”

“I’d rather dance again,” you admit. But it’s partially because you know you shouldn’t have too much to drink. That wouldn’t be a good look when so many eyes are on you.

“Then let’s dance.” He sets his empty glass down and offers his hand to you again.

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The flight from Washington DC to Dallas is just over three hours long and you had agreed that it would be better to leave early in the morning on Saturday to arrive at his family's compound before lunchtime. The last two weeks have been a dream as you and Marcus spend basically all of your extra time together, sharing dinners after work and alternating beds for overnight stays. He's even come to his first Friday Night Dinner with your family, which makes it all the more appropriate that you're now flying with him to meet his.

Airline points used, Marcus was well aware that on a commercial flight, Agent Bailey would be much more comfortable with First Class and boarding the plane last. Allowing for the rest of the plane to embark so they were not filing past her and you. Now that the flight is closed and you are settled into your seat, he looks over at you with a smile. "Ready for chaos?" He asks playfully, picking up your hand. "My family is....energetic."

“I’m excited,” you assure him. You’re also nervous, but that’s natural. His big family is having their annual springtime get together for the start of baseball season and — according to Marcus — this is the biggest Pike family get together of the year. It’s a week of pickup games with his cousins, big family meals, revisiting old favorite haunts, and catching up on life. It used to be a way to help distract Marcus and his Mom as his Dad started out the new season every year and started traveling, but now it’s just their favorite reason to get together.

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t feel like.” Marcus insists. “Plenty of times half the cousins or wives and husbands end up in the stands watching and shit talking.”

“Baby if you think I’m not playing at least one game, you’re nuts.” Marcus has been so sweet about reassuring you and making sure you know nothing is expected of you on this trip, but frankly it just sounds like fun. Like the kind of happy chaos that is a complete break from your normal life.

He flashes you a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He admits shamelessly. “After the games, we grill out or eat whatever we threw on the smoker that morning.” He shrugs. “It’s a party the entire time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You have been, and you are, and seeing him get excited would make the whole thing worth it even if you weren’t.

“Everyone is excited to meet you.” He promises. “Oh and mom asked if you had any allergies? Food or otherwise?” He shoots you a sheepish grin. “Forgot to ask.”

“Nothing at all. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me and sniff whatever weird Texas plants you guys have got.” A teasing grin counters his embarrassed one. “My brother and I did a campaign stop in Texas; I don’t think there was anything too sniffly in Austin. But I know the state is big.”

“Huge.” He snorts, smirking slightly. “You know what they say. ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’.” He jokes.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk that forms on your face is immediate and you lean over to nudge his shoulder. "Is that how you grew up so big?"

“Not that big.” He chuckles. “My cousins – the males – are bigger.”

Snorting slightly, you can't help but laugh as you nudge Marcus again. "That sounds painful."

“Shit.” Marcus chokes and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

"Well good," you're still laughing, juvenile sense of humor on full display even if you're quiet. "Otherwise I'd feel bad for their spouses."

He snorts and leans into press his lips to yours. “I’m the biggest.” He boasts, completely lying and he winks to acknowledge that. Not like him and his cousins have compared…since before puberty.

"Naughty." It's chastising, but you giggle as you steal another kiss as you both settle back in your seats for a short but comfortable flight.

Marcus hums as the flight attendant comes by. “Do you want a mimosa?” He asks softly. “Start our vacation off right?”

"Why not? Let's have a fancy flight." First class is already a bit of an extravagance, and you smile at the flight attendant gratefully. They are well aware of who is on board – Agent Bailey had background checks run on the flight crew as a precaution – and discreetly point out your agent to the gentleman. "And a cup of coffee for the woman in the suit right over there? She'll say she doesn't want anything but I know she'd love a cup right about now."

“Yes madam.” He nods and smiles back at you, finding it refreshing that you aren’t over demanding like some political figures. One asshole really set his teeth on edge last month.

"Thank you so much." The last thing you want to do is make a fuss for the flight crew, and you sit back with Marcus's hand in yours. As nervous as you might be, this is going to be a good week.

“Anywhere you want to see in particular?” Marcus asks, stretching his legs in the extra space the first row gives you. “We don’t have to rent a car. Although I know Agent Bailey will want one of the Secret Service vehicles to follow.

"I want to see whatever you want to show me. Any place you used to hang out when you were growing up, or favorite local places, or even places you've never been that you've always wanted to go." It's his hometown, after all, even if he wasn't born there. Texas is where he became the Marcus that you know and love.

“There’s a band that’s playing Friday night.” Marcus tells you. “At the bar where I used to play.” He chuckles. “It’s my old bandmates.”

"One hundred percent." Your agreement is absolutely instant and there is a giant smile on your face. "No contest. It will be the perfect way to spend our last night in Dallas. Well...last night for now. I know we'll come back plenty of times."

“Awesome.” His grin is wide, happy that you would want to listen to some music and hang out. Potentially meeting old friends. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You’ll like the place.”

"I'll love it." Just like everything else this week, you're looking forward to it because it's something that you'll share with him. It's the early memories of your relationship, as you share the things with each other that made you who you are.

The family compound is exactly that. A compound. Built during the first contract with the Yankees, Pike’s Place as it was fondly referred to, had started out as a way for Marcus’s dad to build the retirement home of his parents’ dreams and ended up being the multi-generational property it is today.

There are more than a half dozen buildings in the property, a large pool and a garden, and even their own personal baseball diamond. It’s like having a resort built specifically for his family. Stuck smack in the middle between a ranch to the south and another large family property to the north, no one would even have any idea that neighbors existed around here if they weren’t told about it.

The main house is a beautiful American Craftsman-style building with a deep front porch and a swing out front, painted bold blue and white against the yellow Texas sun. Matthew and Donna Pike’s house is well-appointed but far bigger than it looks on the outside, and all around it is a stunning garden that they keep together as a shared hobby. The backyard sprawls on endlessly, but for right now you can see more cars than people. It looks like everyone is congregating with Uncle Matt and Aunt Donna.

Marcus’s smile gets visibly wider the closer you get and when the car stops, he’s almost vibrating with joy. He’s not nervous at all, knowing that his entire family will adore you. “Are you ready?” He asks again, not even waiting to the reply before he is shooting out of the car to open the door for you.

“You didn’t tell me you grew up in the cutest place on Earth,” you tease happily, practically giggling at how picturesque it is as you get out of the rental car.

“It’s home.” He looks around the property proudly. “Even when we were living somewhere else because of dad’s job, this was always home.”

“It’s beautiful.” You squeeze into his side and grin back at Agent Bailey as she gets out of the second rental car. “I hope you get to relax a little while we’re down here, too. It’s got to be a hell of a nice change of pace from looking at the inn every day.”

Agent Bailey notes the fence that seems to stretch around the property with approval. “We might be more secure here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anything that makes her more comfortable is more than okay with you. With as hard as she works, she deserves to be able relax whenever she can.

“Dad installed a fence when he had some fans come up to the house when he was on an away trip.” Marcus explains. They had done one of those ‘where the star athletes live’ things in the Sports Illustrated magazine and someone figured out where it was.” He shakes his head. “Dad was furious, and the compound got an upgrade.”

“Sounds like a solid response to me,” the Secret Service agent agrees as she looks around the property.

“Although, he does open the compound up for youth programs. Training, spending the day with baseball players.” Marcus smiles proudly.

“I love how proud of him you are.” You slip your hand into Marcus’s again and give him a beaming smile. “Time for the chaos, baby. Let’s do it.”

Marcus laughs as the two of you hear the playful shouts from the backyard. The little welcoming barbecue that your father had insisted on was already in full swing. He can’t wait to see how you take all of his cousins and nieces and nephews wearing name tags.

It only takes about a second before someone notices you, letting out a boisterous shout across the yard and garden. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in!”

“Charlie.” Marcus leans in to tell you as every head turns your way. “First cousin from my mom’s side. Can’t believe he’s the first one.”

“Is Charlie not usually this friendly?” You ask under your breath, smiling and waving as more and more heads turn your way.

“Just…unobservant.” Marcus hums, smiling wider when his mother drops her platter of finger foods on a table and rushes forward. “You made it!”

Dr. Donna Pike is a tall woman with a wide smile and honey brown eyes, but right now her most noticeable feature is her long arms which reach out to fold out her only son like a protective mama bird. "Flight was okay?" She asks, smiling at Marcus's nod before she shifts over to hug you in turn.

When she had been told that Marcus had found his soulmate, she had been thrilled. Not because he had to be with his soulmate, she wasn’t narrow minded like that, but because he’s always had so much love to give. She can only hope that you will do well receiving it and return a fraction of it back to him. The others hadn’t seen how pure his heart is. She says your name and squeezes you tight. “How are you? It’s such a delight to meet you.”

"Thank you for having me." Her hands are on your shoulder and it's instantly obvious where Marcus's beaming smile comes from. "I've heard so many wonderful things from Marcus about his family, I'm really excited to meet everyone."

“Well if anyone is too much, or we all are, you just tell us to go away.” She snorts, shooting you a grin. “We are a bit much as a collective.”

"I promise my threshold for much is very high." It has to be, with the kind of people that are always around political figures, but this week is not about you. You do smile again, though, and urge Agent Bailey to come closer than her usual three steps away. "And thank you for understanding that things are not very conventional for me right now. This is Agent Bailey. She's my duty agent and an absolutely superb human."

Donna smiles at the agent, although she doesn’t attempt to hug her. Aware that it might be deemed as threatening. “She is also extremely welcomed.” She nods and offers her hand. “I hope you can relax and have some fun as well, Agent Bailey. We have a comfortable room set up for you at the top of the stairs, just down the hall from them.”

"Thank you, Dr. Pike." Agent Bailey accepts the handshake gratefully. Some people perceive her presence as threatening and that just isn't the case. Especially not here.

“Please, call me Donna.” She insists. “Now, we’ve told the children they are not to ask about your gun, but I do hope that you will change out of your suit into more weather appropriate clothes?” She asks. “Texas is too hot for bespoke all day.”

Agent Bailey actually laughs at that, and you smile when she nods. "I'll be dressed down while I'm here, don't worry about that. Being conspicuous doesn't do much good in protection most of the time."

“Good.” Marcus’s mother smiles. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving Marcus’s gun safe into your room. For when you are needing to secure it.” She frowns and looks towards Marcus. “Did you bring your own, sweetheart? I didn’t think to ask.”

"Very kind of you, ma'am, but not necessary." Agent Bailey assures her. "I have a portal safe in my luggage. Agent Pike also has his firearm so we'll both be secure and safe that way."

“Told you.” Matthew Pike snakes his arm around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Always overthinking. But I love it.”

"Precautions are good, sweetheart," Donna reminds him, but she smiles.

Marcus and his father could be twins, except for the older man has more pronounced wrinkles from a career spent in the sun. “So this is the gorgeous creature the universe paired you with?” He unwinds his arm from around his own soulmate to pull his son into a bear hug. “Aren’t you a lucky man?”

"I swore I was only going to do this once while we were here." Standing beside Marcus and practically vibrating, you know you probably look silly but you don't care. "Mr. Pike, I am a huge fan and I promise there will be no more fangirling from this point on, but I just wanted to say that once."

There’s a grin that matches his son’s, currently on both of the Pike men’s faces. “Marcus….she has taste.” He teases, winking at you and pulling you in for a hug. “You can fangirl all you like, sweetheart.”

“I’m just very excited to be here,” you admit, laughing as you hug your soulmate’s father in turn. “Marcus…he’s absolutely amazing. I hope you’re as proud of him as he is of both of you.”

“More-so.” Matthew promises, already liking you. “Although, let’s get you settled and a first drink in your hand before we introduce you to everyone else, hm?”

You and Marcus follow his parents through the house and Agent Bailey notes the features of the house with interest but doesn’t interfere. So far, everything is straight forward. She just hopes it stays that way. For your sake.

The tour of the house is easy. A large, open concept main living area is perfect for entertaining, and lines of sight. “Our bedroom is downstairs.” Donna explains. “So you kids will have the top floor to yourselves. Everyone else is staying in the bunkhouse this trip.”

The bunkhouse, as it has been explained to you, is the largest building on the compound which basically amounts to a Pike family motel. Plenty of parking and plenty of rooms to stay in makes it the place that is customarily occupied by Marcus's enormous brood of cousins. "And I'm sure Marcus told you," Matthew glances back at you as the five of you walk together. "But the basement is a game room. Foosball table, game systems, all that kind of thing."

“I was going to show her.” Marcus admits with a shrug. “But she’s bowled in the White House, I doubt our game room would impress her.”

"You are seriously underestimating my love of foosball," you assure Marcus. "I'm terrible at it, but I love it."

“Don’t worry.” Matthew chuckles. “My son excels at pool but cannot figure out a foosball table.”

"Then we can be terrible together," you decide, thankfully garnering a laugh from both Marcus and his parents.

“Which will be a lot of fun.” Marcus chuckles. “When bad weather rolls through, we enjoy the game room and there are people everywhere.” He warns. “One time, we had a checkers tournament, so all the little kids could be involved too.”

The group of you stop in the kitchen for large glasses of sweet tea, and Agent Bailey excuses herself to bring her things upstairs and change into some more civilian-oriented clothes. There are pictures of the family all around the house, but none as prevalent as the pictures of Marcus. His graduations, his triumphs, and some absolutely adorable childhood photos adorn the walls of the house, and you smile at every single one. At one time his wedding picture must have hung on these walls too, or other pictures of him and Lara, and for a moment your heart clenches with regret that he was ever hurt but swells with the knowledge that he’ll never be hurt like that again. The next wedding pictures on these walls will be of you with him, and those will never be coming down.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus hums, watching you take in the space that he had mostly grown up in.

“Ready kids?” Matthew Pike chuckles, opening the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard with great ceremony.

“Don’t worry.” Marcus quickly assures you. “Everyone has had their rabies shots. So they aren’t as feral as they seem.”

For all the teasing, the hugs from his cousins are immediate. They descend on you like a swarm of eager birds, flapping their wings and chattering away as they all introduce themselves and say how happy they are to see Marcus and to meet you.

Marcus smiles at every one of them. Greets them like long lost friends, which they are. They are the friends of his entire childhood and he's happy to introduce you.

A man wearing a name tag that marks him as Uncle Rob holds up two more name tags proudly — one emblazoned Marcus and the other Birdie. “Marcus told us you prefer your nickname,” his father explains with a grin.

“It’s perfect,” you assure them, taking the name tag with a bursting heart. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Uncle Rob is a treasure.” Marcus tells you as he is pulled into a hug and slaps his uncle’s back.

"Uncle Rob is his mother's younger brother," the man clarifies with a happy grin. "Four of the cousins are ours, but I won't quiz you on the family tree just yet."

"I appreciate that." Your laugh of acknowledgement comes easily. "But I've been studying, I promise."

Marcus laughs, knowing how worried you had been over this visit, and it seems as if you are blending in well. He reaches out and squeezes your hip affectionately. “She’s a quick study.”

"Probably mandatory." One of his cousins – her nametag says Selena – teases as she offers you a hug. "Can't imagine the way family debates go when your Mom is the President."

"They're....active." You admit with another laugh. The hug is readily accepted, too. Pikes are apparently very huggy people. "I'm just glad we don't have to come up with opening and closing arguments."

She laughs and nods. “No, but here you might be asked the ERA or RBI stats of anyone you are a ‘fan’ of.” She advises. “So beware.”

"I can absolutely handle stats." For some reason Selena's energy is a lot more calm and reassuring than some of the other cousins, and you feel a little more at ease with her at the moment. "Most of the time I've got those on lock even when nobody's asked."

“How do you take your hotdog?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Get it right and we can be friends.”

"It's not gonna be what you want it to be," you laugh, though you do appreciate the way Selena measures her new acquaintances. "I'm from Philly, so pepper hash and spicy mustard."

Her frown is replaced by a smirk and she nods. “You didn’t say ketchup, so you’re good in my book.” She smirks, eyeing Marcus who is huffing and rolling his eyes. “I don’t claim her.” He snorts.

"Too bad," you tease back, looping your arm through his cousin's. "She's delightful and I'm adopting her immediately."

“She’s not housebroken.” He warns, ducking the playful swat she aims towards him.

"Neither is my brother, and we let him into the White House," you snort, laughing even harder when Selena snickers.

Matthew chuckles and he pats his son on the shoulder. “Too late now, son, Selena has charmed her.” He advises.

"I steal hearts," the woman beside you jokes, throwing you an exaggerated wink. "My parents named me after Selena Kyle. It's not my fault."

“Last year you said you were named after Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.” He reminds her with a grin, slapping away her hand again and tapping her chin fondly. “You were lying?” Of course she was, considering she was nine when Selena rose to fame.

"You should keep the Catwoman reference," you advise her with a grin. "Mysterious and nerdy. Very sexy choices."

“See?” Selena smugly grins at Marcus. “Your soulmate has taste.”

Marcus can’t help but grin at that. “So I keep hearing.”

“I have the very best taste.” You agree with that assessment wholeheartedly, leaning back over to Marcus to kiss his cheek.

That makes him laugh quietly and he leans in to hug Selena. “You do. Especially in soulmates.” He teases.

“Oh no.” Pretending to be grossed out, Selena rolls her eyes dramatically but is smiling fully at seeing her cousin happy. “Did you finally find someone as gross as you are when you’re in love?”

“Grosser.” Marcus hums, grinning at you lovingly. “My perfect match.”

“Stop hogging them!” A voice calls out from halfway down the yard, and yet another of Marcus’s smiling cousins can be seen lounging on a picnic table. “We all need to get our annual harassment in, ya know!”

“Oh god.” Marcus hangs his head, even as he laughs. He knows everything is in good fun and he will be harassing them right back.

Thank god for the nametags. You'd be utterly lost without them, even after the flashcards you made for yourself with permission from Marcus to scout his Facebook page for photos of his family. There are just too many of them. The conversations swirl and so do the introductions, but Marcus sticks with you. By the time everyone starts eating the conversation dies down a little and you find yourself at a table with Marcus, his parents, Selena, and her twin sister Harper. Plates of barbecue and cold salads come with fresh glasses of cold sweet tea or cans of soda, and the most relaxed atmosphere of chaos you've been in the middle of in a long time. In your book, this is vastly preferable to a State dinner.

“So what do you think?” Even Agent Bailey has a plate and a drink in her hand, talking to Rodger, one of his dad’s oldest friends. He always comes to these weeks. “She’s gonna relax some?”

"Seems like it." The sight of Agent Bailey socializing is like a miracle to you. A unicorn in real life if ever you saw one. "Any chance your Dad's friend is a beer guy? I found out last week that Agent Bailey brews her own as a hobby and I am endlessly fascinated by all the niche hobbies I keep finding out she has."

Marcus chuckles. “Rodger owns the brewery that supplies the Rangers with the Pike’s Pints.” He explains. “So he’s kind of a renaissance man when it comes to beer.”

"So she has a new best friend?" You laugh, leaning into his side as you eat. "That's fantastic. I hope she has some new ideas to be excited about by the time the week is out."

“My question is this…when does she have time?” He asks, shaking his head. “She’s always with you.”

"I don't think she sleeps." It's a question you've asked yourself plenty of times, but have yet to find an answer. "Apparently she has a dog and a husband and everything? A whole damn life. I'm so glad that doing the job she does hasn't kept her from it."

“Holy shit.” He snorts and looks back at the woman in question with more than slight admiration. “She’s a superhero.”

"She really is." There's no denying that whatsoever.

The meal progresses and his mother smiles at you. “So please, tell me about your inn.” She insists. “Marcus said that you have created a beautiful oasis.”

"It's my happy place." The question – and the description – make you beam. "And...sort of my first child, as well. I bought it from the previous owners a few years ago and my best friend runs the restaurant. It's a beautiful historical property in Alexandria, just outside of DC."

“It sounds like it’s your baby.” She smiles happily and nods. “He has had nothing but praise for it, and you, since his first phone call.”

"He's been wonderfully supportive. I couldn't ask for a more understanding or helpful partner." You do flash him a grin, though, and decide to rat him out to his mother just a tiny bit. "I do think the restaurant is at least half the reason he spends so much time there, though. It's amazing."

“He has always led with his stomach.” Donna snorts, shooting you a conspiratorial grin. “When he was a teen, he was always starving.” She intones dramatically.

"Isn't that how all teenage boys are made?" The laugh you share isn't at his expense, just shared amusement, and you pick up your sandwich again. "At least, my brother was always that way. I swear he ate six meals a day from ages twelve to twenty."

Marcus laughs and Donna rolls her eyes. “Marcus still sometimes eats six meals a day.” She snorts. “At least that’s the way it sounds when he calls. Always snacking.”

“That’s probably my fault these days,” you admit with a guilty grin. “I’m a snacker. Maybe that’s just another fun little quirk in the broad scheme of things.”

“I just have to run more.” Marcus chuckles, picking up a pickle spear and biting it in half. “So I can still beat everyone here stealing second.”

“We’ll see.” Selena narrows her eyes at him in challenge. “I’ve been training.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Marcus snorts and winks at his cousin. “Twenty bucks says I steal more bases than you.”

“Fine,” Selena shrugs, smirking as she leans back in her seat. “I’ll be out there stealing more hearts, anyway.”

“I’ve already got the heart I want.” Marcus informs her, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it dramatically.

“I love you, too.” Over the weeks, the promise has become stronger between the two of you and little daydreams about the future don’t seem so far off anymore — though you haven’t really planned anything beyond agreeing that you want to be together.

"See?" He smirks towards Selena with a fluttering of his lashes. "She loves me, so I am complete."

“You’re completely gross and I’m very happy for you,” Selena teases back. “You’ll have the picturesque wedding you always dreamed of, and a million kids, and make an east coast version of Pike Place.”

"Ohhhhh." He tilts his head curiously as he looks back at you. "Modern day Kennedy Compound?" He suggests. "Our version of Hyannis Port at the inn?"

“That’s a lot bigger than a little colonial cottage at the back of the grounds,” you remind him, but the idea makes your chest swell with absolute love. “But I think if we build at the back of the property we could do a bigger house and get away with it. People wouldn’t even be able to tell the two are connected.”

He smiles at the idea. "We will have to find out who owns the property adjoining yours." He hums. "Expand."

“So you’re already talking about a family, then?” His father, obviously enamored of the thought, smiles broadly. His son has always been a family man, even when that definition just meant his best friends were his cousins.

"We are planning out a lot of things." Marcus admits with a grin, unable to contain the happiness at the idea. "Not sure when that's going to happen, but we are on the same page."

“Maybe sometime before we’re too old and gray to travel all the way to DC?” Matthew jokes, although he’s only half joking.

You groan quietly and Marcus smirks as he looks at you expectantly. "Told you." He laughs. "You said your parents would be first, but I knew it was going to be mine."

“I’m still shocked my Dad didn’t bring it up at dinner last night,” you admit. You had been absolutely certain that your folks would use Friday night dinner as a chance to interview you about your intentions as a couple.

"I'm sure he wanted to." He laughs. "But we've classified that as Need To Know." He jokes.

“That may be the only way to survive with them.” Still, you can’t help but let the smile grow on your face. “By their standards, we’re taking positively forever.”

"I guess that means we should just run off to Vegas and get married." Marcus teases with a wink. "Really mess with their expectations."

“We would have four parents very upset with us,” you remind him. Every time you joke about getting married or have a little daydream it just sounds better and better, but you would never push him to elope. His family means to much to him, just like yours does to you.

"Yes they would." Donna points her fork at him playfully. "I don't care how you get married, I just want to be there."

“Yes ma’am.” That gets an instant agreement from you — not at all ready to set the precedence of going against your future mother-in-law about something like this.

"Good." She smiles in approval and smirks at her husband. "We will clear our schedules whenever they decide on a date."

"Well," you laugh, leaning into Marcus's side. "I guess you were right about not needing to worry over their approval."

“The fact that I love you is all my parents ever need to know.” He smiles and Matthew nods. “Marcus has a good head on his shoulders and a heart of gold. With you being his soulmate, you have to be the same.”

For dinner on your second night in Texas, Marcus promises to take care of everything and disappears with a grin on his face while his mother and Selena take you on a long walk around the large gardens of the compound. Anticipating a little girl talk and some bonding with his family, you had readily agreed.

“So how are you liking Texas, Birdie?” Donna asks curiously as the three of you stroll in the warm morning. You have been a dream to have visit and it’s obvious that you adore Marcus, so she has loved you being here. She just wants to make sure the feeling is mutual.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s not too hot yet, being the beginning of April, and walking around the compound is a nice way to settle in and work off the big breakfast everyone had this morning. “I’ve only been here once before and this is far less stressful.”

“I am sure the campaign trail was never relaxing.” She sympathizes softly. “Although, if you have to take up the trail again, we can offer you a respite from the questions and prying wherever we can.” With being her baby’s soulmate, she will be just as protective over you.

“I’m sure when re-election comes, I’ll be volunteering to come to Texas again just to be able to see my in-laws.” The thought is actually relaxing, to be able to take respite with such kind people, but the in-laws part excites you a bit.

“In-laws.” She beams when you say that. “Now I promise I won’t insist that you call me ‘mother’ or anything, but I hope that we can be friends.”

“Let’s start with Donna and Birdie and go from there,” you suggest, smiling just as broadly as she is. “I absolutely want us to be friends. Marcus loves you all so much and I know it means the world to him.”

“He is our only child, and we want him to be happy.” She promises. “But that doesn’t mean smothering him or not letting him live his life.” She laughs. “Matthew almost had a heart attack when he came home one break to find Marcus with shoulder length hair and an earring. But he never said a word.”

“Oh, please tell me you have pictures of that.” Marcus had told you about his long hair phase, but claimed no photos remained. You’ve been hoping that his parents have one tucked away somewhere.

Donna grins. “I have them all.” She promises. “Snuck them up to the attic before he could burn them.”

“He looks like the nerdiest member of Nirvana,” Selena snorts, giggling with the jovial malice only family can truly master.

“He was…too polite to really pull off the grunge look.” Donna admits, smiling at Selena’s almost evil outlook.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” There are hearts in your eyes when you say it and you don’t care to hide them one bit. “It’s—he’s better than I could have dreamed of for myself. Truly.”

“I have to confess….” Donna looks out over the gardens and sighs. “I have been so very worried about Marcus. He’s is such a loving man. He always has been, from the time he was a baby. But when he called me to say he had discovered his soulmate…” she looks back at you. “I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t understand his heart.”

“How do you mean?” She obvious cares for her son very deeply, and you do want to make sure that the relationship you have with her is honest. No misunderstandings if you can help it — which means asking for clarification. “Because he’s so giving and quick to jump in headfirst?”

“Yes….and no.” She admits. “Marcus is….well, he’s a caretaker. A fixer. You have a problem, he comes up with a solution. You feel tired and down, he will take some of your burden and try to cheer you up.” She sighs softly. “Oftentimes, so many women have been conditioned to be strong, independent, so they view that as misogyny or finding them helpless. It’s insulting to them and they resent him for it.”

“They don’t understand that offering care is his way of being supportive. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can do it themselves, it’s that he views being helpful as a romantic gesture as much as anything else.” You nod, understanding that entirely. “I think the hardest part for Marcus and me right now is that we’re both like that a lot of the time. Which means we’re constantly doing little fixes or giving little gifts or making little gestures. We’re still finding the balance.”

“That makes me feel better.” She admits with a smile. “You understand his need in doing it.”

“He wants me to know I don’t have to do it alone,” you acknowledge, offering her a smile as you walk. “And I want to make sure he knows the same.”

“You two truly are soulmates.” She chuckles. “And I have never been more happy to say those words.”

“Just as happy as I am to hear them, I promise you.” Stopping in your steady tracks, you touch her arm gently and offer her a slightly more serious look. “A lot of people interpreted the things I said on the campaign trail to mean that I’m against soulmates, but I’m absolutely not. I just don’t think anyone should be discriminated against for who they love. Anyone, and unfortunately a lot of people still believe only soulmates should be able to get married.”

“Those people…in my most professional opinion…” Donna snorts. “Are assholes.”

“Agreed.” You nod your head but Selena snorts at her aunts phrasing as the three of you start walking again.

“Do you have any specific plans while you are here?” Donna asks, curious if you had wanted to spend the entire time at the compound.

“I want to see whatever Marcus wants to show me.” It seems like an easy answer, but honestly you’re just here to meet his family and spent time with your soulmate. Anything more is a bonus. “Or anything you guys have in mind. I just…” you shrug in admission. “I never take vacations. So I’m reminding myself not to worry about work and trying to relax.”

“A workaholic.” She smirks slightly. “Something I’m very well-versed in.” She teases.

"Can't exactly stop yourself from taking work home with you when you live at work," you admit with a grin.

“As long as it’s work you love, I don’t see a problem with it.” Donna tells you.

"I really do." They already know that, of course, from how much and how proudly you talk about the inn. But still, you're beaming. "Marcus suggested we look at building our house on the property since I already own it, and I think it's only going to be a little while before we start in on that plan."

Building something together is something that Donna highly approves of. She nods. “Word of advice?” She offers with a smirk. “Have a general contractor negotiate any and all disagreements.”

"Noted," you agree instantly, knowing that Marcus's parents have a whole lifetime of experience in this particular area.

“It will solve a lot of arguments.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Over tile size!”

When Selena snorts out a laugh you have to suppose it's a family joke or at least and a family story, and you laugh too. "It's always something small, isn't it?"

“Yep.” She shakes her head and laughs. “One fight was about if the dishwasher should be on the left or right side of the sink.” She huffs. “Matthew rarely loaded the dishwasher, but thought that it continuously unfair to live in a right handed world as a leftie.” She rolls her eyes again, although it’s more amusement than annoyance.

Small things always seem large when they're under the microscope, and you can see how those things could get out of hand. But fortunately, from what you and Marcus have talked about so far, you're mostly on the same page right from the start. "I can see us tussling over little things pretty easily, but I think it will all turn out pretty well in the end. It's definitely a solid way to work through our skills in compromise and communication, though."

“Marcus knows how to communicate.” She promises. “He’s good at it, and if he’s not, I’ll give you free sessions.” She jokes, knowing the last thing any couple would want is to have an in-law involved.

"You'll be glad to hear that I have an excellent therapist to help me handle stressors and any manner of other unexpected event in my life that I need extra help in processing." The importance of simply having an impartial third party is not lost on you, but having a professionally trained and educated one is all the more important when possible stressors could include death threats sent to your family members.

“Very glad.” She nods and reaches out to pat your hand gently. “You are under a lot of pressure. That is obvious.”

"When we get back I have a meeting at the White House." Though you shudder for dramatic emphasis, it is unnerving. Those meetings about social outreach and the image of the First Family had gone well for Junie and Alex but since you're fairly certain what your mother will ask of you, you're dreading it.

“If you ever want to talk, just to vent, you can call me.” Donna offers softly. “Not in a professional capacity, although anything you say would be kept between us.”

"I really appreciate that." It's not something she has to offer. Not at all. But you're so grateful that your soulmate's parents have so far turned out to be wonderful people.

“Of course.” You might not take her up on the offer, but she wanted to extend it.

"And I hope you know you're always welcome in DC. Anytime, no hesitations." You swing back to grin at Selena on your other side. "You too. We could use another partner in crime."

“I am absolutely going to come visit.” Donna promised, and Selena nods eagerly. “Me too! I want to see this inn.”

"If you want to come and stay there, I'll have a word with the owner," you joke, and throw in a wink.

“And the food.” Donna insists. “Marcus has raved about your best friend, Sydney.”

"She's an absolute goddess." You promise them both. Building up your friends and loved ones is always easy for you. "Just the most talented chef you could possibly imagine. And an amazing person, to boot."

“She has to be.” Selena isn’t joking this time. “Marcus doesn’t waste time on people who aren’t amazing.” Now she gives a small, preening grin. “Which is why he loves me so much.” She jokes.

“I know what it is.” After about one full day of hanging out with Selena, you’ve narrowed down why it is that you are so comfortable with her, and it makes you laugh endlessly. “You’re exactly halfway between my best friend and my brother. Who are two of my top three favourite people in the world, despite the crap I give my little brother on a daily basis.”

“That sounds like a high compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She laughs. “I’m the little sister Marcus never wished he had.”

“He loves all of you like siblings.” Even if he hadn’t said so explicitly, it’s easy to tell.

“We grew up together.” She agrees. “Even if we lived apart, summers together were important. Holidays spent driving each other and our parents crazy.” There’s a fond smile on her face. “Hopefully our kids will experience the same things.”

“I hope so, too.” The idea head settled into your bones and made you sunny with daydreams. “My siblings’ kids, too. The biggest family we can possibly make for them, since we never had any cousins growing up.”

“Pikes tend to assimilate the families that join them.” Donna shoots you a grin. “They are like the Borg.”

“That’s how we collected friends when I was a kid,” you laugh. The Pikes are definitely not like the Borg — they all feel far too much for that and you adore it. “Make friends with one of the three of us and suddenly you were just another family member.”

“That sounds familiar.” Selena snorts. “We love having people around. The more the merrier.”

“Absolutely.” The morning sun has hit the top of the sky but it’s not too hot, just making you stop warding off the crisp breeze as it disappears into a mellow midday.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Selena hesitates. “There was some talk about you dating a Congressman?”

There it is. You were wondering how long it would take someone to ask the very fair question. At least it’s Selena and not Cousin Terry’s wife Hannah who seems to distrust you purely for being the daughter of a politician. Which…is also fair…just not a stereotype that applies to you personally. “I was. For almost a year. I was still seeing him when Marcus and I met, but…” you shrug your shoulders a little, with honesty in the sheepishness. “I fell in love with Marcus so fast, and so deeply. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be my soulmate, I still would have ended things with my ex.”

“I didn’t want to pry, I just hadn’t seen anything about a break up and wanted to know if you were ‘public’ yet.” Selena reassures you. “There’s already been a message in the family chat about not posting while we are here on social media. So we don’t potentially ‘out’ your relationship.”

“It will be out by Easter.” Breathing a sigh of relief isn’t subtle, so you swallow it down and simply tighten your smile into an affirmative. “He’s coming to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House with me. After that, just…try to be conscious of people asking about family photos? If you’ve got ones with Marcus and me in them, we’ll just ask everyone to keep them private. You know, friends only.”

“We are used to that.” She nods and sends you a smile. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry. No one here is going to judge you. Besides Hannah.” She snorts. “And let’s be honest, she’s a bitch.” Donna chokes out a laugh, quickly smothered, and swats at Selena’s butt from behind you. “Selena!” She scolds, obviously still trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” This time the relief whooshes out of you, but you end up laughing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Hannah is…the least comfortable with the easy, familial closeness of our family.” Donna snorts. “When she first started coming, there was an…accusation.” She hums delicately.

“What could poss—” As soon as your mind spins on it for long enough to actually ask the question, your mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my god! That’s—obviously, obviously I don’t think that. Please know that I have never ever thought that.”

“You don’t think I’m sleeping with Terry?” Selena snorts. “Thank God!”

“No, I definitely do not think you’re sleeping with your first cousin,” you laugh but still shudder.

“Apparently, Hannah doesn’t believe men and women can be friends. Not even relatives.” Selena shrugs. “So if it seems like all the female cousins keep their distance from Terry, it’s not because he’s a pervert. He’s actually amazing. His soulmate is just fucking nuts.”

“Got it.” Even though you flash a thumbs up in acknowledgment, all you can think of is how glad you are that Marcus didn’t stay with Vanessa. She would have hated this for the exact same reason. Probably been Hannah’s only ally.

“Hannah isn’t all bad.” Donna adds, trying to soften it some. “Just….a little…set in her ways. But honestly, this is the only time of year they come. They rarely join other holidays.” She looks over at you. “And pleased don’t think that we expect you to come for every holiday, but we will invite you.”

“We’ll come as often as we can.” You can promise that easily, though you know sometimes he’ll have to work and you’ll have to be at official events with your family. “It…will be easier once my mother is out of office.”

“I understand.” Donna is well aware of the demands of public figures. She had to be seen at a certain number of games and it was her own personal mission to attend the post seasons games any time Matthews’s teams made it. “Just know that we want what is best for you.”

“And that is so much more appreciated than you could know.” Maybe she does. Maybe she understands every bit of it. But because you appreciate the honesty of the words from your soulmate’s mother so much more than you expected to, you leave the phrasing as it is. No stumbling or correcting.

Donna winks at you and links her arm through yours. “You and I are going to be good friends.” She predicts with a happy smile. Marcus is over the moon in love with you and from what she could see, you are much the same. There is nothing more than Donna could ever wish for her baby, to find a smart, loving, good person – and you fit that bill perfectly.

Most of the day is spent in the massive pool down by the bunkhouse, with a little day drinking and a whole lot of horsing around and even a little heckling when some of the cousins got into a competition over best diving form — which quickly degraded into silliest dive. Now it’s sunset, and you’ve thrown a shirt and shorts over your dried out swimsuit for Marcus’s surprise.

“Hey babe.” Marcus finds you again, smiling at the relaxed smile on your face and he hands you a new drink. “You look like you’ve had a good time.”

"Well howdy stranger!" A slight affectation in your voice is just to make him laugh, and you grin when it succeeds. "Where have you been all day? Did you have fun with your Dad?" Matthew Pike had disappeared after breakfast along with his son, and when you had remarked on it to Donna during your walk, she had just said not to worry.

“Of course.” He grins, unable to stop himself as he moves over to caress your neck. “I was taking care of a few things for tonight. Why? Did you miss me?”

"Every second." And you don't care who knows it either. You sit up in your chair and stretch a little more to kiss him, catching the fresh scent of the bodywash he favors as it mixes with his bergamot and musk cologne. He's fresh and clean and it makes you wonder what he's been up to as much as it makes you want to drag him up to his bedroom.

“Good.” He smirks against your lips and offers you his hand as he steps out of your sphere. “Come on.”

"Ooo, is it surprise time?" The look of delight on your face is undisguised as you readily take his hand to pop up from your seat. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He beams about that fact as he pulls you closer. “Say goodnight to everyone, Birdie.” He hums quietly. “We probably won’t see them again tonight.”

"Good night everybody!" You wave immediately, wrapping your arm around Marcus's waist and barely sparing a backward glance in favor of grinning up at him.

“Damn.” He whistles as he guides you away from the pool and over to the truck. He’s already talked to agent Bailey and cleared things with her, so he just nods as the two of you pass by.

“Damn what?” You pose, laughing a little as you wonder if he’s amused at how quickly you’re ready to leave just about anyone behind to spend time with him.

“I could be a kidnapper and you would just go willingly.” He teases, reaching out and tugging on your ear gently.

“You’d be the best looking kidnapper around and Agent Bailey would have a hell of a time bringing me home,” you tease, hopping into the pickup when he opens the passenger door for you.

“Yep, you have Stockholm Syndrome.” He teases, leaning in to steal one more kiss before he closes the door and hurries around the hood.

Once he’s back in the cab beside you, you flash him a grin. “Belle got a library, I got the softest dom in the whole world and awesome in-laws. I’m okay with it.”

“Softest dom?” He snorts, tilting his head while he tries, and fails to look offended. “I’m a hard dom.” He protests.

"How hard you fuck me when we get going is not what I mean," you clarify, settling into the corner of the seat as he starts to drive the two of you across the compound. "You have the softest heart in the world and I feel very lucky to be the one you've decided to give it to."

“I know.” He promises. “I was teasing. I want you to be happy, healthy and loved. That’s all I want.”

"I am. All three, absolutely." Leaning against his shoulder on the drive, you hum slightly and end up sounding a little sheepish as you look out the window. "I missed you today. Even though we weren't apart too long."

He chuckles slightly and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles and scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin. “I’ll show you how hard of a dom I am.” He teases. “I’ll put a collar on you.”

Not expected that reaction from him, you make a remarkably incoherent noise of interest and surprise before turning your head to look at him. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Pike."

He had been joking, but the way you react has him pausing. “Is that something you’re interested in?” He keeps the question casual, not wanting to seem like he’s pushing or judging, he’s doing neither.

"I always thought it sounded kind of sexy," you admit, wondering if he was just joking and not serious at all. "I mean it's not like...like something mandatory for me to be happy in a relationship, obviously. If--if you're not into that and at all and you were just joking—"

“Baby.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “Anything you are interested in is something we can talk about. If it’s an absolute no, then I’ll explain why. But I think it sounds kind of sexy too. Collars don’t have to be spiked dog collars where I pull you around on a leash and make you bark.” He snorts.

"A lot of day collars just look like cute little necklaces." Alright, you may or may not have done a little looking into it a few years ago with the guy you were seeing at the time. He was long gone now, but the idea had remained in your head. It was not something Sam would have gone for so it had never been brought up to him.

His brow ticks up, noting your interests and he hums. “They do.” He agrees. “Something sexy about being claimed, isn’t there?”

"Absolutely." He turns left at a pair of apple trees on the western part of the compound and keeps going, while you continue to snuggle next to him like a contented house cat. "I mean...I'm wearing a Pike family nametag. That's about as claimed as it gets."

“Not quite.” Marcus chuckles. “There’s definitely more claiming that can be done.”

"Is that a promise?" You tease, grin growing a little wider when he turns toward a tree line up ahead.

“Absolutely.” He follows the less worn paths through the trees, although it’s obvious from the tire marks through the grass road that someone has been there recently.

"So can I have a hint about where we're going?" This isn't a part of the property that you've been to yet and it's beautifully woodsy in a distinctly Southwestern way that you're finding fantastic.

“You’ll see.” The tree line gives way to clearing and Marcus smiles as the pond comes into view. “Right now.”

The little clearing in the trees is picture perfect. It looks more like a movie set than real life, the tree-lined pond ringed with fairy lights sitting side-by-side with a red and white checked gingham blanket and large picnic basket, and a small cooler to boot. "Baby," you sigh out the endearment excitedly. He knows you love surprises -- your family told him so -- but you weren't expecting anything. That, of course, it was makes surprises so wonderful.

“Now you know what I’ve been doing all day.” He tells you as the truck pulls to a stop close to the picnic sight. “Wanted to make this perfect.”

"It's gorgeous!" You breathe, practically squeaking with excitement as you turn to snuggle into his side as soon as he parks the truck. "Is this your old make out spot? Because if it is? It's an awesome choice."

“Maybe a few times?” Marcus shrugs his shoulders and gives you a boyish grin. “Not too many times.”

"Could make it one more." The exaggerated wink you aim at him makes both of you laugh. "If you wanted to, I mean."

“That was my evil plan.” Marcus admits without any remorse. “Bring you out here, woo you, make out with you.”

"Pretty good plan." Right about now he could undo your seatbelt and haul you into his lap in the truck and you wouldn't protest even for a second. "It's absolutely gorgeous, baby."

“Wanted to give you a special night.” He’s explains, unlatching his seatbelt so he can open the door and walk around to help you out.

“Every night with you is special.” As soon as you’re out of the truck you press in to kiss him, enjoying the lingering warmth of the early evening.

“So you’d rather go have dinner with everyone else than have a romantic picnic by the pond?” Marcus asks, reaching for the door handle. “We can go back…”

“Ohhhhh no.” You shake your head immediately. “We’re staying right here. In our perfect little oasis.”

“I thought you would say that.” Marcus chuckles as he takes your hand to guide you over to the blanket. “I brought wine, but we don’t have to drink anything stronger than lemonade.”

“Wine sounds nice.” You’ve been moderate in your drinking today, having two cups of water for every alcoholic beverage and making sure to eat, so you’re not worried about being too inebriated. “And very romantic, but I don’t ever doubt that from you.”

“Well. I know that it might not be the fanciest, but I wanted to make an effort.” He grins at your praise and both of you sit down on the checkered spread.

“You’re perfect level of fancy for me.” Once you sit down here starts to unpack things, and you fidget slightly on the blanket. “But…Speaking of…of that? I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea that I had.” The actual thought has been rolling around in your head for a while for uncomfortable reasons, but now that it’s Marcus it’s actually a nice thing you don’t mind dreaming about a little.

“Speaking of fancy….” He chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pour out the wine. You pitch me your idea and we will strategize.” He jokes as he opens the top to the wicker basket and produces two, picnic friendly wine glasses and sets them down to retrieve the wine from the cooler.

“Unless you had something else you wanted to talk about?” Maybe that’s what this beautiful picnic is and you’ve usurped the purpose of the night by jumping the gun, you can’t be sure.

“I’m wanting to talk about whatever you want, my love.” He promises as he uses the corkscrew to open the bottle.

“Very accommodating of you.” But that’s Marcus and you know it. Instead you focus on opening up the containers he’s packed away that are holding your dinner. “Do you remember I told you that my mother wants the three of us kids to all do…sort of…family publicity type stuff? Like Junie getting a dog and being willing to be public about it?”

“Yes.” He nods and pours out the wine into each glass. “You didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it, although you tried to put on a good front.”

“I’m not terribly enthusiastic about it.” You can admit that, especially to him. “Which is why I’m not sure if this idea is selfish or not.”

“Honey….” Marcus hands you the wine and takes the container with the cheese from you to open. “You are not a politician, you don’t seek the spotlight. Sharing yourself with the public in a way you need isn’t selfish.” He’s pretty much guessed that it has to be some idea about your relationship, and he’s okay with that.

“It’s selfish because it’s something I’m asking you to do with me.” The wine glass is cold in your hand, a soothing and grounding change from the warm day. Although now that the sun’s down it will be cool sooner rather than later. “Because I’m more comfortable and more confident with you beside me in that spotlight.”

“Whatever you need.” Marcus promises. “Undercover work was never exactly fun for me, and I’m out as a UA now that the picture of us dancing was posted in the papers.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize.” The wine he chose is fruity and dry, much more complex than you would but for yourself despite his claim that it’s not fancy.

“No, sweetheart, please don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was aware pictures would be taken. It was my own choice. And I don’t regret it for a second.��

“I didn’t know art crimes required undercover work. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now that I think about it.” And you’re definitely stalling, but you push it further by assembling a charcuterie bite from the containers around you.

“It’s rare, but I only took the last assignment where I went undercover was because I needed to get away after things ended with Teresa.” He explains.

"Well, you'll have nothing like that reason ever again." The idea of Marcus with a broken heart is too much to stomach, and the coping mechanism of assembling the perfect charcuterie bite for him now pushing the thought out of your mind.

“I know.” It’s freeing to know that you two are very much in the same pages. Despite the fact that being soulmates does guarantee happiness, you and him will do everything to make sure that your story is a good one.

"So...the thing I wanted to talk to you about..." Enough stalling. Time to be an adult. "Is not because I want to push you, or rush you, or anything like that. But...because I keep thinking about it and thinking that getting ahead of the curve is the only way to really control it, and controlling it will be so much less stressful and make half as much work in the long run."

You’re cute when you’re flustered, Marcus leans back on the blanket, completely relaxed as he takes a sip of his wine. “So are we talking televised wedding? Or just pictures?” He asks.

"We are not broadcasting the wedding." That's the point at which you draw the line, you already know that. It's too much. Too invasive even for a family in the public eye. "I was thinking more like...letting photos be released along the way. Like sharing engagement photos, or photos of dresses that I don't pick. Things like that?"

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” It’s an easy agreement, one that has him lifting a brow. “That was all?”

"Even if that includes sharing photos of your bachelor party or sitting down with a reporter yourself?" The fact that he's willing to agree to it so easily is utterly shocking to you, and you feel like you have to do your due diligence and double check. "Or even share part of the proposal?"

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Marcus agrees. “It’s like the family days at the parks or when mom and dad would have interviews.”

Sometimes you really do forget that he already has a frame of reference for all of this. That he understands being a family in the spotlight. You take a sip of your wine and build him another bite from the charcuterie containers, offering it to him with a grateful smile. "I love you. Completely. I really hope you know how grateful I am for you."

“Why don’t we plan to have photos released from our engagement, you and I can sit down with a reporter about the expectations of soulmates and politics. There can be a website for all this with links to charities or causes that you want to champion or bring to light?”

"I don't understand how you get even more perfect." When he takes the cracker from your hand you run a finger under his jaw and end up feeling heat in your cheeks all over again. "When we get back I'll talk to Mom and whoever from her team is supposed to be coordinating my media stuff. And..." That same hand of yours squeezes his knee gently. "This is not me trying to rush you into anything. I'm sure we'll get enthusiastic and rush all on our own."

