You're jolted awake by Kamala's hand on your shoulder, shaking you urgently. Her voice is tight, as she whispers, "Jessica, get up. Now. You need to get dressed, the police are here."
Groggy, you sit up, trying to focus, but the fear in her eyes snaps you awake. You feel your boob slide from your chest
"What… What's happening? Why are they here?"
Kamala pulls a loose shirt over her head and slips into a pair of pants, her hands moving faster than her words.
"They're moving forward with criminal charges," she says calmly.
"It's just a procedure, Jess. Nothing targeted or personal, they have to do this."
You watch in shock as she puts on slippers and heads toward the door. You follow. The calmness in her voice feels surreal as she lets the officers handcuff her wrists gently, her eyes on you as if to reassure you that she's alright. Your heart pounds, but you nod, swallowing back the urge to protest.
One of the officers turns to you, face expressionless as they hold a camera.
"Ma'am, we need to take some pictures for the record, to document any bruising or injuries. Your cooperation will help move things along"
"Bruising?" you echo, confused.
"I don't… I don't remember any bruising."
"Please," he says, nodding toward the bathroom, "just show us any areas you think may be affected."
Still reeling, you lead them to the bathroom and turn on the light. As you stare at yourself in the mirror, you realize they're right. Dark, finger-shaped marks shadow your neck, fading down toward your collarbone. You blink in disbelief, fingers grazing the tender skin.
The officer gently prompts you to turn, and as you do, you notice more bruising along your upper arms, then you lift your shirt sure no harm has come there, your ribs have a faint purples and blue hue in areas.
You don't even recognize yourself for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar bruises that paint your skin.
After the officers finish taking your statement, they leave quietly, their presence fading into the early morning light. You glance at the clock, 6 a.m. Kamala is gone, and the shock of everything hangs heavy over you.
But you still have to go to work.
Moving, on autopilot, you slip into your clothes, splash water on your face, and brush your teeth, trying to chase away the lingering fog of exhaustion and confusion. The Presidential Quarters feel emptier than ever as you make your way to the door, straightening your posture and willing yourself to hold it together.
As you step out into the hallway, the tension in the air is almost tangible. Every gaze seems to turn your way, curious, cautious. You avoid their stares, focusing on each step until you reach the office, your office. Staring down the hall at the Oval Office doors for just a moment before entering.
You sink into your chair, staring at the mountain of paperwork stacked on your desk. Reports, policy briefs, memos, all demanding your attention. You force yourself to pick up the first paper, the words blurring in front of you. Your hand instinctively reaches for the phone as you dial Kamala's extension, you try not to worry about her.
The phone rings, and rings, until it clicks over to voicemail. No answer.
You remember, heart sinking, that she's not just down the hall or at a meeting. She's gone, likely being questioned, or perhaps being held. You close your eyes, fighting the helplessness rising in your chest, but it's relentless.
You sit there, phone in hand, the office around you silent as the weight of everything presses down, the bruises, the accusations, the scrutiny, and Kamala's absence.
The morning dragged on in a cold blur as Kamala was led down sterile hallways, her fingerprints taken, her mugshot snapped—every step surreal, yet she held her head high and squared her shoulders. She knew the procedure well but had never imagined experiencing it firsthand. And though she kept her composure, her mind wandered to Jessica, wondering if she was okay, if she knew what was happening. She sat in the quiet, hours stretching endlessly as the silence pressed in on her. She tried to focus on anything but the image of you, sitting alone at your desk, likely reeling from the news. But her mind wouldn't stay quiet, and she knew the weight of everything was piling on you as much as it was on her. It gnawed at her—the thought that you were out there, alone, bearing this burden for her, even when none of it was fair to you.
They left after, asserting they'd be back, as if she'd get up and leave.
They had her in the cell alone, the others she could see empty, no other voices, just the constant buzzing silence that she'd never missed. Silence meant she couldn't do anything about what was happening, she hated it.
Stanton and Malinda had left, their parting words hanging heavily in the air. She'd kept her answers steady, but every question felt like it chipped away at her resolve, like they were testing to see if she'd break. Once they were gone, she found herself alone with her thoughts again. The other cells around her were empty, silent, a buzzing emptiness filling the space that felt both deafening and stifling.
