Secret Services (Horatio & Rabbitrun)
“Sir, you’re on in five minutes,”
“Yes, yes, I know…where’s Miles?”
“Kathleen went to get him sir, he’ll be here,”
The President of the United States ran a nervous hand through thinning brown hair, looking over his speech as he paced around the hall. He was to address the public on a new bill he’d just passed that would receive a lot of complaints from the upper middle class. But he’d promised to fix the recession in his campaign and by God, he was gonna try his hardest.
But first, he needed his good luck charm, where was his son?
Miles Eastman did not share many similarities with his father; they had the same nose, eyes and the same dimples when they smiled. Otherwise he was the spitting image of his Native American mother. God rest her soul. Hair so black it was purple in the sunlight and long enough to reach the middle of his back, tan skin and striking bone structure. President Fredrick Eastman was almost too pale and beginning to show his age in comparison.
With his wife almost ten years in the grave, she’d never seen him get elected but had always supported his dream and adored the idea of being the first Native American wife in the White House. While some of her ashes had been spread in the desert her tribe was from, the rest sat in the urn Fredrick kept on his desk in the oval office. Without her, Miles was all the family he had and his son had been there for him every step of the way, cheering him on. And in support of his son, he’d made gay rights the driving force behind his re-election. No one thought he would win and tried to change his mind but he was adamant. Now, here he was in his second term. All thanks to Miles.
“Is that paint in your hair?! I told you to be ready you little brat,”
“Sorry Kathy, I got inspired and didn’t have time to change,”
A tall, blonde (dyed of course) woman in a bright red pantsuit scowled as she fussed over the smaller man beside her. His dark hair was tied neatly into a tight braid and the tiny splotch of blue paint was hardly noticeable but Kathleen Fuller, his father’s press secretary saw everything. And freaked out about it.
At least he was wearing nice clothes, the fitted slacks and matching jacket over a pressed white button-up. It wasn’t Miles’ first choice but he wouldn’t dare embarrass his father in front of the press.
“Well, just don’t present the right side of your head to the cameras,” Kathy’s icy blue eyes rolled while Miles’ gray eyes twinkled mischievously, “And be more careful next time, I won’t have your father humiliated over your stupid hobbies.”
Miles clenched his fist, Kathy never said it, but he had a feeling she was slightly homophobic which made him wonder why she worked for his father in the first place. He’d never been able to hide his sexuality. And painting wasn’t stupid! Kathy wouldn’t know art if it bit her in the ass!
The First Son took a deep breath, he could wait until after the speech to give the woman a black eye.
“As you wish, your Highness,” he muttered, making her scoff and walk ahead of him.
“Come on, the President’s waiting,”
Miles stuck out his tongue at Kathleen’s back before glancing back at his ever-present shadow and smirking. At least he wasn’t the only one who hated the secretary.