“Us?” He feigns surprise and smirks slightly. “Maybe we will, maybe we will surprise ourselves.” He turns and kisses the palm of your hand. “But I doubt it.”

"I doubt it, too." It's a kiss from his lips that you want most, and lean forward to steal it without shame. "But I love that we're on the same page so easily."

“So after that birthday….um, debacle…” he makes a face. “Are you totally opposed to the idea of a surprise proposal or what?”

"As long as it's you proposing, a surprise is fine." Debacle is the right word, and you roll your eyes slightly. "I actually do love surprises. Mom told you that."

“You might have changed your mind.” The sun is setting and right on cue, the fairy lights that he had spent the majority of the day stringing around the pond come on.

The way you coo at the change in lighting is full of delight, and you lean into his side on the blanket with nothing short of delight on your face. "See this is why I love surprises. For things like this."

“I was hoping you would like it.” Marcus grins as you stare in loving awe of the lights as they play off the water and the sunset.

"You know...the back of the property at the inn has a little pond like this." You lean back against him and enjoy the view around you. "There's nothing around it really, so I haven't thought about putting a garden there or anything. But...it could be in the backyard of our house if we wanted it to."

“I think we could do that.” Marcus smirks and reaches out to touch the rim of his glass against yours. “Our own little escape.”

"And it's far enough back from the inn to soothe your very sweet concern over historically matching buildings." Which you love, but you don't want him to get so hung up on it that he ends up sacrificing another aspect of the house he might truly love.

“You have something else in mind?” He asks, wondering if you want something different for how you raise your children and where you live.

"I don't really know a hell of a lot about architectural styles," you admit. "I just don't want us to miss out on our dream house because we got stuck on making the buildings match. We can set our house back enough that it will have its own space."

“Any house that has you and our family in it is my dream house.” He promises, smiling at you happily.

"I love you, too." In a way that makes you feel like your heart is going to swell right out of your chest, but in the absolute best possible way.

“I know you do.” Marcus murmurs softly, wondering how he got so lucky with you. “I am a lucky man.”

Leaning back lets you kiss him, just a soft thing but tender and full of desire and promise before you pull back and smile at him softly. "I guess we're both lucky, then."

“Oh!” Marcus pulls out his phone, forgetting that he had programmed it and opens it up to the music app to start playing music. “Forgot that part.” He huffs. “Too eager to pour wine.”

You know even on the first song that it's a playlist of love songs. There is nothing more supremely on point for Marcus than a night like this, with all of the magic that he's infused into this beautiful little dinner. "I don't know how, but you keep making it better every second."

“That’s high praise.” He hums, putting together a bite for you and holding it out for you to eat. “I’ve enjoyed having you to spoil.”

“And you’re about the only person in the world I’ll ever let do it.” The admission comes with a laugh, and you place another soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for suggesting this trip, love.”

“I’m glad you got to come.” He admits with a smile as you take the offered bite and groan at the taste. “I know it was hard to take off last minute and I appreciate it. Next time we will have it planned better.”

“It’s less that it’s hard and more that I get very determined about being hands on,” you admit. “Malachi can run that place in his sleep during the day, and my managers are great. I just…always worry.”

“It’s your baby.” Marcus acknowledges easily. “It’s like a case for me. My team is incredibly proficient at their jobs, but if there is a stake out or some kind of op to be run, I like being there.”

“I’m grateful you understand.” Others hadn’t, and so the fact that Marcus is supportive of your need for work as well as your need for a family is very much appreciated. “And Sydney was joking about sending care packages to your stake outs if you wanted them, so I think your team is about to be very happy, too.”

“If she did, she would become an unofficial member of the team.” Marcus snorts. “They wouldn’t be happy with pizza anymore.”

“I’d have even more FBI agents on my doorstep,” you giggle at the image. “There’s already three of you, we’ll need to designate a dining room or something.”

“The Fed Room.” Marcus snorts, grinning at the idea. “It would never be empty.”

“Syd may have thrown a tiny bit of a fit when I told her I don’t want her to cater any of our wedding stuff,” you admit, cringing slightly as Marcus starts to open another round of containers from the picnic basket. “But she’s my best friend and will be my maid of honor. I want her there by my side, not stuck in the kitchen.”

“How about she can cater the engagement party?” Marcus suggests. “That way she’s involved but it’s not taking over her enjoying your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about an engagement party.” The compromise makes you turn up your chin to look at him with wide, starry eyes. “It’s perfect. Just like you, love.”

“We have to have a party.” Marcus teases, kissing your nose. “The press can have the story of my proposal and the engagement party. That’s also a good way to keep our actual engagement to ourselves.”

“I’m so fucking glad you’re with me on this.” The honest laugh is stifled but full of relief as you lounge with him in the blanket. “I would never think of any of this and I’d just end up stressed out or going along with whatever anybody else planned to avoid having to think about it.”

“I will fix anything you ever ask me to.” Marcus promises. “But if you ever don’t like something, you never have to worry about me being upset by that.”

“And the same goes for you,” you promise him, with the same measure of seriousness in your eyes and honesty in your voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He picks up a grape to pop into his mouth. “You and I are very communicative.”

“I feel like I should apologize.” Your voice lowers slightly, the unsureness seeping through it.

“Why?” Marcus frowns slightly, not liking that comment at all. You have nothing to apologize for. He loves that the two of you are talking and planning your lives together.

“Past relationships…have not been as okay with my tendency to talk everything out at length.” It’s not something that you really ever planned on bringing up, since Marcus likes to dream and plan and plot like you do. But maybe it’s good that he knows, since it has slipped out without you meaning to. “I always felt like I was bothering them with it. And ended up apologizing a lot.”

He frowns even more, reaching out after he sets down to his wine glass and pulls you close. “Sweetheart, I want to talk things out. Even if it’s as mundane as brunch locations or if the entryway table should be moved.” He promises. “Please never feel like you should apologize. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

“You might regret saying that when I get going about the logistics of booking rooms for large parties.” It’s a decent attempt at a joke, even if it’s wry, and you lean into Marcus’s comforting warmth with a sigh. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you are as straight forward and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about this entire relationship as I am. It seems surreal but it’s too wonderful to be a dream, so I’m just doing my best to process the whole thing.”

“You process however you need to.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right here to reassure you again. You’re my partner, my lover, and my friend.” He murmurs. “The most important person in the universe to me.”

______

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My Masterlist!

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Teasing, flirting, nudity, bathing together, fingering, a smattering of dirty talk. Summary: This wedding night is special for more than just the happy couple. Notes: A little light smut for your Sunday! Thanks for sticking with us this long, but these two are finally starting to get to know each other. 🧡 As always, please remember that the gif choice at the top of the chapter is not meant to represent reader's physical appearance. In this case, it's for Cameron and Wiley!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Not even the nonstop amount of work you’ve been doing for the wedding can stop how much you’ve been thinking about Marcus since he left early on Thursday morning, and obviously Sydney isn’t going easy on you. The merciless, good hearted, happy-for-you teasing started the second you and Marcus came downstairs together the morning after the rehearsal dinner and has kept going through the texting and when you appeared for the actual wedding looking like you had paid a great deal of extra attention to your appearance for tonight. Not even to take away from the bride of course, but enough to look special for the occasion.

It had been so hard to not go back to your apartment after leaving the office yesterday. He had wanted to. So badly. To pick up the conversation and possibly do more than that kiss on the cheek he had thought about the entire time he was on the golf course and in the office. Now, getting ready for the wedding, he pays special attention getting ready so he can look his best for you.

The greenery that has been brought into the gardens, the subtle lighting accents, the clover-shaped place cards, and even the Kelly green silk shirt and matching heels that you picked out to wear with your most flattering suit are all festive for the St Patrick’s Day wedding. Each time you have checked on Joyce and her bridesmaids they have been jittery with excitement but doing well, and the florist was an astonishing ten minutes early to drop off the flowers, so everything is moving along perfectly.

By the time guests begin to arrive, the groom, ushers, groomsmen, and father of the bride are all in place. Considering the chaos this wedding was thrown into just two weeks ago? It might be the best organized night you’ve executed by yourself in years.

He has no problem not being in the wedding party anymore, however, Marcus escorts Joyce’s mother down the aisle to her seat with pride. The accents of his tuxedo had been the same color as the bridesmaids, but he had willingly given them up for her father, deciding on a classic grey accent to contrast for the vest, pocket square, and bow tie.

The only two things that save you from crying during the ceremony — which you always, always do — are how busy you are and how damn good Marcus looks. Through the ceremony and photos you catch glimpses and share smiles, but it takes until cocktail hour before you get a chance to sneak up in his side. “You know it’s bad manners to show up being more handsome than the groom.”

“Don’t think that I did that.” Marcus immediately warms from the inside out at just hearing your voice as he turns towards you. “And you look like you stepped out of a fashion shoot.” He compliments. “Upstaging the bride.”

“I would never.” Just hearing his voice in person instead of over the phone practically makes you giddy, but you demure. “Thank you, though. I will pass the compliment along to David, who is my fashion consultant.”

“Well, the linen suit is perfect with the vivid emerald green.” He smiles as he motions towards the reception. “It’s wonderful and they are beaming.” He smiles at the now family pictures being taken with Joyce’s parents and a large bouquet. While Michael’s parents hadn’t shown, they had sent a flower arrangement so it had made the couple hopeful that they would be accepting of things down the line.

“As long as they’re happy, that’s all that matters.” So far nothing has gone wrong, and you’re keeping your fingers crossed that it stays that way. Or at least, that when something finally does, it will be either small or insignificant enough that you can fix it without the couple even realizing.

“You have a gift.” Marcus praises softly. “Which do you prefer? Running the inn or planning? I’m assuming the day to day for the inn.”

“I do prefer the day to day of the inn,” you admit, looking around the garden filled with reception guests. “But I think I’ll be broken-hearted if I don’t get to help my siblings plan their weddings. I do like it.”

“I can see that.” He reaches out and slides a hand around your body, resting on where the tattoo sits in the small of your back. “You are wonderful and you’ve created a day they will never forget.”

“I won’t take an ounce of credit.” Looking up at him, though, you do smile. Just about as broadly as you can. “I will steal a dance from you later, though.”

“I think we can manage that.” He nods, smiling just as wide as you are. “Let me know when you are free.”

“I’ll come and find you when things are under control enough for me to slip away.” Not that you think it will take long, but there is always potential for things to happen. That’s why you have the radio in your ear, after all. A discreet Walkie talkie on your belt is hidden by your suit it makes you reachable by the whole staff working tonight. It gives you the luxury of stepping away to say hi to Marcus without worrying about a major disaster breaking out.

“Let me know if I can help.” He tells you, knowing that you would never ask, but he will offer anyway. “I can carry a case of champagne or something.”

“You’re a guest.” Never in a million years would you ask him to do any work when he’s attending an event in space you control, and you shake your head. “Relax. Enjoy. Eat and drink. Dance. I’ll come and find you later, handsome.”

He rolls his eyes and grins at you. “I knew that would be your answer, but my offer will stand.”

“Noted and appreciated.” You lean into his side for a brief hug before slipping away again, shooting a teasing wink his way from halfway across the garden as you go.

The garden lights are on. White mixed with green to match the theme of the wedding party and Marcus has danced with the bride and her mother by the time you come back to his side. More than a few glasses of champagne in, and relaxed with his bow tie untied now.

“Having fun?” You may have snuck over to the deejay to ask him to play a slow song, but no one needs to know that you planned it.

“Enjoying myself, but now…” he turns and gives you a slow smirk. “It’s even better since you are here.”

“Oh yeah?” That has you beaming at him as the next song starts.

“Yeah.” He hears the slow, sweet strains of the song and lifts a brow. “Are you here long enough to dance before you flit away, hummingbird?”

“I’m all yours.” It sounds a bit more like a pledge than the playful thing it had sounded like in your head, but that’s okay. You still mean it. “For at least a song or two.”

Humming happily, he holds out his hand for you, watching you with almost tender affection. “We seem to be good at this.”

“Those lessons that our parents insisted on have paid off.” Those lessons don’t dictate how well you fit in his arms, though, or the way you feel drawn into him like a magnet.

“It’s like they knew.” He chuckles.

“We can never tell them,” you snicker, leaning into him a little more as the song goes on, and resting your head comfortably on his shoulder. “We’re still their children, after all. Can’t let them know we think they were ever right.”

“Never.” He had already received a call from his parents after the photos of the State dinner were published, only a case of mild humble bragging allowed before they changed the subject.

“You’ve never told me if you have siblings or anything.” The thought occurs to you almost belatedly, as the world is hazy around the two of you and you like it that way.

“Only child.” He chuckles. “Although I am possibly the only case of single child syndrome in my extended family.” He tells you. “I have twenty-seven first cousins.”

Your head nearly snaps back, wide eyes and a laugh of shock making your face look comically surprised. “I’m gonna need flash cards, aren’t I?”

He laughs, making several others look towards you, curious as to the amusement. “No.” He promises. “Most of the time, we all wear name tags.” He grins. “My family has six sets of identical twins in mix. They decided to make it a family traditional to tag us so no pranks were played.”

“Criminey.” Even on a low huff, you shake your head in wonder. All his poor aunts! “So an only child but plenty of playmates, then?”

“Always.” He laughs. “Always felt like I lived in a zoo when family was around.”

"You must have had hellacious games of Hide and Seek." The huff is replaced with a giggle, imagining little Marcus with all those cousins and all the chaos they must have gotten into. "It sounds amazing."

He agrees with you. “It was a competition to see how long we could last.” He tells you. “Had to stay on the property though.”

“Big family house?” You guess, figuring that his grandparents must have at least had a little bit of land. That’s the image you have in your head of Texas, anyway.

“Ended up having like a family compound.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “For the summers together.”

"That sounds like so much fun." As the first song bleeds into a second, you don't move an inch from his arms. There's nowhere you would rather be than right here. "My parents are both only children, so I have absolutely zero first cousins. That's how we all ended up with best friends that basically got adopted into the family."

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Marcus smiles at the image of your family adopting friends over the years, collecting them.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great." It's how you have kept Sydney in your life, and her sister, and your other best friend from college. It's how Alex and David got so close so young, and how Junie and Kiley became so close. "It's just different, that's all."

“I know.” Marcus would never put down your experience. “You might be overwhelmed by my family and think we are all insane.”

"Or I might have a blast." You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he's really saying that he wants you to meet his family or just postulating that someday down the line it would happen. Probably the latter. "We'll find out when we're ready."

“I’m going home at the beginning of April.” He informs you, wondering if it’s too fast. “You could always come with me.”

From intrigued to bewildered at the drop of a hat, your face morphs into something soft and your head tilts in a gentle awe. "And I thought I was always the one running headlong into relationships with my heart out there on my sleeve," you murmur, realizing that Marcus must be very much the same way. "I—I would absolutely love to."

You don’t have to come of course, but he thinks you really mean that you would want to. “No pressure, of course.” He adds. “We don’t have to be press official or anything. My family is tight-knit, they wouldn’t breathe a word.”

“There is already speculation,” you admit, though you have to shrug about it so it doesn’t upset you that people are speculating about your life at all. “We…didn’t do a great job of not looking enamored with each other at the State dinner.”

“I understand that.” Marcus has read the speculation and seen the photos. Both of you are photographed looking completely taken with the other. “However, when you decided to confirm is completely up to you.” He reminds you softly. “You owe no one anything before that. Not even as the First Princess.”

“It’s more important to me that you know I want to be with you. And that we tell our families when we’re ready. The nation can wait, it won’t kill them to not get gossip right away.” You bite your lip though, leaning into his side again as you dance. “My family is probably going to be very enthusiastic tomorrow.”

“You plan on telling them tomorrow?” He asks, slightly surprised that you would be so willing to say something so quickly. It’s not that he’s been viewed as undesirable, but often the women he dated were more cautious.

“The only thing that would stop me would be if you don’t want me to.” Otherwise, sharing this new step forward in your life with your family is just one more thing to celebrate.

“You’re my soulmate.” Marcus reminds you, smiling softly at the reminder himself. “I don’t mind telling a stranger on the street, let alone people you love.”

When Juan had told you what a romantic Marcus is, you had almost taken it with a grain of salt. A friend talking up his friend to the girl who likes him. But it hasn’t taken long at all for you to see the truth of it shining in Marcus’s eyes, or widening his smile. And a man who wants love is exactly what you have always hoped for. “I’m glad we agree,” you murmur, swallowing around the first time your heart has burst with those words. You’re not going to come out with that full-scale declaration before you’ve even gone out on your first few dates. Before you’ve even kissed.

He smiles even more, his fingers pressing into your hip and lower back, pulling you closer to his own body. It’s not possessive, more protective over you and the moment that is unfurling between you. “Just let me know if I come on too strong.” He asks, knowing that it could annoy some and he doesn’t want to do that to you.

“That’s…usually the warning I have to give.” The striking similarities between the two of you aren’t lost. The way your wishes and dreams and treatment of your partners all lines up…it makes sense why they always say that your soulmate is your ideal fit. Especially in this moment, as your arms tighten around each other and the world seems to stop around you.

He chuckles softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to the edge of your hair. “You will never have to worry about that with me.” He promises.

The way your heart stops completely for a moment at the bare touch of lips to skin before starting back up at double the speed is so telling, and so overwhelming that your fingers dig into his jacket to keep him close. “You don’t have to worry either.”

The moment is perfect and it’s one of those moments that a first kiss is almost required. Like it’s the Hallmark movie it feels like. Marcus stares into your eyes and his gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment before there’s a snort beside him.

“You two look like the newlyweds.” Joyce teases, a broad grin on her face as she leans into the arms of her new husband.

Thwarted for the second time in as many days, you swallow the disappointment but have to appreciate the irony of who’s pointing it out. “That’s your job, today, I think.”

“No way we would want to upstage the happy couple.” Marcus adds, sending them a smile.

“No reason it can’t be a happy day for more than just us,” she hums, grinning again when they turn away to keep dancing.

Marcus laughs quietly as he continues to dance with you. “I think they suspect something.” He teases softly.

“Like I said,” you laugh quietly, beaming at him impossibly brighter. “We’re not very good at hiding it.”

“No, we aren’t.” He agrees, deciding that now is the perfect time to dip you like he had during the State dinner.

The same joyful shout of laughter bubbles out of you that had then, drawing some attention again but this time you revel in it. Marcus’s soothing presence is there to let you enjoy yourself without fear, so that when you wrap your arms around his neck again on the upswing — this time there is no hesitation in following your natural impulse. Your lips find his like you’re coming home again, in a kiss as sweet and bright as the rest of this moment.

He expected the kiss, had anticipated kissing you so it’s a shock to have you initiating the kiss. Eyes widening for a split second before he closes his eyes and leans you down even more. The brilliancy of having him lean into the moment is wonderful, and you suddenly don’t know if your head is swimming from being dipped or from him. Not that you care. Not that any of it matters. Because the electric spark of it is so brilliant you could sing.

Marcus has kissed women, lots of them. Some of them women he had loved, but nothing compares to this kiss. He had always heard that soulmate intimacy is beyond description and that is exactly what this is, indescribable.

The buzzing seems to start at the top of your head and go all the way down to your toes, making you hum against his lips when you finally have to pull away. Can’t be making out in the dance floor. That will definitely be noticed. Marcus slowly pulls you upright, his lips tingling and his heart feeling like it is soaring through the clouds.

“I wanted to do that so badly at the State dinner,” you whisper, beaming at him and glowing in the moment. He knows that. You told him already. But you’re too lightheaded to care about repeating yourself.

“I did too.” Marcus confesses just as softly. It’s impossibly amazing to have someone that feels the same way and he absorbs it like it’s oxygen to breathe.

There’s a giggle in your throat, but it’s small and feels like a hiccup, making you grin even more. “But that was better than I imagined.”

“Same.” He looks around the dance floor, aware that you weren’t at a soulmate wedding before he leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had never thought touching my soulmate would be so exciting and soothing all at the same time.”

“No exciting touches while I’m working,” you chide, knowing it isn’t what he meant but unable to resist teasing him.

He snorts quietly and arches a brow mischievously. “And if I do?”

He is a tease, and he said as much to you with pride, so you just quirk a smile up in the corner of your mouth and stroke one thumb along the line of his neck. “Then you’re not staying on the couch this time.”

“Am I staying?” He asks softly, not wanting to presume anything and he grins at your huff.

“Only if you want to.” You have no intention of pressuring him, but if he wants to spend the night you will welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t think that’s a question in my mind.” He chuckles. “I just don’t want you to think that I only want to take you to bed.”

“If I thought that, you wouldn’t be invited.” Enough years of second guessing and wondering have made an impact on you that way, and you certainly aren’t going to entertain any kind of advances from someone who isn’t interested in you for the right reasons. Not anymore.

“That’s good.” He admires your spirit and self-assurance. They are traits that he always likes in a woman and he’s happy to find that his soulmate is aligned the same way. Reaching up, he smirks slightly as he touches an earring. “So what time do you get off work, beautiful?”

"As soon as the reception's over." Subtly turning your wrist on his shoulder, you check the time and press a kiss to his cheek when your heart flutters at the end of the song that had been playing. "Just a couple more hours, handsome. I hope you're one of those G-men who keeps a change of clothes in their car."

“I do.” He nods, butterflies swirling in his stomach like he’s untried all over again, even though his virginity is long past gone. “The other night was an odd thing because of just coming back.”

"I'll let my temporary roommate know you're coming up." That's not exactly the kind of thing you can spring on Agent Bailey, even if she is at the end of her shift. Her shift relief will need to know there's someone spending the night so they don't hear noises and burst into your room.

“If it’s not convenient, we can always plan something out.” Marcus immediately assures you. He knows that it has to be a little stifling at times with the agent there and he doesn’t want you to stress if there’s some reason he can’t stay.

"I just don't want an agent interrupting us," you assure him quickly. "That's all. I want you to stay."

Marcus grins. “Afraid of a shift change and the agent thinking you’re being attacked?” He jokes.

"Stranger things have happened." Unfortunately, the ear piece you're wearing to stay connected to your team crackles to life with the voices of servers get ready for the cake cutting. "That's my cue," you hum, tapping your earpiece with a slight frown. "Save me one more dance later, okay?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus lets go of you reluctantly, although he knows you are still working to make the night magical for his friends.

The wedding is as close to perfect as any event that you've organized in possibly your entire career. By the time the last guests are trickling out of the garden and the wait staff is bringing in the last trays of glasses to be washed, your work is fairly well done for the night. The overnight manager can oversee the rest of the cleanup, and you've already sent Sydney home to her comfy bed after freaking out with her over the fact that Marcus has agreed to stay over tonight. Joyce and Michael left straight for the airport to be off on their honeymoon after many, many hugs. Agent Bailey looks positively relaxed compared to some other events you've held at the inn, but you can tell she's ready for a cup of coffee and a crossword to wind down with before her relief arrives.

"Hey." You find Marcus on the porch when you step back outside, and your face splits on a big, beautiful smile.

“Hey.” Marcus turns to find you watching him, your jacket discarded somewhere and you look softer, a little worn. “I have to just give you a round of applause.” He hums, clapping silently. “You made this look so easy, even though there are a million balls up in the air at one time.”

"I'm exhausted," you admit without shame. After two weeks of basically working nonstop, you would feel like you're about to drop except that you have the promise of the rest of the night ahead of you. "Thank god I took the whole weekend off. We can sleep in tomorrow."

Marcus frowns, not liking that you’ve overworked yourself and he is immediately pulling you close and rubbing your back. “Why don’t we go upstairs and you let me take care of you?”

“Because that will require an entire reprogramming of my personality?” The attempt at a joke just makes him raise his eyebrows at you and deepens his frown, and you know instinctively you’re going to give in to him. You may not be good at letting other people be in charge of you ever, but the warm and fuzzy feelings you get from being the sole focus of Marcus’s attention outweighs it. “Okayyyyyy.”

At the almost petulant tone, Marcus smirks slightly. “Good.” He nods and pulls you closer. “You deserve to let someone do for you.” He whispers softly. “You’ve done so much for my friends tonight. Let me return the favor.”

There isn’t any use protesting, and you like the gentle security of his arms too much to leave them right now, so the two of you make your way to the elevator wrapped around each other as though there is nowhere else you could possibly be. “Did you have fun tonight?” Aside from Joyce and Michael — who had thanked you profusely before leaving for the night — his opinion of things is the only one you care about.

“Probably the best wedding I’ve ever been to.” Marcus isn’t just saying that. The staff milled around, wearing happy expressions that weren’t painted on, even when they were busy. The entire event flowed smoothly and the atmosphere was one of celebrated joy. A lot of that comes straight from the top, how you treat your staff and the environment you’ve created. “I’ll say it again, you are amazing.”

“You may have noticed by now that I’m not very good at taking compliments.” You up at him, though, warm cheeks and broad smile making you look bashful. “But…thank you.”

“Well, I plan on giving them to you often.” He admits, admiring your beautiful face. He’s always believed in giving compliments, but he never says something he doesn’t mean.

“Then I will try to be better.” Having only kissed him once so far, the tantalizing closeness of where he hangs his head as you step into the elevator together beckons you, but you resist if only out of manners. Agent Bailey doesn’t need to be made to feel awkward in such a small space.

He can tell that you want to kiss him, but he can also see how incredibly worn out you are. Marcus shifts slightly, moving behind you so he can let you lean against him. The small, nondescript duffel bag in his hand brushes your leg, and you smile gently at the idea of waking up beside him tomorrow morning. As tantalizing as taking him to bed is, it’s the soft, domestic dream of waking up to see his sleep-mussed face that has you weak in the knees. When the elevator stops upstairs, you pause to let Agent Bailey work and then go in when she gives you the signal.

“Are the threats bad enough she needs to check the apartment every time?” He asks softly, frowning at the idea that you would be in so much danger.

“Mom is slightly overprotective,” you explain, dropping your jacket on the coat rack by the door when you come in. “I give it another month of all-clears before she stops insisting the apartment be checked every single time.”

“She loves you.” It’s not hard to see why but he also doesn’t want to minimize its effect on you.

“Oh, I know.” Turning around again, you reach for him even though he isn’t far away. “And I love her. Which is why I’ve never fussed at her for anything reasonable she’s ever asked of me. Including letting my agent check my apartment before I go inside. If it eases her anxiety to know I’m safe, that’s fine. She’s got plenty else to deal with right now.”

“It’s probably because you live alone.” He murmurs, sliding his arms around you. “When I first moved away, my Mom called every night to make sure I locked my door. And I was not nearly as pretty as you are.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” His chin weighs on your shoulder and you cover his arms with your own, wrapping them around your own waist. “You’re much prettier than me. But you’re right that it’s about me living alone. When I lived with Syd she never worried out loud. But she also wasn’t president then.”

“Maybe we will have to get you a roommate.” Marcus isn’t pushing for anything, only teasing out loud. “And a really protective dog.”

“If you want a review of how I am to live with, Syd will tell you everything, I’m sure.” Though neither of you believes in pushing the other, it’s obvious that a fully functioning and committed relationship is on both of your minds. “And you know I’m dying to have a dog, we talked about that. I just can’t do it here. There’s nowhere near enough space.”

“There is if you build a cottage behind the inn.” Marcus suggests. “Gives you space for the family and keeps you close enough to your work to still pop in whenever you need.”

For a second you just stand stock still, shocked at the idea, before you slowly turn in his arms and look up into that sharply angled face with the gentlest eyes in the whole world. “I had never thought of that,” you admit, astonished now at your own lack of imagination.

“Maybe now you will.” He smiles, happy to have offered a suggestion that might be of use to you. “It’s a perfect compromise, and then you could turn your apartment into another suite for guests.”

“It’s a perfect compromise as long as it’s something my partner also likes the sound of.” Thinking of him as a partner — a long term one, the long-term partner of your life — sends that tingle out to all your extremities all over again and you find yourself smiling even brighter. “I guess we’ll have to think about what kind of cottage we would want, if that’s something we decide to do together.”

“Stone.” Marcus immediately says. “Designed to fit in. Perhaps an old carriage house design.”

The way he offers such unfettered support softens you, and you reach up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Have you thought about it before, or are you just brilliant with improvising ideas?”

“Haven’t thought about it before but I hate when I see a historic building and some addition that’s completely modern or doesn’t match the style.” He admits with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’ll just call you brilliant and you’ll have to live with being positively adored.” He blushes at that declaration, and you end up smiling all over again. “And it’s very Sabrina of you to think of living in a carriage house. Which makes it thematic, of course, and now we have to.”

“Now we have to, huh?” He chuckles quietly and leans in to press a kiss to your hair. “Then I guess we better start designing a carriage house worth of the First Princess.”

“I don’t care.” Even though you’re shaking your head, you’re transfixed, looking up into his eyes. It’s too soon for these things you’re feeling — too quick and too untried — but they’re so honest that they catch in your throat and bubble over. “As long as you’re there, too, I don’t care about anything else.”

It’s a loaded comment and it’s one that would have him searching your eyes to see if you are being truthful but he doesn’t have to. He feels that you are. “We will decide when the time comes.” He promises. “Where we live.”

“I’m just grateful you don’t think I’m crazy,” you admit softly. “For feeling so certain already.”

He snorts and pulls you close. “When I realized that you knew we had to be soulmates, there was another reaction that I needed space from you because of.” He admits. “Do you know what that was?”

“Not a clue.” Whatever it was, he’s here with you now, so you aren’t afraid of it. “Tell me.”

“So I didn’t beg you to run away with me and get married.” He flushes slightly and bites his lip.

“Oh god…” The breath of disbelief that leaves you is as disbelieving as it is giddy. “I would’ve said yes and we would’ve been doing text message breakups from the car on our way to the nearest soulmate chapel.”

“And we are better than that.” Marcus agrees, “so it was a good thing that I left for London.”

“Long distance so that we were forced to not be impulsive.” In a very real way, he’s right. You would both have jumped headfirst into this and being on separate continents forced you to calm down. You do smirk, though, and hold him a little closer. “It didn’t stop us from bathing together, though.”

Your smirk is tantalizingly wicked and innocent, making him return it. “I was trying very hard to be good while we were on the phone together. To not think about you naked.”

"I admit," you aren't embarrassed or shy about it, though. "I was decidedly less well behaved..."

“Oh yeah?” He arches a brow curiously. “What— were you touching yourself while we were talking?”

"After." It's not something you expected to admit tonight, but you have no intention of keeping the truth from Marcus at all. "I...wasn't confident I could keep quiet if I actually did it during one of our conversations."

“So you are vocal.” He hums softly, starting to get an idea of what might be a perfect ending to the night for you.

"Maybe a little." It's definitely something you have to control to be considerate of the other person in your apartment at all times.

“That’s good.” He’s aware that Agent Bailey has disappeared around the corner, trying to give you the illusion of privacy. “I like vocal.”

Instantly, your eyes snap up to his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hums, pressing a little closer to you with a weighted smile. “Why don’t we run a bath? Soaking sounds like a good idea for you, doesn’t it?”

“Thank god my tub is big enough for two people,” you huff, immediately grabbing his hand and heading straight for your bathroom.

He hadn’t actually meant for him to soak, but it’s obvious that’s what you want. Allowing you to guide him into your bathroom, he looks around the room. He hadn’t really paid attention to the tub when he had spent the night or when he was here for the game night, so it was a charming surprise to see that the tub is big enough for two.

"Are you a bubbles or salts guy?" You have a whole shelf dedicated to bath things that you've actually started working through thanks to the frequent phone calls you shared while he was away. Before that, you barely made time to touch them.

“Either one.” He shrugs slightly. “Depends on the mood, but I’m thinking bubbles tonight. What about you?”

"Sweet Surrender or Heart of the Ocean?" The two yet-untouched bottles on the shelf have abstract names but smelled amazing in the store when you bought them, so you give him the choice. Either way, the light and airy scented candles in the room will add ambiance more than anything else.

“Sweet Surrender.” He likes the sound of it and shrugs off his tuxedo jacket to drape over the counter.

“Honey, almonds, and pomegranate,” you read from the bottle as you turn to plug up the tub and start the bath. These first moments of intimacy are so delicate, and even though you have both verbally confirmed your shared marks — this will be the first time you see them on each other.

“That sounds like the perfect scent to relax in.” He doesn’t glance up at you, slowly starting to undress in case you change your mind.

“Hey.” As soft as your voice is, your hand reaches out to touch his arm. He isn’t looking at you and you just want to be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. “If you want to wait, we can wait as long as you need.”

“No.” He laughs at the irony of you voice his own thoughts. “But I also know you are tired. Why don’t we soak without any expectations?”

“No expectations is good.” You nod, appreciating the way he already looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “There are a lot of different kinds of intimacy.”

“My idea was to get you into a bath, maybe make you feel good, and wrap you up in my arms to sleep.” Marcus voices softly.

“Is that what you want to do?” He’s only undone two buttons on his shirt, and you rest one hand lightly on his chest to ground yourself in him and give him your full attention. You said it earlier in the night — you are both just out of relationships. If he wants to take things between you physically slow even if they are moving at emotional light speed, you’ll honor that and make sure he feels comfortable and safe.

“The romantic in me wants to wait for your birthday tomorrow night.” He admits, huffing at himself. “For sex. Not for making you cum.”

“Honey.” Your hand goes to your mouth instantly, stifling a witheringly heartfelt sigh, and you step into him immediately with a sort of lopsided smile settling into your features that tells him exactly how sweet you find that idea. “That is…quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I adore you for wanting to make it special.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He’s been told he tries too hard or overthinks in relationships a lot and it’s something he’s worked on.

“No.” Shaking your head just once, you run your thumb over one of the buttons of his shirt and nearly sigh again. “I think it’s romantic. And it tells me you’re a thoughtful partner.”

“What do you want?” That is equally as important in this scenario as his own wistful flights of romantic fancy.

“I want to wake up with you tomorrow.” It might sound odd or even a little creepy to anyone else, but you’re confident that Marcus will understand. It’s not possessive or obsessive, it’s domestic and romantic in its own right. “Find out what you look like sleep mussed and bathed in sunlight all tangled in my sheets. Anything else that happens is a bonus.”

“Then let me take care of you tonight?” He asks softly, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I can wait, and I want to make your weekend special.”

It’s impossibly romantic and probably the first time in your entire life that the man you’re romantically involved with isn’t clamoring to fuck you as quickly as humanly possible. Instead of making you feel less desirable, like it might have at earlier points in your life, it makes you feel special. Cared for. Like the fact that you have his focus means more than anything else ever could. “Okay,” you murmur, nodding once before you turn to shut off the hot water filling your bathtub. “If you prefer, there’s a little stool next to the sink. “You don’t have to get in with me unless you want to.”

“I don’t mind getting into the bath with you.” The idea of pressing his body against yours is incredibly erotic and sensual. “You can lean against me.”

“Okay.” Even as simple as a word is, the acknowledgement is important. Right now it’s just as important as the mounting hum of tension between you, and His your fingers prickly with the desire to continue undressing him. How you’re dying to press your bare skin to his, even if it doesn’t come with sex just yet.

He wonders if you are disappointed, if you are wanting him to just jump you and take you to bed. He wants to, but he wants to celebrate what is between you more.

"There's only..." Your hands go to your own buttons. Undressing yourself is not pressuring him, but just offering. Offering to deepen this connection and share this part of yourself. "Only one thing I want to ask...that's all. If it's okay with you?"

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He’s willing to whatever you want to make you happy. “What do you need to ask of me?”

It seems silly, all things considered, but when you bite your lip it feels like asking permission to smile. "I just want to see the marks we share. On both of us."

Marcus chuckles and nods, finishing the buttons on his shirt and he slips it off his shoulders. “The most obvious one first, I think.”

"I hope you don't hate it." His shirt lands on the stool you had offered him, and yours follows it.

“I don’t.” He promises, smiling at you. “Your explanation makes complete sense, now that I know that it’s you.” He tells you. “A Hummingbird for my little hummingbird.”

"And you know why I was never on Mate Marks now." It was something he had pointed out at the State dinner and you had felt awfully about the way he took it. Thinking that you never wanted to be found, when in fact it's the opposite that is true. It's just that it was considered unsafe for you. Now, though? Now that you have him right in front of you? You can turn around and show him your back and let him see the hummingbird for himself.

Your bra is still on, but he doesn’t mind that, watching as you slowly turn to let him see the tattoo on your lower back. The hummingbird that has marked his own skin, the exact same one. “Does it look different on someone else?” You ask, suddenly afraid to see his reaction.

Reaching out, his fingers brush over the skin, feeling the slight rise in it where the ink has been pushed underneath. His own is flat, not raised and it’s a wonderful little contrast between your tattoo and its counterpart on his own body. “It looks beautiful.” He murmurs softly.

"If I had been older than eighteen, I might have had it put somewhere else," you admit with a wry laugh. "But I don't care as long as it helped us find each other."

“It’s discreet.” He snorts, still tracing it. “If you want it to be.”

"I tend to tuck my shirts into my pants these days." His fingers are burning hot but not in an unpleasant way. More like the tension and promise of them is scorching your skin with eagerness. "Or just wear a longer top layer. No bikinis, ya know?"

“That’s why there aren’t pictures of it out there.” He huffs slightly, amused that if you had been photographed it would have been splashed in some kind expose or something.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Before, discretion had been something that was agreed upon. You didn't want someone claiming to be your soulmate falsely and your parents considered it a safety concern. But now that you have Marcus? Any claim would be an obvious lie and easily taken care of. "You're what matters."

Marcus turns so you can see the tattoo on his skin, verifying the same design to you. “You matter too, sweetheart.”

You never thought it would be such an emotional moment, but it’s only in the last few days that you realize how silly that assumption was. Of course this is emotional. This connection goes far, far beyond any that you’ve made otherwise. It is, just like the ink marking both of your bodies, under your skin. The tears are more than you were expecting, and you wipe one away on your thumb after a pause. “Holy shit,” you laugh after a second. “It’s real…”

He lights up at the giddy excitement in your voice. The yearning has him turning around and wiping away another with his own thumb as he caresses your cheek. “It’s real, sweetheart. We’re real.”

When he turns to you fully you can see the scar from your childhood surgery on his torso, the line of healed flesh where the doctor cut into you as clear as day on his otherwise smooth skin. “I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, tracing it with your fingers. “We were so young to have to carry this and know what it means…that we were always connected…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus shakes his head, frowning at your apology. “I was worried about you.” He admits softly. “If I had known you, I would have been visiting you in the hospital.”

"I told you." A thin smile brightens your face, reminding him of what you said at the State dinner. "Appendicitis sucks."

“I will take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and his fingers brush your scar. “Were you scared when it happened?”

"Terrified." You nod slightly, eyes transfixed on his fingers touching your skin. "I was six and I had never, ever felt that kind of pain before."

“Poor thing.” Kneeling down, he leans in and presses his lips to the scar.

You swallow hard as he reaches for the button on your pants, skin singing at every little bit of contact. It’s only a second before he pulls the zipper open that you frankly try to remember what panties you put on for today, but it doesn’t matter. Every stitch of clothing will be gone soon, and you’re okay with that. Losing the last barriers between the two of you is exactly what you want for this weekend.

He continues to kiss along the length of the scar, watching you looking down at him as he slowly opens your trousers. Finding it incredibly sexy that you are already breathless.

“Just had a mini panic,” you admit, raking your fingers through his short hair. “Can’t remember if I put on presentable panties today or not.”

He can’t help but laugh at the very normal fear. “I don’t care about what kind of panties you wear.” He promises with grin. “But I did wear my good boxer briefs.” He jokes. “Keep it all contained properly.”

“Can’t have you letting it all hang out.” When you laugh along with him, it comes out like a snort. “Very undignified.”

“Very.” He joins you in the laughing, his fingers running along the edge of your panties. “No erections allowed in wedding photos.”

“Fully permitted later in the night, though.” He’s still on his knees in front of you, and despite being nervous you reach behind yourself to unhook your bra. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s encouraged.”

“Well, of course it is now.” He huffs playfully, hooking his fingers into the band of your panties. The last scraps of fabric fall away, leaving you naked in front of him, and you shiver slightly without knowing if it’s the chilly bathroom or nerves that are doing it. Marcus debates, seriously debates, if he should just lean forward and bury his face into the pretty, neat little patch of hair. To use his tongue on you. When you shiver, he knows he needs to get you into the bath, so he stands quickly and unbuckles his belt.

You aren’t a virgin. You never claimed to be. At one-day-under-30, you’ve had your fair share of sexual and romantic partners, and not everyone in those two categories overlapped. Still, when Marcus pushes his boxer briefs and trousers away in one go, you inhale sharply at the first glimpse of his half-hard cock. If you hadn’t promised to let him take care of you, you might be reaching forward or dropping to your own knees — but you did. You promised. And you can barely hold back a smothered groan of regret at that fact because he’s stunning.

If it weren’t for the lusty, glazed look on your face, he might have thought something was wrong. As it is, his half hard cock twitches and hardens even more as he guides you towards the tub. “Get in, sweetheart.” He urges. “I’ll get us some towels.”

“The cupboard behind you.” They’re big, fluffy, soft things that you count as an indulgence, but they won’t be anywhere near as comfortable as having him in this bath with you. Still, you step into the hot, sudsy water without him, knowing he’ll follow in a minute.

Marcus grabs the towels and sets them close before striding back over to the tub. He’s not some Greek god, but he’s in good enough shape that there’s no reason to slump or hide as he walks towards you naked.

“Fuck.” Just one word groaned softly, but your eyes stay on him with every step. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you stealing my lines?” He teases, flashing you a grin as you sit in the sudsy water. “Because the only gorgeous thing I see is you.”

“We can both be gorgeous to each other,” you point out, still transfixed by him.

He had never really thought of it that way and shrugs slightly. “If you say so.” He bites his lip and watches you lean forward to give him room behind you.

The water is just a tiny bit high with both of you settled into the tub, but you don’t care. It’s not in danger of flooding the floors so you’ll just revel in being warm and comfortable with your soulmate for as long as the hot water holds out. You lean back against him, making him sigh softly in your ear and his arms come around you.

“Is this okay, hummingbird?” He murmurs quietly. “Can I touch you?”

“You know you can call me Birdie.” Settling back against him, you guide his hand around you and under the water to let him start exploring. “Hummingbird is my Secret Service call sign. Don’t wanna start accidentally moaning as a Pavlovian response whenever Agent Bailey says it.”

He chuckles quietly, a warm sound in your ear as he splays his hand over your stomach. “If you want me to.” He slowly starts to stroke your skin. “Hummingbird sounds a little more intimate, I thought.”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.” The way he laughs and the way he touches you? You’d probably agree to anything right about now.

“Is that how I get my way?” He asks teasingly. “Get in a hot bath with you and I get what I want?” His hands, both of them, slide up to fill his hands with your tits and squeezes gently, enjoying the way your nipples harden against his palm.

“Apparently.” Sighing lets your body loosen even more in his arms and you rest heavily against his torso but your back arches to press your chest into his hands. “And ya know what? I’m okay with it.”

He laughs again, squeezes and then massaging the flesh before his thumbs brush over your nipples. “That’s right?” He asks. “You enjoying this? Feeling relaxed already?” Flicking your nipples again lightly before he cups your tits again.

“Mmmmm, it’s perfect,” you hum, letting your eyes slip shut to just enjoy the sensations.

“Good.” He’s slow to explore, letting the moment expand naturally and taking his time as he listens to your soft moans. Wanting to learn what makes you hum and purr like a kitten in his hands.

“Are you going to make a Goldilocks joke if I point out what big hands you have?” You ask, humming again when his large hand spans what feels like your entire thigh.

“The better to feel you with, my dear.” He growls into your ear playfully, squeezing your thigh slightly and massaging it gently.

The giggle you let out is low and deep, but cut off sharply by a gasp when his fingers ghost over your core. He hums, more of a raspy growl as he slides his fingers through the wet curls and into your folds. Groaning at the slickness that has nothing to do with the bath you are in.

“Fuck.” One syllable, repeated as many times as you want to tonight, and you drop your head back on his shoulder with a moan. “Feels so good and you’ve barely touched me.”

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coos softly. “Just relax, I’m gonna take care of you.” The water ripples as he slowly starts to caress your folds, rubbing and stroking the velvety skin as he listens to you moan again.

Pliant is an understatement as Marcus starts to explore, gauging your reactions and keeping his other hand busy with your tits now that he’s figured out how much you love having them played with. The itch in the back of your mind that you’re neglecting him is very real, but this is what he wants tonight and what he’s ready to share with you, so you’ll just make tomorrow twice as good for both of you when you can share the sensations.

He keeps the motion of his fingers slow, sensual as they dance over your sensitive clit. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“So good—” So good that your breath is coming short, shallow pants already and only occasionally punctuated by longer and deeper ones. It’s like he can read you as easily as a book. “So fucking good.”

He hums softly, keeping the pace up and his cock is throbbing against your lower back now that he is fully hard. He ignores it and squeezes your breast again before teasing the nipple. “That’s good, baby girl.”

Your hips tilt, searching for more pressure and trying to show him where to focus his attention, but Marcus is exploring. He’s learning. And as much as you love it, it’s making you twist and pant and rub against him in ways you’re sure are not helping the hard on pressed between you.

“Ohhhh my soulmate gets eager, hmmm?” He coos, chuckling at the way you are grinding against him. “What do you need sweetheart?”

"More." You aren't above begging and he's already professed to being a tease so you just bask in it when his husky voice is right by your ear. He doesn't mind that you're eager and you don't mind that he's a tease, which means there's going to be a whole lot of fun ahead of the two of you. "Please, baby? More?"

“I’ve got you.” He knows there is a fine balance between being a tease and tormenting someone. He turns his hand, his thumb pressing against your aching clit so he can push two fingers deep inside you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

"Oh fuck." The whine that comes out of you is something unrestrained and probably louder than you meant it to be, but it hardly matters when he's stretching you out on two thick fingers. Your hands scramble for purchase, one clutching his arm against you and the other holding on to the side of the tub as he begins to finger fuck you slowly but determinedly.

“Gotta stretch you out.” He croons in your ear, his breath washing over your skin. “Get your tight little pussy ready for me tomorrow.” He curls his fingers up and continues the slow circles on your clit.

"Knew those fingers would feel amazing inside me." And after thinking about it for about two weeks solid, you're thrilled to find out exactly how right you were.

“Been thinking about that a lot?” He asks, deciding your ear lobe needs to be nibbled on.

"So fucking much." Every time his fingers dive back inside your cunt you give another wanton moan. "Almost as much as I've been thinking about your cock."

“Now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?” He’s curious because he knows you wouldn’t lie to him, he knows enough women have enjoyed him to not be too self-conscious, but you are his soulmate. Hopefully you will be pleased with the body the universe chose for you to share.

“I think I my imagination didn’t do you justice.” If it weren’t for his fingers moving inside you, you’d be riding that cock, but you can’t find it in yourself to be disappointed when he’s so fucking good with his hands. Instead you twist around, chest having as you claim a demanding kiss.

He groans into your mouth, cock twitching against your back as your tongue slides into his mouth. You taking control of kiss is incredibly sexy to him, and he pumps his fingers into you faster.

If you were flexible enough to reach in between your bodies and wrap your hand around his hard on, you would have done it ages ago. The angle you’ve twisted into to kiss him almost makes it work, but still not quite. It leaves you whining into the kiss as your legs quake, feeling yourself move closer and closer to that peak that he has aimed you toward.

It’s not as slow as Marcus had wanted. Expecting to coax you into a languid, drawn-out orgasm that leaves you boneless, you are insistent. Not that he could deny you, the entire point is to take care of you how you need it. Kissing you back with just as much fervor as you give him as he pushes you towards that pleasurable cliff.

It probably would have been more like the slow, sensual climb he had intended if you weren’t so hungry for him. So addicted to the way he tastes after barely the smallest sample that you just want to drown in him. It’s passion, and the kind of attraction that makes you feel like you’ll go crazy if you can’t have him burrowing under your skin. In the moment your hazy, pleasure-centric mind is wrapped solely around how he helps and tastes better than perfection, and how you never want it to end.