In the quiet, a thought slowly began to settle in, one that had lingered in the back of her mind for too long. You being with her—it was as if it brought nothing but trouble. She couldn't ignore it anymore. Since she'd entered office, you'd been caught in an unending cycle of stress, scandals, threats. She'd tried to keep you safe, but it had become impossible to ignore that you were struggling to do your job, that the public scrutiny was casting a shadow over everything. And it wasn't just you; her own presidency was at risk of becoming a joke, more tabloid than governance.
She whispered it to herself, letting the words settle like stones in her chest. "I need to let you go."
Saying it out loud hurt more than she'd anticipated, but as the words left her mouth, she knew it was the only solution. She needed to protect you, let you have a chance to thrive without the constant interruptions, without the media feeding on every detail of your life together. And she… she needed to be the President, to have a presidency that was defined by her work, not by her personal life.
Kamala looked up, steeling herself. She practiced it again, speaking softly to the emptiness, as if you were in front of her, hearing each word for the first time.
"We'll take a break. Just for a while, just to focus on what we need to do." The words came out uneven, her voice barely above a whisper, but she forced herself to continue.
"I'll still be here, and we'll still talk. But it'll be… different."
As the hours wore on, she rehearsed it in her mind, over and over, turning the idea into something almost manageable. She convinced herself that this was the best thing—for you, for her, for the presidency itself. Trump was out of the picture now, and she needed stability, needed to focus on the role without the constant, unrelenting chaos that had taken over. And you—you deserved a chance to focus on your work, to prove yourself in your role without the shadow of scandal looming over you.
By the time the guards came to release her, she'd almost convinced herself. Almost. But a pang of dread stayed buried in her chest, a small voice reminding her that, even if she could say it, she needed to do it somehow.
After a while, they returned, a counselor joined shortly, discussing the case with guarded, professional whispers, as though she weren't there. Kamala cleared her throat and reminded them,
"I was the Attorney General. If you're making decisions about me, I'd like to be included."
The counselor gave a brief nod and addressed her directly.
"I've reviewed the footage, your statements, and the bruising Miss Rose sustained matches up with the accounts. Charges are dismissed, President Harris. You're free to return to your duties. Sorry for the inconvenience." His tone was cautious, an attempt to smooth over the impact of the morning's events.
Kamala nodded, meeting his gaze with understanding.
"You're doing your job; I understand. Just keep at it, and you'll thrive." She left without another word, reclaiming what dignity she could. But as she stepped out into the cool morning air, all she wanted was to get back to the White House—to Jessica.
The quiet halls weighed on her as she made her way to her office, pushing open the door. There was Jessica, glasses perched on her nose, eyes scanning paperwork with fierce focus, already a quarter of the way through the stack. Jessica looked up, startled, as Kamala entered.
Without a word, Kamala crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Jessica. Relief flooded her as she felt the warmth and steadiness of her in her embrace.
"What happened?" Kamala murmured, pulling back just enough to meet Jessica's gaze.
The morning dragged on in a blur as Kamala was led down hallways, her fingerprints taken, her mugshot snapped—every step surreal, yet she held her head high and squared her shoulders.
She knew the procedure well.
And though she kept her composure, her mind wandered to you, wondering if you were okay, if you were wondering what was happening.
Hours passed in the quiet, empty cell, and the silence was almost unbearable. She focused on anything but the image of you alone at her desk, overwhelmed? Eventually, Stanton and Malinda entered, their expressions grim. They sat across from her, rehashing every detail of the incident. Kamala kept her story steady and consistent, but the questions were draining, knowing each one could potentially shift their view of her.
After a while, they sighed and exchanged weary glances. Then a counselor entered, discussing the case with the agents in guarded, professional whispers, as though she weren't there.
Kamala cleared her throat and reminded them, "I was the Attorney General. If you're making decisions about me, I'd like to be included."
The counselor gave a brief nod and addressed her directly.
"I've reviewed the footage, your statements, and the bruising Miss Rose sustained matches up with the accounts. Charges are dismissed, President Harris. You're free to return to your duties. Sorry for the inconvenience." His tone was cautious, an attempt to smooth over the impact of the morning's events.
Kamala nodded, meeting his gaze with understanding. "You're doing your job; I understand. Just keep at it, and you'll thrive." She left without another word, reclaiming what dignity she could. But as she stepped out into the cool morning air, she half expected to be there waiting, thankfully they weren't. All she wanted was to get back to the White House—to you.
The quiet halls weighed on her as she made her way to her office, pushing open the door. There was Jessica, glasses perched on her nose, eyes scanning paperwork with fierce focus, already a quarter of the way through the stack. Jessica looked up, startled, as Kamala entered.
She still had on her casual clothing, she didn't care she wasn't in her usual suit.
Without a word, Kamala crossed the room and wrapped her arms around you. Relief flooded her as she felt the warmth and steadiness of her in your embrace.
"What happened?" you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet Kamala's gaze.
Kamala moved away and eased herself into the chair across from you, releasing a sigh that carried the tension of the past few hours. She leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk, her gaze softening as it met yours.
"They're dismissing the charges," Kamala said quietly.
"They ruled it self-defense, and legally, I'll be fine." Her voice steadied, but you noticed the slight pinch of worry around her eyes.
"But… I'm well aware of how this is going to look in the press. They're not going to care about the details…just the headlines." She rubbed her temples, stress visible in her posture.
you took a steadying breath, glancing briefly down at the papers in front of you. "Then… what's the plan?" she asked, her voice soft but resolute. "Because they're going to come for both of us, Kamala. They'll spin this however they can."
Kamala nodded, a faint, tired smile crossing her lips. "I know. And as much as I'd love to handle it myself, I can't this time" She leaned back slightly, eyes intent on yours.
"But, I don't want this affecting you, Jess. If things get out of hand, you might have to—"
"No," Jessica interrupted, her tone firm.
" I'm not going to step aside just to protect myself. You didn't ask for this, Kamala. And I didn't choose to be here just to run when things get difficult."
Kamala smiled. "I should have known you'd say that." She took a deep breath, reaching across the desk and covering your hand with her own.
"Jessica this is serious, this has gone on for way too long, and It's getting to you, I can see it, you have a job to do and so do I…" She began as she averted her gaze, shame etching itself on her face
Kamala's fingers tightened around your hand as she looked away, her gaze heavy with a mix of regret and determination.
"Jessica, this... what we have, it's starting to take a toll on you. I see it. You're brilliant…you could thrive here, but I'm holding you back. I'm dragging you down before you've even had a chance to truly shine." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her hand trembling slightly before she pulled it back.
Jessica's face twisted with confusion and hurt as she processed Kamala's words. "What... what are you saying?"
Kamala took a breath.
"I think we need to step back," she said, forcing herself to meet your gaze, even though the words felt like they were tearing her apart.
"Just for now. We can still talk, still support each other, but we keep things strictly professional." She swallowed, her voice faltering.
"It's the only way I can protect you from all of this. Let you be something other than mine"
You shook her head in disbelief, your voice breaking.
"How long, Kamala?" she asked, desperation creeping in.
"I don't know," Kamala replied, barely able to keep her own voice steady.
A tear slid down your cheek, and suddenly, you were pleading.
"Please… don't do this, Kamala. We can get through this together. Don't push me away. You don't mean it—I can do better? I can work harder! I'll say whatever need to be said, attend whatever, just do-"
"Jessica, you will see why I'm doing this later"
Kamala's jaw tightened as she fought her own tears, but she stood, unyielding.
"I have to do this, Jess. I have to." She looked at you one last time, a silent apology in her gaze, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving you sobbing into her hands, alone at your desk.
As she made her way to the Oval Office, Kamala's carefully composed facade began to crack. She took a shuddering breath and picked up her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart.
"Kamala?" Maya's voice was immediate, concerned. "Is everything alright?"
Kamala swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "I ended things with Jessica, Maya. I... I can't face her again. Just… check on her, please?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a soft, understanding sigh. "Of course. I'll check in on her."
Kamala hung up, setting the phone down with trembling hands. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the quiet emptiness settling in.
Back in your office, your phone buzzed.
You lifted her tear-streaked face, seeing Maya's name flash across the screen.
You hesitated, still feeling the ache Kamala had left behind, before answering.
Maya's voice was gentle as she asked, "Hey, Jess. Are you alright?"
You collapsed back into your chair, your sobs breaking free in a desperate rush as Maya's voice crackled through the phone. You clutched the phone to your ear tightly, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.
"Kamala… Kamala ended it, Maya," she gasped, voice barely audible.
"She's done with me. I… I don't know how to fix this. I thought… I thought I did everything right, Maya. I failed her in every possible way. I'm supposed to be her support, and instead, all I've done is become this burden, this distraction. I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore!"