The kiss tangles deeper, winding through to his soul and squeezing it tights. Grunting into your mouth gently as he feels like he is home.

The whine in your throat gets tighter as you near that peak, glorious tension in the pit of your stomach flooding every other sense you have as you start to cum, except the unerring surety that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here. With your soulmate. Home.

The way you fall apart for him is breathtaking. Marcus moans in tune to your own cries, eyes closed as your walls tighten around his fingers and pulse with a throbbing tempo of pleasure. The water sloshing around you both as you shake for him.

The words stick in your throat, and whether it’s the soulmate connection or the post-orgasm bliss, or what, they hang there as you relax backward against him in a slump. Is it really that easy? Or has it been building since we met? You aren’t sure, but it’s there. Regardless of how or why.

He feels the second you soften, body relaxing against him and his fingers slow down. Drawing out the pleasure but not forcing any kind of overstimulation. Winding down until they are still inside you as he kisses you softly before pulling back to smile at your glowing face.

“You have very good ideas.” A soft laugh tumbles out of you as you work to suppress the instinct to declare yourself to him. This isn’t the right time. Or, at least, you’re afraid that it’s too soon despite the dreams you’ve already shared with him.

“Good.” He hums softly, kissing you again. “Relaxed, sweetheart?”

“Amazingly.” You can still feel him rock hard at your back, though, and your eyes search his. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand? Or any other part of me?”

He snickers the innuendo and leans in to kiss you again. “You don’t know how badly I want you.” He murmurs softly. “But your eyes are exhausted.”

“I hate that you’re right.” Wanting him so badly that it physically hurts doesn’t make you less tired, but it does make you more determined than ever to make sure tomorrow is incredible.

He chuckles softly and kisses your forehead. "You now know how I felt a couple of days ago." He reminds you softly. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, love." He promises. "We will get there and it will be amazing."

“Tomorrow.” The tone of your voice is absolutely certainty, it the yawn immediately after does put a pin in the point. “We will get there tomorrow.”

"Tomorrow." He agrees and shifts you forward slightly as he pulls his hand away from your core. "For now, we need to get some rest so you can party tomorrow without falling asleep."

“What do you want to do tomorrow before the party?” Standing on wobbly legs in the bath takes a second, but when you wipe all the suds away and step out you’re steady enough.

"You have the day off." He hums, getting out beside you and wrapping a towel around you. "We could start off with brunch if you wanted to. Or whatever you want to do? Go to the famer's markets around here?"

“I switched my day off this week to make sure the wedding would go smoothly,” you explain. He’s large and warm and strong, and the feeling of safety doesn’t elude you. “So we have the whole weekend together if we want it.”

"I want it." He immediately tells you, frowning slightly as he towels you off carefully. Ignoring the water dripping off his own body so he can attend to you. "If you do, of course."

“Of course I do.” Grabbing the second towel off the stool, you start to dry him in turn. “Just…didn’t want to be clingy. That’s been a point against me in the past.”

"You don't have to worry about me being upset." Marcus assures you. "I have that same problem sometimes too."

“Jump in head first and get too clingy and it overwhelms them?” To find out he’s the same way is an odd sort of relief and solidarity, if you’re honest with yourself.

Marcus snorts and gives you an embarrassed wince. "I did propose in the hallway at work?" he offers. "Not some of my best romantic work, and after reflecting on it, I was feeling like the relationship was slipping away and I was desperate to save it."

“This was Teresa?” He had told you a bit about his exes — just little tidbits — during your phone calls and you hum when he nods. “No offense, honey? But it doesn’t really sound like she had her shit together in that relationship. That was not your fault.”

"No, but I held on even harder when I should have just let go." He admits, sighing softly. "Too quick to jump in, to give my heart, to plan for the future."

“You’d think I would have learned my lesson when I got cheated on.” You shake your head, drawing your towel around yourself and shrugging. “Oops.”

"I can't fucking believe someone would be dumb enough to cheat on you." He snorts, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of his sex.

“The only good part of the whole thing is that I managed to cut his cheek when I threw the ring at him,” you huff, shaking your head again as the two of you move into your bedroom together. The age-old cliche of finding your partner in bed with someone else had been your horrible reality just a few years ago. “Asshole. I hope he has a scar.”

"Me too." He huffs, "but you don't need to worry about that with me." He knows it's sounding like a complete line, but it's the truth. "I would never – I went to break up with Vanessa because just knowing you were my soulmate, I couldn't give her what she deserved."

“I…I felt like I needed confirmation,” you admit. After giving it a few seconds of thought you simply discard your towel in the laundry basket and climb into bed naked, pulling back the sheets to invite him to join you bare. “Just knowing we both had tattoos in the same place wasn’t enough. It could have been totally different designs, and then I would have been the idiot who jumped to conclusions and ruined both of our relationships for some unfounded crush. And then…at the State dinner…finding out you have my scar, too? I knew that was it. Everything I already felt for you in that moment was more than I had ever felt about anyone else.”

"I understand now." He had been hurt, deeply hurt, but he won't tell you that now. He doesn't want you upset about that, when you needed to take time for yourself to accept the possibility.

“I’m sorry if I…if I did things wrong.” Waiting for him to get in bed makes you a little self conscious but you swallow the idea that you might deserve it. “I don’t really know how to walk up to a person and tell them that the universe thinks they’re my perfect match.”

"Don’t' worry about that," Marcus slides into the bed beside and you and gathers you into his arms. Wanting to fold you against him and hold you close. "All that matters is that we know now."

“I love you.” You might have held it back before, but when you exhale this time the words come out all on their own. “I know that’s a lot, and don’t feel like you have to say it back until you’re ready. But I — I’m very grateful it’s you.”

He stares at you for a moment and then starts to laugh. Leaning in and nudging his nose against yours. "Sweetheart, I love you too." He promises softly through the chuckles. "I think I fell in love with you over board games that first night." He admits. " I just didn't let myself believe it."

Exhaling deeply, you burrow into his side and bury your face, just letting the right release of relieved laughter roll through you. Watery eyes and sniffles are nothing now. Not compared to the elated smile on your face. “You looked like a dream when you came into the inn that day. Like you’d stepped right out of my fantasies.”

"I wanted to ask you out." He confesses. "Until I learned you were seeing Sam."

“It’s all okay now.” It’s perfect now, as far as you’re concerned, and you press your lips to his with a smile curved up at the corners. “We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

"In bed, where you are fighting sleep so you can talk to me?" He teases gently, smiling back into your lips.

“Yes,” you huff at him as adorably as you can.

He laughs again, settling back into the pillows and pulling you with him, humming when you settle down onto his chest like you belong there. "Go to sleep, hummingbird." He urges quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 9

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Surprises, vomiting, anxiety, spectacularly bad decision making, talking of children/pregnancy. Morning sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, consensual choking, light dom/sub play, rough sex. Summary: Your 30th birthday is not at all what you expected. Not at at all. Notes: Beloved darlings, please forgive any errors I might have missed. Ya girl has had another busy week, but at least the sickness has lifted!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

It’s been a perfect, magical day in Marcus’s opinion. Waking up with you and spending the entire day together hasn’t tamed the desire to be with you, it’s only fanned that desire. Now he gets to watch you get ready for the party, stopping by his apartment to pick up a suit, you had both decided that he would change here at the inn with you.

“So, is this place actually a pub or did my mother book something swanky and just lie through her teeth?” You ask, eyes gliding down his frame as you slip into your least worn little black dress for the party. It’s the one you always think is just a little too festive or too vintage, and it always gets swapped out for something more reasonable. Marcus had insisted you wear it when he heard you say ‘too’ anything.

He smirks slightly and debates on whether or not to tell you. “You have to be surprised, but yes.” He chuckles. “I think Round Robin counts as a pub.”

“It is not Round Robin.” It gets a laugh out of you, though, making you snort inelegantly as you struggle to zip your dress. “Their food doesn’t meet Dad’s approval. He’d never okay it.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we are actually going to Statesman.” He admits with a grin, moving over to zip up the back of your dress for you and kissing your shoulder when he’s done.

“Statesman…” In the second it takes you to search your memory for why that name sounds familiar, you light up. “Like The Statesman Club? I’ve always wanted to try that place!”

“Good.” He grins at you and picks up your necklace to help you put it on. “We will try all the fancy whiskeys we want.”

“Well now I just feel positively spoiled.” Partially from the choice of location, but also Marcus being such a gentleman.

“It is your birthday.” He reminds you, sliding the chain around your neck. “You should be spoiled.”

“And when it’s your birthday, you’ll be spoiled too,” you promise him, grinning at his reflection in the mirror.

“We can cross that bridge later.” His hands rest on your shoulders gently. “Tonight is about you.”

"Are you still okay with me telling everyone?" If he's not then you'll keep your soulmate status to yourself tonight, or for however long he wants to keep that particular fact private.

“Of course I am.” He stares at you in the mirror, unable to believe what a lucky bastard he is. “You never need to worry about that.”

"I just thought I should check." You beam at him, turning around in his arms to wrap your own around his neck and kiss him. "Seemed polite to me."

“Shout it from the rooftop and splash it in the Post.” He urges you. “I will happily agree and brag to everyone who asks.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you seriously consider doing just that but figure somebody at The Post will have a field day writing their own little editorial about it when it becomes public knowledge. "I love you, too."

“I love you.” He promises and bites his lip. “Do you want your birthday present now? Or at the party?”

"You didn't have to get me anything." There's no chance he would have listened to you if you had protested beforehand, but you still do. Just having him is gift enough.

He scoffs and lifts a brow, waiting for your real answer.

The burn in your cheeks is enough, and you grin again, unrepentantly. "Is there enough time to do it now?"

“Of course there is.” He promises and pulls out the gift he had put in his jacket pocket. It might be too much too soon, but he couldn’t resist.

The small jewelry box all tied up in ribbon in his hand is unmistakable, but you tilt your head slightly and look up at him curiously. "Really?" A book maybe, or flowers, or even something a little nerdy and sweet – all of those things you would have accepted easily. But jewelry is a very big gesture for a relationship that is so new.

“You said you also jump in quickly and I— well, it’s what I’m thinking.” Marcus hopes you don’t hate it.

You take the little box from him carefully and untie the carefully done ivory ribbon. The hinge of the box is tight, like it's barely been used, and when it snaps open in your fingers you gasp softly at the shining, shimmering ring inside. An eternity ring of sparkling heart-shaped stones set in white gold reflects the light in your room beautifully. "Marcus?"

“It’s a promise ring.” It seems like a childish thing at first, but he wanted you to know how serious he is. “The prelude for what is to come.”

And just like that, your heart swells for him all over again, and the surety that you made the right choice is ingrained in you. "I'll never take it off."

“If it fits.” He jokes, taking the box from you and plucking the ring out of its velvety crevice. “This is my promise to you, my soulmate.” He whispers as he takes your hand. “One day I will marry you. We will build a life together of mutual respect and love. We will be happy and I will always cherish you.”

"Am I allowed to promise you the same thing?" You watch in awe as the band slips easily onto your finger and you flex your fingers to see if it will shake free. When it doesn't, you beam at him all over again. "To promise to love and cherish you and be your partner while we build this relationship?"

“Absolutely.” He smiles softly and leans in to press his lips to yours gently. “Happy birthday, hummingbird.”

"We should go." Even whispering against his lips, you feel giddy and giggly in the moment. "Before I drag you back into bed and make you even more promises."

“Promises, promises.” He teases. “That is for tonight when we are both a little tipsy, very handsy, and more than a little in love with the idea of being together.”

The drive out to The Statesman Club goes easily and quickly, with Agent Bailey following behind you all the way. From the amount of cars in the parking lot it's obvious that your mother had Marcus bring you to the party after everyone had arrived – or if not then there are a huge amount of people coming tonight. "Seems like an awful lot of fuss," you hum, slipping your hand into Marcus's when he opens your door.

“You’re worth the fuss.” He reminds you, helping you out of the car and he can’t help but admire you. “I forgot to tell you that you look stunning.”

"That's just because I'm happy," you insist, tugging him toward the front of the building. "And because you look absolutely stunning yourself, so I'm just reflecting it back at you."

He chuckles, knowing that he could argue that but it’s your birthday and he can’t argue with the birthday girl. “Remember, you can’t butter me up anymore.” He jokes. “My bag is already at your place; I’m going home with you.”

"What if I'm just telling the truth?" It's like walking on Cloud 9 as you go hand-in-hand with him up to the front door. There's a desk inside with a woman in all black, and she smiles to see you coming – clearly expecting you but too professional to do more than smile.

Marcus gives his name as if he were the one setting the reservation, but they know where to guide you. “Good evening.” She moves from behind the desk to come out beside you. “My name is Ginger and I will be escorting you inside.”

"Thank you, Ginger." It's all very dramatic, you think, but you still follow the woman around a corner and past the main dining room, up a flight of stairs that is dimly lit to put focus on decades and decades of Statesman ads that ends in a set of double doors. This must be their private function room, because the moment she pushes open the doors, all hell breaks loose.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!” Is screamed at you in various pitches and volumes, making you jump slightly even if you had been anticipating it. Marcus laughs, drawing you into the circus of a room as your friends and family press close.

“This is what not overdoing it looks like, huh Mom?” You’re laughing, though, and hug her first out of everybody in the room. You know how impossible it is for her to get to do anything personal already so it’s doubly amazing that she not only put this together but managed to attend.

“Of course it is.” She hugs you fiercely and tears up slightly as she remembers the day you slipped into the world. “It’s small compared to the inauguration party.”

“Which inauguration party?” There were three official ones and then plenty of other unofficial, and you smirk at her even when you pull back. “I can’t believe this place let you book in. It must be crawling with Secret Service.”

“Just a few.” She snorts and shrugs. “I’m the President. It’s time I stop letting the office run my life.”

“Well, thank you.” That resolve won’t last because it can’t, but you’re glad that it is here for tonight.

Your father is next to swoop in for a hug, cooing over his baby being all grown up, and you groan playfully because he gets like this every single time one of you has a birthday. You, Alex, and June all get fussed over equally and it’s actually kind of sweet. Tonight, though, you reach back and take your soulmate’s hand. “You guys remember Marcus?” Of course they do, but you’re still going to be polite about it.

“Sir. Ma’am.” Marcus would offer his hand, but you are currently holding it. “Nice to see you again.”

"Very nice to see you again, Marcus." Having dispensed with Agent Pike except for formalities, the president smiles. "And very punctual. I like that."

“Timing was important tonight.” He agrees, squeezing your hand gently. “The birthday girl needed to be here for the party to really begin.”

"Then let's get this party started." The phrase sounds just as odd and stilted coming out of her mouth as she thought it would, but that doesn't matter. "Make sure you say hi to everyone, Birdie. And try whatever you want to drink. But I think you'll like both cocktails."

Marcus smiles and nods toward the private bar for the party, a fit cowboy with a mustache behind the counter with a toothy smile and a name tag with ‘Jack’ on it. “Shall we go get a drink before you mingle?”

"Absolutely." Whatever your parents have picked out is always good, and you want nothing more than to get the night started.

“What do you want to have?” Marcus asks as he reads the small, personalized cocktail menu that is being served exclusively tonight in addition to the regular drinks.

"The Sour Red sounds good." Cranberry and cherry in a whiskey sour sounds like a great way to start the night.

"It sounds great." A voice from beside you huffs, and you squeal with delight to see your best friend appear out of nowhere next to you. Sydney grins and envelops you into a gigantic hug, as Marcus smirks proudly behind you.

“You look amazing!” The soft, flowing maternity dress is the first of its kind you’ve seen her wear and it looks gorgeous on her, making her look like a work of art. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” She insists, shaking her head at you. “Juan said he’s going to treat you to lunch when he comes back, and he’s so sorry.”

“Absolute sap of a man,” you huff, laughing affectionately. Juan really does treat you like a little sister sometimes and it’s very sweet. “He doesn’t have to do that. But…if he really wants to…” you glance back at Marcus with a giddy smile. “Why don’t we plan a double date?”

“That sounds good.” Marcus nods. “What do you think, Sydney?” He’s willing to do whatever you want and having a night with the other couple would be nice.

“Oh, one hundred percent.” She’s already nodding, clutching her ginger ale in one hand and grinning to see the two of you together like this. “That will be awesome.”

“I’ll order the drinks so you ladies can talk?” Marcus orders, squeezing your hand when you nod and moving up to the bartender.

"I don't know if I said it enough, but you did the amazingly last night. The wedding was perfect." You hug her again, always mindful of your growing goddaughter between you. "I owe you."

“It was all thanks to you.” She reminds you with a soft hug. “Looks like you had a good evening after the wedding party left.”

"Maybe." The meager protest has your cheeks on fire immediately, and you bury your face in your hands. "He's...god, Syd, he's absolutely incredible."

“Really?” She lights up, happy that you are so enthralled with your soulmate. “So you had a really good night?”

"I need you to promise me that you're going to react in the most normal way you've ever reacted to anything in your life," you murmur, intentionally lowering your voice and glancing around furtively. "Most boring reaction ever. Promise?"

“Boring – absolutely.” She nods eagerly, aware you’re about to bust unless you spill whatever secret has you positively glowing. “He’s the best you’ve ever had? Hung like a horse?” She guesses playfully.

"Haven't actually had sex yet, but yes to the second." The smirk that breaks over your face is unapologetic, but you clear your throat, and intentionally reach out to hold your best friend's hand with the ring Marcus gifted you a mere hour ago glinting in the club's lighting. "Most normal and boring you've ever been," you remind her quietly.

Her frown when she feels something makes her look down and then her eyes bug out wide, making her look like a cartoon character for a brief moment. The smallest squeak comes out before she buttons up her lip and her entire body seems to vibrate in energy as her gaze darts back up to you.

"It's a promise ring." As quietly as you can when Sydney is practically buzzing out of control, you're still grinning from ear to ear. "I told you he's incredible."

“I can’t believe— okay, I can.” She huffs quietly and as discreetly as she can, she’s looking at the ring. “Honey, it’s beautiful.” She whispers softly, melting and giving Marcus Pike all the brownie points for romance.

"I don't know when he had time to get it," you admit, trying not to bring too much attention to the piece of jewelry and end up having to explain it to a whole room full of people. "We were together all day."

“He must have bought it the day he went golfing with Michael.” Sydney guessed with small, dreamy sigh. “They were talking about Michael’s buying a wedding day gift for Joyce. He was planning on jewelry.”

“That must have been it.” It’s even dreamier, then, in your mind. Because that truly was the very beginning of things.

“He’s got good taste.” She hums in approval. “This is the real deal.”

"It's the first time in my life that I've really felt like I'm on the same page as my partner," you gush to her, right before Marcus comes over with your drinks.

“One Sour Red for you.” Marcus hands you the drink. “And I ordered the Sweet Delight for me so we can also try it.” He has no problem sharing drinks with you.

The second cocktail on the specialties list was something like a cross between a sweet tea and a mint julep, and since you had fully intended on trying both, he seems to have read your mind. "Perfect." Him, the whole day, tonight, all of it.

“Great.” He holds up the Sweet Delight in a toast. “Happy birthday, hummingbird.” He smiles. “May your thirties be the beginning of the greatest adventures of your life.”

"I have a feeling they will be." You hold up your Sour Red and Sydney adds her ginger ale to the coast, making the three of you a very happy trio.

“Now, I don’t want to monopolize your night.” Marcus insists after taking a drink. “I can hold your purse, but you need to talk to people and if you want me to keep Sydney company, I’m good with that.”

"I'm going to use having to find you as an excuse to get out of saying hello when I start to burn out." It looks like your mother has assembled a few dozen people here tonight and you know you're going to need to take a break from all the chit chat at least a couple of times. "Thank you, love."

“Absolutely.” He smiles at you in reassurance. “Just lift your glass and I’ll come rescue you.”

“Okay.” Leaning up, you leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth and whisper an “I love you” before you scoot away.

Marcus watches you walk away with the look of a man completely besotted with his soulmate. “I love you too.” He murmurs after you.

“That didn’t take long at all.” Sydney grins, sipping her soda like she’s won the lottery.

“Too quick?” He glances back at your best friend and wonders if she worries about you jumping in too fast with him despite being your soulmate.

“Not for her.” She chuckles quietly. “Hell, even Juan and I knew within about two days that he was going to come back East with me after we met. It’s just…it’s nice to see someone moving her speed with her. Supporting her at light speed, ya know?”

“I’m not going to hurt her.” He promises Syd with a solemn vow.

“Oh, I know you’re not.” Her smile turns determined and icy. “Because if you do? Juan knows exactly how to make sure no one ever finds your body. And I think you value life too much to risk the wrath of her best friend and her siblings. Don’t underestimate little Junie.”

Marcus doesn’t scoff, nor does he chuckle and brush it off. He takes a sip of his drink and looks at your best friend squarely. “I won’t, and I never piss off the people who cook food.” He tells her. “They have ingenious ways for disposing of a body.”

“She’s been through a lot of shitty relationships.” Sydney confides. She’s glad to see Marcus taking this talk seriously. Sam had laughed and waved her off. “Listen to her, treat her well, and buy her flowers. That girl loves getting flowers.”

“What are her favorites?” He asks, wanting to make sure you have everything you want out of this relationship.

“Camellias, roses, gerber daisies…” Sydney grins. “I’ll text you a list.”

“Please do.” Marcus can do roses anytime, but he wants to give flowers that let you know that he’s just thinking about you. Ones that put a smile on your face. “And her favorite bath soaps and scents.”

“I’ll have a list of favorites and least favorites ready for you tomorrow,” she promises. “But I have a big one for you, first.”

“What’s that?” He knows Sydney likes him, thinks that he will be good for you, so it’s best that he stay on her good side.

"I've never seen her prouder to be out with a partner than she was with you at that State dinner," Sydney tells him honestly. "She gets skittish about the spotlight, but she collected every single paper that had a picture of the two of you. It's..." she smiles, actually, and her eyes find you in the crowd of family and friends around the room. "It's a kind of confidence that is new for her, but I think it's great."

Marcus follows her gaze and his own face softens and he takes on a slightly sappy smile. “I only want to support her and prop her up.” He promises your best friend earnestly. “Whatever she wants to do.”

"She has the career she wants. And now the right partner." Syd flashes a beaming grin. "Next up is the wedding and kids, Pike. I hope you're ready for a deluge of family fun."

“I’ve always wanted kids.” He admits quietly, pushing one hand into a pocket. Taking another sip and his eyes follow you around the room. “Don’t mind a wedding, but I’m more concerned about the life we build rather than the wedding we have.”

"She says she doesn't care about a wedding. That it's the marriage that counts. And she does mean it." More than anything, Sydney needs Marcus to know that this isn't any shallowness on your part, it's something she's observed. "But I see the way she moons over every single bride that comes through the inn. She wants someone to make a fuss over her without her having to ask for it. It's why she's been sighing over this birthday party like it's unnecessary but has been talking about it nonstop. Because she deserves to feel special, but she feels guilty asking for it."

“I want her to have exactly what she wants.” Marcus smiles at the idea. “The fairytale. The happily ever after.”

Nudging Marcus with her elbow, Sydney's cup of happiness is positively overflowing for you in this moment. "I have a good feeling about this."

“I hope so. Because I’m taking her to meet my folks in a few weeks.” He tells her with a grin.

Syd’s jaw drops on a disbelieving laugh. “You got her to take time off work?”

“Is that some kind of minor miracle?” He asks with a slightly proud smirk if it is. “I asked if she wanted to come and she agreed.”

“There’s nothing minor about it.” She cackles with absolute glee, knowing Juan will be just as thrilled as she is. “She hasn’t taken a vacation day in seven years. Not even for campaign events. You’ve just advised sainthood.”

“Jesus.” He whistles quietly and has a renewed admiration for your drive. “Then I’ll make sure that she relaxes and soaks up the sun while we are gone.” He grins. “Texas is the perfect place for it.”

“Perfect.” Syd grins, and holds up her glass to toast him. “Take care of our girl, Marcus. I know you will.”

“Of course I will.” Marcus watches as you discreetly lift your empty glass. “Op,” he grins back at her and lifts his own glass. “Duty calls.”

It's just a little later, while Marcus is deep into conversation with your father about something or other that you didn't quite catch, you're slowly sipping your second drink when the nearby door opens to admit a new arrival.

Sam Chase walks into the pub, straightening his jacket and smiling a bright smile at anyone who turns his way. Looking over the crowd and finding you as he scans and lifting a hand in a wave before moving towards you.

It's a surprise to see him, even if you did say that you wanted to stay friends, but you walk toward him with square shoulders and sure steps. More than ever, you know you made the right decision, and you're mature enough not to say a thing about it and just let things move forward. "Sam." When he moves forward to hug you, you let him just like you would let any other friend. "What a surprise. Are you feeling better?"

"I am." He wouldn't miss tonight for the world, not when he realized what he needed to do. He accepts the hug and squeezes you gently to him, admiring your perfume. He's missed that smell. "Happy birthday, Birdie." He uses your nickname so rarely, preferring your name, but tonight is about showing growth.

"Thank you." You're glad to not see a gift in his hands. It's almost a reprieve because you had feared he might do something overly intimate as a gesture if he did actually come. "There's some fun cocktails but the bar is open, and lots of food being passed around. I think cake is happening in just a little bit."

"That's good." He pulls back and smiles at you. "It's good to see you, I've missed talking to you."

"It's good to see you, too." Unfortunately you can't say you've missed him as much as he seems to have missed you, but the last few weeks have been so important for you. "I'm glad you came." At least that is true.

"I know you are making the rounds, so I will get a drink." Sam knows that he has to show that he is more accepting of your way of doing things and he takes your hand and squeezes it gently. "I will get a drink and then talk to you later?"

"That sounds like a good plan," you nod, motioning toward the bar. "I know you're not a whiskey guy, but they do have some nice wines stocked tonight. And champagne. Mom insisted."

"I'll see you soon." He promises, sure that the champagne is meant for the toasting of your birthday after the cake. You will be thrilled to drink it because of another celebration as well.

Alex and David are nearby and you gravitate toward them naturally, glad for some supportive faces in the sea of comfortable and uncomfortable acquaintances. Your mother had really gone all-out with the guest list.

Despite his own conversation, Marcus has kept an eye on you, frowning slightly when he sees Sam arrive. He’s not jealous, but he knows that it would be uncomfortable to you since you had broken up.

"Well that looked fun," your brother grumbles, putting an arm around your shoulders lazily when you pace over to him and his boyfriend. "Mm," you roll your eyes discreetly. "So fun. It's my own fault for saying I wanted to stay friends. I just thought...it's a very adult thing to do. And he didn't do anything wrong, really."

“He did everything wrong.” Alex snorts, rolling his eyes at you. “You just were so busy making it work you couldn’t see that.”

"You guys could have said something earlier, ya know." Still, you shrug and take a sip of your drink. "Not that it matters now."

“You were happy…ish.” Alex arches a brow at you. “Tell me you would have listened.” He challenges, knowing how stubborn you are.

"Listen to you?" Rolling your eyes dramatically for show, you wave a hand dismissively. "Of course not. Maybe David, but not you."

Both men laugh and David winks at you. “That’s my girl.” He teases.

"Everything will be fine." You're definitely reassuring yourself, not them, but that's okay. "Eat. Drink. Be merry. That's the name of the game tonight."

“Of course it is.” Alex leans in and presses his lips to your cheek. “Happy birthday sis.” He hums. “You look happy with your soulmate.”

“As happy as you are with yours.” For everything that Alex and David have gone through together, you know the light at the end of their tunnel is going to be so incredibly bright and wonderful. There isn’t a second of doubt in your mind. “He, um…he’s taking me to Texas in a couple of weeks. To meet his family.”

“Really?” Alex is surprised but he’s quickly grinning as he looks around to find Marcus watching you for a moment. Checking in on you from across the room. “Well slap my ass and call me a cowboy.”

"I'll leave that to David," you reply, snorting at the image. "But yes. Really. And I'm excited, so don't ruin it."

“You better wear a cowboy hat when you ride him.” Alex chuckles quietly and winks at you. “They say everything’s bigger in Texas.”

"I swear to god." Groaning with the ire that only a sister can truly feel, you stick your tongue out at your brother and make a face. "I'm walking away now, but you're ridiculous."

“You know I love you!” He cups one hand around his mouth to call out after you, laughing while his soulmate rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath about sibling relationships.

"Sweetheart," your mother grabs you in passing, seeing that you're headed for Marcus and not wanting to delay you too long. "Cake soon?"

"Sure, Mom." Pausing long enough to squeeze her hand, you nod to indicate you're willing to just go with the flow. The night will last however long it lasts and you're grateful for every second you get to spend with your friends. Thankfully, it seems like cake cutting won't be the very end of the night.

“How is my pretty party girl?” Marcus asks as you draw closer, pulling you to his side and swapping his full drink with your empty one. “You should try this Statesman Blackberry Reserve.” He urges you. “It’s probably the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever had in my life.”

"You trying to get me drunk, Pike?" You tease, accepting the glass and trying a sip – which earns a happy moan from you. "You're already coming home with me. You have stuff at my place."

“But you’re cute when you’re relaxed.” He jokes, smirking slightly considering that you’ve already had a conversation about drunk sex and somnophilia so you are both on the same page about what’s acceptable.

"You're always cute." Relaxed is a good word. You aren't drunk at all. Not even tipsy. But you are definitely relaxed. "Mom's going to have the cake brought out soon. Brace yourself for a deeply embarrassing speech of some kind."

Laughing quietly, he nods. “Of course. Would it not be a family birthday party if there wasn’t an embarrassing speech?”

"In this family?" You snort, barely managing to smother the sound as your mother's voice comes over a microphone so that the whole room can hear her. "Never. But that's my cue."

“Go knock them dead, hummingbird.” He whispers in encouragement and takes your drink from your hand so you can walk up beside her. It’s your night, your time to shine.

As Sydney has pointed out, the spotlight is not necessarily where you thrive. You do step up next to your mother, though, and wave awkwardly with a dopey smile on your face as she talks. The predicted speech is just as embarrassing as you thought it would be, but it’s easier to smile knowing Marcus is out there watching just a few feet away.

Now is the time. Sam watches as you demure to the crowd and duck your head in embarrassment as your mother finishes up your happy birthday speech. He straightens his tie and reaches into his pocket to pull out your gift before he edges towards the front of the room where you and your mother are standing.

Honestly if you had noticed, you might have said something. Or you might have at least looked at him questioningly. But you’re too busy avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes while people applaud a speech about you to realize that Sam has walked right up to where you and your mother are standing.

His entire relationship with you, he had watched you secretly moon over ‘grand gestures’. Sniffling during Hallmark moves or rom coms, smiling like a crazy woman when a proposal happens at your inn. This will be perfect. Your mother arches a brow when he asks for the microphone, but she hands it over anyway. “Good evening everyone, Birdie…” he begins, having carefully written out and rehearsed this speech several times. Preparing for it just as studiously as he would have a political debate.

“Sam…?” Anxiety rises like bile in the back of your throat, almost making you choke on the confusion. What in the hell?

Marcus frowns at the way that Sam turns and kneels in front of you. A collective gasp coming from the crowd pierces his heart and it’s compounded by the way you cover your mouth. Looking just like a scene from a romantic film. His gut churns and confusion and doubt makes the blood start pounding in his ears.

“Get up!” As soon as you can gather your own thoughts to get beyond shock and utter horror, you lurch forward to grab Sam and yank him up off his one stupid knee. “What the hell are you doing?” You hiss, well aware that all eyes are on you but having rocketed past giving a shit out of pure anger.

“I’m making up for my lack of spontaneity, giving you the grand gesture.” Sam smiles proudly and opens the box to show you the elaborate diamond ring that he had bought for you. “I love you, and I want to show you that I am here. You are more important than anything else.”

“Don’t do this.” Even if your voice is low, the shaking of your head is universal, and the few gasps over the opening of the jewelry box are minimally muffled when you reach out and snap the little box closed again immediately. “We broke up. Walk away and return the ring.” The urge to cry and flee is almost overwhelming but you have to make him stop.

“We had a fight, a foolish one.” Sam tells you beseechingly. “One I take complete blame for. But we are so good together. Don’t throw it away because I was too blinded by my pride.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” you tell him flatly, although you do feel bad that you clearly didn’t articulate well enough that the relationship is over and has been for two weeks now. “Please just walk away? I’m not taking you back. Tonight or ever, do you understand?” Even with your heart in your stomach, lurching there like a stone in acid, you can’t bring yourself to be cruel. You’re just desperate to be clear and get it through his head.

Sam frowns and looks around at the people who have started to go from excited to embarrassed for him. “Why?” He asks quietly. “This is what we talked about. What you wanted to plan for? Now you say no?”

“Plans changed. Maybe I changed, I don’t know.” You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. But it seems kinder to say that than to point out that your eyes are opened to how imbalanced your relationship was. “I found my person, Sam. I’m sorry that it isn’t you, but please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“You’re really going to say no?” Sam looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “In front of all these people?” The microphone has been forgotten at his side, the conversation just between the two of you and he glances over to see Marcus Pike walking away in the crowd.

“I don’t even understand why you thought it was okay to ask.” It’s completely ruined the night rather than just being embarrassing, but one thing is obvious: Sam has turned out to be one of those men who won’t back down at the very worst of times. “No. Absolutely not. I’m with someone else and I love him. End of story.” Like the punctuation that ends a sentence, you hold up your hand to show him the ring Marcus put there just hours ago. “You should leave, Sam.”

He feels like he’s going to be sick. Unable to breathe in that second where a ring is produced and he knows if he doesn’t escape, find air, he might have a heart attack or something. It’s happening again. This time it’s even worse than before because it’s his soulmate. Marcus turns and pushes through the crowd. Hauling ass for the nearest exit as discreetly as he can while everyone else watches the romantic gesture ahead of them. Unable to hear anything but the tattoo of his heart beating out of his chest as he disappears out of the bar.

He doesn’t hear the next round of gasps inside as your birthday has turned into a farce. He doesn’t see Sam rage or crumble. He doesn’t stand and bear witness to you declaring your love for your soulmate in front of dozens of people. All he knows is that he has to get away, but he’s barely at the bottom of the stairs when you go barreling after him. “Marcus!” Thank god June saw him moving blindly through the crowd, she had pointed you in the right direction. “Marcus!”

It’s still crisp and cool when the sun goes down, hitting the doors and gasping like a drowning man when the frosty air hits him and after two gulps, he’s lurching for the bushes. He’s not so drunk he’s puking, he’s so emotional he can’t keep down the drinks and appetizers curdling on his stomach.

“Marcus, wait!” You have no idea what set of doors this is, but you saw him go through it, so you go too, almost twisting your ankle in the heels you’re wearing in the process. “Oh my god.” The second you see him, you’re moving again, reaching for his bent frame and trying to soothe him somehow. The best you can think of is cooing his name and rubbing your hand over his broad back gently.

Agent Bailey is hot on your heels, bursting through the door seconds later and on high alert. “I’m fine—” Marcus grunts, twisting away from you as he continues to empty his stomach. “’m fine.” He coughs and retches one more time before he can catch his breath. “Go back— I—I—” he pants out.

“You’re not fine.” In the three seconds you can think straight, you turn around to find Agent Bailey a few feet away. “Can you find us some water?” You ask her, not sure what’s caused Marcus to be so sick but sure that he’s going to feel worse if he can’t rinse his mouth.

It’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable leaving you, but after a second, she’s nodding and stepping away while speaking into her earpiece.

“It’s okay, baby…” Whether or not that’s true is yet to be determined, but Marcus is obviously in distress and you’re just trying to soothe him as best you can. “Was it something you drank? Or—or ate?” Or was it my ex-boyfriend ruining the entire fucking night for literally everyone?

Marcus closes his eyes, swallowing down another wave of bile and shakes his head. “No— I—” he can’t even articulate the rambling thoughts in his head right now. He feels like he’s lost again and yet you are standing in front of him. Are you here to give him the ring back?

“It’s okay, don’t talk until you’re ready.” While you still have one hand moving on his back, you just try to keep calm and hopefully help him calm down in the process. “Agent Bailey’s finding you some water and we can sit out here for as long as you need, okay?”

“Why—” he swallows and closes his eyes. “Why are you out here?” His voice is steadier, gaining control over his emotions again. “Your party is inside.”

"You are out here." The question makes no sense to you and you're probably looking at him like he has three heads, but at least that's an honest reaction. "Fuck the party. You're more important."

“No, I’m not.” Marcus opens his eyes, looking up at the stars and he has to know. “Did you say yes?”

A single beat of confusion bleeds away to absolutely seething disbelief and your hand stops moving on his back even though you don't step away. "How can you even think I—" And all at once it melts away as recognition dawns and the despair on his face becomes clear. Teresa. Teresa is why he's asking. Why he's afraid and why he's so anxious that he's throwing up in the bushes behind the building. "Marcus, no. Of course not. I didn't even let him ask the damn question. He's a self-centered moron who didn't take being broken up with well, and more importantly there is the fact that I love you."

“You were with him for a year.” Marcus reminds you, wanting so badly to believe you and yet it’s still just beyond his grasp.

"Lots of people are in relationships for longer than they should be," you reason, trying to keep his eyes even with the heartbreak that is obvious in them. "I love you, Marcus Pike. You're my soulmate, and I would trade every single second that I spent with Sam in a heartbeat if it meant getting to change all those memories to ones that include you."

“I’m sorry.” The apology is automatic, closing his eyes again and biting his lip. “This is— I shouldn’t have come out here. I shouldn’t have left your party.”

"You needed air, and you needed to clear your head." If you turn things around and put yourself in his shoes? You'd be losing it in the bushes, too. Thankfully, that is when Agent Bailey appears with a sealed bottle of water and she hands it off to you silently. "I'm sorry I ever said I wanted to stay friends with that man. Hopefully the fact that Secret Service escorted him off the grounds will get it through his head." Gently, though, you tip your head at Marcus and offer him a smile. "If not, I'm pretty sure that showing him your promise ring and loudly declaring how much I love you to about sixty people has probably done it."

“You did?” Marcus frowns slightly, confused as to when you managed to do that before rushing after him.

"I did." You nod slightly, one hand seeking his cheek to try to offer some kind of comforting touch. "And then I realized you weren't standing next to Sydney anymore, and I bolted after you."

“I—" he leans into the touch more than he realizes. “I can’t believe you did that.” He huffs softly.

"You said I could shout it from the rooftops." The reminder comes with a soft smile, as you see Marcus finally start to calm down a little and grapple with reality. "So I did."

“You have to be pretty pissed off at me.” He rationalizes. “All that talk and I’m puking my guts out when someone proposes to you on your birthday. In front of all your friends and family.”

"Baby, if one of your exes had shown up to your party and proposed, I assure you I also would have lost my shit. If not my dinner." Holding up the water bottle, you don't step away from him for a second. "We can stay out here as long as you need to, we can go back in, or we can go home. Whatever you need."

“You need to go back in.” Marcus tells you quietly. “You can’t just leave. All of those people are here for you.”

"I'm not leaving you." In the long run or the short, that sentence is the same.

“I’m not saying you leave me.” He looks at you again and reaches for the hand that isn’t on his back. “Let’s go back inside.”

"We'll sit and sip some water, and if your stomach is still turning we don't have to eat anything else." There is a more than minor chance that people will come up to you both for the rest of the night to want to talk about your soulmate status, but that can't be avoided.

He sighs softly. “You know why I was throwing up.” He challenges softly. “I was having a moment of extreme anxiety.”

"That doesn't mean you'll want to eat anything else, or that your stomach isn't still unsettled." Thankfully he wasn't panicked enough to drop your clutch, so he still has it in one hand and you take it from him carefully. "Here. I have mints and Tums stashed in here. Do you want one, the other, or both?"

He frowns slightly, unused to being fussed over unless it was his mother. “Both.” He decides. “I think.”

"We can do that." Mint Tums and Altoids are produced from your purse without further ceremony, and you wait until he steadies himself and chews his mints before you open your arms to offer him a hug.

He stares at you for a moment before he accepts the hug and pulls you close. “Are you okay, hummingbird?”

"I'm pissed at that idiot for upsetting you, but I'm okay." If he had said you should just go home, you would have gone with him in a heartbeat. Going back into that party sounds daunting at the very least. "What a fucking idiot. I'm just grateful I managed to catch you before you got too far."

“I just needed some air.” Marcus doesn’t know if he would have left, he hadn’t really been thinking— just reacting.

"If you get overwhelmed or anxious again, do you promise to tell me?" He takes your hand and a step or two toward the door at your side, but that doesn't mean he's totally ready to go in.

“I just—” he knows he owes you an explanation. “It felt like history was repeating itself. This time I was getting a front row seat.” He frowns slightly and looks down at the ring on your finger. “And the only thing that I could think of was how much worse it was because it was my soulmate.”

"You're absolutely entitled to have an anxious reaction to what just happened." With his hand in yours, you give it a squeeze and soothe your other hand over his arm. "Is there something I can do to reassure you? Or is this something that's just going to take time to work through?"

“It was just a flash in the pan thing.” Marcus assures you. “But I’ll talk to my therapist about it. So it doesn’t work into something between us.”

"Okay." He's working on himself, and honestly that might be one of the sexiest things about him. For now, though, you squeeze his hand again and head back into the building. "But if there is something I can do, or if I do something that I don't realize makes you anxious, will you tell me? I never want to make our time together stressful or triggering."

“I promise I will let you know.” He is thankful you understand why he freaked out, instead of just assuming he didn’t trust you. “I’m sorry that your birthday was…interrupted.”

"That is absolutely not your fault." It isn't. At all. And you would hate for him to feel that any of the blame is on his shoulders when it lies squarely with Sam. "Just...people are going to have questions. I did flash the ring, so we're going to have a lot of curiosity."

“I’m assuming this wasn’t the way you wanted to announce your soulmate status?” He asks wryly. “Why did Sam think he could win you over by proposing?”

"I think he thought that if he went for the grand gesture, I would just crumble." You sigh as you walk together, climbing the stairs slowly. "If not for you, I might have. I might have settled, instead of realizing that real love is something much more spectacular. Something worth holding out for."

“I’m glad you didn’t settle.” Marcus admits, looking over at you. “That wouldn’t be fair to you. Forget about me, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” At the top of the stairs you kiss his cheek and hold his hand a little tighter. “Now that I’ve met you, I could never forget about you.”

It’s a little surreal to be a priority, making Marcus flush a little more than he probably would, given that he had just doubted you and been proven spectacularly wrong. He’ll definitely call his therapist on Monday.

“Are you ready?” The doors are right in front of you, but you still check in with him first. “If you’re not, it’s okay. I’ll say good night and we’ll go home. Not questions asked.”

“No, I’m not going to ruin the rest of your night.” He shakes his head. “Let’s get a fresh drink.”

Marcus's stubbornness isn't something you want to start an argument about, but after tonight you're definitely going to take tomorrow very easy. "It's not the night any of us had planned, that's for damn sure."

“I would hope not.” He snorts and his hand squeezes yours again, now feeling guilty about leaving you while you dealt with Sam. “I’m sorry for not being there for you.”

"You don't need to be, but I appreciate that. He took all of us off guard." With a confirming nod from Marcus, you push the door to the event hall open and come face to face with a room full of guests who are all a flutter. Your mother still has the microphone in her hand but it seems to be off, and she makes her way toward you immediately with a deep frown etched in her features.

“Birdie.” She is almost sighing in relief when she spots you again. “You ran off, almost losing your detail.” She scolds quietly before she softens. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

"I needed some air." The gentle lie covers the fact that you actually went running after Marcus, but no one can blame you for having a big reaction to what happened. "That was insane."

The president gives a very unpresidential snort. “You think?” She huffs. “I cannot believe that man thought proposing after you broke up was a good idea. I mean, I know he had mentioned something when you were still together, but-“ Realizing who she is saying this in front of, she snaps her jaw closed and sends Marcus a polite smile. “Thank you for being with her.”

"It's not exactly how I was going to tell you about the promise ring," you admit, leaning in to Marcus's side when he offers your mother an agreeing nod. As though to say 'of course' without letting her know that it was actually you who was there for him.

“You seem overjoyed to wear it.” She observes, smiling slightly at the way you are leaning into the man beside you. Drawing comfort and offering it at the same time.

"I am." Without hesitation, and with great pride, in fact. "And I apologize in advance, but I'm going to miss a family dinner in a few weeks. Marcus is bringing me to Texas to meet his family."

“Really?” Her eyes widen slightly and shift over to Marcus as she reappraises him through a new lens. This has just change from potential to reality. “Well.” She smiles. “I am sure that they will love you.”

“We’ll make sure all the plans are approved by Agent Bailey, but…” Glancing up at Marcus beside you, your stomach flips and your hearts pounds. As off kilter as tonight has gone, he’s still standing here beside you. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t take your detail out to Texas.” Your mother considers, looking at Marcus to see what he thinks. “After all, you will be traveling with a federal agent.” She taps the microphone. “Would be bring your weapon and credential when you fly?” She asks him. Marcus nods immediately. “I always bring them.” He explains. “In case I get called out for a case. I don’t have to fly back to D.C.”

“We’ll be near the Dallas field office anyway,” you offer, having cruised around Marcus’s hometown on Google maps with him over a phone call when he was in London and noting the office as you went.

Your mother glances over at Agent Bailey and within seconds, the agent is joining the three of you. “What do you think, Agent Bailey?” She asks, wanting her professional opinion before she makes her decision.

“I would feel more comfortable if it was me, Ma’am.” Agent Bailey shifts in place, as if apologizing to you with her body language. “I’ll station at the field office and be on call. It’s a middle ground, if you will.”

“Birdie?” Your mother glances over at you to see what you think. “How does that sound?”

“That’s fine with me as long as long as it’s okay with Marcus.” You nod, appreciating your agent’s candor. “I trust Agent Bailey more than some strangers.”

“Whatever is needed for Birdie’s safety.” Marcus agrees. “Although, there’s plenty of room for you at the compound.” He tells Agent Bailey. “There’s no need for you to stay in Dallas. Please. Come stay with us.”

“We’ll coordinate with the Dallas office and make arrangements official.” Agent Bailey assures your small group. “Now…I believe there is a cake to be cut, ma’am?”

“Oh shit.” Marcus’s eyes widen when he realizes that you haven’t even had your cake. “Yeah, sweetheart, you need to have your birthday cake.”

“We got a little distracted from the point of the night, I think.” Still placing the blame for that squarely on one person’s shoulders, you offer your mother a smile anyway. “What do you say we get this party back on track?”

“Are you sure?” She glances back and forth between you and Marcus. “There will be a lot of questions.”

“I know there will be.” And you swallow, wondering if it will overwhelm Marcus and make him second guess choosing you. “But I would rather get ahead of the rumor mill.”

“Then perhaps you should announce your soulmate status.” She offers quietly. “People heard you talk about finding happiness, but they don’t know why you’ve moved on so quickly.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” you remind her, just as quietly but feeling a bit childish. That’s what freedom of affection is about. Your choice. “But I will anyway. Because I’m proud of him.”

“What you decide to do is up to you.” She agrees. “I should have had security stop Congressman Chase at the door.”

“Hindsight, Mom.” The best you can do is shrug. “I shouldn’t have said I wanted to stay friends. It’s done now.”

“Yes…” she huffs slightly, knowing that her opinion of the congressman just dropped considerably after his display tonight.

“Why don’t you give me that,” you motion to the microphone in her hand. “And I’ll talk…and you get the cake?”

“That is your decision, Birdie.” She hands you the microphone and Marcus frowns. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything.”

“I have to say something.” Taking the microphone from her, you offer Marcus a lopsided smile before you click on the power button. “Are you ready for this?”

“Whenever you are.” It’s still a theory in his mind, not tangible. You don’t have to declare this—him— it’s enough that you want to be with him.

“I love you.” It’s just a soft hum, but you squeeze his hand before you click the microphone on and raise it to your mouth. “I hope everyone enjoyed the floor show,” you joke, bringing people’s attention back to the front of the room.

Marcus would have let go of your hand, to give you the spotlight alone, but you don’t let go. Making him give a soft smile as everyone looks at you and consequentially, him.

"I didn't think it was going to be necessary to make an announcement out of this, but clearly the fact didn't get through some people's heads." Still trying for the joke, you take a look around the room. Family, friends, co-workers and family friends all surround you with attentive expressions. "It's been a little over a month now, since I met Marcus Pike." Squeezing his hand gently, you smile at the man beside you and exhale nervously. Stage fright be damned. He is more important than nerves. "And it gave me a lot to think about. How happy I was with the current state of my life and my relationship, or how I imaged my future. It became fairly clear to me that I didn't want to envision any future for myself that didn't have Marcus playing a starring role. Which makes sense..." Breathe. You can do it. Just breathe. "Considering he's my soulmate."

Marcus gives a small wave and a somewhat lopsided grin that he is completely unaware of how charming it is. Listening to the murmurs and gasps of surprise as he knows that he’s under increased scrutiny.

"I know I've always been outspoken about freedom of affection." There are more murmurs – agreement from your loved ones. "And this is what I'm choosing. I am choosing to love my soulmate, and to start building a future with him. Apparently that was a difficult reality for my ex-boyfriend to swallow, but I hope you'll all join me in having a slice of birthday cake and celebrating love and happiness until they kick us out of this place."

Marcus could not have said it better himself, so he doesn’t speak. He just lifts your joined hands and kisses the back of yours gently.

Clicking off the microphone again, you hand it off to one of the uniformed wait staff and turn around to find a rolling table with a sizeable two-tier cake on it. Your father is there with a smile on his face and the knife ready for you to pick up. One ceremonial cut into the cake gets a cheer from the crowd and then it's Alex's voice that starts everyone singing Happy Birthday just as loudly as possible.

Marcus is happy that the celebration has turned back towards you and not the proposal. Singing along with the chorus of the song, he grins when you duck your head slightly in embarrassment.

"Thank god that's over," you huff with a laugh, as the waiter rolls the cake away to slice it properly and people start to mill about again instead of just staring at you. Or worse, singing at you. There's a dab of frosting on your finger and you suck it into your mouth with curiosity before perking up immediately. "Mm, cream cheese frosting!"

“Cream cheese frosting is your favorite?” He asks curiously, smiling at your obvious delight.

"Cake is my favorite." The grin on your face doesn't even have a hint of irony to it. "But if you made me choose? Red velvet with cream cheese frosting is pretty much the top of the list."

“As it should be.” Marcus snorts and shoots you a grin. “But, have you ever had a chilled, key lime cake with cream cheese frosting on a hot Texas day?”

"Please tell me that's something your family does," you groan happily. "Because that sounds amazing."

“My aunt makes one every time I come home.” He promises. “I’ve already gotten the text from her asking if I would want her to make one. I always say yes, but she still asks.”

"Your aunt is now at the very top of my favorite people list." The grin on your face comes with burning cheeks, and you lean into Marcus's side with a sigh. "After you, of course."

“Until you taste my mom’s strawberry daiquiri pie.” He teases, leaning in and kissing your nose.

"Are we going to eat our way through this visit? Because I am completely ready for that." The small reprieve you've been given from the curiosity of your friends and family has apparently ended, and the first waiter with a tray of plates of cake comes out and Malachi saunters up to grab a slice right after you.

“You’ll work it off.” He promises with a grin at the concierge as he smirks with the cake in his hand. “Malachi, how are you this evening?” He asks with a slight chuckle. “A little drama filled, right?”

“More than a little.” Malachi deftly balances a small dessert plan with a glass of champagne in one hand, but his other reaches out to Marcus. “I guess we’ll be seeing you more around the inn?”

Marcus shakes the man’s hand, sensing that despite his aloof mannerisms, he cares deeply about you and the inn. “I hope that’s alright?”

"If she's happy, I'm happy." The younger man chuckles fondly. "Everybody wants their boss in a good mood, right?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus agrees with a grin. “I will try to stay out of your way and keep her in a good mood, what do you say?”

"Sounds like a very good plan." Malachi's eyes spell mischief, just like always, but he cares about you far too much to pretend he isn't genuinely over the moon for you to have finally found the right person to be with.

You huff playfully and Marcus turns his grin towards you. “I have to promise not to distract you from work too much.” He reminds you. “You have an inn to run.”

"Mal says he's happy now," you tease." But he's going to have to run the place for me while we're in Texas. That'll teach him."

“A lover’s getaway already?” His brow shoots up and his lips curl in the same direction. “And here I was thinking that you were taking this slow.”

"Family visit." Though it's technically a correction, it's only a small one. If anything, meeting your soulmate's family is even more important than just a little getaway. "We'll go over everything and I know you'll be just fine. But...yes. A getaway."

“Good.” Malachi sniffs. “You deserve to go somewhere other than Maryland.”

There are other people milling around, wanting to give their best wishes or simply curious to get a closer look at Marcus, and Malachi slips back off into the crowd with a wink and a smile. If this is the rest of the party, you reflect with a glance up at Marcus as you fork up a first bite of cake, that won't be so bad at all.

There are so many people who care about you. Some are just curious and he’s sure that there will be gossip reported on the night, but most everyone who comes up to you genuinely cares. He smiles and shakes hands. Listening to how they know you and saves the information for the next time he sees them. Never leaving your side until he needs to refresh your drink.

By the time the end of the night arrives, you're so grateful to slip away. The fact that you and Marcus have planned a lazy day for tomorrow is deeply necessary. Switching to nonalcoholic drinks after the toast with your cake means neither of you is drunk but you're definitely still tangled around each other after loading the trunk of Marcus's car with various boxes and bags (even though you insisted on no gifts). Good nights are said and Agent Bailey climbs into her car to follow you back to the inn as you and Marcus sigh at finally being alone again in his car.

“I don’t know if that’s the best possible outcome for your birthday, or the worst.” Marcus chuckles, reaching for your hand once he buckled his seatbelt. “Opinions, comments, concerns?”

"Aside from the bit in the middle that I would prefer to never think about again?" You glance up at him beside you and offer him a smile. "Everything else was perfect."

“He was desperate.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “I know why. You are amazing and he’s lost you.” He wonders what he would have done if you had chosen him, if it had been him in Sam’s shoes. He’s let everyone else go, but it’s different now. You are his soulmate.

“Nobody ever treated me like I was ‘amazing’ ,” you tell him honestly, sitting back in your seat when he starts his car up. “Or maybe that’s part of what being a soulmate is. A shared definition of how to treat someone well.”

He doesn’t like the idea that no one has treated you like you deserve, frowning slightly. “Well, the moment I don’t, you just correct me.”

“Same goes for you, you know.” Your hand works its way into his over the gear shift to stay tangled in him even while he drives.

“I don’t think you will be a problem, sweetheart.” He smiles as he glances over at you and then back at the road to the rearview mirror. “Agent Bailey staying again? Or is someone else taking over?”

"Agent Sisson should be at the inn when we get there." His grace and understanding in regards to your security detail is deeply appreciated. You really can't say how much. "It was nice of you to offer for her to stay on the compound when we go see your parents."

“There’s always people coming and going, family and friends. It will make her feel better and maybe she will enjoy herself too.” Marcus rationalizes. “There’s plenty of room. No need for a boring hotel.”

"It will be a nice change," you agree. The darkened streets of Washington DC are lit to blazing with artificial light but it's still fairly quiet for a Saturday night. "I feel bad that there aren't more places for her to hang out at my apartment."

“I would offer my apartment, the second bedroom is my office and across the entire living room from my bedroom.” Marcus chuckles.

"We'll have to split the difference sometimes. Use both places." Tilting your head, you flash him a cheeky grin as he drives. "Until we start building, of course."

“Honestly, whatever is easier for you.” Marcus isn’t about to sleep without you if he can manage it. “I do not mind your apartment at all.”

"We'll see what works best for us. I'm sure there will be days when it will be easier for you to be closer to the office or days when I need to be close to the inn just in case." His flexibility is such a boon, and you squeeze his hand gently. "As long as I get to sleep next to you, we'll make it work."

“That was my thoughts exactly.” Marcus chuckles quietly, amazed at how the two of you just fit together. He had always heard of it, been envious of it on a subconscious level, but now he’s basking in this newfound joy.

"I hope you already told your parents you're bringing me," you laugh softly. "Because I told a lot of people tonight."

“I’m sure there will be something about in a gossip column tomorrow.” He has accepted that, has no issue with it as long as he gets to have you. It’s a requirement of it, to be public. He’s got nothing to hide anyway. He’s used to it from his own childhood. “I’ve told them.” He promises.

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me what your Dad does.” It’s an open question but a good one, especially where it keeps your mind from idling on the fact that at this time last night, Marcus was fingering you in your bathtub and promising to do more tonight.

His brow shoots up and he almost laughs, but you are asking the question seriously. “Oh, he’s retired now.” Marcus promises, grinning slightly.

“Oh?” That’s surprising, though you’re not sure why. Maybe just because you hadn’t been expecting it. “Is he much older than your mother? Or…I don’t know…military? They retire early sometimes, don’t they?”

He does chuckle now and he stops at the red light. “Birdie, my dad is Matthew Pike.” He wonders if you might not have heard of him during his active years in the MLB. “Nicknamed Stryker for the number of strikeouts he would average throwing a game.”

The silence in the car is deafening for the few seconds it takes your mind to catch up with what he’s saying and for your jaw to come up off the floor, but when you can finally think again the first thing out of your mouth is: “No fucking way!”

Marcus belly laughs this time, squeezing your hand and glancing over at you before the light changes and he starts to drive again. “Fucking way.” He promises.

“Wait…” Rolling back through all of the assorted baseball facts in your mind, you somehow manage to come up with just a few Matthew Pike tidbits and get excited all over again. “So you’re not originally from Texas then!” You exclaim, fully shifting into fan girl mode. “He was playing for the Cardinals when you were born, wasn’t he?”

“Cardinals and then he was with Montreal, the Yankees, then Texas.” Marcus nods, grinning at the sheer happiness in your voice.

“I always thought it would have been so cool to live all over like that when I was a kid.” At the time it had never occurred to you that things like having Sydney come with you would have been impossible, it just sounded neat. “That’s the absolute coolest bomb you ever could have dropped on me and I’m so jealous.”

Marcus laughs. “Well, after dad retired, he bought the land out in Texas – no, he already started buying it during his time with Texas – and we made it the ‘Pike compound’.” He snorts. “Kind of like the Kennedy Compound, but not on Cape Cod.”

“There is no room for a family compound in Philly.” The very idea of it makes you laugh, and you grin at him. “Well now I extra can’t wait to meet your parents.”

“Oh….its tradition, by the way.” Marcus tosses you a smirk. “We play at least one game of baseball when we are home.”

“No fucking way.” This time there is awe in your voice and your eyes are wide with giddy excitement. “You have the absolute coolest family, you know that, right?”

“You say that now.” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You’ve never heard the trash talking the Pike family doles out when playing sports.”

“Don’t care,” you tell him with confidence. “It’s still awesome. Your family is awesome.”

“I think so.” He agrees, happy that his family tradition doesn’t seem weird or lame to you. It had started as a way for the cousins and brothers and sisters to play baseball with the famous MLB star and turned into a tradition that everyone could enjoy, even if they were watching from the seats.

“It’s going to be a blast.” The absolute confidence in your voice won’t hear of anything different. Texas is going to be a fantastic trip.

“They are going to love you.” He promises with a small laugh. “Expect a million questions though.”

“I’m fine with that,” you promise him steadily. “As long as your dad doesn’t mind me fangirling just a tiny bit.”

He smirks. “There’s been a change in his retirement, by the way.” He tells you. “He’s been signed to be the pitching coach for the Rangers. So you can pick his brain.”

“Ok, so fangirling a lot.” Both of you laugh, enjoying the easiness and eagerness of it.

“At least you know you won’t be roped into awkward conversations. You just mention something about baseball and it will become a family topic quick.” Marcus warns.

“Got it.” You hum. He takes the exit for Alexandria and you look over at his profile. “Speaking of which? You’re now invited to family dinners.”

“I am?” Marcus lifts a brow in surprise. “When did that happen?”

“Right before we left the party.” A bit of your lip comes with hoping he doesn’t feel intimidated by where those dinners are. “Mom said there’s no pressure, but you’re welcome.”

“I would be honored to attended….when I can.” Even though it’s an extreme honor, he still had commitments to his job that sometimes cannot be shifted. “I will promise that I’ll come to as many as I can.”

“Work always comes first.” Everyone in your family can understand and agree to that, which is something that helps you breathe more deeply. “David has a standing invitation, too. But his boss has him working Friday nights right now.”

“That’s not fun.” Marcus sends you a small smile. “I better brush up on my small talk.”

“Brush up on American history.” That’s your best advice, but you’re ecstatic he even wants to think about it. “The more obscure the better. When we run out of things to talk about, Mom starts quizzing us on the weird stuff.”

“Play online Jeopardy trivia.” Marcus snorts. “Got it.”

“You’ll knock ‘em dead, baby,” you hum with a laugh.

“You laugh, but mom love Jeopardy.” He huffs playfully. “She wanted to go on the celebrity edition when dad was invited. She was pissed that he turned it down.”

“Our mothers will have at least one thing to bond over, then.” The idea is sweet, actually, and you grin. “If we ever lose them, we’ll find them yelling answers at Jeopardy together.”

“I will be very intrigued to find out how they like each other.” Marcus admits as he turns into the driveway for the inn. “I think we will be in trouble.”

“Maybe.” It makes you smile, though, and you breathe a sigh of relief to be home again. “But I think it will be a good kind of trouble.”

The plans for the super special birthday sex had been unanimously voted against once you were back at the inn. Marcus wouldn’t have said a word, but you were the one to broach the subject and admitted that you just wanted to fall asleep in his arms, emotionally drained from the tumultuous events of the evening. He feels guilty, he really does, but he had also been relieved, although stirring now with you still asleep is a moment he can treasure.

Yesterday you had been the one to watch him fondly, tracing the sunlight on his features and letting you savor the sight of him beside you. The morning after your birthday is the opposite. Marcus watches you dream as the sun rises higher overhead. If you knew, you might be slightly embarrassed about the spot of drool on your pillow, but as it is you’re having dreams far too wonderful to care.

You sleep with your mouth open and it’s cute. Marcus smiles as he brushes his fingers over your skin gently, listening to soft sigh that comes from you as you curl further into him.

In your dreams, he’s already curled around you. Which probably accounts for the soft moan you breathe deep inside your sleep.

“Sweetheart?” Marcus nuzzles his nose against your cheek and smiles when your brow furrows gently.

The sound of his voice in the waking world pulls you out of it, and even though you hum softly in protest of waking up, you shift to snuggle closer to him in bed.

He hums softly, running his hand up and down your back. “You can still sleep, I just want to know if I can touch you.”

“Mmmmm.” Stretching like a contented kitten, you manage to crack one eye open and smile at him sleepily. “I wanna be awake for that, though.”

“You could always wake up to it.” He chuckles and leans in to steal a kiss.

The warm blanket of his affection is far more powerful than the comforter covering both of you, and you’re simultaneously annoyed that he’ll have to strip you out of your nightgown and lazily eager to see if he just doesn’t bother. Moaning softly against his lips, you shift ever closer. “I’m yours.”

You are his. His heart stutters and he hums against your lips. Moving the kiss down your jaw, he shuffles his hips down to start sliding down under the sheets.

There’s a surreal quality to it, like you’re still dreaming even when you know you aren’t. But the morning glow settling over everything is so much better than your dreams had been. It’s like you’re floating on a cloud, and the only thing anchoring you to the ground or any kind of reality is just Marcus.

Your nightgown is between you, but he doesn’t view it as hinderance. Too busy nuzzling you through it as he kisses down your chest and pulls down the collar of the gown over one breast.

The bowing arch of your back into his touch is so natural that you barely notice that you’re chasing his mouth rather than his hands. It’s just your body singing insistently for more when he’s barely getting started.

You respond so easily to him, your warm skin heating up even more as he mouths and kisses the skin around your breast until he finally latches on to your nipple lazily, grabbing against your sweet smelling skin. Your breathy sigh is pitched up, and the leisurely curl of your arms around his shoulders holds him in close to you to encourage him to explore any and all parts of you. Sensitive nipples have always been a boon as far as arousal goes, but Marcus’s magic tongue is nothing to discount.

Listening to your sweet sighs is something he can do forever. Licking and sucking gently, combined with the a sometimes sharp nip of his teeth, builds a tension that vibrates beneath the surface of your body.

Your fingers comb through his hair as you drift on a cloud that keeps you somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Every atom in your body is fully aware and aroused but the sweet dream of this morning makes it still feel like a dream. Holding him close to your chest as he explores to his heart’s content has you squeezing your thighs together already, the buzzing arousal feeling thick and sticky at the apex of your thighs.

"So sweet, perfect." Marcus praises softly between suckles. His hands sliding under your gown to stroke your hip. "You taste perfect, my love."

The happy buzz vibrating right under your skin makes you giggle at that as you squirm underneath him. “And you haven’t even tasted the best part yet.”

“Hmmmm, I’m going to get there.” Marcus promises. “This isn’t a race. I could spend alllll day discovering your body with my tongue and hands before I even use my cock.”

A moan of agreement parts your lips and you end up grinning as he mouths at your skin, nipping and licking everywhere he pleases. “The flea market will still be there next weekend.”

“Maybe we should get out of bed then.” He pauses, head under the sheet and waits for you to squirm. “Right? We can’t miss the flea market.”

“Are you serious?” He’s probably not, but you still lift the sheet to look him in the eyes. If he actually wants to stop, then of course you will. But you have a feel he’s just being a tease again.

He smirks, and looks up at you innocently while sticking his tongue out to trace around your areola. "What do you think?" He hums.

“I’m not going to pressuring you into anything,” you qualify, although he basically has you whining. “But I am gonna have to take care of myself in the shower if you want to stop.”

"That would be a horrible precedent to set in our first weekend together." Marcus flicks his tongue over your aching nipple and then hums when you gasp out as his teeth scrap over it. "Don't you think? We've already postponed this too many times."

It’s almost too much to bear, the way he teases with words and touches and kisses all at once, but you manage to huff at him. “If I drown you when you get down there, it’s only because I’ve been thinking about this every waking second for weeks.”

“Worth it.” He promises with a grin. “It had been so hard not to jerk off thinking about you while I was in London. Especially knowing you were all soft, wet and sweet smelling from your baths with me.”

“Do you know how many times I almost got myself off in those damn baths?” Your soft groan is almost agonized. “I should have. Just moaned into the phone and let you know how badly I want you.”

“Fuck.” His cock twitches against the bed, trapped there as he continues to work his way down. “I wouldn’t have minded.” He admits. “Listening to your orgasm and imagining how you look.” He bites his lip. “You look gorgeous.”

“Would’ve been worth it.” He kisses further down your torso and you hum in approval. “Can’t wait to see how wrecked you look when you cum in me.”

“I had a screening while I was in London.” Marcus admits quietly. “After Vanessa broke up with me. I always do after a relationship ends. Just in case.”

“I do too.” A little bit of a sheepish laugh follows. “Turns out it’s really easy to get good healthcare when your Mom is President.”

Marcus chuckles against your belly button before kissing it. “I bet.” He hums. “No one needs a leaked doctor office visit where the First Princess has an STI.”

“I only like that nickname because it came from the night with you,” you confess, fingers running through his short fair fondly. “I hope you know that.”

“So how about I just call you Princess?” Marcus’s voice drops about two octaves and he smirks at you wickedly.

“As long as I’m your princess.” Although, your sigh immediately gives away what that tone in his voice fires to you.

“Is there any other kind of Princess you would be?” He sends you a wink as he trails his tongue over your hip.

“Not anymore.” Your head falls back on your pillow in relief at that fact, and you fling off the sheet to get to watch him. “Not now that I have you.”

Pleasure races down his spine and he shuffles slightly lower. “I am yours.”

“Glad we—” The moan that cuts off your thought when you feel Marcus’s breath at the apex of your open thighs is deep and curls up from your toes. “Agree.”

He chuckles and doesn’t hesitate to use his fingers to spread your lips apart and he coos as he gets the first good look at your weeping sex. “So pretty.” He praises before he decides the best way to taste you is to slowly drag his tongue along your soaked slit.

“Oh fuck.” Even when you were expecting it, the delicate touch has your eyelids fluttering shut and your chest heaving. Your curse sounds like the most beautiful praise to his ears, moaning at that and the silky, tangy taste of your cunt. Letting his tongue slowly flick along your folds and go where the natural curves of your lips take him. “Never going out again,” you vow, letting a breathy whine vibrate on your tongue.

Marcus chuckles into your folds, keeping pressure on the most sensitive parts of you as he explores. He’s meticulous. Once he’s set himself to the task of learning you, absolutely nothing can or will possibly drag him away. The more you squirm, the firmer his hold becomes. But the more you pant and moan and coo his name into the morning light? Marcus is eager.

The sheet being pulled away allows him to watch you. Enjoying the way you writhe and squirm under his touch. Humming against your skin as you whimper his name prettily.

There's no possible explanation beyond Marcus having a three-foot-long tongue, because the way he feels like he's everywhere at once is the most beautiful kind of overwhelming. There's a solid chance he's just been licking into you and sucking at your clit for hours from how boneless you are, but the first tightening of the knotted arousal at the bottom of your spine heralding the first orgasm of the day reminds you just how quickly he's actually gotten here. You only feel like you've been on this cloud of ecstasy for forever.

Marcus feels your thighs starts to tense around his head. Tightening his grip of your hips as he continues to overwhelm you gently.

“Baby—” Breathless gasps begin to take over as your whole body seems to tighten in response to the mounting pleasure. “I’m so—fuck, I’m so close—”

He doesn’t dare pull away, not wanting to give you a seconds break from the flick of his tongue. Groaning into you and coaxing you to cum for him.

Marcus’s name is a chant on your lips as you fall apart, tipping off the peak of the mountain of pleasure and swan diving down into the swimming ecstasy that Marcus is drawing out of you with lips and teeth and hands.

Your breathless cry of his name is followed by the most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen. Your back arches, eyes closed, one hand tangled into his hair and the other gripping the sheets. It’s beautiful and erotic, a pure work of live art that is priceless to him.

For a few seconds after it’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, and then you sink back into the mattress with a sigh. You still have one hand in his hair and it rubs gently, begging him to climb up your body so you can kiss him.

It takes a few minutes, Marcus liking to be thorough when he is working a woman down from her high. Kissing the swollen skin gently before his mouth starts a slow journey back up to yours. By the time he gets up to your lips you’re practically whining for that kiss, happily letting him sink down on top of you when he gets there. His body covers yours perfect, fitting into every grove like he was made for you – because he was. His lips molding to yours in a soft yet sensuous kiss that consumes both of you in the growing morning light.

The valley between your thighs is the perfect place for him to rest, and you cradle him against your body as easily as if you were welcoming him home. What they say about intimacy between soulmates seems to be abundantly clear to you in this moment — it really is the deepest feeling of connection you’ve ever had.

Marcus revels in the feel, sliding his tongue against yours and he pushes his arms under yours to hold you close. It’s almost lazy, the way you sink against each other, but Marcus’s cock trapped between your bodies isn’t going to let either of you get distracted from the wonderful the track that you’re on.

His knuckles brush your cheek and when he finally pulls away, he’s grinning at you. “Good morning.”

"Cheeky," you hum at him, although you're grinning too. "Making me cum that hard and then acting all cute and innocent."

“That was hard?” He tilts his head and smirks slightly, teasing you. “I thought that was a good place to start.”

"Marcus Reid Pike." Eyeing him with a skeptical huff, you ruffle his hair again and end up laughing. "I'm all for that. Just give me a second to recover."

He laughs, coming back down to smother you in affectionate kisses to hear you squeal. “No recovery time!” He commands playfully.

"Such a demanding lover!" You faux-scold, laughing and clinging to him as you squeal and squirm in his arms. Marcus laughs like an evil villain and rocks his hips, grinding his cock against your mound.

"Fuck." It earns him a whimper from your lips, your whole body lighting up all over again at the contact.The playfulness ebbs away and is replaced by a moment of silent desire passing through both of you. Leaning in again, his lips press against yours once more. When you shift this time, your feet are flat on the bed and your knees end up bracketing his hips, encouraging him closer and letting him rest in the cradle of your thighs.

“Ready for more?” He hums, ducking his head to kiss your pulse. “I thought my little Hummingbird needed to recover?”

"I have reconsidered," you inform him, with the air of someone making a very serious and important political decision. "And instead insist on more."

“Ahhhh.” He pops his head up and makes a very loft expression appear on his own face as his hips tilt back and the head of his cock catches on your slick entrance. “A wise choice.” He rasps out, pushing forward to start breaking you open. “Princess.”

Your own noise is best described as a whine, somewhere in between a sharp gasp and a plaintive begging for as much as he's willing to give you. Your legs find their way up higher on his hips to invite him to bury himself in your heat, and even though you were just kissing him seconds ago, you swear he's managed to find a way to loom over you with the perfect expression of desire on his face.

You are exquisite, perfect. Marcus can’t even find enough words to describe how the moment he slides into you wraps around his heart and imprints into his soul. The same soul that is fused with yours. He’s always heard that you feel so much deeper with your soulmate and he’s happy to learn that it’s true.

For a few long seconds, the two of you are content to adjust to each other. No sharp, awkward movements. No wiggling or shifting. The angle is already perfect and Marcus is fully seated inside your body without a single moment of hesitation or difficulty. There’s just a feeling of coming home that you’re basking in until he starts to move.

Starting slow is the only way to do this. Not because he’s afraid of hurting you, but because he doesn’t want to leave you. Feeling like he just stay buried inside your honeyed walls and be perfectly content. The first time he draws his hips back, a low groan falls from his lips. Your real name following that.

There are octaves of difference in your responses. Where Marcus’s groan comes from somewhere deep in his soul, your high whine of pleasure is its own ethereal sound. Once those sounds break free, it seems like a release cord has been pulled — and every pleasurable sound, pure of encouragement, and moan of praise is sure to come tumbling out after it.

It’s never been like this. Never reached into his body and tugged at his soul like this. He should feel guilty but he can’t. Not when every slow thrust is met with an eagerness that shows your own enthusiasm.

Each thrust from Marcus comes with a lift or a roll of your hips, meeting him at the center of the movement to create an exquisite rhythm between the two of you. It's the ebb and flow of the ocean between your bodies as the pace increases and the warmth of the sun heats your skin even further.

It’s beautiful, but he can tell that it’s not enough. Your fingernails dig into his skin, only to release a second later as if you are afraid of marking him. Your body asking for more than the gentle lovemaking. “Let me-“ Marcus kisses you again. “Do you want to try a different position?”

With his cock buried to the hilt inside you like it is, he could probably suggest murder and you'd agree with breathless enthusiasm. "Anything," you nod emphatically and soothe the light fingernail marks you accidentally left on his shoulder.

“Let me know if you don’t like something, Princess.” Marcus murmurs seriously. “This is about both of us.”

"I promise." Right now all you care about is that he doesn't leave the heat of your little cocoon for too long, but you're willing to try just about anything once.

Marcus pulls back and he tries to shift without pulling out of you. Almost succeeding, but smirking slightly when you whimper as his cock falls out. Pushing his legs under your hips, he lifts your left leg onto his shoulder and shimmy’s closer.

There's no thrusting in this position, but as Marcus slides inside you again he leans back the intensity of just grinding against each other makes you moan out and reach to grip Marcus's ankle by your head. He loves how deep he feels, how your walls simply flutter around him. “So good baby.” Marcus groans. “How does it feel?”

"So good baby." Echoing him with a whimper, the hand of yours that isn't clinging to him is somewhere between fisting the sheets and exploring your own body while his hips grind into yours. "You like watching me writhe, gorgeous?"

“Yes.” The word falls like a prayer from his lips, breathless as he watches you. His heart galloping like he’s running a marathon and he can only hope that it’s half as good for you.

"You wanna see me touch myself?" The angle is perfect for it. For him to watch you on your back as he rolls his hips against yours and makes both of you shudder in response. Your free hand squeezes mercilessly at one of your tits, pawing it and twisting the nipple with enough force to make you moan sharply.

“Show me what you like.” Marcus growls out the order, his cock pulsing violently inside your walls as his body responds to the idea.

Anchoring yourself to him was like clinging to life when he first slid inside you in this position, but now you can take your hand away and put it to much better use rubbing decisive, tight circles around your clit to give Marcus a gorgeous show of you indulging in your own body at the same time he fucks you.

His eyes keep roaming. Taking in your hand squeezing and manipulating your breast, the tight circles you rub around your clit. All finding it to be the sexiest thing he’s ever seen as his cock grinds into you. The end of the shaft the only part of it he can see.

Watching Marcus practically salivate over the sight of you is worth not being able to kiss him in this position. Every time he lifts his hips his cock scrubs against your g-spot and your back arches just a little bit more, rocketing you straight toward the second orgasm of the morning.

“That how you like it baby?” Marcus groans when you clench down around him, providing the perfect pressure. “What else do you like? Tell me. Want to give it to you.”

“Want you to — oh fuck — fucking wreck me.” What started out as beautiful, slow, sensual lovemaking has quickly picked up speed and intensity. Like something inside the two of you just released out of nowhere. “Claim me.”

“Fuck” Marcus growls from the very pit of his stomach and he manages to push to his knees by folding them under and looming over you. “You want it rough?”

Simply knowing the man is broad doesn’t do justice to the way he looms over you now. There is power in his strength and yet a deep confidence that he would never, never hurt you. You know Marcus can be gentle and sensual — but you also want to see what it’s like when he’s rough. “Absolutely.”

Your leg is up on his shoulder so when he lunges forward, it’s pressed back to your body. Trapped between the two of you and pinning your hand so you can’t move it from your clit. His hand slaps the side of your thigh sharply and he replaces the hand on your tit with his own, the next thrust more of a sharp snap of his hips.

Permission seems to be all he needed, having no issue taking charge or throwing some power into his thrusts. It pushes you up the bed and has you moaning out all over again. If you had neighbors, they would definitely be complaining. Instead, you just make a mental note to get an extra treat for your agents in apology for how much of this they’re going to start hearing.

“Tell me what else you want.” He demands through gritted teeth and he slides one hand up to rest on the hollow of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. “This?”

The whimper he earns from you with that suggestion is almost pitiable, but having one of your favorite things to watch in porn that you've never tried before just offered to you – it makes you impossibly wetter and that impending orgasm come even closer. "I – fuck – please?" You beg, knowing you sound pitiful but not caring in the least.

“Hold onto my hand Princess.” Marcus orders roughly. “Squeeze twice quickly if you need me to stop.” He knows that it’s hard to talk sometimes and he wants you to be safe. If this is the kind of experience you want sometimes, you will need to discuss safe words and other safety precautions. Later.

It's possibly the most obedient you've ever been in your life and you put your hand over his wrist and squeeze it twice quickly to show him that you understand. "Like that. I love you, baby."

“I love you too.” He grunts, snapping his hips forward as he squeezes your windpipe for the first time. It’s not hard, but it’s firm enough to cut your air intake in half.

If he was worried even for a second that this might be going out on a limb or that you agreed to it just because you thought it would please him, that worry slides away instantly. As soon as he squeezes, your eyes rolls back in pleasure and your cunt squeezes his cock tight, flooding him with another rush of arousal.

“Holy shit, holy shit. You like that?” He groans, squeezing a little harder. “Yeah you do.” He hisses. “Open your mouth for me, Princess.”

You really fucking do like it, and the instinct for obedience it seems to ingrain in you has you opening your mouth immediately.

It’s a testament to his core training that he can take his other hand off the bed. Holding himself up as he presses his thumb to your tongue and hooks your jaw open even more as he continues to pound into you. “Suck.” He growls.

It might be the single sexiest thing you've ever seen. The way he practically blocks out the sun with the bulk of him and narrows down your entire world to only him feels incredible. Just swirling your tongue around his thumb and sucking it deeper into your mouth has you all the way to the edge of pleasure; but it's when Marcus growls again that you completely lose control, cumming so hard you feel like the world has gone white at the edges.

His blood pressure shoots through the roof and he’s pretty sure that you’ve just soaked the bed underneath you in the most intense orgasm he’s ever witnessed. Panting out your name as he continues to rock into you at an unhinged pace to intensify the pleasure.

If you could you’d beg him to join you. Moan praise and encouragements and tell him with complete honesty how incredibly well he’s fucking you. But being at his mercy like this means your best option is putting all your focus into lavishing the digit in your mouth in attention and bearing down on his cock in earnest any time he’s inside you.

“Fuck baby, fuck baby.” Marcus can’t keep up the growling when he feels like shouting at how hard you are squeezing him. “Gonna cum, gonna – fuck, fill up that little pussy.” He hisses, his hips stutter for a few thrusts before he is burying himself deep.

You practically have to catch him when he falls over the edge after you, just making sure that he doesn’t collapse in such a way that your heads knock together or he accidentally puts too much weight toward the one side of the bed you’ve ended up closer to. You let go of his wrist when his grip on your throat loosens, letting him slump into your body and wrapping that arm around his shoulders to hold him close as he rides out his orgasm.

It’s the most intense feeling Marcus has ever felt in his life. Bigger than any rush of adrenaline or dose of serotonin. For one heart stopping moment, he’s almost afraid that he’s had a heart attack. Body shaking with pleasure as he pours himself into you completely. It’s as if your bodies, as well as your souls, merge.

You dust soft kisses on his cheeks and along his jaw, reveling in the feeling of being completely full of him while he catches his breath.

“How are you feeling?” When he can think, Marcus pulls back to start checking in with you. His hand softening in its touch and he caresses your throat gently. He hadn’t been too rough, but he likes to make a fuss, especially when sex takes a turn like it did this morning.

“Fantastic.” You admit with only a hint of sheepishness in the way you smile at him and your hands caress his back and shoulders. “You?”

“Amazing.” He assures you softly. “Anything you didn’t quite like? Wanted more of?”

“I didn’t want to stop in the middle and ask how you felt about biting or scratching,” you admit. It feels silly to say since he paused to check in with you about getting rough, but you’re being honest. “And…I think we should talk about safe words?”

“We should.” Marcus agrees. “Expectations and needs are important to address as well.”

“I didn’t anticipate rough morning sex the first time,” you giggle, brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “My mistake.”

“That was okay, right?” His soft brown eyes turned worried as he wonders if he overstepped for the first time you were together.

“Baby.” The worry on his face has you reaching for his immediately and pressing kisses to his lips. “It was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life.”

“Okay.” He sighs in relief. “I just didn’t want to overstep our first time.”

“Not at all.” A kiss on the bridge of his nose punctuates the promise. “As long as you enjoyed it, too. Sex should be about both of our pleasure.”

“I enjoyed myself.” Marcus admits with an embarrassed grin. “I enjoy getting a little rougher or darker depending on how my partner feels about it.”

“It’s not an every time thing,” you agree, enjoying the way Marcus almost blushes over admitting his pleasure, “but when you’re in the mood it’s so much fun.”

“I can completely agree.” He hums as he shifts to move off of you.

“Do you still want to go to the flea market today?” You’re up for anything. As long as you get to spend the day with him, everything is golden.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, cupping your cheek. “Your birthday was emotional and I just want to give you a day to enjoy.”

"I just want you. As cheesy as that sounds." Reaching up to peck a kiss on his lips, you shift off the bed along with him despite still-wobbly legs. "Let's take a shower and head to the flea market just like we planned. If something else strikes our fancy then we'll switch gears when we think of it?"

“That sounds like a perfect day to me.” Marcus quickly follows you, holding onto your waist as you go into the bathroom. “Shower together?”

"Absolutely." Naked Marcus is rapidly becoming one of your favorite versions of him, and you fully plan on pampering him in the shower in thanks for fucking you senseless. Seems like a fair trade in your mind.

He hums in approval and moves towards the shower stall to turn on the water while you take care of your after sex business. “Do I need to leave for you to use the bathroom?” He asks, aware that it might not be something you like to do— peeing in front of a partner.

"Not on my account." While some girls might be squeamish about that, you're not one of them. "If you can be inside me, you can stand to be in the room while I pee. That's my feeling, anyway."

“Sound logic to me.” He can’t argue with it. “Especially since one day I’ll be in a delivery room as you give birth to our children.”

"And you need to be okay with bodily functions way before that day comes." Hearing him be on the same page as you is both an enormous relief and absolutely thrilling at the same time and you flash him a grin. "Can I...tell you about the dream I had last night? Without you thinking I'm an absolute crazy person?"

“You can tell me anything, always.” He promises, returning your grin easily and reaching for the towels that are neatly folded on a shelf. “I want us to share anything and everything. For us to be more than just soulmates. Friends too.”

"To be fair, we were friends for a whole month before anything happened," you remind him. The shower is already starting to steam the bathroom mirror but you instinctively wash your hands after you finish on the toilet. "We were f-w-y. Friends with yearning."

“Lots of yearning.” Marcus can agree and he opens the door to let you step into the shower. “Tell me about your dream, Princess.”

"It was about us." Stepping under the hot water with him right behind you, you sigh and lean back under the hot spray. "We had..." A small laugh escapes you and you shake your head. "We had four kids, a big, beautiful Golden Retriever, and we were living in a beautiful little house that looked like a converted barn. It was the most beautiful little domestic vision and I almost didn't want to wake up, except I knew that you were there for real right next to me."

“Four kids, huh?” He grins as he wraps his arms around you and slides his hands up to cup your breasts. “These will be off limits for a long time then.”

"Your fault for telling me twins run in your family," you huff at him, though you arch into his touch immediately. "It got in my subconscious."

“I kind of like the idea of four.” He admits, whispering into your ear. “Two for each of us to corral.” He jokes. “We’ll need a big bed for Sunday morning snuggles when they are young.”

"California king and great big blankets for them to cuddle under." The image is a sweet one, and it conjures up lazy morning and plenty of giggling kiddos in your mind. "And the dog, to cap it all off. Because you know the dog will corral them and be their favourite playmate."

“Absolutely.” Marcus agrees, chuckling himself. “And shedding everywhere, getting muddy with them. Shrieking when he flings water all over them after a bath.”

You both laugh as you start to wash up, reaching for soap and for washcloths and maneuvering around each other in the shower that was definitely not built for two. "So thank you for a beautiful dream and a beautiful wake up."

“It was absolutely my pleasure.” Marcus puffs proudly. “Every single second of it.”

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 7

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Relationship drama, family teasing, parental/societal demands, light discussion of politics, handful of sex jokes, Marcus is a menace. Summary: A gesture you weren't expecting, a memorable phone call, an admission at dinner, a surprise for a friend, and one more grand gesture that you definitely *did* plan. Notes: A gif from Sabrina feels extremely appropriate for this chapter, and this one is even the outfit inspo for Birdie at a certain point. You'll see it 🧡 (Outfit inspo, but not in any way indicating her body type. Wear the clothes you love!)

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

The next few days fly by, as working on the Cameron/Wiley wedding takes up all of your spare time. The only thing you've managed to do on your second day off is to comb through their contracts and get things straightened out with their florist — an agonizing series of phone conversations that nearly ended with you going down to the shop in person — but it is finally the end of the day. You're going to make yourself eat something reasonable, which is to say not the fast food you're craving, and you're going to take your yoga mat down to the studio in Old Town for puppy yoga. It's the single greatest way to relax and destress apart from the phone calls you've been having with Marcus — three now — and while you're bummed that you won't be getting a call tonight, at least he was courteous enough to text you and let you know that he is working late on a new lead.

You've got your leggings and t-shirt on under a sweater dress and you're ready to sneak out the back of the inn with Agent Bailey when you get stopped in the lobby.

“I am sorry, there is a gentleman her to see you.” Malachi rolls his eyes. “A flower delivery. Says that he must deliver to you personally.” He sniffs, a little annoyed that he had not been left the blooms so he could be nosy about who they are from by reading the card affixed to the front. He huffs. “He must be one of those singing flower deliveries.

“So he didn’t give you the card to read?” You tease, knowing Malachi has a penchant for gossip. “It’s okay.” Looping your arm through his with a playful grin, you walk with him out to the lobby. “I’ll let you read it first.” The hope in the back of your mind is very real and present, though — thinking of the possibility that Marcus might have sent you a few buds while he’s away. Maybe as a thank you for helping Cameron, since he’s still in a relationship.

“That is the least that you can do.” He snorts sassily and is eagerly looking forward to finding out who had send you such a beautiful bouquet.

“Hi there.” Greeting the delivery man easily, you’re immediately distracted by the tall cut vase of stunning white flowers with greens strewn throughout to enhance the beauty of the arrangement. “They sent you with quite an armful, didn’t they? Let me take those for you.”

The delivery person is dressed sharply and he confirms your name with Malachi, since you are distracted with the flowers. Instead of handing them to you, he starts to sing. “Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time. And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time. You hung me on a line.”

The striking way your face falls immediately, draining of blood and leaving your eyes wide, leaving your throat dry right along with it. “I—um—thank you. Uh…thanks. That’s enough. You—you don’t have to sing anymore.” The way you had been desperately hoping Malachi was teasing about a singing delivery has been flushed down the drain, and you fish in your purse to tip the man so he can be on his way. “Oh god,” you mumble to yourself immediately, mortified and feeling like you’re about to throw up.

It’s not uncommon for someone to not wish for the song to be finished so when you tell him to stop, he sets the flowers down on the counter and accepts the tip. The transaction has been fulfilled in his eyes and he won’t insist the song be completed. “Have a nice day.” He tells you quickly.

“Thank you.” There’s no reason to be impolite to the man even though you feel like you’re going to be sick, and instantly you know that not even the cute little puppies at yoga are going to be able to cheer you up from this. “What the hell am I going to do with these?” The question is mostly rhetorical, even though Malachi is standing right next to you. “And why the hell would he send them?”

“Is it not alright for your boyfriend to send you flowers?” He scrunches his brow in confusion. “You love flowers.”

“Mal…” Lowering your voice, you grab the lapel of his jacket and drag Malachi behind the desk to make it look like you’re talking about something work related with the flowers acting as a shield between you two and the rest of the lobby. “I broke up with Sam earlier in the week,” you confide, as quietly as you possibly can.

His eyes widen in surprise and he folds his arms over his chest in mild annoyance you have not told him before now. “What? Why? You love Sam.”

“It’s complicated.” Is the best excuse you can really give him in this exact moment, which feels weird and wrong, but the whole situation is so odd. “Only Sydney knows, so please don’t say anything? You know I prefer to keep my private life private.” Which is yet another reason that the singing telegram is not exactly your style.

“I do not know what to say.” While Malachi loves to know all the gossip and details, he does not share information. He claims he is more of a gatherer.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him, exhaling a long and haggard breath. “Just…help me look for a card or something? Sam having the delivery guy sing ‘our song’ is a little pointed, but there might be a note too.”

“Of course.” He nods and he starts looking through the massive arrangement to find a card.

“Here it is.” Tucked deep into the arrangement between the most massive white carnations you’ve ever seen, is a card in Sam’s scrawling print. Not one to go back on your promise, you hand it to Malachi first, but you have a sinking sensation that you know what it will say.

Malachi opens the card and clears his throat to start reading. “My love, I know I have much to apologize for, but I will spend as much time as it takes to win your forgiveness. Love, Sam.” He reads out loud and looks up at you. “He is begging for forgiveness, Birdie.” Ticking an eyebrow up, he smirks. “Looks like Congressman Chase is trying very hard to win you back.”

“Apparently so.” Although you can’t say that you’re thrilled about it. “Where am I going to put these flowers? This thing is enormous.”

“Your office?” He asks. “Or make it a centerpiece for the family table.”

“Emily Post says never use fragrant flowers in a table arrangement so they don’t alter the scent of your food.” The factoid — learned from your grandmother — spills out of your mouth instantly and you sigh softly. “I’ll bring them upstairs. The side table in the living room has room, and I need to call him now anyway.” Privacy is better is the implication there.

“I will send Charlie up with them.” Charlie is boy who works afternoons carrying luggage and delivering tea and meals to the rooms. As well as working in the kitchen when another pair of hands is needed.

“You’re an angel, Mal. Thank you.” It still leaves you with a phone call to make, but that is up to just you no matter what else happens.

“Of course.” Malachi nods and quickly walks off to find the burly younger man. Knowing you wouldn’t want the flowers to be downstairs for long so no one would ask questions.

Turning around again is an option, but Charlie is bringing the flowers upstairs and you’re already dressed for yoga, so you slip out the back door in the vain hope that an hour of stretching with very cute puppies will help. You can call Sam and have an uncomfortable conversation later when you’re feeling more centered.

The puppies are just what you need. Scampering and yipping through the posed arms and legs of people might not seem like it would be relaxing, but it is. And short of hearing Marcus’s voice, it’s the most relaxing thing you can possibly think of right now. Hopefully it works.

**

Fridays are always busier than any other day. Getting through the work day and having a little time to decompress before going to family dinner is always a task, but tonight you’re having an evening cup of coffee in your living room while you hammer out the scheduling assignments for the wedding which is now only one week away. Everything is falling into place, thankfully, and you’re going to give your team a big thank you for hustling to get everything ready in time.

The incoming call isn’t a normal one, and Marcus hopes you don’t mind. He wants to show you something and hopes you like it.

If he could see the smile on your face when his photo pops up on your phone screen, he would know for sure that you don't mind at all. "Hey G-man." You greet him with a voice full of sunshine, and since it's a FaceTime call he can actually see the grin this time as well.

“Hey.” Marcus grins back at you, very pleased that you seem happy to see him. “I’m sorry to call you at such a weird time, but I’m somewhere I thought you would appreciate.”

"Don't ever be sorry to call." As if to prove it, you heft the notebooks off of your lap and sit back on the couch. "Where are you?"

“The Tower of London.” He turns the camera around to show you the area.

"No!" Immediately you're sitting up in your seat again, trying to inspect the image on your phone like you might be able to climb into it if you try hard enough. "God, I miss London! Have you gotten to poke around anywhere? That whole place is so cool and so haunted."

“I’ve been allowed back into the Jewel House.” He admits. “They said that it’s okay if I’m on a video call while I’m there. Do you want to see the jewels up close?”

"Did you seriously just ask a girly girl if she wants to see the Crown Jewels? Marcus Pike you are a dream." The few minutes you have before you need to leave will be perfectly spent just like this and you grab your coffee to sip while he moves around the space.

He snorts, thankful that the camera is off of him so you can’t see that he’s blushing. “Here we go.” There is a moment that he has to wait for the doors to be unlocked, but then it’s opened up and he steps into the Jewel House.

"Did you know the Black Prince's ruby in the Imperial State Crown isn't actually a ruby?" The excitement bubbles over you with the instinctive knowledge that Marcus won't judge you for it. Getting excited about history isn't a bad thing, after all.

"What is it?" He asks, glancing around to see if he can find the Imperial State Crown to show you up close. "Oh, there it is."

"It's a balas stone." When he starts walking up to it you practically squeak with excitement. "They say Henry V wore it in his helmet at the Battle of Agincourt. Like a good luck charm."

"A good luck charm, hum?" Marcus smiles as he pushes the phone's camera closer to you can see it under the bright lights of the room. "I need one of those." He huffs. "Been running out of luck lately."

"Dead end with the case?" You ask, genuine concern in your voice despite humming over the large gem. "I hope not. You're supposed to be back in a week for Cameron's wedding."

"Nah." He doesn't want to turn the conversation to things that will bring down the mood. "Professionally, things are great." He promises. "I'm going to spend the next few days wrapping up to turn over to Interpol and I'm hoping to be back two days before the wedding."

"So..." Biting your lip is a nervous tick that you never quite got rid of, but you're smiling into the camera regardless. "Does that mean I can give my parents your RSVP for my birthday when I go to dinner tonight? Since you know you're going to be back in time?"

“Yeah.” Marcus shifts the camera back around so you can see him nod. “I’ll be there. Sorry that I’ve been gone, it’s probably sitting in my mailbox. But tell your parents I’m happily accepting the invitation.”