Maya's voice was calm and steady on the other end, but Jessica could hear the concern in it.
"Jess, just breathe. I know it's hard right now, but I need you to take a step back for a second. Tell me everything. What happened?"
Jessica's breath caught in her throat as she wiped her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.
"She said it was too much. That she couldn't do this anymore. That I was getting in her way. She didn't want me to keep hurting. She… she said it wasn't about me, but I know it is. She ended it to protect me. I can't even do the one thing she asked of me. I thought I could handle this, thought I was strong enough. I LOVE HER? WHAT DID I DO WRONG!"
Maya was quiet for a long moment, and you felt the crushing silence in the pit of her stomach, before she heard her sister's voice again, softer this time.
"Jess, Kamala is head over heels for you. I've seen it. She's crazy about you, but this pressure? It's a lot, and I know she's trying to protect you from all of it. She's been in this game for decades, you haven't even had a few weeks. That's a lot to carry, and it's not just about you. It's about everything. The press, the job, the spotlight. It's suffocating. I know she didn't want to hurt you, but she's trying to keep you safe from all the noise, it will consume you and kill you, she doesn't want you in that anymore, she probably sees herself in you Jess and back then no one was there to pull her out…"
"She's pulling you out before you hurt yourself or someone else does it again."
"I just want to be there for her," Jessica whispered, tears streaming freely again.
"I want to help her, not be the reason she needs help. I'm suffocating her with everything… with my own weakness."
"I get it, I really do," Maya continued, her voice low but steady.
"But you're not the reason she's struggling. Kamala's been doing this for 30 years. She knows what the press will do. And the press? They already tore into her, and you're the one they'll target next. Trust me when I say this—you're strong, Jess. You're stronger than most. But you can't expect to just dive into this world and not feel the weight of it. You'll get through this. You will. Kamala's not done with you. I know her, and I know she's not throwing this all away. She just needs to figure things out, take a step back, plan. She's being cautious, but she'll come around."
"She always does." she adds
you let the words sink in slowly, your body trembling with every breath.
"I don't know if I can take this much longer. Every time I think I'm starting to get it, it just… falls apart. I'm not enough."
Maya's voice softened even further. "You are enough, Jess. You always have been. You just need to trust that Kamala knows what she's doing, and that this isn't about you failing her. She needs you, this doesn't mean she's walking away for good. When the press cools down? When all the noise dies down, you'll find each other again."
You held the phone tightly to her ear, your sobs slowly becoming less frantic, though the ache in your chest remained.
Maya's voice was firm, cutting through the fog of despair.
"Jess, you've been through more in a few weeks than most people face in a lifetime. You're young, you're still figuring this all out. Kamala's been in this for 30 years. Thirty. She's seen everything, dealt with it all. You're not just gonna magically step in and carry the same weight. But you will, eventually. You'll get there. And as for Kamala? She's not done with you. She's just trying to protect you. She cares about you too much to see you crushed under the pressure."
You breathed slowly, taking in Maya's words, trying to hold onto the flicker of hope she could hear in her voice.
"I hope so. I really do. I just… I can't lose her, Maya."
"You won't lose her, Jess. I promise."
"Just give her some time. She'll come around. And when she does? You'll be ready."
Kamala paced the Oval Office, hands fidgeting as she struggled to convince herself she was doing the right thing. She tried to stay composed, her face set in determination, but every few steps her resolve faltered, a tearless sob escaping her throat.
She sank into her desk chair, forcing herself to look at the document in front of her, a law long been awaiting her approval. She focused on the words, anything to stop her mind from wandering back to you. But despite her best efforts, your face, your voice, lingered at the edge of her thoughts, gnawing at her.
"You don't mean it—I can do better?"
The hours crept by, and later that night, a soft knock sounded on the office door. Kamala's heart leapt, even as she collected herself.
"Come in," she called, her voice steady but tense.
You stepped in, not meeting her eyes. Kamala's stomach twisted at the sight of you—hurt etched deep in your expression, but your shoulders squared with determination.
Before she could speak, you quietly said, "I've booked a hotel. I've set up some tours to look at houses, maybe a new car too.
Kamala managed a sad smile, though the words stung. She quickly stood, moving toward you, an impulse to close the distance between you both overpowering her caution. But as she took a step closer, you instinctively took one back, your face hardening.
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to reach for you.