“I’m happy to accept it on your behalf, but since they still insist the location has to be a surprised, you’ll have to check the card for that.” Once he’s back in frame, that smile on your face gets beaming all over again. “So are there any corners of that jewel house that we peasants don’t get to see and you do?”

“Yes.” Marcus smirks and turns the camera around. “Would you like to see the personal jewels?” He asks, walking over to another door.

“You’re kidding?” Another gasp and giggle comes out of you as you readjust on your couch. There’s only one last sip of coffee at the bottom of your cup but what he’s showing you is far more exciting than hazelnut creamer. “Yes please! Absolutely.”

“Okay, but I’ve been instructed that I cannot pick up or touch any of them. So….yeah.” He doesn’t know why he would say that, it’s not like you can come through the screen and pick up the jewels.

“Oh my god…” The room that he’s in is full of cases, shelving, and careful lighting that make the stored pieces glint and glitter. They wink at Marcus as he moves about the room, teasing you through the camera and making both of you gasp or giggle alternately. It’s just such an enormous measure of opulence that taking it in together is surreal.

“What do you think? Pretty amazing, right?” He’s a little giddy, and soft, sharing this with you, even if it’s through a screen. “The sheer monetary value of this room is more than every house I’ve ever owned.”

“Same,” you huff, and laugh when he throws you a doubtful look. “We don’t own the White House. We’re just borrowing it for a while.” You remind him with a grin. “And I don’t even live there!”

“Yeah, buuuuuut…” he flashes you a grin. “You can sleep in the Lincoln bedroom anytime you want. I bet your mom wouldn’t say no.”

“You probably could too.” A little poke at the screen is the closest you’re going to get to touching him, and you hate that fact. “After the State dinner, she probably likes you more than me.”

“Nahhhh.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re her daughter. She loves you unconditionally. Me? She just likes that I look good in a tux and can dance.” He reminds you. “Those are mutually exclusive things.”

“If you think she loves me unconditionally, remind me to tell you about the time I lost the fifth grade spelling bee to Maude Appleton,” you snort, nearly in giggles on the couch again. “I’m a disgrace to the family, Marcus. Truly.”

“The black sheep, huh? I can tell.” He rolls his eyes and cheekily sticks out his tongue at you. “You have a sitting President planning your birthday party.”

“One that she absolutely does not need to be throwing, and that you will be at.” The fact that he’s coming tickles you more than a little, and you grin like a moron for a moment longer before the alarm on your watch goes off. “Speaking of Madam President,” you huff a dramatic sigh and lift yourself off the couch. “That’s my cue. It’s Friday night dinner.”

“Go, enjoy your dinner with the President while I skulk around the Crown Jewels and dream of being King Marcus.” He jokes, smirking at you through the screen.

“Just remember, every king needs a queen.” The moniker First Princess flashes through your head again and your cheeks burn with it. “Or at least a Princess.”

You are moving to your door and Marcus is about to come back with slightly flirtatious comeback when he spots the gorgeously large bouquet of flowers on the table. A slap in the face reminder of who you are and despite that, you are taken. “Yeah.” The agreement is a little flat for the previous tone of the conversation. “Well, um, I better go. The President doesn’t need to be kept waiting.”

“She’s still just my mother.” The change in his tone doesn’t escape you but the reason does, and you furrow your eyebrows at the screen but swallow it down. He’s still dating Vanessa. Don’t make it weird. You remind yourself harshly. “I’ll talk to you later.” It’s always how you sign off your calls now, and you know you sound hopeful but you don’t care one bit.

“Talk later.” He agrees and disconnects the call. Staring at his Home Screen for a moment before sighs. “You’re a fucking idiot, Pike.”He grumbles. “She’s dating a fucking congressman. She doesn’t want you.” When he gets back home, he needs to look at the dating apps again. Needing to forget about you and move on.

**

Friday night dinners are ritual, soothing, although June is eager to get this particular one over with so she can go out with the potential boyfriend she had met at the party last Friday. Nervous, she exudes that kind of boundless energy she had as a child, since she likes this guy so much it surprises her.

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight.” Your father observes with a wry smirk as the five of you sit down at the table together. He’s particularly excited about dinner tonight for purely food reasons, but he likes seeing his children happy and buzzing.

“I’m going to the movies.” She volunteers, knowing that the security detail would have already informed her parents anyway.

“With Kiley?” Alex assumes automatically, knowing that Junie’s best friend is a movie fanatic. “What are you guys going to see? I might tag along.”

“No!” She’s almost spitting out her refusal and then realizing that it sounds suspicious, she backs down. “I mean, I’m not going with Kiley. You can’t come.”

“If you’re not going with Kiley…” Alex’s eyes widen as he picks up his drink, not bothering to hide his growing smirk behind the glass at all. “Did you meet somebody, Junebug? Please tell me you are smart enough not to get bamboozled by a frat boy or a post grad.”

“Shut up.” She hisses, throwing her napkin at him. “It’s none of your business and I’m smarter than that.”

“So you did meet someone.” You join the smirking too, knowing that razzing your sister is all in good fun and that you and Alex would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. “What’s their name? How’d’ya meet? Give us the dirt, Junie.”

She narrows her eyes at you, feeling slightly betrayed by you essentially ganging up on her. “I met him at the party last weekend. His name is Bryan and before you say anything…” She holds up her hand. “He is in a fraternity but he was the DD for the party.”

“Sounds responsible.” Your father commends from one end of the table. “We just want to know you’re safe, Bug. That’s all.”

“Oh, no.” Alex shakes his head as the salad course hits the table. “We want dirt.”

“He may have passed the Secret Service’s background check, but not the older sibling one,” you agree with a nod.

“Oh my ggggggggoddddddd.” June groans, dropping her head into her hand and giving a moan of embarrassment. “I think he might be my soulmate, okay?” She huffs.

The room is dropped into a vacuum as all the air is sucked out of it. Four family members sit stunned before all hell breaks loose in excitement as everyone starts talking at once.

“Why do you think so, honey?”

“Junie, that’s wonderful!”

“Holy shit, are you serious?!”

“Are you excited? Did you ask him how he got the scar on his leg?”

“I haven’t seen that scar.” June admits, groaning slightly and now worried that she might have raised everyone’s hopes for nothing. “But it’s not like it’s obvious like your tattoo.” She snorts, throwing you an amused look. “Although Agent Pike didn’t seem to think it was dumb.”

Halfway to picking up your salad fork, you freeze all over again. “Why would you say that?” The carefully affected breezy tone in your voice doesn’t fool your family for a second, and your blood is pounding your ears out of sheer fear for your baby sister’s answer.

“Oh, we talked about it while we danced.” She confirms, unaware of the turmoil she is causing. “He’s really nice. He actually didn’t make fun of where you put your hummingbird like I do.”

“June Allegra…” There is as much warning in your voice as there is fear and worry, your eyes blowing wide as they narrow on her across the table. “You told Marcus about my tattoo?”

“Was it supposed to be some kind of secret?” She asks, startled by your reaction. “I didn’t— you’ve never really hidden it before. Are you— did I do something wrong?” She throws her parents a confused look.

“I hadn’t said anything yet,” you admit, feeling sick to your stomach at the realization that Marcus has known for an entire week that you are soulmates. Through the phone calls and the chats and the work you’re doing for his friend’s wedding. He’s known, but he’s still with Vanessa. “I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t…it hadn’t been confirmed…”

“Suspected what?” She’s still not grasped what you are talking about, but your mother and father exchange a very pointed glance with each other.

“Oh honey.” Your mother sighs.

June huffs. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Agent Pike is Birdie’s soulmate.” Alex’s voice isn’t nearly as teasing, more of a soft tone of understanding cutting through the tension in the room. “And you told him before she could.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure your sister quickly, but your heartbeat has leapt up into your throat. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Oh shiiiiiit.” Her eyes widen and she looks like she might cry. “Why— why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t you? You’re soulmates? What about Sam?”

“I broke up with Sam.” That admission is heavy enough on its own, knowing that letting the cat out of the bag with your family is now officially necessary. “Not…exclusively because of that. But it made me think about things. And…I hadn’t told Marcus yet because I wasn’t sure. Plus, he’s seeing someone else. And I didn’t want to complicate things for him.” June really does look like she’s about to cry, though, and you get up and circle the table to hug her. “You didn’t know, Junebug. It’s okay.”

“Oh shit.” It’s not often your mother curses, but she does now. “Sam got an invitation to your birthday, I wouldn’t have dreamed of not inviting him, but if you’ve broken up….”

“I still want to stay friends with him.” The clarification is obviously important since it does change expectations a bit. “And Marcus will be home from London in time to come to the party, so please just…I will let you guys know when I’ve talked to him, okay? If I don’t say anything to you directly will you all please assume I haven’t gotten to talk to him about it yet and not say anything?”

“Damn.” Alex whistles quietly. “I thought my soulmate status was complicated.” He snorts. “You’ve got me beat, big sis.

“Your soulmate status isn’t complicated, people are just bigoted,” you toss back, knowing that Alex and David have been crazy about each other forever. They just stay quiet about it to avoid unnecessary commentary on their personal lives. Which you give them a lot of credit for, honestly. “This is…a lot.”

“Yes it is.” Your father speaks up. “And only you can decide when the time is right to talk to Marcus about this.” He agrees. “You said he was also seeing someone?”

"Yeah..." As the five of you slowly start to eat, the sick to your stomach feeling is subsiding a little and you nod. "Um...Vanessa D'Amario? She's, uh...she's Sam's aide."

Your mother winces. “Also daughter to Judge D’Amario.” She tells the table. “Federal circuit and on the short list for Supreme Court.” She would never tell you to not follow your heart, but she does want to caution you. “Just be honest and let Marcus decide what he needs to do before you take any steps.”

"I just want him to be happy." It sounds cliched, but as soon as it's out of your mouth you know it's true. That the feeling that's nestled deep into your ribcage is new love and that it's real enough to make you both selfless and just a little stupid. "If that means staying with Vanessa, I'll just have to deal with it."

Alex shakes his head. “That man is a romantic.” He snorts. “He probably is waiting for the right moment. Some big gesture.”

"I don't know what's going to happen," you admit, stabbing a piece of apple and some cheese rather violently with your salad fork. "But what I do know is that for now, I'm excited about Junie maybe meeting someone she's interested in and my birthday happening in a week." Your eyes raise to your mother on one end of the table and you offer her a lopsided smile. "You might have to tell me where the party is after all, Mom. Unless you're going to have somebody else drive me."

“I can have Marcus bring you.” She offers with a small grin.

"I honestly think he would forget how to speak if you called him." It's an enormously sweet and endearing thought, trying to wrap your head around how Marcus might react to the sitting President calling him up to ask a favor.

Your father chuckles and reaches over to take your mother’s hand. “Well, she might talk him into it if she demands a dance with him. She was grumbling about not being able to dance with your escort herself after the State dinner.”

"There's going to be dancing?" You raise your eyebrow at your mother, no longer able to get any kind of read at all at what kind of party this is going to be.

“That entirely depends on the music that you choose.” She grins at you. “Doesn’t have to be ballroom dancing. I can still break a leg.”

"It's cut a rug," June huffs, still amazed that the woman who somehow uses turns of phrase just barely incorrectly convinced an entire country to make her President.

The President laughs, aware of what the phrase actually is, she just enjoys watching her children cringe at times. “Whatever.” She huffs, waving her hand. “Either way, Birdie’s party will be wonderful.”

“That’s how your tattoo came up!” June huffs. “Your nickname. Again, I’m sorry, Birdo.”

"You couldn't have known, Junebug. It's okay." At another point in your lives you might have been the right ages for you to hold it over her head, but not anymore. You and June have just under ten years separating your ages and that difference has united you in as many ways as it's separated you. "And I'm going to be honest, along with all the different songs from the years of my life? It's a lot of 80s dance music. I gave the list to Dad when I got here."

“Perfect.” Your mom winks at you, “I loved the 80s.”

"We know, Mom." Alex snorts, shaking his head as he eats his salad. "Just promise you won't do the Running Man or the Robot or anything."

“My Robot is amazing!” She protests with a laugh, knowing that while she can dance, she’s goofy with that move. “Okay, okay I’ll resist.” She huffs dramatically.

“We acknowledge and appreciate your sacrifice,” you tease, raising your glass to your mother in salute.

“As long as my accomplishments are acknowledged.” She teases back, smiling at the three of her children. Happy that all of them are on the way to knowing their soulmates, even if they don’t choose to be with them. “So how do you feel about the idea that Marcus Pike might be your soulmate?” She asks softly. “That’s the most important thing.”

The opportunity to think about your answer while tonight’s main course comes out is appreciated, and when it turns out to be your mother’s very favourite thing on the planet — chicken cordon bleu with roasted potatoes and broccoli — the softness on your father’s face at seeing her delight reminds you of the warm, tight feeling in your chest every time you hear Marcus laugh. It tingles its way up to your cheeks and you end up smiling just hearing his name. “He’s a good man,” you say finally. “I think I’m lucky.”

She watches you with a sense of pride. “Good.” She hums and lifts her glass of lemonade. “To Birdie and Junie.” She poses. “May their soulmates be worthy of the wonderful women they are.”

“Here here!” Your father’s addition may not be long in the way of words, but he sees your reaction, and the soft way you smile, and has a feeling that things will end up okay.

June smiles, still feeling guilty for letting the cat out of the bag, but honestly she wonders if Marcus is aware that you might be soulmates. He didn’t seem to react too much from what she can remember.

“So…” Your mother sits up tall at the table and looks between her three children at the table. “Am I allowed to do a little business at supper? Since I have all of you here?”

“Oh boy.” Alex immediately rolls his eyes. “I knew we weren’t getting a great meal and there not be strings.” It’s an old joke in the family about how no one eats for free.

"Oh, you'll like yours," she waves one hand at him, unbothered by her middle child's habitual sass. "I just wanted to let all of you know that someone from my office is going to be contacting each of you in the next month or so with some opportunities for good publicity. There are plenty of websites and magazines that want to talk to the three of you and different businesses that want to be associated with you. We're going through all of it before we approve requests, and I thought each of you should be allowed to have some say in each of your approvals." She meets eyes with each of you individually, knowing what the first question will be. "And I'm sorry, but no publicity is not an option. That's why we're curating each list carefully. To keep things controlled and try to avoid things coming at any of you from left field."

June is the least social out of all of you and it’s immediately apparent that she is not happy. “Whhhhhhhhhy?” she whines. “You’re President, not us. Go adopt a puppy or something.”

"That's actually on the list," she admits, chuckling at how on the nose some of the choices are for her kids. "Since animal rights and animal welfare are the things that you've always cared the most about, we thought you might be willing to partner with a local rescue and pick out a new dog for the family." There has been a lot of time and effort put into making sure that the things being presented to each of the kids is something they actually care about and something that is representative of who they are. Hopefully that makes things a little less overwhelming for each of the kids individually.

“Wait…really?” Her parents have been loving and wonderful but the busy lifestyle they had lead hadn’t been fair to an animal. At least for a long time. The last family pet had been a cat who had died of old age when June was eight. “Are you being serious? This isn’t a joke, right?”

"They'll be your responsibility to take care of, for the most part," your mother warns, but she's glad to see the way June lights up. "I'm sure Alex will help, and Birdie too, when your sister is around. But...we know we're asking a lot of your kids. So we thought you should get something out of it, too."

“You had to wait until I’m practically out of the house?” Alex huffs playfully.

“Four years in the White House with a puppy still sounds like a pretty good time,” your dad contends. From the way he’s smiling it looks like letting Junie get a puppy was probably his idea. Even more so when he adds: “And I have some thoughts about the name.”

“We are not naming it Scout.” Alex warns him, pointing his finger at his father.

“But it’s a good name!” Your father protests in response, sending everyone into intermediate laughter and sighs. It’s always what he wants to name pets. Even the baby bird Junie rescued from the park when she was five.

“But we need something more dignified for a White House pooch.” June insists, grinning at her dad.

“Don’t tell me. You want to name the dog after Eleanor Roosevelt or Susan B. Anthony?” Alex jokes. “Why don’t we meet the pup before we name them? They might turn out to be just as goofy as the rest of this family.”

“We should get a really dopey puppy and name him Goofy.” June snickers happily. She picks up her glass. “I want to adopt.” She insists. “And make sure they are spayed or neutered.”

“I think Junie might be enjoying her assignment after all,” you observe, flashing both of your parents an impressed smile. Whatever they have for you, you’ll take the responsibility of more spotlight onto your shoulders with as much grace as you can muster. While it’s not your favourite part of your mother’s victory, it’s a very real part of how things will work for the next few years. And you did willingly sign up — for lack of a better phrase — to be as helpful as you could be.

“Good.” The President watches over all of you with a small smile and nods back at you. She knew that it would be difficult at times, but you are all handling it with as much grace and aplomb as could be expected.

“In other news.” With things going fairly well after the shock early in dinner tonight, your father is glad for the change in tone. “I hope everyone has the White House Easter Egg Roll already on their calendar.”

“I’m finding the golden egg!” Alex declares with a laugh. “There better be big money in it this year.”

“There will be prizes for the kids, and a nice lunch.” It earns Alex a smirk from your father, though. Of course it does.

“Are we supposed to do anything besides dress appropriately and be proud of you at the podium while you make a small speech?” It’s a valid question, directly aimed at your mother, but the question you’re afraid to ask is whether or not this is something they would prefer the three of you have escorts for.

“I’ve decided to change things up a little this year.” The President admits with hopeful smile. “We are bringing in one of the local orphanages, I was hoping that you and any friends you want to bring, along with my staff, would pair up with a child for the egg hunt.”

“You’re going to piss off a lot of judges and legislators with that one.” And you don’t mind pointing it out to her. It’s often seen as a privilege of the position for high-ranking government employees to get that coveted invitation for their families to attend White House events. Letting ‘just anybody’ in is a mark for your mother to the public but possibly against her to a lot of other people. “I’ll be sure to bring a whole crew.”

“Fuck ‘em.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It is the People’s House. That includes children that haven’t found their forever home yet.”

“Besides,” June smirks, the admiration for her mother clear as day on her face. “What are they gonna do? She’s the President. You can’t impeach somebody for being nice.”

“They are really going to be pissed when we push the homeless initiative.” She has a list of things that she wants to tackle before she has to worry about re-election or leaving the office. Honestly, she wants her record in office to do the campaigning for her.

“And we’ll be even prouder.” There hasn’t really ever been a time when you haven’t been proud of your mother, but seeing the things she wants to accomplish while in office really does hammer it home for you. If the number of homeless and unemployed drops across the country like it did in Pennsylvania while she was governor, it will be enough to put her in history books all by itself.

“Thank you all for your help, your patience and everything you put with.” Right now, there isn’t a Secret Service Agent in sight, they all stay outside of the private residence, but she knows that it chaffs sometimes.

“We’ve got your back, Mom,” you promise her, because despite being a family of sass and negotiation, the fact is that you’re all very close. The age gaps between you and your siblings have never mattered, and the bumps in the road that you’ve all weathered were manageable because you got over them together.

**

The invitation to your birthday is beautiful and Marcus smiles when he sees the theme. Finally home, there’s plenty of mail to open and things to do before he changes and runs over to the inn for the wedding rehearsal.

His cell phone is perpetually on his person, always ready to go at a moment’s notice, but he isn’t expecting any calls. He’s just concentrating on getting through his stack of mail and getting his head on straight when his phone goes off. The word Private across his phone screen isn’t necessarily unusual, but having just come home from a case, there is an uncomfortable possibility that this is work related.

“Special Agent Pike.” He tucks the phone under his chin as he sets the mail down, pulling out a notebook in case it’s someone about a case.

“Good afternoon, Agent.” The President’s voice is distinct and recognizable to anyone who has heard her speak as many times as a government agent has, but she introduces herself anyway. Arrogance isn’t a characteristic she typically has. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Marcus straightens immediately and wonders if something is wrong. “What may I help you with?” The President of the United States is calling him, he is going to do whatever she needs.

“I know you have an important night, so I won’t keep you.” She is well apprised of the wedding you are coordinating in just two days’ time. You’ll be missing family dinner for it, but your business and your integrity are important enough to take precedence. “But I’m afraid I have to ask a small favor of you, if I may? Are you Stateside again, Agent Pike?”

“Yes Ma’am, I am.” The fact that she knows he was out of the country means you talked about him with her, even if it was concerning the invitation to the party. It warms him in a way that it shouldn’t, given your relationship with Congressman Chase. He knows that whatever the favor, he will gladly do it. “Whatever you need, I’ll be happy to help.”

“It’s small,” she promises with a chuckle. Just as you had said — and as she had seen a little bit of at the State dinner — Marcus Pike is an earnest sort of man. “I was hoping you would be willing to pick Birdie up for her party on Saturday to bring her to the venue? The location is a surprise and I know she’d appreciate being able to ride in with you.” Instead of one of her siblings is the end of the sentence in her mind, but these days she’s fairly certain that you would pick Marcus Pike over almost anyone.

“Of course.” He agrees immediately, almost without thought, but he wonders why Sam isn’t bringing you. He opens his mouth to ask, but quickly shuts it before anything comes out, deciding he doesn’t want to know if there’s some birthday surprise involving the congressman. “What time do you want me to have her walk through the door?” He asks instead.

“Seven-thirty would be ideal.” The invitations say to arrive at seven, and she wants everyone assembled at the club before you get there. “She’s never been to the Statesman Club, I checked with Sydney. So she shouldn’t have any idea where you’re bringing her. And don’t let the half-hearted protests convince you of a thing. She loves a surprise.”

Marcus chuckles quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He promises. “Seven-thirty.” He repeats. “I’ll have her there on time. Will Agent Bailey follow us or ride with us?” He asks.

“She will follow.” In fact, as a mother, she made sure of that. The chance to give you and Marcus some time alone seemed important. “Hopefully nothing will be complicated, and everything should be fun. I do appreciate the favor, Agent. It won’t go unremembered.”

“I am happy to help.” He feels slightly strange about having the President feel indebted to him, not that he would use it for anything at all. “Sincerely.”

“Wonderful.” There’s a smile in her voice, but a finality as well. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun at the rehearsal dinner tonight and the wedding on Friday.”

He’s surprised she knows the plans, but why, he’s not sure. You are close to your mother and he doubts you don’t talk about your work. “Thank you Madame President.” He hums quietly. “Have a good evening.”

“Good evening. And thank you again.” The call clicks off with a pleasant tone, and the President smiles to herself on the other end, knowing you didn’t think she would actually go through with having Marcus bring you to your party.

Marcus just stares at the phone for a moment, feeling like that was a surreal moment. He’s certainly never had the President call him for a favor before. Chuckling to himself, he moves towards the bathroom, needing to shower before he gets dressed for the rehearsal.

**

The rehearsal dinner truly is the easiest part of this process. For you, at least. You’ve done large handfuls of them in the past to be a help to Juan, and the number of people at this particular rehearsal is going to be incredibly small. Cameron and her fiancé had asked for just a family style meal after the actual rehearsal and you had set up a round dinner table in the gazebo in the grounds for them to enjoy their night with a few friends and family in relative privacy. Per your usual protocol, everyone working the wedding will be in black tonight and for the ceremony on Friday, and you’ve set yourself into a long-sleeved black blouse and cigarette pants for tonight with a smart pair of flats to complete the Audrey Hepburn look. There was a lot of back and forth about it between you and Sydney and Juan, but now that you know Marcus knows about your soulmate status? You’ve got to talk to him tonight. You may even have a few surprises up your sleeve, since you had to change your plans for that grand, romantic gesture.

Marcus tries to make his outfit seem casual, a more tailored suit than he wears at work, no tie. Loafers instead of dress shoes. He shows up right as Cameron and Michael do. Smiling as they get out of their car and he hugs the bride, shaking the groom’s hand. “You survived.” He jokes.

“Thanks to you.” Cameron — Joyce outside of work and to her friends and family — happily hugs Marcus instead of shaking his hand. “I don’t know what you said to her but she has bent over backward to make this happen and we’re so grateful.”

“I just asked her for a favor.” He admits with a sheepish grin. “That’s all.”

“Well, then she’s an amazing friend and we’re grateful for that, too.” She’s absolutely beaming in her white floral sundress and happily ready for this week’s celebrations. As stressful as everything had been, it has also been wonderful to feel like the day isn’t in jeopardy after all. “How was the case?”

“Interesting, but I want to focus on you and Wiley.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. “I want to help with the costs. I know you guys got screwed having to pay twice.”

Cameron shakes her head adamantly, touched by the gesture even though it isn’t necessary. “We didn’t have to pay twice,” she tells him, acknowledging how remarkable that is. “I don’t really know what she did, but she hasn’t asked us for any money. The whole thing is just…it’s been a miracle.”

“Wow.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he wonders if you managed to get the other venue to cover the costs, but he knows in his heart, you just aren’t charging them. “Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re sure.”

“You’ve already helped us so much.” As a coworker and a boss, Marcus is fantastic. But as a friend? She will always be grateful for everything he’s done. Their long friendship has been through plenty of ups and downs, but this is above and beyond any call of duty that she could possibly think of. “Are you…still okay with walking me down the aisle?“

“I am looking forward to it…although…if you want someone else to do that, I understand.” Marcus hums as you walk outside to greet them.

“Joyce, Michael, you look fantastic. How are we feeling tonight?” You are nothing but professional smiles despite your own nerves for the various things that are set to happen tonight. Hopefully it will all be emotional in good ways only. “I’m glad you were able to get back in time, Marcus.”

“Me too.” He smiles politely, trying not to moon over how good you look. It makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms, although that’s not right. “Are we all set?”

“Just about.” There’s a tingling in your fingers and the nervous butterflies in your stomach bottom out, but things are as ready as they’re going to be. You’re not about to steal the thunder from this couple on such an important night, but Marcus looks so good in his more casual and stylish suit that you have to remind yourself that you can’t just drag him upstairs. “Let’s take a walk out to the back and I’ll just give you a few moments to say hi to everyone before we get in place for the rehearsal. Okay?”

“That sounds good.” She’s excited, of course she is, but she’s also very disappointed. Wishing that she had her family here. The upside is that Marcus and her other friends are the best kind of family she could ask for.

“We’ve set up a table out in the gazebo for dinner. It should fit all eleven of you just fine.” A slight smile touches your lips, knowing that the couple only told you to expect nine for the rehearsal. The first surprise of the night is waiting for them out in the garden.

Cameron frowns slightly, tilting her head as she catches the error. From what you’ve shown her, you don’t make mistakes. “Eleven?”

“Eleven.” Waving one beckoning hand, you head out to the garden with Marcus, Cameron, and Michael in tow.

There are big batches of raspberry iced tea ready for tonight and all the guests gathered in the garden have glasses already. A few people are chatting but mostly they are looking around, inspecting early flowers blossoming in the flower beds from the warm spring, and the large planters that have already been brought in to be part of the decor for the wedding. In amongst the guests — the joyful friends and select family members who had offered continuous support — are Agent Cameron’s parents.

“Mom? Dad?” Cameron’s tone is nearly disbelieving and that makes Marcus’s heart hurt.

Mr. Cameron unwinds his arm from around his nervous-looking wife’s waist and rubs his hands together. “I hope we aren’t crashing your party.” He wants to set her and Michael at ease that they aren’t here to cause trouble. “I got a call from your boss a few days ago.” He glances over at Marcus briefly before turning his attention back to his only daughter. “Who told me, in much more eloquent terms, that I was a horse’s ass and would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t support you and Wiley.” He explains. “Your mother and I….we would like to come to the wedding and if it’s possible, maybe I could give you away?” He hopes that she will let him but if not, he would understand.

“Really?” A grown woman of more than thirty years, Joyce Cameron tears up immediately and clutches her fiancé’s hand while staring — gob smacked — at both of her parents. The whole thing doesn’t even register for a few seconds before she looks over at Marcus with a watery smile. “I don’t know a lot of people who can say their boss saved their wedding, and this is so much more than just one day.” She turns to hug Marcus fiercely before walking the six steps across the lawn she needs to embrace both of her parents.

Michael hangs back, giving his fiancée her moment with her parents as he turns to look at Marcus in astonishment. “How?” He demands, making the older man shrug.

“I asked them if they would be proud of the union if you shared marks.” He tells him. “They said you were a good man, and I reminded them that is all they should want for their daughter. A good man. One who treats her like a queen. And she’s found that. In you.”

"I guess it took somebody from the outside." Wiley shrugs, though, watching his fiancée hug her parents with happy tears in her eyes. "She deserves this, Marcus. Thank you." He murmurs, before stepping up to shake his soon-to-be father-in-law's hand and leaving Marcus standing with you on the edge of the garden.

Marcus smiles, happy that he has been able to help Joyce again, even if it means that he’s lost out on walking her down the aisle. He will happily be relegated to just a guest in this case. After a minute or so of quiet where Marcus doesn't step away from you, you nudge his side playfully with your elbow. "It's good to see you in person again."

“Glad it’s not accompanied by screaming parents, disturbing the peace and police reports.” He snorts, turning and giving you a friendly grin. It’s all he can muster but hopefully it’s believable. “But at least I didn’t get thrown into the dungeon for trying to steal the jewels.”

"They were very meek and apologetic when they got here," you assure him. The maid of honor — a cousin, apparently — had been shocked to see them but things had gone okay after the initial surprise wore off. For now, it's only good things with this wedding party so you can turn your attention to Marcus. "It would've caused quite a scandal if I had to go over there and bail you out, so I'm also glad you didn't get into any scrapes across the pond. I don't know if my curtsy is good enough for groveling."

He laughs slightly and then looks back at the older couple talking with the younger one. The relief is staggering from both sides and he sighs happily. “Guess I’m out of the rehearsal.”

"No reason you can't stay." It probably comes out too quickly, but the last thing you want is for him to leave. Not when you have...things you want to say. "You're the hero of the night. Stay and have a little supper, at least. I'm sure they don't want you to go."

“I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.” He assures you. “Not when I can stay and bask in the happiness that my meddling worked.”

"Bask in it all you like. You earned it." Just like you're basking in this — just standing here beside him while the warmth of his presence washes over you like an exquisite sunset.

“Just like you.” Marcus turns towards you. “Are you not charging them? Or did the other place pony up some money?”

"I couldn't bear to charge them anything," you admit, shrugging your shoulders slightly. It's not something you're doing for the praise — it's something you're doing for the love of him as much or more than any other reason. "Derby Farms' lawyers are putting together compensations for all the clients who lost their dates and deposits and all...and it covered the expenses here. They already paid for their wedding once. And Sydney's food is better than what they serve anyway."

“So let me give you this.” He pulls the envelope out of his coat again. “To help. Because you just said they ‘are’ not they ‘have’.” He points out. “You have expenses.”

"You don't have to do anything, Marcus." Pressing the envelope gently back toward him, you just shake your head once so you don't draw any kind of attention from the happy wedding party or their officiant as he gets them all into order. "You asked me for a favor and I take that very seriously."

“I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be paid.” He huffs, knowing that your time is precious and you have worked miracles with the short amount allotted.

"I know. But this is...it's more than just a few days of business. It's their happiness. And—" Your head tilts slightly, knowing that you didn't plan for this kind of timing but now you have a bit of extra time. "Do you...would you mind if we...talked? Just for a couple of minutes, since the rehearsal will go perfectly smoothly without either of us?"

Marcus feels his stomach flip and he swallows slightly, wondering why you want to talk to him. “Sure.” He says breezily.

You nod to the right, to where one of the small outbuildings that you use as a staging area has been staged for tonight, instead. Set up with twinkle lights and a little set of Bluetooth speakers and a small something for Marcus, you feel like you're visibly shaking as you walk to what used to be a shed and is now quite fixed up and neatly painted. The lights and music aren't on — not wanting to force a romantic mood on him in case he reacts poorly in any way to what you have to say — but privacy is good regardless.

"I...before anything else, I owe you an apology," you start, inhaling and exhaling deeply once the thin door has tapped shut behind you both.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His rebuttal is automatic, along with the frown on his face.

"Yes I do." The nerves are running through you like lightning strikes, but you wrote out all of what you wanted to say and if you get through half of it you'll be very proud of yourself. "I kept something from you. Something important. And I thought I had kept a lid on it until I was prepared to really explain why I kept quiet. But then I found out at family dinner last week that Junie had gone and spilled the beans on me at the State dinner and I just..." Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. "I should have told you that I suspected we were soulmates right away. And I didn't. So I'm sorry, I just hope you'll let me explain why."

Marcus freezes and he wants to walk away. Fear, true fear curling in his gut. The fear of being rejected by the person the universe had said was supposed to be his. To realize that he wasn’t good enough for anyone. “You don’t—” he shakes his head. “Please don’t. Not right before Cameron’s wedding.” He asks softly.

"I know." You hang your head in turn, the bravery evaporating from you far faster than the weeks it has taken you to build it all up. "You're seeing Vanessa. And that's part of why I kept things to myself. If you really—" Nearly hiccupping at the idea of full-on rejection when you had been dreaming of any other reaction, you nod dumbly and try not to look as crestfallen as you feel. "I'm sorry. I should have kept it to myself a while longer, I guess."

Marcus chuckles dryly, surprised that he can in a moment like this. “I went to her after the State dinner.” He admits, looking down at his loafers and wishing he was still in the wedding after all. “I needed to tell her that I— that it was— to end things.” He sighs and gives a self-amused smirk at the ground. “Only to get dumped before I could open my mouth.” He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. “She apparently discovered who her soulmate was.”

"When it rains, it pours." Your laugh is hollow, still afraid, and you twist your arms behind your back nervously. "So...all the phone calls...all the times I swore to myself I wasn't going to flirt with you on the phone...we've both been single the whole time?"

“You’re dating Sam.” He murmurs, as if to remind you even though it’s odd you would say that. It is too much of a hope to have that you had ended things with him.

"I told you at the State dinner that I was ending things." Although it does, somehow for the very first time, occur to you that you didn't actually tell him you had done it. "I meant it. I broke up with him the next day."

“Why?” The question is quiet, although he would normally never pry, he needs to know.

"Do you want the complete or abridged list of reasons?" Attempting at humor falls short, and you find yourself swallowing down that fear mixed with bile that is threatening to bubble up your throat. "Well... whichever list you pick... this biggest reason is... is actually you." Inhale. Exhale. Try to remember everything you wrote down over the last week. "Because from the moment you walked in the front door of the inn, you took my breath away. And not just because you're handsome, although I admit that's undeniable. It's the way you seem to make things effortless. Easy conversations and god you have the most incredible laugh. It's like music. Everything about you has just built up and built up and... and somehow it isn't just oh, I like Marcus more than I like Sam. It's the way something inside me started tugging toward you right away and I didn't know what it was. All the cracks in the veneer I had built up of convincing myself that I was happy before... I've been happier being friends with you than I was in that entire relationship."

As the rambling boils over, the small speech you prepared is abandoned, and for better of your worse you find yourself laying your heart bare right there on the floor of the work shed. "I told myself I couldn't tell you that I was falling in love with you until I had made sure that I was doing it for the right reasons, but I don't even know what the right reasons are anymore. I just... know that my entire life I've felt like I was reaching for the moon. And every time you smile at me, it makes me feel like the moon is reaching for me, instead."

There’s a moment when his heart stops. Skips a beat or just falters from the emotions. Recognizing the line, it’s almost embarrassing how misty his eyes become. “You quoted Sabrina.” He murmurs, finally able to catch his breath and pure pleasure rushes through him when he realizes that this isn’t the ‘sorry we can’t’ speech he had been anticipating. “I didn’t want cause you problems.” He admits softly. “But I was – expecting this to be more of a reasons why you couldn’t be with me, speech. So you’ve surprised me.”

He smiles at you again. “From the moment I met you, I felt like I knew you. That you were someone precious to me.” He whispers. “And you are. Not just for the ridiculous tattoo we share—” he jokes, reaching for your hand. “But because of the woman you are. Hardworking, kind, smart, generous, beautiful – inside and out.”

His touch soothes and burns all at once, scorching you and making you feel lighter than air. All the grand, elaborate plans you made have gone out the window, and now it’s just you and Marcus standing together alone with your hearts in your throats. “Every realistic way I imagined this going…most of them ended in a polite denial or a reminder that you’re seeing someone,” you admit, exhaling a shaky breath. “I almost don’t know what to do now.”

“Neither do I.” Marcus can only laugh because he’s so hesitant right now. So sure you had wanted to just pretend he wasn’t your soulmate, he hadn’t even realized he had discounted the possibility you wanted the connection.

“I had a whole plan.” A fact which now makes your cheeks burn just as much as your hand is where he’s still holding it. “It was much more romantic than just spilling my guts to you all at once, I promise.”

“A plan?” He frowns slightly in confusion.

Not willing to take your hand back from him, you reach over with your free one and flip a few light switches — turning off the main lights in the small room and turning on the twinkling fairy lights instead. The small Bluetooth speaker crackles to life to begin playing Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose, and a small, cylindrical box nearby holds a single, ivory Eternity rose. Opening it now feels almost backward, but you still want Marcus to have the small token of your affection. “My first thought was honestly to whisk us both off to Paris for a weekend,” you admit, laughing at your own romanticism. “But when I reined myself in a little, I realized that all I really want is to spend time with you. So… Marcus Pike…” you hold out the wax treated rose just like a nervous high schooler and admit to yourself that that is how you feel right now. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

He’s been asked out before, he has. He’s been hit on in bars or through dating apps, but this feels significant, because no one has ever put a lot of thought or effort into doing something for him. “Maybe Paris next weekend.” He chuckles, taking the rose and reaching out to cup your face with it in his hand. “This weekend we have a wedding and a birthday party.” He hums softly. “And maybe the flea market on Sunday?” He would say a baseball game, but the season hasn’t started yet.

“I’d really like that.” With his hand there it’s nearly impossible not to lean into his palm, and the feeling of nearly shaking apart with excitement shoots through you again. “As long as…” The nerves return, but you swallow them down carefully. “You don’t mind being seen out with me? People tend to take notice these days… and there’s always a chance of being photographed. Well… you saw the papers after the dinner…”

“I don’t care if the whole world knows that I’m out with you.” Marcus murmurs softly. “I’ll be proud to stand beside you. Not because I want any kind of fame or recognition, but because I’m with you.” He smiles. “Although sunglasses and a baseball cap work wonders for making people second guess if you want anonymity.”

“We’ll have to give it a try.” You’re beaming at him, absolutely grinning from ear to ear, and the feeling of rightness in this moment is nearly overwhelming. “I would’ve told you all this two weeks ago if I’d known on that first phone call that we were both single already. But I’m glad we got to do this face to face instead.”

“Getting away was best.” Marcus admits softly. “I was having a hard time reminding myself that you weren’t available.”

Nuzzling your cheek into his hand is as easy as breathing, and you laugh softly. “I think if you had asked, I would have come running.”

He smiles and gazes at you softly. “This is real? I’m not dreaming?” He jokes.

“If you’re dreaming, then we both are.” It’s nice to know you’re not alone in this giddiness, and even getting lost in his eyes at this moment feels like a gift.

“Sweetheart…” Marcus brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “May I kiss you?” Even if you are his soulmate, and want to be with him, you deserve to be asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you admit after a soft laugh. “I’m glad we’re already on the same page.”

“Good.” Marcus is stepping closer the second you say that. His other hand on your hip gently and he smirks slightly. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to kiss you during that dance.”

“About half as badly as I wanted to kiss you?” It’s good that you didn’t, of course. Not in front of so many people and while you were both still attached to others. But now? In privacy? Your heart is beating wildly out of time. “Please?”

Marcus is happy that his lips aren’t chapped, pressing them together and then parting them slightly. Watching you in wonder as he leans in.

The knock that comes just a second before your lips meet is probably the single most unwelcome interruption in history, and the disappointed sigh you let out when you hear your name called from the other side is practically a growl. "I'll be right there!" You call back, wishing you'd just hesitated slightly less and gotten to that kiss a touch faster.

He chuckles quietly and his own sigh of frustration is smothered. “Duty calls.”

"Hold that thought." You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and give him a gentle hug before turning around to shut off the electronics of your little surprise. He's still holding the rose bud with its trimmed stem, and you gently tuck it into his lapel with a smile. "I'll make it worth being interrupted, I promise."

“It’s okay, Birdie.” He uses your nickname for the first time. “You take care of what you need to.”

"If they're done it means it's time for dinner." It's still his friend's night, even if something has also happened here for you and for Marcus. "Come on." As much as you don't want to, you both have to go back out there. "Sydney made a ton of panzanella salad, giant pans of lasagna and these amazing parfaits of Madagascar vanilla panna cotta, raspberry jam, and pistachio brittle. I can't allow you to miss this dinner." It absolutely sucks to have to open the door, but you're practically beaming you're smiling so hard. "Sydney can't get over the fact that you were talking her up to José Andrés, by the way. I think you have a private chef for life."

“That sounds amazing.” He groans, having missed the last few meals due to traveling. “And I was only telling the truth.”

Coming out of the work shed, you see the wait staff starting to bring beer around to the table — as requested by the couple instead of wine or champagne with their casual rehearsal meal — and you nod toward the gazebo. “Go join your friends. I’m going to go check in in the kitchen and make sure Syd has everything under control.”

“Talk later?” He asks seriously, lifting a brow at you. There’s a lot to talk about obviously, but he does want to kiss you.

“If you want to stay late, I’m not going to be upset.” As soon as it’s out of your mouth you realize it could be taken as an overnight invitation, and while that wasn’t what you meant originally, you’re also not going to turn him away if he wants to stay the night. Apparently your old tendency to be fast-moving in potential relationships is back with gusto.

He smiles softly and nods, trying not to read into it, but he will be talking to you later.

Telling yourself you’re walking back to the main building at a reasonable pace, you know you’re racing when you bust in the back door and practically fling yourself into the kitchen as the waitstaff is bringing dinner out to the wedding party.

“There you are!” Sydney is rushing around, checking everything as she grins at you. “You disappeared on me.”

“Sorry.” In all honesty, you hadn’t expected things to go so well, and you were happily tucked away in a little vortex where time didn’t exist. “I lost track of time…talking to Marcus.”

“Oh!” She immediately stops and comes over to you. “How did it go?” She knows you’ve been worrying over possibly the most important conversation of your life.

Absolutely deadpan — or at least as close to it as you can get right now — you tilt your head at Sydney. "I'm firing your head server for interrupting us before he could kiss me."

“Done.” She snaps her fingers playfully. “Gone.” She insists. “Oh my god! He was going to kiss you! How did— so obviously he’s not upset, right? Unless it was going to be an angry kiss? But I don’t see Marcus being an angry kisser. Do you?” She’s rambling because she’s happy, ecstatic for you really. Now dreaming of a happily ever for you.

“It was definitely not angry.” Now that Syd is bubbling over too, you start giggling all over again. “We’re going to go out on Sunday, which means we’re spending like half the weekend together.”

“Half?” She snorts and shakes her head. “You mean all.” Holding up her hand she smirks. “Wedding Friday, you are going to attend and you know it.” She holds up one finger. “Then your birthday party.” She holds up another finger. “And now a date on Sunday.” She holds up three fingers altogether. “That’s all the days of the weekend, my love.”

"I will be working the wedding and seeing him for part of each day doesn’t mean he’ll want to see me all day." Even as primly as you try to present it, you know she's right, and the giggles boil over once again. "He's got the rose in his lapel and I can't wait for him to realize that it's the special kind that's been treated to last for years."

“And in return, he’s going to support you like you’ve never been supported before.” She snicker, beaming at you. Now that Sam is gone, she’s realizing how much more enthusiastic you are about the inn again. Like the zeal had been suppressed when you were with him. Or maybe planning this wedding is what has snapped you out of the funk.

“There was a dirty pun in there somewhere,” you observe, giving her a playful side eye. “Or maybe I just hope there was.”

She smirks and waggles her brows at you. “Are you needing a good romp, Birdie?” She asks playfully.

“Listen.” Wagging a finger at her, you blow out a breath and lower your voice, making sure no one else can hear you. “There nothing wrong with missionary. Nothing, as long as it’s done right. But a girl likes a little variety.”

“You mean you want your hair pulled while you’re railed from behind and he slaps your ass right above that dirty little tattoo and calls you his filthy, gorgeous little cum dumpster?” She winks wickedly at you.

Your deadpan expression comes back just long enough to tease her, and you put one hand on your best friend’s shoulder seriously. “Thanks for the insight into how my goddaughter was conceived.”

“You’re welcomed.” She snorts, laughing at herself. “I wel-cummed too!”

“Oh my Fuckin god.” Snorting, you turn away to grab your clipboard and try to compose yourself but are still laughing when you head for the door again. “Okay. I gotta back out there and pretend I’m not thinking about fucking that gorgeous man in the bathtub. Byyyyyeeee.”

“Byyyyyyyyeeee!” She afflicts the same tone you do and waves happily before diving back into making sure every dessert is perfect.

**

For a wedding that has been so fraught with stress, the rehearsal dinner goes perfectly. Dinner is delicious and by the end of the night, it’s obvious that Cameron and her soon-to-be husband are feeling both much more relaxed and more excited for their big day.

“Tonight is about you.” Marcus lifts his beer in a toast and smiles at them. “In two days, you will be married.” He chuckles. “And then I don’t want to see you in the office for two weeks.” He tells his agent fondly.

“She’ll be in good hands, I promise.” From the edge of the gazebo, you offer everyone a smile.

“You have planned everything perfectly.” Cameron smiles and stands quickly, walking over to hug you.

“It’s been my pleasure,” you assure her honestly, giving the very sweet bride a squeezing hug back. “I forgot how much I enjoy the hustle of wedding planning.”

“You have done such an amazing job. I would never know you didn’t do it all the time.” She promises you.

"I'm glad you're not upset to be stuck with second fiddle while Juan is out of town. I promise I consulted him every step of the way." The two of you exchange another hug as people start to get up from the table, all of them milling about and not quite ready to say good night. "You have a spa day tomorrow for your bachelorette right? Enjoy it."

“My mom is coming with me too.” For a moment, she looks like she’s going to cry again. Only happy tears though. “I can’t believe it.”

"Bask in that happiness, Joyce. You deserve it." Over the past two weeks it's become very routine for the two of you to check in with each other, and the text message thread you share has been as cram full of memes, music recommendations, and little affirmations as anything else. It's an unexpected start to a friendship, but a friendship nonetheless.

“I can’t believe Marcus called them.” Even hearing it from them again, she’s still in awe. Especially because they had changed their minds. “I just wish Michael’s parents would be here. That would make it perfect.”

"They might need a little more time to come around, but don't let that hold a cloud over your day." You squeeze her arms gently in both hands, prompting both of you to smile. "It's going to be a wonderful day no matter what. You get to marry the man you love. That's what matters."

“That is all that matters.” She smiles in that giddy, secretive way as her eyes automatically drift over to where her fiancé is talking with Marcus and her father. Looking a little more dreamy when she sees the man she will create a life with.

"Go on." Nudging her a little and grinning, you have to acknowledge that at least half your smile is for Marcus, but it's a private acknowledgement. "Have a fantastic day tomorrow and I'll see you Friday morning to start getting ready."

“I will.” She promises. “And when we come back, I want to take you and Sydney out to lunch. One that she doesn’t fix.”

"Deal. We'll want to hear all about the honeymoon anyway." As soon as you agree she's skittering off again, excitable and oh so ready to spend some time with her almost husband.

Somehow, Marcus has been talked into a round of golf with Cameron’s father and Michael tomorrow, although he’s not sure how that happened.

You don't butt in and don't eavesdrop, just quietly start clearing the table of dirty dishes and loading up trays with silverware and glasses to be brought back inside to clean. The party has already started slowly wandering across the lawn to the parking lot so you know it won't be too much longer before you can shut down and get upstairs. If Marcus is too tired after everything to want to talk tonight, you'll absolutely understand. It's not like you won't see him again in just two days' time.

Marcus says goodnight to everyone and looks around, finding another tray of dishes loaded up to take inside and he picks it up. Assuming you are already taking more back and he can help you clean up.

When he walks into the kitchen with a full tray to hand off to the dishwasher, your already bright smile gets impossibly bigger. “You’re a guest,” you remind him, lifting the tray from his hands and reveling in the tiniest touch of skin to skin regardless of how fleeting it is. “You don’t have to clean up.”