"I'm sorry… I didn't think about where you'd stay. If you want, you could use the presidential vacation home. Just until things settle down."
You shook your head, a sad, bitter smile forming on your lips. "
This is what you wanted, right? Space. I'm just giving it to you." Your voice was calm, but the pain beneath it was unmistakable.
Kamala's face fell, and she stepped back. "Jess, that's not what I meant. Not like this." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a raw vulnerability slipping through.
You hesitated, meeting her eyes for the first time that night. There was a tremor in your voice, a wound she could feel even from where she stood.
"I know," you replied, your bitterness softened by the pain you couldn't hide.
"But it still hurts. And I need to protect myself too. I worry that being around you when I shouldn't will ruin things more…"
She reached out as if to take your hand, then stopped, pressing her hands into her pockets to keep from touching you, from pulling you into an embrace that would shatter whatever barriers she'd put between you both. She bit her lip, keeping the words she wanted to say, the words that would admit she didn't want this time apart at all, from spilling out.
"If you need anything… anything at all, just ask," Kamala murmured, her voice tight.
"I still love you"
Without even realizing it, you answered, "I know," before you turned, barely holding back tears as you walked out, closing the door softly behind you.
You couldn't say it back, you knew she wasn't lying, but it still hurt all the same.
Kamala stood alone, watching the door long after it shut. Every part of her screamed to run after you, to take it all back. She pressed her hands deeper into her pockets, biting her lip harder until it hurt. She stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the door you'd just walked through, fighting back tears that threatened to break her composure. And as the silence settled around her, she knew that in her attempt to do the right thing, she was hurting you both.
May 5th, 2025
Kamala leaned against the bathroom counter, trying to compose herself after an unexpectedly exhausting evening. The murmur of laughter and clinking glasses was muffled outside the bathroom door, where the dinner party was in full swing. You stepped in, immediately flashing a warm smile as you adjusted your outfit in the mirror.
"Everything's going smoothly tonight, huh?" you said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.
Kamala met your gaze briefly before letting out a sigh, her expression softening. The weight of whatever was on her mind seemed to settle between you both, heavy yet unspoken. You turned to her, concern etched on your face.
"What's wrong, baby?" The endearment slipped out before you could stop it, and your eyes widened as you quickly corrected yourself.
"I mean, Miss Harris. I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"
She reached out, gently grabbing your arm as you moved to leave.
"It's fine," she murmured, her voice so soft it almost hurt. Her fingers lingered on your arm, and her gaze was searching, vulnerable.
"Actually... I wanted to ask you if you might want to try again. I meant it when I said this was temporary," she said, hesitating.
"I've missed you. I'd like another chance, if you're willing to give me one."
A rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, and you tried to suppress a hopeful smile.
"I'd like that, Kamala. Maybe we could take it slow this time?" you replied, your voice quiet but firm.
"You could come over, and we could work on some things together—no pressure. Just… to figure it out."
Kamala's face softened with relief, and she nodded.
"I'd love that. After tonight, I'll come over. We'll start fresh, slow, whatever you need."
You gave her a grateful smile, feeling the old warmth start to return as she held your gaze. "I'm really looking forward to this," you whispered, and as you both left the bathroom, you couldn't help but feel that, this time, you both might just get it right.
After your quiet moment in the bathroom, the energy of the dinner party felt charged as you both rejoined the festivities. Kamala stayed near, her hand lightly brushing yours now and then as if the smallest touch reassured her. The room was filled with high-profile guests—senators, business executives, diplomats—all chatting over glasses of wine and laughing over inside jokes. But more than a few curious eyes turned in your direction. It had been some time since anyone had seen you and Kamala together, and the scrutiny was palpable.
You were in the middle of a casual conversation when a congressman smiled and raised his glass toward you both.
"We haven't seen you two in the news much lately," he said with a wink, clearly expecting a playful response.
"Usually, there's a new picture or headline every few weeks. Staying out of trouble, I hope?"
You felt the heat rise in your face as others chuckled, turning their attention to you for an answer. You gave a nervous laugh, fumbling for words.
"Uh, well, I think we've both been, um, focused on work... trying to keep a lower profile," you said, a weak smile stretching across your face.
Someone else chimed in, a senator's spouse who had been avidly following your relationship since its early days. "Good for you! You both deserve a break from all that press nonsense. But I have to say, the photos were always adorable," she said, her voice full of warmth.
Another guest—a political strategist—leaned forward with a smirk.
"So, does this mean you and Kamala have gotten more serious in your relationship?"
The question hit harder than expected, and you felt your composure waver. You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Kamala, your mind racing for an answer that didn't feel too vulnerable or too rehearsed.
Kamala's eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed your discomfort. She stepped in, her tone sharp enough to silence the room.
"Our relationship isn't a headline for speculation," she said firmly.
"If there's anything Jessica and I want to share, you'll hear it directly from us."
Her words hung in the air, creating an awkward hush as guests exchanged uncertain looks, some murmuring soft apologies and hasty congratulations. The strategist quickly withdrew, mumbling something about "not meaning to intrude," and an aide nearby coughed awkwardly, redirecting the conversation back to lighter topics.
The rest of the evening passed in a strange tension, with some guests avoiding eye contact while others threw cautious smiles and murmured their support. Kamala's hand slipped to your back now and then, a steady presence anchoring you as the questions faded into more subdued, polite conversation. As the night wound down, you felt Kamala's warm hand cover yours briefly, a silent promise amidst the social turmoil.
Eventually, the last guests trickled out, leaving just the two of you in the now-quiet room. Kamala turned to you, her face softened, a glimmer of regret and resolve in her eyes. You offered her a small, relieved smile, and without another word.
—
The knock at your door startled you for a moment before you realized who it was. You opened it to find Kamala standing there, a bottle of wine in one hand and a plastic container of brownies in the other. Her smile was wide, her laughter barely contained as she held the gifts up like peace offerings.
"Well, look at you," you teased, leaning against the door frame.
"Wine and brownies? What's the occasion?"
Her laughter broke free then, rich and warm. "I missed your proper housewarming. I feel terrible about it, so I figured I'd make it up to you."
She lifted the items higher. "Wine, dessert, and a promise to cook. Forgive me?"
You stepped aside, shaking your head but smiling. "How could I not? Get in here before my neighbors start thinking the president is delivering DoorDash."
Kamala laughed as she stepped inside, slipping off her shoes. She handed you the wine and brownies, her fingers brushing yours.
"I'm serious," she said, glancing around. "I'm going to cook something tonight. You deserve it."
In the kitchen, you set the wine on the counter and immediately peeled the lid off the brownies.
Kamala was already surveying your kitchen, pulling open cabinets and drawers.
"You've really made this place your own," she said. "It's cozy."
"That's a nice way of saying it's small," you replied, chewing another bite of brownie.
"Not at all," she shot back, flashing you a grin. "It's charming."
She opened the refrigerator, scanning its contents. "Alright, how about curry chicken?" she suggested, turning to face you. "It was what we had on our first date, and it went well. Why not relive the magic?"
You nodded, still chewing. "That works for me. As long, we don't burn the rice this time."
Kamala let out a dramatic sigh, closing the fridge door. "That was only, you" she said, stepping closer. Her hand brushed your hip as she passed, the touch lingering just a moment too long to be accidental.
"And for the record, it wasn't burned. It was crispy. There's a difference."
You snorted, grabbing another brownie.
"Sure, keep telling yourself that." She laughed
You bit in and hummed a satisfied sound, narrowing your eyes at her. "You're lucky I said we were taking things slow."
Kamala paused, apron in hand, and turned to face you. Her smile grew into a sly, knowing grin. "Oh, I'm lucky, huh?"
"Very," you replied, licking a crumb off your thumb.
She tilted her head, studying you for a moment before tying the apron around her waist. "Well, if you're this impressed by store-bought brownies, wait until you taste my cooking tonight."
Your mock gasp made her laugh, her voice filling the room as she grabbed a cutting board and knife. "You're telling me these aren't homemade?" you said, holding up the container.
"Not even close," she admitted, already slicing an onion. "But they're good, right?"
You couldn't argue with that, so you grabbed another brownie and leaned against the counter, watching her work. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved around your kitchen. As she chopped and prepped, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of conversation and teasing. She'd glance at you occasionally, her smile softening in a way that made your chest ache, but you pushed the feeling down. Tonight was about having fun.
—
When the scent of spices filled the air, Kamala turned to you, her eyes warm. Kamala set the chopped onions aside, wiping her hands on the apron tied snugly around her waist. The kitchen was alive with the sizzling of oil and the aroma of garlic and spices. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, half-listening to her while sneaking glances at her focused expression.