“And you shouldn’t have to do everything when I have two empty hands.” Marcus replies with a grin.

“As helpful as you are handsome.” Now that the line has been crossed — now that you can — flirting is probably going to bleed through into just about everything.

He doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that enthusiastic flirtation, so he just shrugs slightly, aware of how his cheeks are heating up. “I try.” Is all he can muster.

“Sorry,” you cringe for a second, realizing you might have stepped too far over that newly crossed line, and you bit your lip. “Too much?”

“No.” He shakes his head quickly, not wanting you to feel like you have done something wrong. “Not at all. It’s just—” he shrugs self-consciously again. “I liked it, a lot.”

“Okay.” The momentary pause with both of you smiling at each other like star struck idiots is broken by the sound of Sydney clearing her throat.

“Go,” she insists to you, even making a shooing motion with her hand. “We’ve got clean up. Go upstairs.”

“I— are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly, aware that Sydney is pregnant and has to be tired.

“I have tons of help.” Motioning around the kitchen before she shoos you again, Syd considers his concern for her an extra mark in his favor, but insists. “Seriously, go on. And don’t let her do any more work tonight. She’s been going nonstop without the benefit of a whole staff to help her.”

“I won’t.” Marcus promises, looking back at you. “I’ll make sure she does nothing but relax.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Sydney grins, throwing you a wink before turning back to the tray of things she was unloading.

He doesn’t know what all was said, but obviously there’s been a conversation between you and your best friend. “Do you want to buy a bottle of wine to take upstairs?” He suggests.

“Sounds perfect.” More than anything it implies that he wants to stay for a little while, and you’re very happy to hear that.

He figures that will let you relax; you can have some time to talk and then you can go to bed after he leaves. “Okay.” He smiles. “Any particular bottle you’re fond of?”

“I don’t know a whole lot about wine.” You had been trying to absorb whatever Sam had told you about a particular bottle or style, but it hadn’t been sticking well. “I’ve been sticking with sweeter wines, but if you have something you like I’d love to try it.”

“Sweet.” He decides it’s a perfect time to flirt back. “I’ll try to pick one that’s as sweet as you are.” He promises before he walks out of the kitchen to look at the wine rack.

"If you'll excuse me." Glancing over at Sydney, both of you grin at each other. "I'm going to go scream into a pillow about how cute that man is."

“Maybe you’ll scream into a pillow for a different reason.” She teases, throwing you another wicked wink. “Go get your soulmate, Tiger.”

While you absolutely would not mind, you don't think that's on the docket for tonight. Still, you smack a kiss on your best friend's cheek and head down the hallway to find Marcus coming out of the bottle room with a bottle of Riesling in hand. "Find something you approve of?"

“I think this will satisfy us both.” He hums, smiling at the sight of you. “Are you hungry? We could order something to be delivered.”

"I have the makings of an excellent charcuterie in my fridge upstairs, if you're interested?" While the wedding party ate, you picked minimally at a small bowl of salad and gotten some other things done, so a snack along with your wine sounds perfect. "If nothing there looks good to you, there are lots of places that deliver."

“I always love a good charcuterie.” Marcus admits, nodding easily. “As long as you are content. I notice you didn’t eat much and I’m sure you didn’t eat in the kitchen when you were running around.”

His caretaking tendencies are endearing, and since he had mentioned to you before that his ex wasn't a fan of them, you offer him a sincere smile. It's...sort of remarkable the way he notices things but you have to think that some of that comes out of his professional training. "You were supposed to be having fun, not keeping an eye on me," you chide gently as you walk together toward the elevator. Agent Bailey is keeping her distance but always present, trying to give you a bit of privacy while still doing her job.

“It’s hard not to notice a beautiful woman.” Marcus comes back easily. “Especially knowing what we know now, it’s impossible.” He isn’t going to rush you, not on the heels of a previous relationship, but he wants to get to know you. Learn more about his soulmate.

"That makes me feel slightly less self-conscious about always feeling like there's a magnet in my eyes whenever you're around," you admit. The elevator dings on the bottom floor, expelling two guests, and the three of you get in together once it's empty.

“I felt extremely guilty about how interested I was in you, from the very beginning.” He admits softly. “But I never would have said a word. That invitation to dinner was just a friendly invite.”

"That's all I took it as. And how I meant it when I accepted. It's just...that interest has always been there. For both of us, I guess." The ride to your apartment in the attic doesn't take long. It's only four floors, after all.

“Good. Soulmate or not, I don’t— cheating is not something I approve of or want to engage in.” He assures you. It’s not like being a soulmate would prevent cheating, there are still crappy human beings in the world.

"Cheating is really my biggest...I won't call it a trauma from earlier relationships, but definitely the issue that weighs most heavily on me. I absolutely do not and cannot condone it." The door to your apartment swings open easily and Agent Bailey steps inside to do her usual check of things before settling onto a chair by your door. Marcus has only been to your place once, but it's not exactly large so it's easy to see pretty much everything from the front entry. "My agents have free reign in my kitchen, also. Just...in case I never thought to mention that. I keep snacks they like on hand, and the coffee they like. Plus sometimes you might see a lunch bag or something on the bottom shelf. It's my home, but it's also their workplace, so I try to make sure they feel like they can be comfortable."

“That’s very nice of you.” He chuckles and glances at Agent Bailey. “I’m sure it’s appreciated. Sometimes eating during work is hard isn’t it?” She nods and he glances back at you. “Why don’t you go change into your comfy clothes and I’ll get everything?”

"There's platters and boards in the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator." On a more casual evening, you would have tipped your head back to kiss him, but something in your gut tells you that your first kiss with this man will be anything but casual and not to waste that little bit of magic. "I'll be right back."

“Take your time.” He smiles. “Agent Bailey can help if I need to find something.”

If it wasn’t the first time you’re spending time together like this, and if there wasn’t a Secret Service agent on hand, you might have gone into your room and found something slinky or lacy or otherwise revealing to put on. Slip into something a little more comfortable, as the movies always used to say. Instead, you trade your cigarette pants for a pair of yoga pants that you routinely sleep in, and trade the very tailored, carefully fitted blouse and push up bra for an old tank top that is soft on your skin and an oversized sweatshirt from Kings College, back when you were in London. The decision to wipe your makeup off and just be a bare, clean version of you is one you take very seriously. Some men expect their partners to be ‘on’ at all times and that isn’t you.

Marcus finds your kitchen to be small, but set up in a very easy to use kind of way. He follows your directions for the board, and opens the wine to let it breathe before diving into your fridge and small pantry to put together a board based off what you have. You were right, you have all the makings for an excellent board and he hums as he works.

It’s certainly less than ten minutes that you’re gone, but when you reappear again, Marcus has created a masterpiece of a board and fished two wine glasses out of your cupboard to boot. He looks so natural — standing there in your kitchen with his shirt collar hanging open and a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to twist slices of prosciutto into something resembling a knot or a flower — that it makes you downright emotional. In all the months you were with Sam, he had barely done more than fix you a cup of coffee.

Looking up when he senses movement, he beams at the sight of you all dressed down. Even more beautiful than you had been when he arrived. “How did you manage to do that?” He asks, abandoning the prosciutto to scoop up a wine glass and walk around the bar to bring it to you. “You look even better than you did when you walked into your room.”

“He prefers the casual look.” You beam at him, letting the heat in your cheeks burn the rest of your face as well. “Noted.”

“You are beautiful dressed up or dressed down.” He promises, smiling as he hands you the wine. “Go sit and I’ll bring the food over. The couch?”

“Perfect.” It seems like you’re saying that a lot, but your face is on fire with the compliment as you accept the wine glass from him and glance back at your living room. There are a few candles around just because you like the ambiance, and you quickly gather them to put out on your coffee table. When was the last time anyone had just…taken charge and spoiled you like this? Maybe years ago? Maybe never. It’s certainly not something Sam ever did — those situations always seemed to be you serving him and never about meeting in the middle or treating you. The realization stings, but only for a moment.

“I hope you don’t mind.” It takes him a second to gather up the board, his wine and the bottle, but he manages it before he starts to walk over. “I found a little bag of chocolate candies and I love having chocolate with cheese.”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re perfectly right about those two together.” The board he sets down looks like it belongs on the cover of a cookbook or a food blog, and it looks like he found your nearly-done jar of blackberry jam too, because there is a ramekin of it on the board next to some of your favourite sesame crackers. “This is…” It’s perfect, but since you keep using that word, you search for another. “It’s such an indulgence, and a beautiful one, too.”

He’s never described himself as someone who preens, but he definitely wallows in your praise just a bit. “I took a charcuterie board making class.” He explains. “I thought it would be a good date. Food, learning, wine. The date didn’t work out, but I enjoyed the class.”

“And you clearly absorbed everything they taught you.” Shifting over on the couch, you take the wine bottle from him and set it on a thick coaster before inspecting the magic he’s made of all the bits and pieces from your kitchen. “Thank you for this. I know you must be tired from traveling and everything, but I’m glad we actually have a chance to talk.”

“You’ve been busy too.” He reminds you softly, leaning over and nudging your shoulder gently. “Putting on a wedding in two weeks’ time with little help.” He huffs slightly. “I hope you know that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I called you for a favor.”

“I know it’s not.” The first sip of the wine you take is sharp and fruity up front, mellowing on your tongue and warming you through just seconds later. “But you wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important to you, and…you’re important to me. So I wanted everything to be perfect.”

He can’t help but give a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, covering it up by taking his own sip of wine. “I appreciate it, so much. You can see why it was important. Cameron— I guess I need to start calling her Joyce— and Michael are such good people.

“I wanted you to know you could count on me,” you admit, sitting forward to compose your first little bite. “And I ended up making new friends in the process.”

“I think that is probably the best part.” Marcus smiles as you pick and poke until you get the bite you want on your cracker.

A sesame cracker with creamy Brie and a little dab of Calabrian chili jam — not traditional, but an experiment of Syd’s — is first and you practically giggle at how well it all goes together. Even the sweet wine seems to be perfect with the spicy jam. “So…” The beginning of something like this, not that you’ve ever sat down to have a methodical chat with your soulmate before, feels important and intimidating. “Do you mind if we sort of lay things out in the proverbial table? Just kind of be open with each other going into this?”

“I think that would be the best way to handle things.” Marcus admits, hoping that the way you’ve phrased that isn’t some kind of ominous prelude of what’s to come. You surely wouldn’t flirt with him and then crush his hopes? He picks up his own cracker and puts a slice of very sharp cheddar and a fig onto it with a smear of the blackberry jam on top.

“We’ve already talked about wanting kids.” That day at Eastern Market has stuck in your mind, although you couldn’t have known then that it would become such an important topic for you. “And I…I’m actually looking forward to being married. To have a partner who is my confidante and my friend and my support as well as being along for whatever fun and mischief might come up in our lives. I just…my family means the world to me and the fact that I couldn’t see a future with Sam where we were equal partners in an equal marriage was one of the major reasons I knew it wasn’t going to work out.”

Marcus chews his bite, understanding what you are meaning. “So you are asking if I can handle the political, social spotlight and put up with the interferences that it might cause in our personal lives?”

“Partially.” You nod and go back in to build another bite. Serious conversations somehow always make you hungry, so this was a good idea. “I’m also asking if your dream or your future includes a wife who stays at home with the kids, because that isn’t a version of me that I have ever found realistic.”

Marcus laughs, shaking his head and reaching out to pick up a candy, offering it to you instead of eating it himself. “No.” He snorts. “God no, I’ve never had any dreams of having a wife at home to cook and clean, bring me my slippers or anything of the sort.” He assures you. “My parents both worked, my father was constantly traveling. My mother would sometimes work late. We had my family, family friends, babysitters to help her when he was gone. I know that this inn is important to you.” He stresses carefully. “What you decide to do, that is what I would want you to do.”

The chocolate drop is such a small offering physically, but the warmth is spreads through you to accept is something you can’t really describe. Marcus just puts you so at ease, even with small gestures. “I saw my father give things up to help my mother achieve everything she ever wanted,” you tell him honestly. “And while I know he’s happy, it isn’t what he dreamed of. And I’ve just always wanted to find a way to make sure my partner and I could both have our dreams come true.”

“My own dreams are pretty simple.” He shrugs. “I want an equal partnership. Kids. A healthy family dynamic where sometimes I have to take off work because the kids are sick, or you have to take them to work because I’m out of town. I like compromises.”

“Compromises are good.” The chocolate melts slowly on your tongue, mixing with wine and making you smile again. “I like traditions, too. Mixing your family traditions with mine and then coming up with some new ones all our own.”

“And I understand that for the next three to seven years, your family is….well, prioritized, for lack of a better word, and I’m okay with that.” He knows that there will be press obligations and holidays where you need to be present. He wouldn’t begrudge you that.

“You don’t mind Friday night family dinners, or a Secret Service detail, or the fact that people are going to feel entitled to know things about us or have opinions about us?” Sam had said he didn’t mind. And sometimes you thought he even basked in it a little, but the reality is that he doesn’t like things he can’t control. You just hope Marcus is willing to be a little more flexible.

“Do I love the idea of people judging our lives when they don’t actually know the details?” Marcus shrugs slightly. “No, but at the same time, I understand that it will happen. I’m not going to be upset at you for it.” He glances back at Agent Bailey who is comfortably sitting in a chair and trying to not listen in on your conversation. “Your detail is a necessary evil. I would never want you to get rid of them. I know the types of threats your family can receive.”

“My Dad’s already gotten a few.” Of course your mother has, but as the first female President she had expected that and has just handed the pertinent materials over to the Secret Service. “He just says it’s proof that Mom is a strong leader that some people also feel strongly against her. But that doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He can agree with that. “But some think that the sin of the mother, in this case…” he picks up a grape and offers it to you. “Are you worried I will hate it, or love it?”

“The attention?” Without even thinking, the bite of cheese and prosciutto in your hand instantly becomes his in exchange for the grape, like a reflex. Sharing easily and just instinctively giving things back and forth without worry. “I’m terrified that you’ll start to resent it and resent me by association.”

“Never happen.” He can promise you that with absolute certainty. “I am the son of a therapist, remember?” He teases lightly, tapping your nose. “I talk when things bother me. I don’t hide from them.”

“I’m the daughter of two lawyers, one of whom turned politician.” It’s impossible not to nudge toward him, the endearing little boop to your nose making you smile like an idiot all over again. “We’ll talk about it, but as soon as you’ve given me your opening statement I’ll have a cross-examination, a motivational monologue, and an emotional closing argument ready to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You do realize that I’ve got quite a bit of experience on the stand, right?” He asks, picking up another cracker and recreating your first bite to hold out to you. He had enjoyed the way you moaned over it.

“And if I remember correctly, you said you also debated at the family dinner table.” This time you spread some of the goat cheese from the board onto a piece of baguette and top it with a chocolate drop for him to try. “So I think we’re going to be just fine and the communication front.”

“I don’t foresee any grand problems.” He agrees. “But if there are issues, we talk and work them out.”

“I completely agree,” you even nod as you hold the bite out for him to try.

He takes the bite out of your hand, just leaning forward and eating from your hand. “Oh that’s good!”

The casual intimacy of the gesture and the slightly cavewoman-esque feeling of feeding and giving life being connected aren’t exactly things you expected to mix so easily. But here you are squirming in your seat and trying not to set on fire with it. “Damn it, Marcus,” you laugh despite yourself.

“What?” The question is innocent enough, but Marcus has enough experience to know what he’s doing to you. The slight smirk twisting his lips giving him away.

“You’re a tease,” you huff, pouting at him animatedly.

“I’ve been called that before.” He admits, picking up another cracker and putting together another little morsel for you as a peace offering. “Do you not like that?”

The slight snicker and smirk you have for him is good natured, and it turns into a wry smile. “I like it better when I’m allowed to climb the offending teaser like a tree.”

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks and he would be lying if his body didn’t immediately react. “Yeah?” His voice is a little raspy choking out the word. “You’d like that, huh?”

“I’m not planning on rushing you,” you assure him, but you still put down your wine glass. “You did just get out of a relationship.”

“As did you.” He points out, leaning back and staring at you, trying to gauge your position on this.

“I did.” It’s nearly a standoff now, but not in a hostile way. Just in a way where you’re both wondering who will break first. “So I’m not saying we should sleep together right away, but I still really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be completely honest?” Marcus asks, almost a little ashamed of even having to admit this.

“I prefer it.”

Reaching for your hand, he chuckles slightly. “I really want to kiss you too. And more….but I just flew in less than an hour before I got here.” He reminds you. “I’m afraid that I would not be at my best if we did anything tonight and I would like to make a good impression the first time.”

“That’s completely fair.” And actually makes you laugh a little. Not because you’re laughing at him but because it’s so human. “So we’ll come to it when we’re ready. And when we’re well rested.”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not interested, because I am.” He promises. “But I also don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of learning your body.”

“Well when you put it like that, I don’t want that either.” The smile curving your lips and cheeks is bright, though, and you set one hand gently on his knee. “If you need to go home, I’m not going to be offended.”

The hours that he’s been awake are starting to settle onto his shoulders and the half glass of wine makes him sleepy. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “I was supposed to be taking care of you and putting you to bed slightly wine drunk and relaxed.”

"I promise." A gentle squeeze of his leg is a small sign of affection, but a very real one. "You've taken care of me beautifully and this is the most relaxed I've felt in ages."

“Good.” He hums, pleased with that. It’s all he wants to do, to be a good partner and give you what you need.

"If you're already exhausted, you can crash here?" It comes out more like a question than you meant it to, but that's because you realize that you don't actually know how much he had to drink at dinner. Not that Marcus seems drunk to you at all, but everyone is affected by alcohol differently. And you don't want him on the road if he's sleepy and still a little tipsy.

Just the idea of it makes Marcus nearly yawn, sleep that much closer to being a reality. But he still has to protest slightly. “I don’t want to impose…”

"It's not imposing if I offer." You remind him, feeling the sweetness of the moment sort of float down over it like a warm blanket. "I can bring some spare blankets and pillows out here to the couch, or you can come snuggle up in bed with me. It's up to you." The fact is, it's late. And you have a wedding to put on in two days. So maybe it's not sleeping with him for the first time in the traditional sense, but it's definitely intimate in the kind of way that you want to be able to share with him. Either way, you still get to be near him.

“It’s a twenty-minute drive, but honestly I don’t know if I can make it.” He sighs. “I’ll sleep wherever you want me to. How does that sound?”

"I want you in my bed," you admit without apology. "But you deserve rest instead of a handsy girl cuddling next to you. So go use the bathroom and I'll clean up out here and grab you some blankets and a spare pillow. Do you have to go into the office tomorrow?"

Marcus huffs out a sleepy laugh, his battery rapidly draining now that he’s admitted how tired he is. “Worse.” He groans. “We have a seven AM tee time and then I have to go to the office.”

"Who are you golfing with at seven in the morning?" Lifting yourself up off the couch and starting to gather things up, you leave Marcus's wine glass with its last few sips for him to finish if he wants to. The current plan is to wrap this board up in some plastic and have the remains for lunch tomorrow.

“Michael and Joyce’s father.” He moans. “Michael asked me to join, thinking it would be a good buffer, given the fragile relationship.”

"It makes sense, but that's a hell of an early morning." When he follows you into the kitchen with both of your wine glasses, you smile at the padding sound of his shuffled steps. He's definitely tired. "So you golf, then?"

“Not particularly well.” Marcus snorts. “But I’ve had to learn since a lot of directors like to have meetings on a golf course.”

"My Dad used to take us mini golfing when we were kids." The two of you work slowly but in a good rhythm and get things put away easily. "Believe it or not, Junie is the one who really took to it. It's their bonding thing, and she goes putting as a stress relief thing. I vastly prefer yoga."

“I probably need yoga.” Marcus laughs. “But I normally just run.”

"You'd love my yoga class." You finish the last sip of your wine and set your glass on the side of the sink to be washed tomorrow. "I go to puppy yoga once a week."

“Puppy yoga?” That has Marcus both intrigued and confused, thinking that he’s tired enough to be having auditory hallucinations.

"A room full of grown ass adults doing gentle yoga poses with cute little puppies running around the room for the whole hour." When he hands over his glass you put it next to yours and take a quick inventory of things in the kitchen just to make sure that you're all set for the next day. "It's the most relaxing silliness you could possibly ask for."

“That sounds adorable.” He admits with a small smile. “And chaotic at times.”

"Best way to spend a Thursday night in the world." You reach out easily, rubbing Marcus's arm softly. "Go get ready for bed. I'll grab those blankets for you."

“I’m sorry.” He feels guilty, very guilty, that he can’t stay up all night talking to you. However, it’s technically five in the morning in London and he hadn’t slept much the night before. Just an hour or so, and then he couldn’t sleep on the plane. So he is just completely gassed.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Promising him that is easy, like promising the wind that you appreciate its breeze. "I get the feeling that you don't let a lot of people take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. So allow me to be the one person who gets that privilege. At least for now?"

“Can’t be disappointed when no one will if you don’t let them.” He’s so tired it pops out of his mouth without realizing he’s said it, his inner monologue gone.

The utter shock to your system is as much about the hurt in his voice as anything else, and in less than a heartbeat you're wrapping your arms around him to hug him more tightly than you probably mean to. This gentle, sweet, kind man just...put up his walls a lot closer to himself than most other people do to keep his heart guarded from the very worst hurts, and that makes you ache. "I'm sorry people have disappointed you before. But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Shit. “I didn’t mean to say that.” He sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t move away from the hug though, slightly leaning into it.

"I was going to do my best to take care of you anyway," you tell him, overwhelmed in the honesty of the moment. "The only difference is now you know I'm doing it. That's not so bad, right?"

“No.” He can’t deny you, not right now. “Thank you.” He murmurs quietly.

"Come on, honey." When his arms loosen after a few moments, you turn into his side to walk with him. "Let's get you ready to sleep."

“God, I’m sorry.” He snorts. “Think I’ve had…three hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours?” It’s almost a question and he can’t quite calculate it.

"That's alright. I'm just glad I didn't send you out onto the road this tired." You never would have forgiven yourself if anything had happened to him, so you're doubly glad that he agreed to stay.

Getting ready for bed is relatively quick. You give him a spare toothbrush and he cleans up quickly for someone so tired. Eager to sleep. Two extra blankets and a spare pillow from your bed make the couch cozy enough, and you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to get comfortable. "Good night," you hum the words, finding his sleepy state endearingly cute but not wanting to tease him about it. "Soulmate."

“Goodnight.” The good thing about Marcus is he can sleep anywhere. Your couch is far superior to the one in his office and he’s almost asleep as his head settles into the pillow. “My beautiful soulmate.” His eyes are already closed. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” He whispers.

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 4

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Family dynamics that contain debating as a method of communication, heavy familial expectations, changing relationships, talk of pregnancy and childbirth. Summary: A family dinner at the White House, a meddling best friend, and the mysterious case of the missing Congressman. Notes: Shout out to Keri for making me unexpectedly bawl about three-quarters of the way into this chapter. Thanks for that, babe. As usual, sorry for an errors I might have missed and thanks for reading!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

It isn’t unusual for a family to sit down to dinner together during the week. If you’re a busy family, living scattered about in different places, even a once-a-week dinner is worth scheduling. But when you’re the First Family, it gets a little complicated. The food is always amazing. That isn’t up for debate. And it is nice to actually see your mother when she isn’t surrounded by a swarm of staff or on a television screen. Alex and June are great too, when they aren’t being absolute pains in the asses. The only thing you’re hoping is that no one asks you about Sam at dinner tonight.

Family dinners always occur in the residence, around the long wooden table that is a substitute for the one you had grown up sitting around. No press, no phones at the table and the only interruptions that are allowed during this time is a matter of national crisis. Everything else can wait. It's why your mother is a successful politician while balancing her family, she gives everything its proper time. "So a little birdy told me that your inn is booked solid for the next few weeks." She looks over at you with a proud smile, aware that you work incredibly hard to make your vision, your dream, a success.

“Through April.” You nod, finishing a bite of food. The White House chef takes his chicken Marsala very seriously and it’s so good that you can’t get enough of it. “It never fails. People are always excited to see the cherry blossoms.”

“Will you still be able to attend the State dinner?” Although it was more a mandatory invitation, she would understand if you couldn’t break away. After all, she has a very demanding job as well.

“Of course.” Not aware that you had had any choice in the matter, you get smirked half-glances from your siblings that tell you they would try to get out too, if they could. “Although…I do have a question about that.”

She looks up from cutting her chicken, your father looking up from his glass of wine curiously. “What is that?”

“I know that it’s only a week away, so I am not asking for anything besides clarification.” Something about your parents’ reaction makes you feel like you need to say that out loud. Otherwise you might be up for one of your family’s famously endless debates. “Has the seating arrangement already been done so that all of us,” you motion to yourself and your two younger siblings. “Have a plus one?”

“Of course.” Your father has been the one handling the details of the State dinner and has meticulously planned the family seating arrangement. “Why?”

“Just double-checking. It’s the first State dinner, after all. I just want to make sure it goes smoothly.” It doesn’t matter that you were desperately hoping he would say no, or instantly offer to rearrange the seating chart if needed, or literally anything else that would get you out of having to have an uncomfortable conversation with Sam after barely talking to him at all the last few days. Maybe you could ask Juan to…Nope. There’s a rehearsal dinner at the inn that night. Shit.

“Good.” He smiles and gives you a knowing look. “I did not place Sam and you near too many political adversaries.” He snorts. “He won’t spend the entire night in a debate.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Dad. Thanks.” There is a solid chance Sam would prefer that over the stony silence between the two of you, but you can’t say that. Not with your mother at the table. It will turn into a full-blown debate over what has gone wrong in your relationship and how to fix it, and you don’t need your meddling siblings to have that kind of ammunition on you. “So,” you turn to them instead. “Alex? Junie? You guys have dates?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “I’m bringing Dave, since he wants to go into law school.” He huffs. “He wants to intern with one of the senators.” Junie just shrugs. “Not yet.” She murmurs, bored by the idea of the dinner at all.

“Dave gets to come to a State dinner?” Your brother and his boyfriend generally keep things under wraps, and it works well since they’ve been best friends since they were kids. Like the gay male version of you and Sydney except they became a couple. “That’s sweet, Al. Maybe he’ll actually get you to behave yourself.”

“Never.” He flashes you a grin, making your mother huff in exasperation and amusement.

“No potential guest on the horizon for you, Junebug?” Your father asks, looking to his youngest child on the other end of the table.

“I’m either going to have someone want to go so they can rub elbows with politicians and brag they went to the State dinner, or be completely bored out of their minds.” She shrugs. “So I don’t know if I want to ask anyone.”

“Is that even an option?” You’re really trying not to make it sounds like you’re hoping for a yes, but you are. To be told you can go solo would solve every single one of your problems at the moment.

“We cannot have empty chairs.” Your father shakes his head. “Junie, if you don’t pick someone, we will have to find a filler.”

“Do you want me to ask Dave to bring his brother?” Alex offers, always only helpful to the baby of the family. “Noah can dance, doesn’t care about politics, and you can bitch about college the whole time of you want.”

“Please?” Her eyes turn hopeful and she knows that will be better than some filler guest.

“You got it.” Alex grins and flashes that thousand watt smile at your parents. “See? Problem solved.”

“Thank you.” Your father looks relieved and your mother gives him a smile before cutting into her chicken again. “Happy to have that settled.” She hums.

Settled. Ugh. If you weren’t about to turn thirty, you would be pouting at the table. Instead you let discussion float by, as your father double checks that all three of you have your White House approved outfits for the night and you’ve managed to memorize all the facts and statistics on the Spanish royal family that were handed out by your mother’s staff.

The dinner moves on to dinner dessert and the dinner plates are changed for wonderful pots of chocolate lava cake, a back up dessert for the State dinner for anyone with a gluten intolerance or nut allergy.

“This is amaaazing.” June groans, ever the chocolate fanatic.

“It is delicious.” Your mother agrees. “Rich.” She looks over at your father. “You said this was gluten free?”

“Hard to believe isn’t it?” He laughed like he’s got some trick up his sleeve but he’s really just pleased. “Apparently this is one of the easier cakes to do with alternative flours.”

“Perfect.” She might be President of the United States, but she and your father were a team. “You did wonderful finding an alternative, honey.”

“You like the orange sauce with it?” Everyone’s anxieties are high for this first occasion and your father wants everything to be perfect.

“Perhaps offer a raspberry or strawberry?” She suggests, looking around the table for everyone’s opinions. “What do you all think? In addition?”

“It’s a little sweet,” you admit, hating to ever disappoint your father. But there is a reason you all have so many round table discussions in your family. “Maybe blood orange would offset the sweetness a little? And be a little more luxurious?”

“Ohhhh blood orange would be amazing.” Alex chimes in, nodding in agreement. “Balance the sweetness of the chocolate.”

“Oh my god yes,” June groans, already having mostly inhaled her lava cake and furtively peaking to see if either you or Alex is going to be willing to give yours up.

Alex snorts when he sees that beseeching look on his younger sister’s face and slides his lava cake towards her.

“This is what you should have for your birthday.” Junie tells you emphatically, digging in to what’s left of your brother’s dessert. “No question.”

“Why? So you can eat all of it?” Your brother snorts. “But-“ he looks back over at you. “What are you having at your party?”

"I honestly haven't thought about it." There's still a month left until your birthday so it hadn't even crossed your mind yet. "Maybe I'll just go to a Nationals game if I can get away from work. Who knows?"

“Oh honey, you shouldn’t do that.” Your mother huffs slightly and shakes her head. “Go to a Nationals game, sure. But you need to have a party.”

"Why?" It sort of feels like whining this time, but you have to wonder what her logic is. "Because I'm one of the First Kids? Because I'm turning 30?"

“Because you deserve a party where others cater to your wants and is about you? Celebrating my oldest baby’s birthday.” She implores, expression soft and loving.

If there is one thing your mother is annoyingly good at it, it's showering love on her children despite being busy. No birthday ever went by without acknowledgement. No success uncelebrated. No set back unconquered. "So does that mean you and Dad are going to throw it and all I have to do is show up?" It's highly unlikely considering how busy they are, but you have to try, right?

“Absolutely.” Her grin is positively smug, like you have fallen into her trap, which - you have. “Of course, we are not going to have it at the White House.” She rolls her eyes slightly. “But you just pretend it will be a surprise. I’ll let Sam know where to bring you.”

"I can't know where to go myself?" Since there's a chance Sam won't even be in the picture in a few weeks, you would rather just have her tell you. "And please don't make it some big, formal thing? If I get told to wear an evening gown to my birthday, I'm not showing up."

“Nothing formal.” She promises. “No ballgown, but a nice dress.” She compromises, tilting her head. “For pictures? Not official ones, of course.”

Regular negotiations with the President should make you eligible for some kind of ambassador position even as her daughter, and you tilt your head at your mother before making a full agreement. "Cocktail attire maximum, the music cannot be described as orchestral anything, and the fancier the venue is, the lower class the food has to be. Those are my conditions."

“Finger foods inside of an upscale tavern?” She poses, smirking slightly at the way you negotiate with her. Out of all the children, you are the closest to her personality, even if you don’t see it. “With specially crafted cocktails to celebrate your birthday? And a playlist composed of your favorites songs from each year?”

"I'll build a core list for the music. Because I don't trust Alex not to sneak Cotton Eye Joe or something into the mix." Like any good wheeling-and-dealing adult child, you have to get just one more compromise in there before sealing the deal. "And I will provide you with a list of friends I'd like invited outside of the normal group. Obviously I know you'll give the information to Sydney, Anna Leigh, and Issy."

“Deal.” She nods and looks very pleased with the situation. “Honey, I will plan this.” She promises, reaching out and patting the back of your father’s hand. “I want to plan it.”

"Along with running the free world, she's also a party planner." Your brother snorts, always ready to tease. "You know you can just hire Juan to do it, Mom."

“No.” She snorts and blows a raspberry at your brother. “It’s my baby’s birthday. I want to plan the perfect party to ring in thirty.”

"And somehow Birdie still doesn't get that she's the favorite." June laughs, throwing you a smirk before she rolls her eyes playfully at Alex.

“Now you know that is not true.” Your mother protests, rolling her eyes. “I love all of you equally.”

"Yes, Mother." Alex and June chime in unison, making all of you break into laughter at the same time around the table.

“Managing you kids is almost harder than running the country.” She grumbles, even though she’s grinning.

"We just wanted you to have a lot of practice before you got to the White House." You assure her, still laughing with your siblings. "Because being Governor of Pennsylvania was definitely not enough. Your children are the real test."

“Yes they are.” She agrees, laughing with all of you and your father. The truth was, she has incredible children that she’s proud of beyond measure. Often she tells the world that her best accomplishment has been raising the three of you and it’s not line to appeal to her core voters, she truly believes that.

"So, I have a logistical question." Satisfied temporarily with the amount of chocolate consumed in one dinner, June sits back in her chair with her glass of iced tea and proves once more than kids take more corralling than countries. "If the State dinner is next Saturday, does that count as family dinner?

Your father rolls his eyes and sighs while your mom narrows her eyes in thought and looks towards her husband for his thoughts. “What do you think, honey?”

"The purpose of Friday night dinners is to have a chance to sit down together as a family and catch up. Enjoy each other's company. Celebrate the week's small wins." It's what they had agreed on years ago when this tradition had been born. "So by that logic, I would say no. Since we won't be sitting around enjoying each other's company while the king and queen of Spain are visiting." He narrows his eyes though, in a way that definitely speaks to how long your parents have been together. They have identical expressions right now. "Why, Junebug? Did you make other plans?"

“I—” she falters for a moment and then shrugs. “There’s a party I wanted to go to, but I don’t have to go if my presence is required.”

Your parents exchange a glance, that decades-long nonverbal communication at work for not the first time today. "Why don't we have dinner a little earlier?" You father offers. Compromise is always the name of the game in the First Family. "If we have dinner at six instead of seven that night, will that give you enough time, kiddo?"

A partial victory counts, so she nods. "That would work. It would give me plenty of time to be annoyed at my security detail."

"Sounds like a plan." Your mother smirks, relieved to see that none of her children have tried to give their agents the slip yet. She had expected it from June, if she's honest. She's definitely the most independent and the most rebellious.

"Wish we didn't have to have them." She pout slightly, even though she had known this was part of the deal. She hadn't expected it to chafe so much though, if she was honest. She have been very innocent in believing they would just a vague shadow.

"I'd rather have you annoyed by their presence and be safe, than let you go without them and have something happen to any of you." It's non-negotiable, you all know that, and your mother is frankly very glad that it comes with the office. Trying to make sure all three of you are safe without the Secret Service? No way.

"I know." She doesn't have to be happy about it though. "I just— wish the world didn't suck so badly sometimes." She murmurs quietly.

"Here here." Alex nods, knowing that all the different ways the world sucks have affected him in ways the rest of the family hasn't experienced on their own. Everyone may tout their belief in soulmates loudly, but he can't even go out and hold his soulmate's hand without risk. If anything, he's grateful for the Secret Service agents that have been assigned to make sure he stays safe.

"I know that you are disappointed that I haven't been able to push through the soulmate resolution yet." Your mother is addressing Alex, but she shoots him a reassuring look. "But I know that it is close." She looks towards you. "Sam has been a strong voice in the fight to approving the resolution." She praises. "You should be very proud of him."

Mom, you’ve only been in office a month. No one at this table expects you to work miracles.” You steadily ignore the remark about Sam, feeling like your blood pressure is rising a little every time he gets mentioned tonight. “The Resolution is a really good piece of legislation and it’s only a matter of time before it gets passed.” Looking to your brother, though, you offer him the proudest smile you can manage. “And then this pain in the ass can have the White House’s first ever gay wedding. One for the history books.”

Alex snorts and shakes his head. “Hell no.” He huffs. “I don’t want a stuffy White House wedding where I have to invite every dignitary I know. I’ll leave that to you.” He hums with a smirk.

“I’m not getting married anytime soon so what does it matter?” An awful lot of people have been very invested in your future lately and it’s grinding on you to the point where you shoot back a reply without even thinking of it.

Your father’s brow shoots up, surprised at the tone you had used and he glances at your mother, a silent look passing between them.

The silence at the table is ringing, and you put down your wine glass as delicately as you can manage. “What?” You ask, looking around the table but not willing to apologize for being cranky. “I’m not engaged, am I? It could be years before I settle down.”

"Nothing." Your mother shakes her head and smiles at you. "Things will happen in their own time." She councils softly. "You don't have to adhere to anyone's timeline but your own."

“Right.” The best you can do is sit back and have the decency to look a little sheepish, but you can feel the question marks in the eyes of your family members all watching you. It is massively uncomfortable at best.

"Okay." Alex senses something is wrong with you, that you want the subject to change so he claps his hands. "So, I have a question." He recaptures his parents attention. "Do we have to dance at the State dinner?" He asks seriously. "Because you know Dave has two left feet and I can't be embarrassed like that."

“You can dance with your sisters,” your father offers, sensing the same thing as his son. “Or with your mother, or the queen? Or any of the young men there, if you want to end up above the fold of the Washington Post.” It’s purely teasing, of course, since anyone who knows Alex knows he is only in the closet publicly.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Nahhhhhh." He waves away the idea. "I don't want to have to hire a PR manager this early in my life." He jokes. "It would drain my savings."

"I guess we'll all behave ourselves." June observes with a wry smile.

"That would be extremely appreciated." Your mother hums, smiling at all of you. "I know you all have busy schedules, but I am so glad we can still get together."

It's Sunday before the dress arrives at the inn for the State dinner, and you and Sydney were enjoying a rare afternoon off together when Malachi lead the worried-looking White House staffer around to the back porch of the inn to let them hand it over to you in person. Sending them off again with your thanks, you push out a sigh. "I haven't heard from Sam in almost a week," you admit when your best friend fixes you with an inquisitive expression.

"Have you reached out to him?" Sydney asks, frowning as she holds the passion fruit tea she has been obsessed with over the last few days. "He might be embarrassed and unsure of how he will be received?"

"I sent him a text yesterday asking if we were still on for our plans tonight, but...nothing so far." Making plans ahead of time had been a definite strength for the two of you before now. But since Valentine's Day? Communication has been non-existent.

"Have you tried his office?" It's not like Sam to just blow you off, so she wonders if he's been caught up in meetings.

"I—" You blow out another breath. One that feels like defeat. "I'm afraid of calling and having Vanessa pick up," you admit. It feels stupid but you can't help it. "The idea that she could be feeling chatty and say something about Marcus just...I know that's stupid."

"Have you tried to text Marcus?" That's the next question is the most obvious one to take the conversation. If you aren't in contact with Marcus or he hasn't responded to you, that could be why you are feeling like a duck out of water.

"No." That idea makes you shake your head sternly and reach for your drink. The covered porch and little space heater is nice for sitting in the sunniest hours of the day, but you still made yourself a cup of hot coffee to sip while you sat with Sydney. "No...I mean...he probably hates me by now."

"I don't think he would hate you." She's already making an note to have Juan reach out to Pike himself. Maybe take him out for a beer and feel him out on the situation. "You cancelled a causal invite to dinner, you didn't cancel taking him to the State dinner."

"I can't even think about the dinner." Your fingers drum on the box beside you, knowing the dress inside is beautiful but not wanting to face the reality of how uncomfortable the night will be. "If I don't have a date I have to tell my father as soon as possible and I'll get stuck with a million questions and a seat filler."

"Then you need to call Sam." She huffs. "Even if he's fuming at you, I doubt he would miss the State dinner."

"I know, I know, I know you're right." But you don't really want to call him. If it's been almost a week and he's effectively ghosted you? That seems like a pretty clear signal to you.

"Babe....you need closure." The bags under your eyes aren't doing you any good, despite the sleepy time tea that she had been sending to you. "If you are ending things with him, you need to be an adult about it."

"Ugh." You groan, letting your head tip back so the sound drags out dramatically. "Stop making sense and giving good advice, it's interfering with my denial and the reconstruction of my emotional walls."

She laughs, although it's not really funny. She knows where you and it's a shitty place to be. Sighing softly, she picks up your phone and holds it out to you.

"I hate you." Even muttered good naturedly, you still snag your phone from her hand and clutch your coffee mug like a security blanket. Sam's office number is programed into your phone and you squeak with combined fear and frustration as the call connects and begins to ring.

"Congressman Chase's office." Vanessa's voice comes over the line cheerfully and professionally. "How may I be of assistance today?"

Don't be a coward, you remind yourself sternly, as soon as you hear her voice. "Hi Vanessa." Saying your name clearly eliminates any assumption that his staff might recognize your voice, even though you know a few people absolutely do. Some of his staffers like to chat to you while you wait for Sam to come to the phone when you call his office. "Is Sam available?"

Her use of your last name is merely one of respect, choosing to keep things professional with the Congressman's girlfriend. Slightly confused because you are calling for him at the office. "Did he not tell you?" She asks, her voice lower than the usual chipper tone.

"Apparently not." There is no way you're going to fess up that Sam hasn't spoken to you in days, or returned even so much as a text message. Now you're concerned something might be going on.

"The Congressman has been sick all week." She only knows how bad it is because he had spend the first few days trying to work through it. "He has pneumonia." She huffs quietly. "He's been barely reachable but I had though the would have at least let you know."

He's sick. You barely manage to swallow a sigh of relief at that news, and only because you know how inappropriate that would sound to his aide. "I hadn't heard the official diagnosis." It's as smooth a lie as you can muster at the moment, and you cling to your warm mug all the harder. He's sick. That's why he hasn't called. "Thank you, Vanessa."

"Of course." She's confused, but she also knows that the medication the doctor had prescribed him was to help him rest since he had been trying to push himself. "Anytime."

The groan of relief comes only after you disconnect the call, and you deflate into yourself in your chair. "He's sick," you tell Sydney with a groan. The heel of one hand digs into your closed eye like you're trying to banish a headache but it's really just that you feel the pressure releasing from your mind. "He has pneumonia. He's been out since the beginning of the week."

"Okaaaaay." Surprising, but honestly, it's not? Considering it's Sam and he's pretty direct about things. It's one of those traits that Sydney admires about him. "That's a very valid reason for not texting or calling." She admits. "That's a good thing, right?"

"I'm not thrilled that he's sick, but I'm very relieved that he didn't just ghost me. He sleeps like a rock around the clock when he's sick, so he's probably just passed out at home." The one other time you had seen him with a cold was several months ago, and it seemed like he had slept for three days straight before springing back up on his feet like nothing had happened.

"He didn't just ghost you." She grins at you, even though you are still conflicted about Sam, the fact that you are relieved by this means there's something there. "Do you want me to whip him up some chicken noodle soup to drop at his doorstep?"

"Do you want to go upstairs?" When the two of you actually get the chance to cook together it's always fun, and this sounds like the perfect opportunity. You didn't have a dinner plan anyway. Chicken noodle soup for two is easy enough. "I did my grocery shopping this morning so I know I have everything. And..." you pat the dress box beside you. "I should hang this up. I don't think velvet wrinkles but I still don't want to take a chance."

"Absolutely." She sends you a smile, happy that you look relieved and like a weight has been lifted off your chest. "We will have Congressman Chase cured with our famous chicken noodle soup in no time."

Juan had taken the afternoon to go for a ride around the Virginia backroads so it's just you girls right now and that sounds pretty perfect. You gather up your things and nab Agent Bailey, heading upstairs to get to work and try to ease your mind a little. "I do still have a problem," you point out, when the elevator hits the top floor.

"What's that?" Sydney frowns, looking at the screen that shows the floor you are on. She really hates elevators, but this helps her mitigate that fear that the damn thing would plunge into the basement like all those action movies she had watched as a kid.

The doors slide open and you let her out first, stepping up behind her to unlock the door and let the three of you inside. "Now I definitely need to find a new date for the State dinner."

"Oh shit." Sam can't attend the State dinner with pneumonia, it would be too great of a risk. "Well, I can have Juan escort you." She had plans to have dinner with her parents and reveal the name they had chosen, but this was important and she could reschedule.

"Honey, no." She's been excited about the dinner with her parents for a week already and it wouldn't be fair to take Juan away from that. "You guys have family plans and I'm not going to ruin that. I'll just...think of someone else."

"Malachi?" She offers. "He would look good in a tuxedo."

For a split second you get excited about the idea, but you sink again as you readjust the dress box on your hip. "I need him here that night." You tell her, groaning about it. "We have that six-person reservation that needs a translator. Malachi is the only one on staff who speaks Hindi fluently."

"Fuck." The fact is there aren't a lot of men that can just be called up last minute to look good in a suit and be cleared to be in a roomful of the world's top dignitaries. Unless... "I have an idea and you're going to hate it." She promises as you open the door to your apartment. "Give me your phone."

"I trust you with my life but I do not like that tone in your voice." Still, you hand over your phone with confusion on your face and start to unpack the burgundy velvet evening gown that was altered to fit you perfectly. "Please don't call any of my exes."

"I am not calling any of your exes." She promises you, opening the phone with a code and opening your phone book. It's easy to find the number that she is looking for, because you are a stickler for putting numbers in properly and hits call, changing the phone to speaker so you can hear it ring.

The call rings three times before it connects, and even if Sydney hadn't been angling the phone away from you so that you couldn't see the name, you're pulling the dress out of the box when you hear the unmistakable "Hello?" on the other end.

Suddenly you're standing straight up and glaring at your best friend – your former best friend – for this ultimate betrayal. "Marcus." Your voice cracks when you say his name and you just want the floor to open and swallow you up. "Hi. How— how are you?"

"Oh, hi." It's obvious that he's confused as to why you are calling him on a Sunday, but he doesn't hang up the phone. "I'm good, how are you?" He asks politely, actually sounding like he is interested in the answer.

"I..." You sink down on your bed, letting Sydney continue to hold your phone, and hug the dress to your chest. "I'm calling for a couple of reasons," you decide. Now that you've been confronted with this phone call, it all sort of comes tumbling out. "I wanted to apologize, first. For being vague on rescheduling our Indian dinner last weekend, and then taking off like the Wicked Witch was after me when I saw you the other morning. I've...it's been a weird week. And that was rude of me. So I apologize."

“I understand.” Marcus gives a rueful chuckle. “I’ve had a bit of a weird one myself. My phone has been broken three different times in the past week alone.” He snorts. “And half my contacts and messages have been unrecoverable according to the techs at the store.” He sighs. “So if you send me a message or something and I didn’t answer, I promise I wasn’t ignoring you.”

The I told you so look on Syd's face causes you to throw a pillow at her and you shake your head as though he was in the room with you instead of over the phone. "I texted you once about rescheduling dinner,' you admit. "But...I have a slightly different suggestion, if...if you want to hear it? And I would consider it an enormous favor."

It’s on the tip of his tongue to decline, but he is curious to hear what this favor is. “Hit me.” He tells you with a slight chuckle. “But not too hard. I have to work tomorrow.”

"I promise I'm not capable of punching through a cell phone." It's easy to talk to him. So easy. And it lulls you into a momentary false sense of security as you sit back on your bed. "But...I have a plus one to a State dinner for the Spanish royal family on Saturday night and I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party at the White House?" It's such an insane thing to ask a person that you almost feel like it's an out of body experience, but there it is. It's out in the open. There's no taking it back now.

“I-“ Of all the questions he tries to anticipate, that was not it. He frowns slightly, wondering about the congressman, until he remember that Vanessa had said he was sick with pneumonia. It’s likely him being sick has put you into a frenzy to find someone to go. Not the reason he would like to have dinner with you, but he wants to view you as a friend and this will be a friendly, public event. “Sounds like I need to get my tuxedo to the cleaners.”

"Oh my god, you're a lifesaver." The air whooshes out of you all at once and you fall back onto your bed with a gigantic sigh. "I will come and pick you up myself, the food is going to be amazing, and you can rag on me with my pain-in-the-ass siblings all night. I can't say how grateful I am, Marcus. Really. Thank you so much."

“It’s a honor that you even considered me to escort you” Marcus tells you truthfully. “I’ll be exited to go and I promise to keep the ragging to a minimum.”

"You've earned the right, I promise." You blow out another breath and manage to sit up but solidly ignore the smug look on your best friend's face. "I'll text you the details, if that's okay? Is your phone situation all worked out?"

He laughs quietly. “Hopefully so. All I know is that it is never a good idea to set your phone on the roof of the car when the rookie is driving.” Marcus snorts. “If I don’t get a message by tomorrow, I’ll call you. Sound good?”

"Sounds perfect." Quiet for a second, you take your phone out of Sydney's hand and smile, the smallest twitch of the thing in the corners of your mouth. "Thank you, Marcus. I owe you, but I promise we'll have fun."

“Don’t even worry about it.” He promises. “Well, I hope you have a great rest of your weekend, okay?” He asks. “And tell Sam to feel better.”

"I will." Passing that message along might be slightly strained, but it's the thought that counts. Thanking him again, you press the red button on your phone screen to end the call and groan so loudly that Agent Bailey sticks her head into the room just to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. "I can't believe you did that!" You squawk, throwing a second pillow at Sydney. This one hits her square in the shoulder where the first one missed.

“But tell me it wasn’t worth it?” She challenges, throwing the pillow back at you. “You have a date for the State dinner and you learned that he wasn’t ignoring you either.” She folds her arms over her chest and looks at you with a smug smile. “Come on, what other problems do we need to solve? World hunger?”

"Go to Friday night dinner in my place if you want to work on global issues." You snark playfully. The fact is, you know she's right. Annoyingly so, actually, and right now you're still processing.

“Maybe now you will get some sleep.” She huffs, still smug that everything was working out. “You’ve got a dress, a date and I’ll even have one of the wedding stylists that owes me a favor come do your hair and makeup.” She hums. “I made a special dinner for her and her boyfriend for Valentine’s.” She explains.

"What are you, the Romance Fairy?" Dragging yourself off the bed, you carry the dress over to your closet and carefully hang it up where nothing bad could ever touch it. The garment bag that it's in will help make sure of that. "Come on, we have soup to make."

She doesn’t mention that the State dinner isn’t supposed to be romantic. She just grins and follows you. “Yes ma’am, Hummingbird, ma’am.”

"Oh god, don't call me that around him." This, in particular, is an incredibly stern warning. At this point you're just grateful that the Secret Service use your callsign quietly enough that they're not overheard when they say it. "I'll die of embarrassment."

“I won’t.” She promises, aware that you aren’t quite ready to address that particular issue.

“I just don’t even want to think about that.” You don’t want to, but you have been. Rather constantly, which is a growing issue.

“Let’s just get you through the State dinner and your birthday.” Syd suggests. “Then you can let that big brain of yours work overtime on non-issues.”

Throwing Sydney a look of dismay over the last of your coffee, you pout animatedly. “I debated terms of my birthday with my mother at the last dinner.”

“And?” Sydney almost laughs at your look and turns away to start rummaging through your fridge for the ingredients for the soup. “What was negotiated?”

“Cocktail. High end pub, finger foods and a DJ.” You shake your head and huff a sigh. “I said I should just go to a ball game, but that was unacceptable.”

“It’s hard to run security for the president at a stadium.” She reminds you. “And your mom would want to be there.”

“I just…” Looking back at Sydney, you cross your arms and shrug. “I don’t think I have all that much to celebrate this year, I guess.”

“You have a lot to celebrate.” Your friend will always hype you up and she does so now. “You have your health, a successful business with your best friend.” She cheeses playfully at you. “Your mother is the president of the United States and….” She shrugs. “You’ve hit your dirty thirties. We have to celebrate.”

“I can’t exactly have dirty thirties when my mother is the president.” You throw your arms around her again and squeeze her shoulders, grateful for every second you have Sydney by your side. You’ve been each other’s ride or die since first grade and that will never change. “And you’re pregnant, so you already got dirty.”

“I did.” She snorts with a wicked grin. “And I enjoyed every second of it, too.”

“Perv.” You really can’t help but tease her, but it’s purely out of affection. “It’s just because you’ve got your super sexy soulmate. The Triple S is undeniable.”

“He is sexy.” She can’t deny that, grinning wickedly as she rubs her stomach. “And getting sexier. Did I tell you he’s starting to get sympathy cravings? Dad bod mode is close.”

“Your wildest dreams are all about to come true.” The two of you giggle together as you start to pull ingredients out of the fridge, getting started on cooking that batch of soup.

“So, do you feel better now?” Sydney asks, organizing the vegetables and opening the drawer for the carrot peeler. She had helped you set up the kitchen to her specifications so she could easily find what she wanted when she cooked here.

“A little.” It’s relief more than anything, as you start to peel fresh ginger. It’s the secret ingredient to your best ever chicken noodle soup. “And then I feel guilty for it, which is fucked up. Like I think Marcus might actually enjoy himself on Saturday just for the bragging rights and then I immediately feel bad for thinking that.”

“Why do you feel bad?” She cocks her head as she peels the outer layer off the crisp, orange carrots. “I think most people will enjoy themselves just for bragging rights, it’s brag worthy.”

“Promise you won’t judge me and promise you won’t tell anyone. Not even Juan.” Holding your pinky finger out to her is the most solemn promise you can possibly as of your friend, and neither one of you has ever refused it.

“Of course.” Juan knows everything you are comfortable with, but she would never betray your trust like that. She hooks her finger around yours and looks at you for an explanation.

“I…” Glancing around, you see that Agent Bailey has dutifully slipped out of earshot and is sitting on your couch with a crossword book firmly in hand. “I feel guilty because now that it’s set…I can’t help wishing it was a date,” you admit quietly, hanging your head turn.

“It kind of is a date.” Syd admits, looking at you with a sense of regret for teasing you. “A platonic on, but a date nonetheless.” She hums. “Just like you and I have dates. Friend dates.”

“That…regrettably…is not what I mean.” The best you can really do is shrug your shoulders in defeat. “Friend dates are awesome and I will take you on dates for the rest of our lives. But I—I wish this was different than that. And it sucks.”

“You can’t help attraction.” She argues softly, knowing that you will still feel guilty. You are very stern about cheating, and this is veering into emotional territory for you. “He might not- it should just be about the dinner.”

“I know.” Peel ginger. Grate ginger. Try not to think too hard about what Marcus will look like in a tux. “I know. You’re right.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs softly. “I shouldn’t have pushed.” She feels guilty, especially now that she knows how you are feeling about this.

“How could you have known? I’ve kept this as firmly to myself as I possibly could.” And keeping things from Sydney is the most impossible task in the world for you. “Besides. He was the right choice.”

“Still doesn’t make me any less sorry.” She huffs, washing the carrots and bringing them over to the chopping board. “I don’t want you to be stressed, I want you to be happy.”

“I’m going to be stressed until I make a decision about what to do.” Once the ginger is done you move on to washing and slicing celery. “And I don’t know how to make that decision.”

Sydney sighs heavily. “I hate that for you.” She admits softly. “If you need to talk, you let me know.”

“What does Juanito think I should do?” You know her well enough to know that she’s talked to her husband — her own soulmate — about this at least a little.

“Juan thinks that you should be happy.” She hums softly. “Whatever that entails. As long as you are fair to everyone.”

"No groundbreaking advice?" If you're honest with yourself, you were kind of hoping for it. Instead, you're definitely floundering.

Sydney stops chopping and points the tip of the knife at you. “You know what he would say, Birdie.”

Ugh. That's true. You do. Juan is unfalteringly trustworthy like that. "That I have to talk to both of them..."

“Even if Marcus isn’t your soulmate, you are attracted to him, and it’s worth seeing if he might be the one you want to be with.” She shrugs, knowing that it’s easy to give advice when she’s found her soulmate and is blissfully happy. “Or it might just say that Sam isn’t the one.”

"Have you noticed a pattern?" Even as you're making the soup, going through effort and putting care into a dish to comfort and heal, a pattern is becoming as obvious as daybreak.

“I have.” She nods and looks back up at you. “Have you noticed that pattern? Or have you just been ignoring it?”

"I think..." A heavy sigh escapes you as you deposit the clean, diced celery in a bowl. "I might have been ignoring it."

“It’s okay to admit that a relationship has run its course.” She reminds you. “Sometimes, things just aren’t meant to be.”

"It's just...no version of this conversation we've had in the last few weeks has ended with the conclusion that I should stay with Sam. And that...that is not how I ever expected things to go. He's such a sweet guy and we've had such a good time." Just as unexpected as this conclusion is the tear that rolls down your cheek, and you brush it away immediately. "It's shitty to break up with someone while they're sick, right?"

“I think you owe him a face to face explanation.” She doesn’t tell you that it’s wrong, if that’s what you want to do. She’ll support whatever you want.

"Shit," you groan, reaching next for an onion. Sydney has trained you to be a dutiful sous chef for so long that now you just do her prep work without thinking. "This is going to suck, isn't it?"

“It doesn’t have to.” She counters. “You said Sam’s reaction was….surprisingly hostile. Maybe he’s had some doubts about the relationship too.”

"If he was hostile about the fact that I was standing my ground, he's either going to be hostile about being broken up with, or just completely silent." Sam doesn't take rejection well, you've seen it in a more professional setting but it will certainly apply here.

“Was he hostile?” She asks seriously. “Or were you both in unknown territory and stubbornly waiting for the other to give in?”

Groaning animatedly, you bump Sydney with your hip at the counter and shake your head. "Sometimes I truly dislike how well you know me. I'm just saying that out loud for the record."

“You know you love me.” She snorted and blows a raspberry at you playfully.

"I do love you." But it garners another groan from you all the same. "This was so much easier when we were kids and our life plan was to live in a castle until we were old enough for a nursing home, and then to be the super weird old ladies on the front porch of the home cursing at people as they walked by."

“We are still on for that.” She jokes, motioning to the apartment. “We are in our castle right now.”

"Technically we can go to an American castle any time we want," you point out. "It comes with the price of visiting my family, but the White House does count as a castle."

“Yes it does.” She agrees, proud to know the first family so well. “But I like our castle better.”

"I love this place." From the first day you set foot inside the inn, you have absolutely adored both working here and even running the place. Living in the caretaker's apartment has been comforting. Like a warm hug on a cold day. "And I love that we get to share it."

“There is no one I would rather do this with.” She tells you honestly, so excited to be able to live out the vague dreams of college now as adults.

"You're gonna make me teary again," you complain, fully teasing her but definitely feeling a little emotional about the whole situation.

“I thought it was my job to be the emotional mess.” Sydney sniffles and moves to wrap her arms around you and squeeze tight.

“Sympathy mood swings.” That makes both of you laugh, there at the counter. “Is that a thing?”

“Why not?” She asks, laughing herself at her husband and best friend having sympathy symptoms of her pregnancy.

“It is now, I guess.” You keep working through the soup prep side by side, getting everything ready in unison. “The thing is…” you hum after you’ve both stopped laughing. “I do care about Sam. And I want him to be happy. I just…don’t think I’m going to be the one to give him the future he wants. Which sucks to realize.”

“It’s better that you realize it now.” She rationalizes. “Less heartache and it’s not like you’re married with kids.”

“And we haven’t started moving in.” That’s an unexpected relief, and the realization that it was moving in together that kicked at your doubt is something you’ll have to grapple with later. “I probably only have a couple of things at his place and the only thing I’ve got of his here is a book I borrowed.”

“And….” She sighs. “Let’s face it, Sam wasn’t happy with you spending all your time at the inn.” She voices. “He rarely wanted to come here, even though he’s the one that can more easily travel.”

“Have you been holding back on me, Badillo?” You raise an eyebrow at her as she works on the chicken. “Hiding the things about Sam that have been bothering you?”

“No.” You don’t seem very surprised. “Just observations that I have made, but I wasn’t sure how you would take them.” She explains. “You were very proud of your relationship with Sam and I didn’t want to influence you unduly.”

"I was." And you can acknowledge that firmly, knowing that the relationship you forged with Sam was based on respect and mutual affection. It does feel like failure to see it ending, but at least you tried. Failure is just a means for new growth, as your mother has always told you.

“I know you look at this as a failure.” She’s known you way too long to think otherwise. “But this was a year long relationship that at the end of the day- you weren’t on the same page.”

“I think it would feel very different if I wasn’t sure it was going to end up talked about in every gossip column from sea to shining sea.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, knowing — and hating — how true it is. Junie isn’t dating and Alex isn’t dating publicly, so all eyes are on you. Especially if you break up with a Congressman.

“Don’t let it bother you.” She urges you. “It’s not like they can say anything bad.”

“Tell that to Princess Diana.” You huff, shaking your head and rolling your shoulders to try to straighten out your head a little. “Okay. New topic. Baby name? I’m dying to know what you guys picked.”

She smiles, rubbing her stomach in that universally happy way all expectant mothers do. “Constance Maria Badillo.” She lights up as she tells you the name they had finally decided on last night.

“Oh, honey.” There’s a measure of delight in your giggle when you light up, finding out those two essential pieces of information all at once. Sydney and Juan had been keeping both under wraps. “It’s a girl? Really?”

“We just found out.” She admits, grinning like a maniac. “Of course, baby Badillo could have just been shy but they are pretty positive she’s a girl.”

"You must be thrilled." Of course Sydney would be happy no matter what the gender as long as the baby is healthy, but you know she's always dreamed about having her little girl.

“Over the moon.” Agreeing happily, she turns back to the chicken. “And Juan and I have talked about it.” It’s a casual beginning. “We want you to be her Godmother, as well as Auntie Birdie.”

"Syd." Your knife gets put down immediately and you turn to her with a look of complete awe on your face. "Are you sure? You don't want to ask your sister? I mean I am honored and one thousand percent here for it."

“No.” She shakes her head and her own tools are set down so she can address this properly. “There is no one that we want more than you.” She explains. “You will always be my choice for godparent.”

"I know I've said it before in our lives, but I am here for anything you need." It's not just for Syd, and you lean down and hum a happy hello to your goddaughter that's growing like crazy. "That goes for you too, kiddo. Hear me? Auntie Birdie's got your back. And your front. And all the other bits of you forever."

“You are going to be her favorite.” Sydney sniffles, her hormones making her cry happy tears. “The one she confides in when she can’t bear to tell me or Juan and I love you for that.”

“I hope so.” Wrapping your best friend up in a hug is exactly what this moment needs, and the sound of two women sniffling takes over your kitchen for just long enough to make both of you break out into giggles. “She’s going to get the best of me and I’m going to tell her about all the stupid bullshit we got into as teenagers.”

“Oh god, you better not.” Sydney groans, rolling her eyes. “Nothing she can throw back in my face when she’s angsty and argumentative.”

“Nothing that will put you in Mom Jail,” you tease with a wink. “Promise.”

“Thank goodness.” She snorts. “This one is already gonna have her daddy wrapped around her finger, so I’m gonna have to be the bad cop.”

“It will go back and forth. One day she’ll do something that makes Juan crazy and you’ll be the arms that she runs to.” It happened in your own house more than once, there’s no reason it won’t happen in hers, too. “It will all turn out. She’s going to have the best parents in the world.”

“I hope so.” She shrugs slightly, aware that they will make mistakes, but hopefully it won’t be too bad to make their daughter hate them.

“You have love,” you remind her with a gentle smile. “Have a little faith, too. If nothing else, we all believe in you. All your friends and your family know you’re going to be great.”

“We will have our little village for Constance.” She agrees. “So when we mess up, we can learn.”

“For Baby Badillo number two,” you tease, beaming at her.

“Juan is already asking how many more I want.” Sydney snort, huffing slightly even if she’s grinning. “Told him that he needed to let me birth this one first before we decided that.”

“One at a time is probably best. For your body and your sanity.” Although, you do raise an eyebrow at her. “Twins don’t run in your family, right?”

“Not that I know of, but Juan thinks some cousins might have twins.” She winces and shakes her head with a laugh. “I’ll kill him.”

"Fingers crossed that you only have to grow one baby at a time." With everything prepped, you move to the sink to wash your knives and fetch your best stock pot from the cabinets. "But I will spoil the hell out of all of them, no matter what."

“I know you will.” She knows what despite your already busy schedule, you will always make time for those that matter most to you. Which is why it’s so telling her that you and Sam have been spending less and less time together over the last few months.

“So…” Flashing Sydney a grin as she starts to cook, you move back to the refrigerator to put things away and to get fresh drinks for both of you. “Two questions, then. First: Have you picked a godfather? And two, if I’m her go mother does that mean I get to throw your baby shower?”

"I'm letting Juan pick out the godfather." She admits, shrugging slightly. "I don't- he's got some ideas, but he hasn't made a final decision yet."

“Most of his friends are fathers already, aren’t they?” The Guy friends that Juan had made in the DC area since moving east after meeting Sydney are all responsible men around his age and most of them have families of their own. It’s a small group, it they’re tight knit.

"Yeah....except that, now, Juan has started thinking that he wants someone that is...." She rolls her eyes, "trained." She huffs and moves over to wash her hands again. "You know how involved he was with beefing up security here, he wants a protector for our little girl in case something happens to us."

“Well…that’s not unreasonable, right?” Spying a can of croissant dough — a cheat you’re very fond of — in your fridge, you grab it and decide to fill them with Nutella and berries for a little dessert pastry. “I mean he’s got friends who are trained. Be able to pick someone.”

"I know." She sighs and turns back to you. "I just hate that he's so practical about it." She admits, biting her lip again. "I don't want to think about us not being here to protect her."

“Then try to think of it like he’s choosing someone who can help her learn to protect herself,” you offer instead. As she grows up and faces new things — whatever those things are — her godfather will have been there to teach her self-confidence and safety in equal measure.”

There's a moment where Sydney thinks about what you said and how it applies to the situation before she huffs out a slightly annoyed, mostly amused laugh. "How do you do that?" She grumbles. "I was ready to be in a tearful pout about that you have to go make it perfectly acceptable." There's no heat to her words and she flashes you a grateful smile. "Thanks."

“We’ve been friends for twenty-five years, Sydney Rose.” The grin you flash back at her in unapologetic. “If I don’t know how to talk you out of a panic by now, I’m more clueless than I thought.”

Pursing her lips at you, she doesn't try to deny it. Instead, she turns to rummage in your spice cabinet. "Do you have that turmeric I left up here last time?"

“It’s behind the huge mason jar of chili seasoning.” You tell her without looking up from your dough-chocolate-and-berry project. “Indian spices are in the back because I fucked up the last time I tried to make curry from scratch and they were taunting me.”

“Poor thing.” Sydney sympathizes and shrugs. “We just need to realize they put something extra in their recipes they won’t tell us.” She hums, talking about your favorite curry from your favorite restaurant that you had cancelled on Marcus going to.

"Some kind of magic that I can't wrap my brain around." There were strawberries in your fridge that you're now set on cleaning and trimming. A crescent roll filled with a dollop of Nutella and a whole strawberry is a thing of beauty. "I should just eat their take out every week for the rest of my life instead of trying to make it."

She smirks at you but doesn’t remind you that you would have had some the other day. It would be too cruel. “How about we order some Sunday?” She suggests. “Decompress from the State dinner?”

“That sounds amazing.” The gratitude you have and have always had for her friendship truly is never ending. “You can tell me all about dinner with your folks and we can get chaotic with each other over curry and Scrabble?”

“Sounds like we are party-ing.”She teases, although she loves it. Low key nights are her favorite.

“And all the sparkling apple cider we can stand.” If she’s going to tease you, you’re going to tease her right back. “By the way, I asked Mom to make sure my birthday has a mocktail so you don’t miss out on the fun.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” She beams at being included and tilts her head. “So how was the family dinner, besides the avoidance of Sam talk?”

“Alex is bringing David to the State dinner. Under wraps, of course.” Syd has known your family so long that she knows every inch of your siblings’ lives as well, just like you know hers. “Junie is learning to negotiate to be able to go to parties, so I know I’ve done my job as her big sister right.

“Your brother should be able to take any fucking body he wants to the State dinner.” She rolls her eyes and huffs, offended on behalf of your younger brother. “If foreign dignitaries don’t like it, fuck ‘em.”

"He can. It's not like the Spanish royals have a 'no gays' policy or something, and gay marriage obviously isn't the issue. It's that he doesn't want to become the center of an unnecessary debate. He is who he is, and I'm so proud of him for making his choices." Glancing over at her, you shrug slightly. "That being said? I get not wanting to be thrown into the spotlight for who you love."

“Of course you do.” It’s kind of a double-edged sword in her opinion, the political spotlight. You could be a darling of the media one day and the scapegoat the next, just depending on how the mercurial whim of the people shifted.

"It's one thing that Sam didn't seem to mind, and I was grateful for that." In no way are you going to start bad mouthing the man just because you've reached the finish line of your relationship. That's not the kind of person you are.

“I know, but I also know that dating a presidential candidate’s daughter during an election isn’t exactly bad press for a politician.” She holds up a hand. “I’m not saying that’s why he dated you, I’m not speaking ill, I’m just stating facts.”

"If he actually wants to be President, he needs to get used to having the Secret Service being around real fast." You snort, shaking your head and knowing that it really has been one thing bothering him pretty constantly. "He hates feeling like his privacy is being invaded."

“It might be because he’s not in control of the detail.” She guesses. “You have the final say on the detail and where they are.”

"Either way, I don't think he'll miss having an agent in his living room." There are plenty of strawberries, so you offer one to Syd and pop a small one in your mouth to savor. "Maybe I just won’t date during my mom’s administration. Maybe that’s the solution.”

“You like having a partner though.” She argues. “And you shouldn’t give up dating because of who your mother is.”

"It might just be less complicated." It's not what you want but it would certainly save you some heartache. "What's the worst that happens? I'm single for the next eight years?"

“Already counting on that re-election?” She teases, bumping your hip playfully.

You huff, swallowing a half-laugh, and bump her back. "More like pondering my worst case scenario."

“Whatever happens, we will be with you.” She promises with a grin.

______

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[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 6

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* It's break up time, kiddos! Patrick Jane can fuck right the hell off. Jammed up wedding plans, mention of a fire. Two nerds flirting naked. Summary: In the aftermath of the State dinner, there are decisions and plans to make. But nothing else is quite as big as the favor Marcus needs to ask of you. Notes: Sometimes grand gestures are the friends we made along the way...or something like that. 🧡

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

The buzzer rings past midnight, cutting through the quiet music playing in the bedroom with an angry hiss. It makes the clink of a wine glass on a coaster and the slap of a paperback novel on wood seem very definitive, along with the footsteps that pad out into the living room to hit the buzzer. "Yes?" It's the polite way of asking who the hell is at the door this time of night.

“Hey.” Marcus leans against the intercom, bow tie undone and his jacket discarded. He had been dropped off at his house and immediately grabbed his keys to leave once more. Needing to talk to her. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “Can I come up?”

"Marcus!" Vanessa's surprise is obvious, but she still hits the button on the speaker panel to let him up without hesitation. "Sure, of course. Come on up."

The door clicks and Marcus opens it, pausing for just a second before he enters the building and makes sure that it closes behind him. Knowing that he is doing the right thing. That it is what’s best.

As usual, it takes four minutes for someone in the lobby to get upstairs to her apartment. Vanessa is in the small kitchen beside the living room when the knock comes on the door, and she steps over to the door to pull it open. "Look at you all dressed up," she hums, seeing that he's still wearing his tuxedo. He looks exhausted, but handsome. "Come on in. How was the dinner?"

“It was good.” He doesn’t want to tell her that it was life changing, but it was. Even as hurt as he was when finding out that you were aware of the connection between you, he had realized one key thing. He is not a man who would be able to continue a relationship with Vanessa in good conscience. It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair to be stringing her along when he was pining for you.

"Just good?" That seems a little too simple, especially for someone as usually verbose as Marcus, but she doesn't push. Her own night was...complicated, and it's good that he came over. "Do you want a drink or anything?" Vanessa offers, motioning toward the kitchen. He's only been here once, but he knows she keeps the apartment well stocked. "Wine? Coffee?"

“Coffee, if you don’t mind.” Marcus shrugs slightly and follows her into the small kitchen. “It was long.” He admits. “The names and faces have kind of blurred together, if I’m honest.”

"State dinners are hundreds of people. I would be surprised if they didn't." Coffee for two seems like a good idea, and she pulls two Nespresso pods out of the cannister by her machine and takes two mugs off the rack under the cupboards.

“The food was good, open bar – though no one got sloppy, and more security than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Marcus chuckles, moving to the small dinette table and pulling out a chair.

"Do any of the faces still stand out at all?" She has something she wants to talk to him about but she's going to hold off until the coffee is ready and they can sit down and talk like reasonable people.

“Spanish royalty?” Marcus snorts. “An award-winning chef.”

"Did you actually get to meet the royals?" Never having been to a State dinner herself, she hadn't been sure if that would happen. So when she brings two cups of coffee and the container of creamer from her fridge over to the table, she's actually interested.

“Actually.” Marcus huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I was in the receiving line with the family and the President, like I was supposed to be there and not just some friendly favor.” There’s not a tone to his voice beyond amusement, he’s working hard to make sure of that. Because in a sense, he did belong there. Feeling guilty because of him technically dating Vanessa right now. Which is why he’s come over.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Vanessa takes a sip of her coffee, steadying herself from everything that has happened tonight. She had planned on calling Marcus in the morning, but…well, he’s here now. “And actually, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, trying not to sound foreboding.

“Me too.” Marcus busies himself with making his coffee, trying to gather the right words now that he’s in front of her. It had been so clear in his mind when he was at home, on the drive over. Even when he was knocking on her door, but now he feels like an asshole for wanting to break up just because he knows who his soulmate is.

Not one to draw out the process, or to make it overly flowery, or even to embellish it unnecessarily, Vanessa sits with her legs crossed at the small table in her kitchen and straightens her back and shoulders for the clarity of mind it gives her. “I think we should see other people,” she pronounces clearly, letting there be no mistake or hesitancy in her tone.

Marcus pauses, his eyes shooting up from the spoon as it swirls around the cup and he drops it. ���I…see.”

“Not because of anything that went wrong,” she clarifies right away. Just because she’s dumping him doesn’t mean she wants to hurt him — Marcus is a sweet guy. He’s just not her guy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on doing this tonight.”

“No, um, that’s okay.” He’s also quick to reassure her. “I think that we both knew that it wasn’t permanent.”

"I think it could have been," Vanessa admits. She clutches her coffee cup in both hands, holding onto the warmth for reassurance of her own. "But I...found my soulmate."

“That’s…” Almost amazingly coincidental but he doesn’t say that. “Amazing.” He hums, almost reaching out to take her hand, but he doesn’t. Feeling a little relieved but also picked last again if he’s honest. Never quite good enough, not even for you. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you. Do you want to tell me about it?” He knows that sometimes soulmates like to keep their discovery a secret and he wouldn’t pry if she didn’t want to talk about it.

“It was kind of an accident,” she admits, complexion reddening with a pleased blush. “And I haven’t even said anything to him yet. But now that I know who it is, I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

“I get it.” Marcus smiles and reaches out this time, touching the back of her hand in a friendly gesture. “I hope that you have that dream life you want.” Just because he wasn’t her soulmate, doesn’t mean that they hadn’t discussed dreams, hopes for the future. “I wish you the best, truly.”

"I hope you find the best girl in the whole world who will give you everything." Squeezing his fingers back gently, Vanessa offers him the most heartfelt wishes she possibly can. Marcus deserves the world. He's a good guy and a good partner and she probably wouldn't be doing this at all if she hadn't found her future tonight. "You deserve to be happy, and I hope you find that soon."

“Thanks.” He smiles, knowing that it’s what he’s supposed to do right now and glances at the clock in her kitchen. “I better go.” He decides, not even having taken one sip of his coffee. “It’s late and…” he trails off, the silent continuation of his comment fading between them. He’s not her soulmate and now he’s not even dating her, so he has no reason to be at her apartment so late.

"I'm glad you came by." Breaking up with him over the phone had felt a little cowardly, and she's glad to be able to have seen him face to face one more time. If nothing else, it feels more respectful.

“Yeah.” Marcus stands and picks up his coffee cup to move over to the sink. It wasn’t quite how he pictured this conversation going, but he isn’t going to protest when she is clearly on the same page he is.

There is something of a stalemate at the door, and if Vanessa were more of the hugging kind of friend, she might have offered one. She might also have expressed that they could stay friends, but that seems futile. It is entirely likely she’ll never see Marcus Pike again despite them living in the same city. But she does wish him well one more time and say a polite good night. After all, she knows she did the right thing.

“Goodnight.” Marcus flashes her a grin and steps back, waiting until the door closes and he hears the security locks being latched before he walks towards the staircase.

Sunday is rarely a work day for you, and thankfully today is a very usual Sunday. Agent Sisson is still here when you get up, not having slept very much after the State dinner from all of the thoughts whirling around in your head. Aside from your little outburst, you had a fantastic time. Marcus is the perfect date and had even charmed the rest of your family. The brooch that he gave you is sitting securely in your jewelry box to be worn at the next possible opportunity. Everything is good.

Except you have about a hundred messages on your phone when you finally pick it up after getting out of the shower to get dressed for the day. A dozen different people have texted you, your social media accounts are going haywire, and you even have a missed call and voicemail waiting for you.

The knock on your door is quick, opening just as quick as Sydney pokes her head through the door. “I’ve brought Danish.” She calls out.

“Come in! I’m getting dressed!” A favourite blouse and comfortable jeans will do for today. Nothing over the top, just a day to relax with your best friend and get a few things done. Syd is always fun to do your weekly grocery shopping with. Deciding to check your phone afterward — it’s probably just people wanting to know how the dinner went — you quickly get dressed and shove your phone in your pocket to come out into the kitchen. “Good morning sunshine.”

Danish isn’t the only thing that she’s brought, although Agent Sisson has already snagged a blueberry lemon muffin and a chocolate bacon croissant and refresh the coffee in his cup before retreating back to the couch. “Good morning to you, princess.” Sydney throws you a grin. “That’s your new nickname. The Times called you ‘First Royalty’.”

“Oh god.” The groan she gets from you is immediate, and you huff as you reach for the iced soy hazelnut white chocolate mocha that Sydney brought you. “The Times wrote about me? Really? That seems…I mean there was actual royalty there.”

“Apparently you and Marcus made a splash.” She snickers, showing you the copy of the newspaper she had made Juan run out and get copies of. She actually made him get all the papers, just to see the pictures of you.

“Ohhhhh no…” It’s above the fold of The Washington Times. The Post has it in a collage of photos just below the fold, since they had the decency to put the President, King, and Queen above the fold. The Washington City Paper has it front and center with no regard for the important guests of the night whatsoever. In every single paper, you’re right there in Marcus’s arms: being dipped low with beaming smiles and dreamy expressions on both of your faces. First Princess and Mystery Man Sweep State Dinner: What Will the Congressman Say? asks the City Paper and you drop into the nearest chair with a groan. “Oh, this is so bad…”

She winces and shrugs slightly. “In your defense, it’s just a dance.” She huffs. “If he’s so upset about a dance, that’s just unreasonable. It’s not like you were making out with him.”

“But I wanted to.” You slump over with your coffee clutched in two hands and huff loudly, knowing you sound ridiculous as you groan again. “Syd…he has my appendicitis scar…it’s not just theoretical anymore.”

“You saw your scar?” Her brows wing up as she tries to figure out how you had seen his stomach in some innocuous way.

“No, no, god no. Can you imagine? That is what would have ended up in the papers.” The papers. Ugh. “He mentioned having scars from his soulmate and his childhood all mixed together, and when I asked him about it a little later in the night he pointed to the exact place where my scar is and made a little jagged swishy motion with his finger exactly like my scar.”

“So he’s your soulmate.” She nods, having been more convinced of it than you had. “What did he say when you told him?”

“I didn’t.” A fact which makes you cringe completely. Mostly in shame. “I convinced myself on the spot that I shouldn’t tell him until I’ve broken up with Sam. Plus, ya know, he’s still dating Vanessa. So there’s that. If they’re happy then I don’t want to fuck things up for him at all. He doesn’t deserve that.”

She blows out a disappointed raspberry and rolls her eyes. “God, really?” She snorts. “I – are you scared?” She asks seriously. “I’ve never seen you hesitate this badly in your life. Not even when Bobby Brasino dared you to jump off the bridge when we were in ninth grade.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve been grateful that she can pretty much read your mind, but you flop backward in the chair and have a sip of your coffee with a deep sigh. “I’m terrified,” you admit finally, but point one stern finger at her. “And that was a very small bridge. Plus, Bobby Brasino was a dick and he deserved to be embarrassed in front of the whole football team. I stand by that.”

“You had bigger balls than Bobby Brasino.” She laughs. “I would say that you still do, but babe…” She reaches out and takes your hand. “How upset would you be if the roles were reversed?” She asks. “If he suspected for over a month that you might be his soulmate and never said a word. Wouldn’t you be hurt? Upset?”

“I would want to know why.” You can readily admit that. Wanting an explanation isn’t too much to ask. “But as long as he had a good reason I wouldn’t be too upset. And I spent the last month agonizing over wanting to be with him or talk to him every single second, so I think that should earn me back at least one or two points that I will inevitably be losing for being a fraidy cat.” Reaching for the pastry box in the middle of the table, you pull out a peaches and cream Danish and flick your eyes back to Sydney. “And…I think I came up with a plan last night. Or at least half a plan.”

“Tell me your plan.” The fact that you plan on doing something is a good thing and she picks up the blueberry Danish she had been craving.

“I’m gonna need Juan for this one, but I think it’s going to work.” Even though the breakfast she brought is absolutely perfect, it’s less important right now than telling her what you’ve been thinking. “I’m going to go over to Sam’s today and end things. No more scaredy cat procrastination. And then I’m going to mine Juan’s knowledge for all of Marcus’s favorite things and put together an actual, big grand gesture. He talks so much about meet cutes, and true love, and romantic gestures…I think he deserves to be on the receiving end for once.”

Syd hums, impressed with the idea and she is happy that you are willing to woo the agent. The man that Juan thinks is perfect for you, because he is. “I think that’s perfectly plausible.” She agrees. “Have you talked to Sam?”

"Not yet. I woke up, took a shower, and then you got here." The coffee she got you is amazing and it's already half gone, giving you a little caffeine and sugar buzz to go with your determination. "But it needs to be today. I don't want to have to fight with him about these newspaper headlines for no reason."

“I don’t think he will fight with you.” She hopes he doesn’t fight, not when you have no control over the media’s headlines. Of course they sensationalized a moment to sell papers, he should know that. It’s just heartwarming instead of scandal, which the world needed more of in her opinion.

"I'll get called a few names, probably. But at this point I might deserve it, I don't know." You shrug slightly and chew a large bite of pastry before sitting forward at the table again. "Everything he said last night...all the things that line up so well between us...I just...I want to make sure that Marcus knows he's worth having a fuss made over him. I mean, he told me how he got his ex-wife to go on a date with him and that man seems like he is all about the grand gesture."

“How did he get her to go on a date with him?” She’s curious and takes a sip of her decaf tea, wishing it was the coffee that you hold in your hand. Eager to hear some juicy details as she picks up a croissant and nibbles on it.

"According to her, playing guitar and bass wasn't enough to make him a real musician." The heavy way you roll your eyes shows how much you disagree with that, but it's clear that this particular woman had strong opinions. "So he learned violin, taught himself Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, and played it for her. Then she agreed to go on a date with him."

“Holy shit.” She whistles, having heard about how difficult violin concertos are, and she wasn’t even that close to someone who plays.

"See what I mean?" Your eyes light up as it seems to click in her head as well. "Grand gesture. It's the way to go."

“It seems like it might be the best thing.” She nods, taking another bite of the pastry and humming. “Juan thinks so highly of him.” She admits. “When he finds out that he’s your soulmate? He’s going to be over the moon.”

"He's having dinner with us, right?" Sydney's husband was going to spend the afternoon running their own errands and seeing some friends before the three of you sat down to dinner together, and now it seems all the more important. "My Mom called Marcus handsome, by the way. Right off the bat. I could have burst into flames in embarrassment."

“Well, babe, he is handsome.” She points out to you, like you aren’t aware of that fact. “Not has handsome as my husband, but I might be a little biased.” She snorts. “Although they look like separated at birth twins.”

"They really could be brothers," you snort, amused at the thought. "Can you imagine? If they were separated at birth or something?"

“That would be amusing.” She grins. “If they are, I vote that Marcus’s parents are my real in-laws.” She jokes, having a tumultuous relationship with the widowed Mrs. Badillo.

"Are you sure?" That has you raising an eyebrow at her over your coffee. "His mother is a psychiatrist."

“Has to be better than Juanita.” She snorts, still amused after all this time that Juan’s name was chosen after his own mother’s.

You huff, but still smile and shrug a little as the last sip of your coffee disappears up the straw. "If I ever meet her, I'll let you know."

“You don’t believe that All-American Marcus Pike isn’t the type to bring his soulmate home to mother?” She teases, pegging Marcus for exactly that.

"Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean this no longer ridiculous and now totally justified crush I have on him is actually requited." Do you hope it is? Of fucking course. But you would never expect it. You still believe in the right to make your own choice, and that goes for Marcus, too.

“Are you kidding me?” Sydney jumps up and grabs the newspaper again. “Do you see this?” She demands, shaking it in front of your face. “This is Disney Princess shit, man!”

“I don’t want to expect anything of him.” It’s a clarification, though, and you still take the paper from her and cradle it in your hands like something precious. “I swear I almost kissed him after that dip,” you tell her with the dreamiest, softest sigh. “I don’t know how I controlled myself, honestly.”

“Juan would have been dragged into a coat closet.” Sydney agrees, grinning wickedly.

“If we were both single?” You throw one hand up in a sort of resigned dismay. “You would’ve found him here when you brought breakfast this morning.”

“Too bad you weren’t single.” Sydney pouts. “It would have been cute to see Marcus blush when I ask him how does it feel seeing that tattoo on someone else for a change.”

“You’re awful.” The burning is in your cheeks, not Marcus’s, and you swat at your best friend futilely even as both of you erupt into giggles. “Maybe one day. But not yet. That’s just…I really don’t expect him to just fall into my arms or anything. I just want to make sure that he knows he has a choice.”

“That man wants his soulmate.” She groans, shaking her head at how absurd you are at times. “He wants to love and be loved. His soulmate? He will think your fart rainbows.”

“I do fart rainbows,” you tell her solemnly, adopting as sage a fine as you possibly can. “I’m adorable and medically concerning that way.”

Sydney snorts and rolls her eyes as she tosses a napkin at you. “Yes, you are a modern miracle.”

“My Mommy says I’m a national treasure,” you snort, erupting into giggles all over again.

“Oh God.” Syd cackles and throws her head back. “Nic Cage is gonna want to steal you now.”

The two of you are cackling uncontrollably at the table when your phone starts to ring. It takes a few seconds to dig out of your pocket, but the image of Sam’s face taking up your phone screen is fairly sobering. With the gut instinct that this can’t possibly be a happy phone call, you reach over to squeeze Syd’s arm and wait until she stops laughing to answer. “Hello?”

“Good morning.” His voice is rough, raspy with the obvious rawness that illness brings. “I need to apologize. I only realized what day it is today.”

“No, you’ve been sick. There’s no need to apologize.” He sounds strained and still ill, but not angry. So that’s a bonus. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could go back to bed and sleep.” He admits with a small laugh that turns into a cough.

“Then that’s probably what you should do.” It feels like a special kind of asshole move to just dismiss him, and that’s not actually what you intended to do but it’s what it sounds like. “Do you have food in the house? Medicine? All of that?”

“I actually do.” Sam sounds a little confused by your question. “Didn’t you drop off some medicine and soup?” He asks.

“I did, yeah. And I asked Vanessa to keep an eye on you, but I wasn’t sure how fast you would go through what I brought over.” It was a week ago, after all. You glance over at Sydney and chew your lip, wondering if doing this on the phone would be cowardly.

“Thank you.” He pauses for a moment and coughs again. “It looks like the dinner was a success.” He starts tactfully. “I’m glad that being sick didn’t leave you without an escort.”

There it is. You bite your lip just a touch harder, steeling yourself for the conversation, and shift at the table to sit forward. “It was better to bring a friend than to spend all night with a staffer I’ve never met before. I’m sorry you had to miss it, but it’s good that you’ve been able to rest.”

“I would have been horrible company.” Sam can acknowledge that, even if he’s not too pleased with how the picture on the front page looks. “I slept most of this week when I was thrown out of my office.”

“You were highly contagious and needed rest.” This is exactly the kind of conversation you anticipated having with him — the insistence that going easy on himself is essential to the healing process and that his staff was right to send him home. “Nobody wants an international incident because the King of Spain caught pneumonia on his visit to America.”

“That wouldn’t be a good thing.” Sam admits, although he would have been a little more settled if that picture wasn’t splashed over the front page. The headline was inflammatory, but he knows you and your feelings on cheaters.

“It’s…” Reaching for Sydney’s hand to steady yourself, you squeeze her fingers and swallow your nerves. It’s already past time to do this. “It’s good that you called, actually.”

“I know I need to apologize to you.” Sam murmurs softly. “I was out of line on Valentine’s Day. Would you let me make it up to you? Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sam…” squeezing Syd’s fingers a hair tighter, even your eyes squeeze shut this time. “I was going to talk to you about this last week, but that turned out to not be an option. I think…” Come on, breathe. You can do this. “I think it’s fairly clear that we have different visions of our futures. It’s…I think this isn’t going to work out.”

The seconds tick by and Sam is silent as he absorbs your words and processes them. “I….see.” He’s hurt, slightly upset that you have chosen to end things without a real conversation and over the phone, but he doesn’t say that. “Well then, I guess dinner is out of the question.” He attempts to be lighthearted but the words come out hurt. There’s a flash of an incoming call and he pulls the phone away to see who is calling. “I’m sorry, I have another call coming in. I—I should let you go. Take care? I’ll call you later?”

“Of course. I still want us to be friends even if we’re not together. And I have a few things of yours to return to you.” It isn’t much. A lent book, a sweater, a scarf of his that he said brought out your eyes. “And—I am sorry, Sam. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Of course.” Sam clears his throat. “Goodbye, Birdie.” He clicks off the line quickly.

All you can do at that point is put down your phone and groan quietly. You let go of Sydney’s hand and rub your face with both hands, shaking your head the entire time. “I shouldn’t have done that on the phone,” you sigh after a second. “I just got so anxious when he apologized and asked me to dinner — I almost said yes.”

“I’m sure it will be alright.” She comforts. “I didn’t hear any yelling, so it doesn’t seem like he was angry.”

“Worse than that,” you sigh and let your forehead hit the table with a soft thunk. “He got quiet and cold. Which means he’s very upset.”

“Of course he’s upset.” Sydney will always be on your side, and boost you up. “You’re amazing, for one. Two, he loves you. Thirdly, he probably knows him being a dickhead on Valentine’s Day caused this. And fourth…” she doesn’t have a fourth point so she just shrugs. “Did I mention you’re amazing and a hottie?”

“I love you, too, Syd.” Turning your head to the side on the table, you huff at yourself for a moment before straightening up. “I guess we can cross driving to Maryland off the list for today. Do you still want to go food shopping with me? I think there’s going to be extra sweets in this trip.” Even though you’re the one who did the breaking, breaking up still sucks. And it’s going to require chocolate.

“Of course!” She grins at you. “I’ve already told Juan; I’m craving macaroons now.”

“We’ve moved on to a fancy craving! You must be ecstatic.” It’s just a little tease, but you can feel a little of the tension slip away almost immediately. “Agent Bailey should be here for the shift change in a few minutes. I’ll throw on some shoes and we can go to the market when she gets here?”

“That works.” She smiles and wonders if you are planning on calling Marcus today, just to keep in touch while you plan your grand gesture.

You stand from the table but pause to look at the papers again, smiling with a touch of relief as you look over the photos of you and Marcus dancing together. “I have to admit…we do look good together.”

“‘Atta girl.” She belts out a laugh and takes her last sip of tea. “You go get ready and I’ll poke through your cabinets to see what you need.”

“I have a list, but check my spice cupboard and make sure I’m not out of anything you consider mandatory.” Quickly arranging the papers on your table, you snap a photo and send the text off to Marcus.

To Marcus: In case you haven’t seen the papers today, we seem to have made a splash.

Marcus is sitting in a moderately comfortable chair, drinking subpar coffee to try and keep himself awake so he doesn’t miss the announcement. When his phone digs, he looks down at it and hates the way his heart flutters when he sees that it’s from you. Smiling slightly as he replies: It seems as if the press corps was enjoying themselves. I’ve seen that video running through the news cycle…First Princess.

I’m not sure I’ll get used to that moniker anytime soon, but it’s all thanks to you. I hope you had as wonderful a time as I did last night. You hit send but continue to stare at your phone, chewing the idea over and over while you shove your feet into your favourite pair of boots by the door. Any chance you’re free next weekend? I still owe you that rescheduled dinner.

Marcus winces, sighing softly as he types back: Depends on if I’m back by then. I’m sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to London to board. Interpol called me at 4:30 this morning.

The thud you make when you lean against the doorway with a pout is very audible, making both Syd and the newly arrived Agent Bailey peek around the corner to make sure you’re okay. When they find you still face down in your cellphone, they stop worrying.

Did you manage to get any sleep or can you maybe rest on the flight? We’ll go for Indian whenever you get back. Frowning at the message, you added one more thought to the end before hitting send. And stay safe out there. I know you can take care of yourself, but still. Stay safe.

It’s a little gratifying that you think of his safety at all, making Marcus soften slightly. Thanks. I’m planning on sleeping on the flight. I had a great time at the dinner, hopefully you aren’t getting too much shit for the photos.

Sydney thinks they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread. I think she might be right. Thank you for an amazing night. Sleep well and I’ll talk to you soon? It’s a relief to be able to be honest. With yourself as much as with him. If you could tell him his much you’ll miss him — how you already miss him — without coming in too strong? You would do it without hesitation.

Marcus stares at the message for a moment, wondering what you mean by that, and he pops up when he hears his section being called. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he stands up, wishing that he could have seen you again before he left.

It's hours later, after errands are done and you have had a chance to let a little of the guilt roll off your shoulders about the break up, that you and Sydney and Juan are sitting down in their dining room with an overflowing bag of Indian take-out and a copy of every single paper or tabloid you could find with your face on it.

It's surreal to see them all – because there are so many of them – and even more surreal that you've decided you don't really mind very much. Because it's Marcus on that page with you. You're so happy in these photos and it's a kind of radiating joy that you wouldn't have ever expected from yourself.

“I have to say, I never expected this reaction.” Juan admits as he gestures to all the papers and magazines. When you and Sam Chase were first spotted together, you hadn’t wanted to see the photos or articles until your mother’s PR team wanted to chat.

"I guess it's different this time?" Admitting it feels silly, and your cheeks are burning all over again, but the smile on your face is undeniable. "I'm less nervous with him."

“I can tell.” He grins, having already been informed of the soulmate status, and leans back. “He’s a good man, Birdie.” He promises you. “The best. I don’t know if I’ve ever known a man as good as him.”

"He's so sweet, and such a good dancer..." You cringe slightly, but end up giggling. "And so hot. I really...I'm not even holding back anymore."

He laughs at your almost defiant expression and holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not saying a word. But it sounds like you’ve fallen head over heels at the idea of your soulmate?”

"Does it make me a hypocrite?" You ask honestly, a little worried about that fact as you unpack the take out bag and start spreading various containers of curry, rice, samosas, and onion bhaji around the table. Syd grabs the gulab jamun container to bring into the kitchen so she doesn't forget to get the ice cream to go with it and gets some plates in the process, but you're busy pairing serving spoons with all the various containers while you talk to Juan. "That's the only thing I'm really getting stuck on now. After spending a year talking loudly about freedom of affection, to then go and find myself feeling like this for my soulmate? It's...a lot."

“I don’t think that it makes you a hypocrite.” Juan shakes his head. “You’ve never bashed soulmates or said that you would never be with your soulmate, and you and Sam were in a real relationship.” He shrugs slightly and his arm curls around his own soulmate’s shoulder when she drops back down onto the seat next to him. “What would be the difference between the spark fizzling out or you finding you’re incompatible without knowing about Marcus?” He poses. “Just because you didn’t see the flaws in your relationship with Sam doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

“It’s very adult, right?” You hope it is, at least, as the three of you dig into various take out containers with aplomb. “To be able to step away from a relationship with grace?”

“It is.” He can admit that, groaning at the first bite. “I swear this is the best fucking take out ever.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been thinking of this butter chicken for weeks, and even if it’s a Basic Bitch kind of choice for Indian take out, you don’t care. It’s amazing. “Best samosas in DC. Hands down.”

“Oh that’s perfectly accurate.” Sydney moans as she takes another one after already eating the one she had.

“Think it’s too late to tell my mother I want Indian food for my birthday?” Even asking the question makes you snort. With barely more than two weeks left until your birthday, you’re sure every single plan is set in stone. “She won’t even tell me what pub we’re going to. I assume you guys got your invitations already?”

“Of course we have.” Sydney grins. “I could hint to your mother that you want to have some Indian appetizers?”

“If the invitations are out then the menu is already set,” you shrug, knowing that it will be good no matter what it is. If you didn’t know your parents were fully capable of throwing a fantastic party, you would’ve insisted on having more input. “Frankly I’m more worried about the fact that Mom was just going to ‘tell Sam where to bring’ me.”

“Are you not planning on telling them soon?” She asks, forking up some of the rice and butter chicken sauce with peas.

“I am patently terrified to tell them.” It’s childish, you know that, but your parents love Sam. They approve of him in every way they can, largely because you never tell them about your disagreements. There is no reason to get them involved in your love life beyond having them meet the guy you’re seeing and sometimes share a meal or an event. “Dad had practically started planning the wedding.”

“Well…you don’t have to tell them right now.” She reminds you. “Just give it some time and then it will seem like you just grew apart.”

"You're right. It doesn't have to be a dramatic announcement or anything." After all, the break up itself had been fairly anticlimactic as well. It simply is what it is, and sometimes life throws you curveballs. "I have more important things to think about right now." You flash Juan a grin. "Like how to tell my soulmate that he is, in fact, my soulmate."

“Yeah.” He hums in agreement and ticks his left eyebrow up. “How are you planning on doing that?” He asks. “Get a new tattoo?”

“I was sort of hoping for some help brainstorming,” you admit sheepishly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s…just a little more important than asking Garrett Hawkings to prom.”

“No, that was a big deal.” Your best friend smirks as she remembers how you almost puked when you asked him. “But this has more of a lasting meaning.” She admits with a shrug.

Juan tilts his head. “What do you have in mind so far?”

“Right now I’m thinking something music oriented, or maybe art?” That’s much too basic, and you slump in your seat a little. “I really only have one idea, but I don’t know if it will actually be fun or if he’ll just end up hating it.”

“You don’t want to announce it on the Jumbotron at a Nationals game?” Juan asks, chuckling at the idea. Even if it’s corny, it’s also cute.

“I want to tell him, not the whole world.” Even if the thought did cross your mind, you’ve already ruled it out. Marcus deserves something special. Something unique. Plus, the first game of the season is too far away. You really don’t want to wait that long.

“What do you have in mind? He might love it.” He takes a sip of his tea and then hands another samosa to his wife, the last one from his own plate.

“There’s this place in Old Town that just opened up a few months ago. It’s an art gallery, but once a week they have what they call ‘Wine and Watercolors’. They open their bar, bring in a live band, and you can pay a little materials fee for a canvas and watercolors to use for the night.” It sounded amazing and romantic to you, but Sam had had no interest. Which, in hindsight, doesn’t surprise you.

“I don’t know if Marcus likes to paint, but it’s romantic.” Juan admits. “He loves things that he can spend time doing with his significant other.”

“That’s kind of my roadblock.” There is a bite of chicken on your fork and you sigh at it like it’s personally responsible for your dilemma. “He said he’s not a very good artist, and I don’t know if that means he doesn’t like making art at all.”

“Nahhh.” Juan shakes his head. “Marcus is an experience kind of guy. He can’t cook for shit but he used to go on those ‘couples cooking’ dates with Lara. Enjoyed it because it was new and he was spending time with her.”

"Besides." After eating the offending piece of chicken, you point your fork tines at Juan. "If we're drinking while we're painting, then no one in the room is aiming for museum quality."

“I can’t argue with that logic.” He laughs. “Besides, if it’s abstract art, it’s supposed to look like shit.”

"But..." Cutting your eyes between Juan and Sydney, you can feel the heat creep up your cheeks. "If I just so happened to paint my tattoo...that would be a bit of dramatic reveal in a good way. Right?"

“Can you paint it?” Juan asks curiously. He’s never seen you paint so he has no gauge on your abilities. “To make it recognizable?”

"I'm not exactly going to be forging an Audubon anytime soon, but I'm not a terrible artist." This little plan that has been cooking in your head all day does rely on it, after all. So you need to be able to pull it off. "I'm going to have to practice a little, but I think I can do it."

“Then I would start practicing.” Juan snorts. “When are you setting up this date?” It might seem quick to some, but to most soulmates, the fact that you have suspected for a month is forever.

"Whenever he gets back from London." That little fact had certainly put a damper in your plans, but there's nothing to be done about it. You would certainly never be upset with a significant other for having to work, let alone a friend.

“Oh?” He seems surprised that Marcus is out of town so quickly and you know about that. “Did he leave right after the dinner? He didn’t say anything the other day.”

"He got the call early this morning." That creeping heat in your face is all the way down your neck though, which how very pleased you look about your little bit of insider information. Even Sydney snickers at how much like that cat that got the cream you are right now. "I texted him this morning and we chatted a little."

"I see." Juan glances over at Sydney and smirks when he glances back at you.

"What?" If it's totally innocent, then there's no reason for smirking or glancing, right? "Friends text. That's not unheard of."

"Friends is not what I see in those papers." He reminds you. "And if you texted him this morning, you were obviously dreaming about him the night before." It's a general teasing tone, winking at you playfully. "Prince Charming in your dreams."

"I'm not going to deny that." Not anymore. Not now that you're unattached and free to give affection to whomever you see fit. The part of you that rises up into your throat whenever you look at those printed pages is definitely in control of your mind right now. "I just don't want to get ahead of anything. Just because I feel whatever this is...it doesn't mean he does, too."

Juan chuckles and rolls his eyes. "That man – he said that he didn't care about soulmates, but he does. He was so sappy every time one of our fellow agents talked about finding their soulmate. He loves love, but I think that he always hoped to find you."

"I don't see any world in which Marcus isn't ecstatic to be with his soulmate," Syd agrees, although she's only known him the month or so since he first arrived at the restaurant. But already, she and Juan have spent much more time with him since then than you have.

"I just don't want to assume that kind of reaction and be disappointed," you rationalize. "It would only be my own fault."

"Caution is good." He doesn't think that it's needed, but rationally it's never a bad idea to be levelheaded about the matter. It's rare to have a soulmate interaction with clarity of thought.

"That's all it is. Just caution." Even though you're nodding your head, there is still a dreamy sort of expression on your face that you can't shake and you're not even sure you would want to if you could. "Will you tease me forever if I ask you for stories from when you guys were at the Academy?"

"Of course." He snorts, as if it's ridiculous for you to even ask that question. "I will lovingly tease you forever while still thinking that it's adorable to witness you fall for Marcus even more through stories."

"I am not falling for anyone." The biggest lie you have ever told in your life and everyone here knows it. "I just have a teeny, tiny, ever-growing crush. That's all."

“Teeny, tiny my baby-growing ass.” Sydney snorts. “I think if you had been single last night, Marcus Pike would have been having breakfast with us.”

"Maybe." It's not even worth disputing, if you're honest. You would have brought Marcus home with you last night in a heartbeat except for a few very important factors. "But there's still the whole Vanessa thing. For all I know they're madly in love."

“I doubt that.” Sydney scoffs. “That woman – I’m sorry – she was, is, in love with Sam.”

"That probably should have been something you pointed out to be while I was dating him," you roll your eyes at her while the takeout containers are getting passed around for everyone to have seconds.

“There was no reason to spike jealousy when you know that Sam never would have risked a scandal.” She reminds you. “He always talks about those who do have infidelity scandals need to resign.”

"To be honest?" Another piece of honey ginger naan hits your plate and you suck a drip of honey off your thumb after putting the container down. "I could never tell if it's cheating he hates or just being sloppy about it."

“I would hope it’s the cheating.” Juan huffs, knowing that he and the congressman would have gotten sideways if he had cheated on you. Being Sydney’s best friend puts you firmly in little sister territory for him.

“I would hope so, too.” You just shrug though, knowing it’s a moot point. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Juan agrees. “Are you planning to talk to Marcus while he’s gone? Where did he go?”

“He said he was going to London and he wasn’t sure for how long.” The sticky sweet naan on your plate is early dessert and you dab at the spicy ginger honey happily. “I said we should talk later but I haven’t heard from him since. They probably had him working the second he touched down, though.”

“Probably.” Juan agrees. “Marcus, the few cases we worked on together, was always one to hit the ground running.”

“A man of action,” Sydney teases, grinning at the way your expression turns even dreamier.

“Marcus was always popular among the female agents.” Juan warns you. “But the man I know would rather take a bullet than cheat.”

“Good.” Though you had a feeling that he trended that way, it’s nice to have confirmation. “It would be nice to not have to think about that at all.”

“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Even though it’s been a number of years since he’s spent a lot of time with Marcus, some values are just true to their base layer and that’s one of them for the other man. “But—” he holds up a finger. “You could consider his job his mistress. The Bureau can be a demanding one at times. Stealing him away during dinner when that damn phone goes off. So…beware.”

“I love that he’s dedicated to his job. And that it’s a job that actually helps people. I’d rather have that than a partner who comes home miserable after work every day.” Spouses busy with work is something you’ve seen. Something you’ve lived through. Something that you were directly in the middle of as a kid, before your dad decided to stay home with you and your siblings.

“I know you can handle it.” He assures you. “I don’t know if Lara understood for some time though.” He admits with a sigh. “He was stretched thin for a bit when she was upset about all the training. That man will pull himself apart at the seams to making someone he loves happy.”

Looking up at Juan, you sit forward in your chair a little and frown, almost shaking your head. “When was the last time he actually had someone put him first? It…sounds like he’s always the one making accommodations or bending to his job or his partner. Do they ever do the same?”

“From what I’ve heard….not really.” Juan admits. “With Lara, he was already married when we were at the academy together, but he told me about Teresa.” He shrugs. “They were both agents, but it seems like she had an interest in a consultant she worked with and used Marcus to either make him jealous or try to get over the other guy.” He sighs. “They got engaged and she was supposed to move out here with him to DC in the position he pulled strings to get her.” His frown is very judgmental. “She called him from the plane and then the other guy did the grand gesture of boarding the flight to ‘win her’ and she never showed up.”

There is an intense moment of silence at the table, followed by you very firmly putting your glass down with your jaw on the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wish I was.” He sighs again, thinking back to the conversation he had with Marcus. Feeling slightly guilty about sharing it when it should be his story to tell, but hopefully it will give you some good insight into the man the universe linked you with. “He stopped dating for nearly a year, enrolled in therapy and worked on himself after that.”

“How could a man that sweet just never have been anyone’s priority?” It’s enough to make you actually mad, which is something you hadn’t expected, but you’re deeply upset on his behalf. And with the realization that you had done it too — contributing to the problem when you cancelled dinner on him a few weeks ago. No wonder he was upset with you. At that point you were just one more person in a pattern. “Well,” you decide firmly. “It stops now.”

“Uh oh.” Juan snorts, recognizing the determined tone of voice. He hasn’t been married to Sydney and not spent enough time with you to see the stubborn streak ten miles wide inside you. “Are you planning on love bombing him?”

“I would definitely not call it love bombing,” you insist, since the term has some fairly extreme negative connotations. “But I am going to make sure he knows that he’s valued and appreciated.”

“Poor guy won’t know what to think.” He hums sadly.

With the idea that you’re going to take Marcus to Wine and Watercolors when he comes home from London, you find yourself doodling on a pad of paper in your office the next morning while you review the bookings for the coming week. There are a few repeat customers on the books and you want to make sure you anticipate anything they might need, and you’ve also had a few room cancellations over the weekend that you need to clear out of the system so they can be snatched back up by new guests.

The time difference is vast and he's happy that it's later in London. Having just got off the phone with a nearly hysterical Cameron, Marcus hopes you aren't too busy and can help. He dials your number, figuring this would be best to talk about in person than text.

"Hey, have you seen this?" Sydney opens the door to your office and waves a paper around. "Derby Farms burned to the ground yesterday." She huffs, walking over to your desk and depositing the newspaper down so you can read the article and see the photographs of the burnt rubble. "The entire venue is gone."

“What the hell happened! I loved that place.” But just as soon as you pick up the paper to begin to read, your cell phone goes off on the desk on your other side. Marcus’s name is splashed across the screen with one of the media photos from the State dinner that you had put with his contact info. Flashing a grin at Sydney, you scoop up your phone and answer it quickly. “Good morning, sunshine,” you greet easily. “And good afternoon, too, since it’s…almost tea time there?”

"Hey." It's a much warmer reception than he had anticipated, but he reminds himself that you are friendly, not to read too much into it. "I hate to call and start off with 'I need a favor'." He huffs. "But...I need a favor."

“Of course.” It wasn’t so long ago, after all, that you were talking to Sydney and Juan about people not making Marcus a priority so you’re going to stop that trend in its tracks. With a little humor, of course. “Are we talking treason, because that does get sticky. Agent Bailey is very good at her job.”

He laughs, slightly relieved that you are willing to hear him out. "So I have an agent on my team. Lovely woman. She was set to be married in two weeks at Derby Farms but apparently that entire venue burned down yesterday." He explains. "She took off work today and when I called to check on her – because she never calls off – she was nearly catatonic with grief. She's already paid for everything."

"In two weeks?" Your eyes blow wide and you glance up at Sydney before opening the inn's operations calendar on your computer. "Do you know the exact wedding date? Sydney just brought me the article about the Farm to read, I loved that place."

Marcus gives you the day and sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask. Is there any way you could help her out?” He asks. “Even if you aren’t available, do you know someone who is? She’s lost all of her wedding plans. Up in smoke – literally.”

The second he says the date, you know you don't have anything booked. There is a reason that you don't have anything booked. Juan had asked for the weekend off almost a year ago so he could go on a ride with his friends, who were all planning on taking their bikes out along Route 66 for a few days for the nostalgia factor. Without your wedding planner on premises, you hadn't booked in a wedding.

It's not that you can't do a wedding yourself. You used to do them before, when you managed the inn under the previous owners. And this is Marcus asking. Marcus who you fully intend to support and make feel valued. "Absolutely," you tell him, changing the date in the inn's calendar to a saved booking. You can absolutely handle this, and the poor bride doesn't deserve to have her day ruined through no fault of her own. "We don't have a booking that weekend, so she can have it here if she wants to. Do you want to give me her number so I can contact her, or is it easier for her if you just pass her my number?"

“I can give you her number. Cameron is really sweet and right now, I know she’s overwhelmed. Her and her fiancé are debating postponing, although they don’t want to.”

"That won't be necessary," you promise him, already mentally clearing your schedule of absolutely everything else to make this happen. "I'll give her a call as soon as we hang up. Everything will be fine." The small smile that graces your lips can only be seen by Sydney beside you, but he can probably hear it over the phone line. "You're a good man, Marcus. Helping her with this is a huge deal, and I hope she knows she's lucky to have you in her corner."

“I feel bad for her.” He waves off your praise, even though it’s a lovely little warm spot inside him and his cheeks heat up. “It’s not her fault the place burned down and I doubt the owners can help her right now.”

"I'm sure they have plenty of their own problems to deal with right now." The nightmare of losing the place had kept you up at night for months after you bought your own inn, you can only imagine how the owners of the farm are feeling right about now. "But we'll make sure Cameron's wedding is still beautiful. Cross my heart."

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly. “I will owe you any favor you want.” He promises with a small laugh. “Are you ready for her number?”

"I'll remember that," you tease, just keeping the thought light and having no intention whatsoever of cashing it in. This is for him. "Go ahead. I have a pen."

Marcus gives you Cameron’s number and sighs softly in relief when you repeat it back to him. “Thank you….seriously. I hate when I can’t help someone and I can’t do anything over here.”

"You've done something enormous." He really does put everyone else first, and you would just shake your head at him if he were in the room with you. "Don't worry about a thing, Marcus. I'll take care of this. Your agent is in good hands."

“Thanks again.” Marcus hums. “Well, I hate to ask for a favor and running, but I have to meet Interpol in about twenty minutes. Talk later?”

"Absolutely." That has you grinning like a mad woman, and you don't care to apologize for it. "Call me when you stop moving for the night. I'll let you know what's been worked out and you can vent about whatever you need to. Deal?"

“That works.” He agrees, smiling through the phone at the care you are showing. “Bye.” He waits for you to acknowledge and then hangs up, staring at his phone and wishing that he could say something to you about the fact you have shared tattoos.

"I apologize in advance for keeping you very busy coming up, but we are going to do Marcus a favor." Even if you bite your lip when you put your phone down, you're serious by the time you look over at Sydney who is now sitting on the edge of your desk. "One of the agents in his department had their wedding scheduled at Derby Farms in two weeks. I'm going to call her and offer her the date here. But it's the weekend Juan is going to be away, so it'll be just you and me running the show."

“Holy shit….poor girl.” Sydney huffs, motioning to the paper. “They reported that the Derby doesn’t have fucking insurance.” She groans. “They let it lapse.”

"Of all the stupid ass things to do." You shake your head and groan. "If I ever say something as dumb as that to you, please wave this article in my face and slap me with it." Picking up your office phone, you glance down at Cameron's number and nod to no one in particular. "Alright, I'm going to make this call and then I'll come and let you know what's up?"

“Sure, let me know. I can throw a tasting box together quickly.” She promises, walking towards the door as she starts to think of what cakes to make samples of for the unhappy couple to hopefully cheer them up.

"You're the best!" You call after her, already dialing the number you wrote down as the door to your office clicks shut again. It rings three times and you start mentally preparing a message to leave before the call connects on the other end and a sniffling voice answers.

"Hi, Agent Cameron?" You introduce yourself by name, careful not to talk too fast and overwhelm the upset bride. "I'm the owner of The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria. I got a call from Special Agent Pike just a few minutes ago and he let me know about your situation with Derby Farms. With your wedding day coming up so quickly and the situation being so unusual, I'm calling to see if you would like to relocate your big day."

“I— what?” She is completely confused and on the brink of tears again when she registers what you are saying. “He— he called you? To see if you had availability?” Wiping away tears on her cheeks, she hates how nasally she sounds right now. Crying always makes her sound like she has a head cold. “I— I don’t— it’s all been such a mess. I’ve heard of the Inn but I don’t— I’ve never been there.”

"I know you're very busy with everything that has happened, but I'm confident that my chef and I can help you straighten things out and get them back on track." Trying to sound as confident as possible on the phone might come across as arrogant to some people, but when you're in the middle of a mess sometimes confidence can be a buoy. "If you would like, and if you're able to, why don't you and your fiancé come out to the Inn today so we can talk through everything? Our in-house restaurant caters all the weddings that we do here and our chef will have some fantastic samples for you to try out."

“Really?” The first threads of hope rush through her only to be deflated a minute later. “We— I don’t know if we can. We had already paid for everything, and now— I don’t know if I’m getting my money back.”

"I understand things are up in the air right now. And weddings are a very costly day. Why don't you bring your vendor contracts and assorted paperwork with you when you come, and we can go through things together?" It's going far above and beyond what you would normally do for a couple that has had scheduling mishaps, but again – this is for Marcus. "We'll find a way to make it work."

“I— do you know Marcus?” She asks curiously, sure that this isn’t something that would be done for everyone, although she’s about to start crying in gratitude.

"Yes, I do." Clearly his agent hasn't been reading the papers lately but that is neither here nor there for you, you just smile into the phone. "He's a very good friend, so I'm going to do everything I can to help."

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” She gushes. “I— my fiancé and I can be there in an hour? Is that too soon?”

"That's just fine. I'll take you on a tour of the property when you get here so you can make sure you like the place before we sit down and start working through the details." You give her the address and the phone number to call back if she has any questions, and assure her once again that you'll make sure things are taken care of before hanging up the phone and heading straight to the kitchen where Sydney is working with some cake batters already. "I hate to tear you away from brunch, but our couple is going to be here in an hour. Thank you so much for jumping on board with this."

“I can’t imagine how stressed she is right now.” Sydney sympathizes. “Two weeks before the wedding. Just contacting everyone on her guest list to tell them a change of venue will be a massive undertaking.”

"I'm going to take them on a tour first thing, and set up the table on the back porch to talk through things with them. Are you thinking standard tasting samples?" There are certain things that brides gravitate towards from Sydney's catering menu that you know she can put together quickly, and right now that's a bit of a boon.

“I am, but if there’s any curveballs in their original menu, let me know and I’ll adjust.” She promises. “I’ve already got six different mini cakes baking.” She had dry ingredients mixed together all the time for the most common cakes so all she had to do was measure and mix in the wet.

"You're an angel, I love you, and I owe you a spa day." Blowing her a kiss, you gather up a tray of glasses and tasting plates to set on the table on the back porch with a reserved sign. That can be set up immediately, to sit and wait while you do a perimeter walk of the property and think through everything that will need to be arranged.

Two minutes before the hour is up, a sedan pulls up into the gravel parking lot. A couple gets out and the man immediately walks around the car to wrap his arm around the woman, pretty and petite, although it’s clear from her puffy eyes that she’s been crying.

"Agent Cameron?" Having stopped to check your clipboard at the front desk just a moment ago, you step out onto the front steps of the inn with your best reassuring smile when the couple get out of their car. "I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice."

“Soon to be Agent Wiley.” The man who is protectively holding her extends his right hand to shake yours. “Michael Wiley. We are so very grateful for your time.”

Cameron nods, almost ready to cry. “I’m sorry— I’ve been so emotional about all this.” She explains, fanning her face to try to keep the tears away.

"There's no need to apologize. You've been through the wringer today but hopefully we're going to bring that to a halt for you." You shake both of their hands and nod to the path that takes visitors around the grounds behind the inn. "Let's just start with a walk. I'll show you the facilities here and you can tell me what things you had picked out at Derby Farms so we can try to bring the two things together."

“It’s a lovely place….but—” she bites her lip and looks up at Michael who nods slightly. “We have already spent so much. My— um— we aren’t soulmates, and my family won’t pay for the wedding.” She admits, aware that some wedding venues will not marry non-soulmate couples. “Now that we might not get anything back…”

"We don't discriminate here. My staff is made up of all kinds of people in all kinds of relationships from all kinds of backgrounds. So don't worry about that at all." It's part of what you talked about when you would talk about freedom of affection on the campaign trail, so you're sure as hell not going to let it stand in your own business. "Did you bring the vendor paperwork that I mentioned when we spoke on the phone?"

“Yes!” Almost forgetting it, she breaks away from her fiancé she dives back into the car to pull out a thick binder. “I’ve got all the contracts and, well, everything for the wedding here.” She promises you, hesitating a moment before holding it out to you.

"Sometimes there are clauses in these contracts that have contingencies, and wording can be tricky," you explain, accepting the thick file and setting it on top of your clipboard. "Something terrible happened outside of the realm of your control, but we're not going to let it ruin your wedding. We'll find a way to make the money work." In that, at least, you can make a real promise to this couple. "I own the place. No middle managers in this conversation."

“Oh!” She takes the first really good look at you and tilts her head in surprise. You had told her your name, but it hadn’t clicked. “Oh God, you’re the President’s daughter, right? I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I didn’t make the connection. I’ve been so frazzled.”

"Honestly, it wouldn't even have phased me if you didn't make the connection at all." The only thing that comes close to bothering you is those people who go out of their way to tell you that they did not vote for your mother, but even then you just smile politely and remind them that the beauty of democracy is that they get that choice. "Besides, this day is all about the two of you. I just want to make sure you're able to enjoy your wedding."

She’s wary, but she nods with a smile. “I appreciate this so much; I know that it’s so last minute.”

The tour goes reasonably well for the overwhelmed and emotional couple, and you show them the manicured gardens for pictures, the main grounds for their ceremony, and the old carriage house which will easily transform into a full reception space in the event of rain. It mirrors the tone of the barn at Derby Farms that they had originally planned on using and allows them to breathe away a little bit of worry. By the time you make it back to the porch for cold water and a tasting, they are looking just a little less harried and you take that as a good sign. "How are you feeling about the space?" You ask them once they're sitting again, and you smile at the pitcher of ice water that Syd has put out before pouring out three glasses.

“It’s gorgeous.” She admits with a shy smile. “This is an incredible place and I’m so surprised you are not booked up.”

"We are, most of the time," you admit. "The reason your weekend is still open is that my event planner is away. So I would be coordinating your wedding personally."

“Oh.” She shoots you a guilty look. “That’s— you are okay with that? If it’s too much— I, we, understand.”

"I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, from what you've told me about your original plans for the day, it sounds like it will be beautiful." The file of their contracts still sits next to you, and you already know you aren't going to charge these folks a dime. "But it's also why I'm prepared to offer the space to you. I'm the only one taking on extra work beyond a normal wedding weekend, and I'm happy to do that. I will work through your contracts and contact Derby Farms regarding their lack of insurance to take that off your plate. You already have your photographer and florist, correct? Did the Farms' in house catering include your wedding cake?"

“It did.” Her mouth drops open in a small sigh. “Another detail to work through.”

Michael squeezes her hand. “We will figure it out, baby. Even if we are serving cupcakes.” He promises softly bringing their joined hands up to kiss hers.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Sydney emerges from the back door of the inn with her tasting plate and a smile, the ever-growing bump under her chef's coat on display as she comes to the table. "I prepared a tasting of our most popular cake options for you to try out today, and while you do that I'm going to go ahead and make us all some lunch. Can you tell me about what you planned on serving originally?" You had discreetly texted her during your tour, letting her know the relatively small size of the guest list and the good impression you had of the couple. It sounds like an intimate wedding that will be beautiful, and she wants to make sure it's perfect.

"Sydney Badillo is our chef at Il Corvo," you introduce with a smile. "She's going to be your caterer."

“Oh my god!” Cameron’s eyes light up when she sees the plates with the mini decorated cakes. “I— okay, we had gone with the most popular choice according to Derby.” She explains. “Sliced roasted beef or baked chicken with a vegetable medley and whipped garlic mashed potatoes.”

"Sounds like a very nice, popular option." Sydney isn't going to pan the options that the other venue gave them considering the disaster they got stuck in, but she knows she can do better. "Did you need a vegetarian or pasta option? Our restaurant's menu is Italian so we have a little bit of room to play in."

“I— um,” she looks to Michael, who nods.

“Tanya is vegetarian, babe.” He shrugs and looks back at the two of you. “Perhaps a few plates?”

"We can definitely do that," Sydney assures them. "I'm going to go make us some lunch and you have your dessert first." She scoots back into the building quickly, gone in the blink of an eye.

“I love Italian, what do you think?” Cameron asks her fiancé before looking at the cakes closely.

"At this point, I'm ecstatic to not have to reschedule and to not lose all of our invested money," he admits with something akin to a grateful laugh. He finally feels like he can breathe for the first time since they got the news. "We had just gone for a simple white cake with raspberry at the Farms," he tells you honestly. "Nothing was revolutionary but it was all good quality. We just want to have a nice night with our friends and our family."

"If you want to stick with that, we can definitely do it." You take the raspberry cake off the tasting plate and cut it half, setting both pieces on plates with forks for them to try. "This is our vanilla cake with raspberry jam."

Cameron forks up a bite and her eyes flutter closed on a moan. Michael chuckles but he is also groaning when his own bite hits his tongue. “Oh, this is so good.”

"The other three mini cakes are our house chocolate, which we do with a strawberry layer and ganache, a lemon cake with fresh blueberries, and an almond cake with fresh plums and buttercream." It's good to see them smile a little, and enjoy themselves in the face of so much adversity.

“That sounds amazing.” She gushes. “All of them.” There is a small idea that is forming, but it might be way too much to ask with the short time left before the wedding.

“Give them a try, and if none of these quite hit the mark, we can talk about other options.” You’re going to make this work come hell or high water. It’s far more than Marcus asked of you, and maybe it’s not awesome that you have an ulterior motive in helping these very sweet people, but the fact is that they’re going to get a great wedding out of the fact that you want Marcus to think of you as someone he can rely on.

The couple digs into the cakes with gusto, enjoying themselves and unwinding as they cheerfully debate the best one, grinning and laughing as they feed each other small bites.

“What do you think?” When they’ve tried everything and managed to pause before filling up on cake alone, you fill up water glasses and take out your pad of paper to start taking note of any ideas or questions they might have.

"They are all so amazing." Cameron admits, looking longingly at the pieces of cake left. "If I had booked with you to start with, I would say do miniatures of all of them, but...." She glances at Michael to confirm and grins as she looks back at you. "We want the lemon cake with blueberries."

“Well when it comes time to do your anniversary party, we’ll have a big batch of miniatures.” Jotting down the cake choice, you nod and sit up again with ease. “Obviously with just a few weeks to go we’re not looking at a terribly elaborate cake, but it will be beautiful and delicious.”

"No," She shakes her head and leans forward. "We were— are planning to have the florist bring flowers to decorate." She explains. "I guess I need to call them and tell them that they will be bringing the flowers here?"

“That would probably be best.” At least they’re smiling again, which is an enormous boon as far as you’re concerned. “Flowers in the cake will be gorgeous.”

“Oo, did we pick?” When Sydney comes out the door again, she has a heavy tray of three family-sized plates and a stack of lunch plates alongside it.

"We did." Cameron informs her with an awe inspired gaze. "Your lemon blueberry cake is amazing. I've never had one that isn't too sweet."

“It’s all about balance,” Sydney smiles proudly. “That’s what we had at my wedding, too. It’s honestly one of the most popular choices.” The tray beside her starts to be unloaded, and there are more happy groans all around. “These are our versions of beef, chicken, and pasta for a wedding day. Veal Marsala with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, chicken piccata with roasted delicata squash and parmesan polenta, and a mushroom and ricotta rigatoni al forno.”

Michael's eyes are wide, unsure of where to begin and Cameron just moans again as the smells tingle and tease her nostrils. "You are amazing." She huffs. "It smells so good."

“If you don’t like the side, we can switch things up,” Sydney promises. She also brought plates for the two of you, and grins as all four of you start to eat together.

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know Agent Pike?" Cameron asks curiously. "He never said a word and then when he showed up on the front page of the papers, he conveniently had to fly out of the country."

"He is an old friend of Sydney's husband, actually." Deflecting a little from the newspaper story, you will give your friend all the credit here for providing the connection for you to meet your soulmate – though that detail will remain quiet. "They were at the Academy together. One day last month he came by to see Juan and to check out the restaurant, and we made fast friends."

"Wow. It's a small world." She hums. "He's a fantastic friend so I can see why it was so easy. He's a real sweetheart."

"He's fantastic." The side eye Sydney gives you when you say it is subtle, and you ignore it so you don't say anything gushing and give yourself away. "We haven't known each other long but I'd call him a good friend already."

"Obviously." Cameron agrees. "He never asks anyone for favors and he asked you for a big one."

"He knows how important this day is to you." The warmth that spreads through your chest at the recognition that Marcus might think a little highly of you in any way is elated and giggly in a way that you have to work very hard to contain. "And I'm glad to do anything I can to help you – and him – out."

"I don't know how we are going to pay you, but we are eternally grateful to you." Michael tells you. "You have changed our lives. We had thought we were going to have to cancel."

"I'm going to comb through these contracts of yours to see what sort of money I can recoup for you, and that will be plenty enough payment." You got a glance at it earlier and saw a few clauses about fault for cancellation that will probably bring in enough money to cover expenses for the night. Beyond that, you and Sydney already agreed to forgo taking payment for yourselves for the wedding to make sure that your staffs don't have to worry about pay cuts. It's going above and beyond, but hopefully you'll come out of this with a few room reservations in the future from the wedding party and guests, and plenty of business for the restaurant. It wouldn't be the first time you accomplished a hell of a lot on a shoestring budget. "Focus on enjoying your wedding, that's what matters."

There's a moment where he stares at you before he nods. Reaching for Cameron's hand again. "Thank you. You don't know how much this means to us."

"Is there anything else you'd like us to know about your day?" Sydney prompts, noting that the couple have dug into the plates she prepared with enthusiasm. They seem to love her food, so her part in this should be fairly easygoing. At least as far as weddings go.

"We— we've invited our families, but we don't know if they will show." The bride admits, looking down at her plate and sighing softly. "I would love to say that we won't need security, but I'm just not sure."

"Do you have reason to think that any of your family members might try to interfere with your day?" Scribbling quickly on your notepad makes the bride and groom flinch in front of you, but you stop immediately to reassure them. "We have had events that need security plenty of time before. We can manage it. I just want to make sure that you're safe."

“I don’t think so.” Michael clarifies. “We just aren’t sure. Most of our family acts like we’ve not ever said anything about getting engaged.”

"Alright." You nod at that, knowing that the trend of families being particularly hard on children who choose partners other than their soulmates can...particularly fierce. "Try not to worry over it if you can help it. We have plenty of practice at handling that sort of thing here and I promise you that we can handle it. Just focus on making sure your guests go to the right place and your vendors know about your change of venue. We'll handle everything else."

There's a release of tension from both of them that seems to just make them sag with exhaustion. They hadn't slept, couldn't, after learning of the fire and the worry had been so palpable. Now that it's nearly fixed, they lean against each other happily. "God, I'm going to sleep for twelve hours tonight." The female agent groans.

"I hope it's fantastically restful sleep." With everyone set the way it is now, you hope these two lovely people get all the rest they could possibly need. They've had a hell of a day. "If either Sydney or I have anything we need cleared up, I will give you a call. And of course you can call me about anything you need."

“I think I should get her home.” Michael apologizes. “We didn’t sleep last night and…”

"Of course." You stand to shake their hands, glad to see reassurance and relief on their faces. "I'm very glad to meet you both."

“Thank you.” Their gratitude cannot be expressed enough and their protests about paying for the tastings go unheard as you usher them to their car, the dwindling energy apparent when the first yawn breaks.

"Well." When you turn back to Sydney after they've left to help her load up the tray, you heave a sigh of relief. "They're absolutely sweet, and I'm glad they won't have to postpone their wedding."

“I can see why Marcus called you to help.” She agrees. “They are wonderful.”

"They really are." Offering Sydney a smile, you blow out a steady breath. But before it's even done, you're laughing at yourself. "Ready to throw an entire wedding for people I've never met at the drop of a hat just because he asked. Maybe it's a tiny shade more than just a crush."

“You think?” She snorts playfully, hip checking you. “I think we’ve crossed over into at least head over heels territory.”

Huffing at your best friend, you heft the tray up in your arms and stick your tongue out at her in what is clearly a very mature gesture. "Shut up," you grumble, following her back into the inn as she laughs all the way.

It’s been agonizing to watch the clock and wonder what is happening. Marcus checks his phone and sighs. It’s getting late and he’s already back in his room, meal eaten and the beer he had ordered still in the bucket.

By the time you're back in your apartment with the dinner dishes washed and your shoes kicked into a corner, you look up at the clock and calculate the time difference. It's late in London, and you should have called earlier, but there was an issue with a guest's room that you had to deal with to free Malachi up to be able to take care of the regular check-ins. Selecting Marcus's entry in your phonebook, you tap the call button and tuck your phone between your shoulder and chin, pouring yourself a glass of cheap, sweet wine to relax with.

“Hello?” Marcus isn’t asleep, the time charge has messed with him and he is not even tired. Sitting in his surprisingly spacious bathtub with a beer in his hand.

“Hey.” You can hear yourself smile down the line, even sounding perpetually dreamy now. “It’s Birdie. How was your day?”

“Hey.” There’s a softness to your voice that has Marcus longing to believe that it’s directed towards him. “It was good. Did you and Cameron talk?”

“We did. She brought her fiancé in for a meeting and we got everything squared away.” Leaning against your kitchen counter, drinking wine, and on the phone with Marcus…the combination of things sends a shiver of rightness down your spine. “They’re so sweet, and I hate that such a bad thing happened to them. You’re an angel for reaching out to help them.”

“They are fantastic. Cameron has asked if I can give her away if her father doesn’t show up.” He admits, shuffling slightly and the water splashes.

“You must be a hell of a boss if—” The sound cuts your thought off at the root, leaving you confused but amused on your end of the phone. “Are you in the hotel pool or something?” Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…Don’t think about Marcus in a bathing suit…

“I-” Marcus coughs slightly, hoping you won’t be offended. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, a beer in the bathtub helps.” He admits sheepishly. “Needed to get my second beer.”

“That…” You look down at the glass of wine in your hand, imagining sitting in a screaming hot bubble bath with beautifully scented bubbles all around you and letting the stress melt away. “Sounds incredibly comfy.” Almost as soon as you’ve decided you like the sound of it, you’re grabbing you wine bottle and heading for the bathroom.

“Yeah? You aren’t offended?” He asks, almost jokingly. “Technically I answered the phone in the bathroom, which is completely frowned upon.”

“Offended?” The psshh sound of disagreement you make is an immediate dismissal of that idea. “It’s not like you picked up the phone and ripped a massive fart or anything. Although honestly? I probably would have laughed. I’m actually thinking I might join you,” you admit, rummaging through your bottles of bubble bath that have stood untouched for ages.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and calculates the time difference. “You should.” He agrees. “Done with work for the day and needing to relax. Hot baths and alcohol are some of the best ways, especially if you can’t have a massage.”

“Can’t have a massage for the next four years.” You remind him, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. “Or eight. Depending.”

“Why is that?” He frowns, not understanding.

“President Mom’s rules of deportment.” Selecting a bottle of foaming bath salts from the shelf, you plug up the tub and dump the appropriate amount in. The hot running water will start dissolving them in no time. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for the First Kids to have intimate contact with strangers. Even professionals who sign NDAs.”

“Oh I wasn’t- talking about a professional massage or anything.” He admits, figuring that you would ask Sam for a back rub sometimes. He shrugs even though you can’t see that. “I didn’t think about the rules of deportment honestly. That sucks.”

“It’s mostly things for safety. Like having a P.O. Box for my mail so it’s hard for paparazzi or people who disagree with my mother’s politics to figure out where I live.” The bathtub in your apartment fills up slowly, and you sit on the edge to pull off your socks and sweater while you talk. “My parents would prefer me to being living in the White House but I can’t see doing that at almost thirty years old.”

“No, you can’t do that.” Marcus agrees. “Plus you run a business, you can’t just leave it in someone else hands, that would drive you insane. Plus you enjoy your work.”

“I do enjoy my work!” It’s almost exasperating that Marcus sees that so clearly when Sam needed to have it rammed through his thick skull. “The only way I’m ever moving out of this apartment is when I’m ready to live with my partner and get married, and then this goes back to being the caretaker’s apartment. Hang on.” Huffing at yourself, you put Marcus on speaker and set down your phone so you can get undressed. “The bath is ready.”

Marcus swallows and looks up at the ceiling as he tries to not imagine you undressing. It’s not technically wrong, he’s single, but you are seeing someone and he’s never been the type to cause issues.

It takes a minute or two, but the sound of water plopping comes next, and you pick up the phone again with a sigh. “So what was for dinner?” Just as conversationally as if you were in the same room, you set your phone on speaker on a shelf in the small, open cabinet beside your head and just talk.

“I thought it was a requirement to have bangers and mash when in London?” Marcus asks as a joke. “Or is it fish and chips? Anyway, I had the bangers and mash in this tiny little hole in the wall. It was amazing, but I’ve learned something about myself.” He tells you. “I hate mashed peas.”

“No!” Your animated gasp of shock is genuine, as silly as that seems, and you laugh to yourself as you pick up your wine glass. “Were they mint mushy peas? Because if not, that’s the reason they sucked. I don’t know why but the mint saves them.”

"I don't exactly know?" He admits, laughing quietly as he picks up his beer bottle and settle back into the bath. "I just know that I reverted back to my early childhood where my mother force-fed me mushed peas and sweet potatoes and I almost lost my entire lunch on the bar."

“That will definitely do it.” The two of you laughing together is musical even if it’s soft, the sounds mingling together with the splashes of water and sipping of drinks. “Go for curry tomorrow. Stay far, far away from the mushy peas so you won’t have flashbacks.”

"Either that or the fish and chips." He hums. "You know they pour malt vinegar on them?" He asks. "It's pretty good." It's easy to talk to you and he doesn't want to stop, even if it is late for him. Taking another swallow of the beer, he waits to hear your voice again.

“I did a semester abroad in London when I was an undergrad.” You tell him with a hum. Whatever the hell this wine is that Malachi recommended, it’s amazing and sweet and fruity. “I went to London and Syd went to Rome, and the plan was to visit each other back and forth whenever we could but she never made it to London often. That’s when she fell in love with food.”

"It's hard not to fall in love with food." Marcus agrees. "It's fucking delicious."

“True. I will give you that.” Sitting back in our own tub with a relaxed sigh, you turn to look at the phone like he was sitting right next to you — though no amount of wishing will make it so. “Where’s your favourite place you’ve ever gone?”

"Is it terribly cliché if I say Paris?" Marcus asks, huffing out a small laugh at himself. "I loved Paris almost a ridiculous amount. Although I wished it hadn't been for work and for pleasure."

“It’s not cliché if it’s honest.” It’s easy to picture him there, running through sunny streets or ducking into cafes to avoid the rain. Sightseeing and lingering over dinners and walking along the Seine. It’s dreamy. Fuck it. He is dreamy and you’re not afraid to think so anymore. “I’ve always wanted to go. It sounds…perfect. But I know that’s just because I’ve seen Amélie too many times.”

"Sabrina for me." Marcus hums, acknowledging that he has a romantic streak. As if you didn't know that. "I still wish the Concord was still flying. Going to Paris for a weekend would be so much easier."

“God, I love Sabrina, too. Charade and An American in Paris.” You snort, listening to yourself list off names. “I think I might have an addiction. Or just a dream. Maybe both.” Another sip of wine is a gentle burn down your throat and with whole Booze Bath thing might be your new favorite way to unwind. Especially if he’s on the other end of the phone while you’re at it. “And I’ve always wanted to go to Harry’s New York Bar and try to sit in every seat, just so I can make sure I sat in the same place as F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“Are we drinking Old Fashioned or Negroni’s?” He’s asks, inviting himself along on the adventure that sounds like an amazing time. “Because I think that to sit in his seat, you need to have one of his cocktails in your hand.”

“Fitzgerald’s favorite cocktail was a Gin Rickey,” you tease down the phone, enjoying the ease of having so many small things in common. It’s never felt so genuinely comfortable talking to someone new and yet so very exciting. Marcus makes you feel like you could fall asleep in his arms with your heart blazing on fire. “So I will definitely be drinking a Gin Rickey.”

“I could have sworn I read somewhere he liked those drinks too.” Marcus pouts slightly, not really caring for Gin, but if that’s the drink, that’s the drink.

“I think Hemingway was a Negroni guy along with his daiquiris.” He sounds like he’s pouting on the other end and the overwhelming urge to reach through the phone and kiss it away is stunning. “Either way, we need to sit in every seat at Harry’s. Wherever Fitzgerald’s ass was, Hemingway’s was sure to follow. And vice versa.”

“Fuck, I’m thinking of The Great Gatsby.” He groans, hanging his head at his own mistake. This is what happens when you don’t reread the classics.

“I’m always thinking of The Great Gatsby,” you admit with another laugh. “When I was a preteen I begged my parents to take me to Long Island to see his house. I refused to believe he was made up.”

“I don’t blame you.” He hums. “It would be amazing if it were real.”

“Amazing and sad. But still amazing.” Returning the sound without thinking of it consciously, you hum back to him and close your eyes in the hot bath. “What’s the book you wish you could step into? Just crack the binding and fall down into it like Alice down the rabbit hole?”

“How many nerd points and I going to accumulate if I tell you that it’s The Fellowship of the Ring?” He asks with a snort, tilting his bottle back to drain the second beer.

“That’s such a good one though!” Immediately sitting up again, the slosh and splash of water is audible but you don’t care. “Whether you’re taking the place of someone in the fellowship or just going to live your best hobbit-y life in the Shire, that is a fantastic choice. Ten thousand points and a fancy ring you should never wear for Marcus.”

He laughs, easily and freely with you. “Maybe an extra companion on the journey.” He hums. “Another Merry or Pip.”

“Oh sure.” The sound of his laugh is magical, and you know without hesitation that you’ll continue to do whatever you can to hear it. “Because that’s what they need. More trouble. You just want second breakfast and Elevensies.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus insists. “Luncheon, and supper, and tea too.”

“Why do you think I was so excited when my best friend decided she wanted to be a chef?” You pose, hoping he’ll laugh again. “It’s purely for the food benefits. I’m just a hobbit girl at heart.”

“Are you hobbity enough to have a movie marathon where you have complete meals that are inspired by the Hobbits?” Marcus asks teasingly.

The sound you make is best described as an indignant harrumph, and this time it’s your turn to pout. “I would be if I had anybody to watch them with. Syd won’t watch them with me anymore. Apparently I outplayed that hand college.”

“The only way to watch them is the director’s extended cuts.” Marcus tells you. “At least every three years or so. Because it does take an entire weekend.”

“One hundred percent. I could not agree more.” All these small, nerdy parts of you that just line up are such a deep breath of fresh air to be able to share. “And mead is proof that there is magic left in the world.”

“You know….I’ve never actually had mead.” He admits, leaning back in the tub and looking up at the ceiling again. “Do I lose points for that?”

“Hmmm…maybe?” Pretending to think about it, you shrug your shoulders like he could somehow see you. “We’ll just have to get you some mead to try when you get back. While we plan our trip to Paris and Middle Earth.”

“Can we visit Middle Earth first?” Marcus asks, indulging in a dream situation where he would be able to travel with you for real. “Never been there before.”

“Absolutely.” In fact, you might agree to just about anything he asked of you in that lazy, sleepy voice. A voice that makes you glance up at the clock and sigh. “But honey…how long have you been awake? You must be exhausted.”

He pauses when he hears you call him honey, but he figures it is a friendly term. “Uh…” he pulls the phone away from his ear and glances at the clock again. “Thirty-six and half hours?” He answers. “Give or take?”

“And how are you supposed to be the Sherlock Holmes of Fine Art if you’re sleep deprived?” It’s not that you want to stop talking to him. Quite the opposite, in fact. But you know what it’s like to be sleep deprived with something important to do. You make silly mistakes that can sometimes cost.

“Jet lagged.” Marcus hums sleepily. He’s relaxed now that he’s talked to you, or maybe because of you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“How about now?” If you could sneak your way into that hotel room and wrap him up in a soft bathrobe and snuggle him right into bed, you would do it in a heartbeat. The following morning would probably be very dirty, but still the sentiment remains. “Are you feeling a little more relaxed?”

“I could probably catch a few hours of sleep.” He admits, eyes slipping closed. He leans back even more and yawns. “Your voice is soothing.” He mumbles.

“Yours is, too.” So much so that you’re feeling boneless in your bath. Though after you hang up the phone you might keep thinking about him…for other reasons. There’s an undeniable ache building that will eventually need relief.

“Should probably let you go.” He huffs, the slight pout to his tone one of sleepy regret. “You sound tired.”

“You wanna call me tomorrow?” After crossing this comfortable threshold into not just friends, but friends who dance and chat on the phone? You’re not inclined to give this up.

"I can try." Marcus promises. "I don't know what the day might bring, but around this same time? If I'm not sleeping?"

"Sounds good." Though you won't voice it, you know you'll be waiting by the phone hoping that he's able to call. "I'm glad you got there safe and that you're going to get some sleep tonight."

“G’night, sweetheart.” Marcus has to drag himself out of the bath, but between the bath, the beer and talking to you, he’s ready to slip off into dreamworld.

"Good night, honey." The first time you hadn't even realized you had said it, but the second is as full of warmth as a hot toddy on a snowy day. And as the call disconnects you sit back in your bath with nothing but beaming giddiness on your face.

______

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