"So, you're telling me it's worth the political hassle to push for that policy?" Kamala asked, stirring the pot of curry. She glanced at you, one eyebrow arched, her tone both challenging and amused.
You shrugged, picking up a stray piece of onion peel from the counter. "It's not about whether it's worth it—it's about whether you can actually pull it off without causing an uproar."
Kamala laughed, shaking her head. "You sound like every aide I've ever had. Sometimes an uproar is the point. It forces people to pay attention."
"Sure, if the uproar doesn't drown out the message," you countered, stealing a piece of carrot from the cutting board.
"And anyway, who said the message is clear enough in the first place?"
She narrowed her eyes at you, pointing her wooden spoon in your direction. "You're lucky I like you, or I'd make this extra spicy just to teach you a lesson."
You smirked, popping the carrot into your mouth. "I can handle… spice."
Kamala shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she went back to stirring.
By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was filled with the rich, comforting smell of curry. Kamala plated the chicken with rice while you attempted to help, though your efforts mostly consisted of grabbing utensils and "taste-testing" the sauce.
"You're a terrible chef's helper," she teased, nudging you aside with her hip.
"Excuse me?" you replied, mock-offended. "I provided emotional support and quality control. Without me, this might've turned out…crispy."
Kamala snorted, handing you a plate.
"The only thing you've provided is a distraction. But I'll give you points for enthusiasm."
You followed her to the table, carrying the wine and two glasses. Once you were both seated, the playful banter faded into a comfortable silence as you started eating.
Your fork paused halfway to your mouth as you caught her glancing at you. Her gaze flickered away quickly, but not before you saw the faint blush dusting her cheeks.
You let your eyes linger for a moment, tracing the curve of her cheekbone, the way her lips pressed together as if she were trying not to smile. Your gaze drifted down to her hands, watching the way her fingers rested lightly on the stem of her wine glass. There was something so deliberate about the way she moved, so effortlessly sensual.
Your mind wandered, imagining those hands tracing lazy patterns on your skin. You shook the thought away, clearing your throat and focusing on your plate.
Kamala, oblivious to the direction of your thoughts, tilted her head. "Well?" she asked, watching you closely. "Does it taste as good as the first time?"
You looked up, meeting her gaze, and nodded. "Better," you admitted, the word carrying more weight than you intended.
Her smile softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the quiet clink of forks against plates.
Kamala broke the silence, leaning forward slightly. "I was worried it wouldn't live up to the memory," she said, her voice low.
You set your fork down, giving her a small, genuine smile. "It's perfect."
Her eyes lingered on yours, and for a second, the air between you felt charged. But then she leaned back, taking a sip of her wine, and the moment passed.
"So," she said, her tone lighter now. "What's the verdict? Am I forgiven, will you take me back?"
You laughed, picking up your wine glass. "I think you have more than made up for it and yes."
You smile at her as you take another bite of your food. No matter how mad or hurt you were if she cooked, you definitely would forgive her.
—
Kamala set her glass down on the coffee table, the soft clink of it breaking the silence as she looked over at you, her expression unreadable for a moment. You both had moved into the living room after cleaning up, curling up on the couch facing each other with your glasses of wine in hand. The quiet between you had started to settle, you could feel her eyes on you, watching, waiting, as the space between you seemed to stretch.
The tension was thick now, palpable, the kind that only grew the longer it was ignored. You shifted slightly, setting your glass down, the clink of it louder than you expected in the stillness. You took a breath, trying to steady the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind, and then you let the question slip out before you could stop it.
"Kamala, I love you, but everything that happened, I either barely remember or I'm still working through. And I just need to ask you something, just to be sure…"
She tilted her head, her eyes softening, concern flickering behind them. She leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me," she murmured, her voice low, inviting you to continue.
You swallowed, trying to find the words, but your heart was thudding in your chest. "Will you please tell me that I'm not some toy to you?" The question came out before you could stop it, the raw vulnerability in your voice sharp and unshielded. "You tell me about everything I am and can be, but I don't feel like it. Not right now."
Kamala froze for a moment, her hand hovering over the space between you. You could see her processing the weight of your words, and the silence stretched long enough for you to second-guess yourself. But you pressed on.
"Kamala, I'm not going to cry or beg tonight. But I want to know if you'd actually want to be with me long term? Is this an arrangement or a relationship?" You bit your lip, the words feeling like they had been building for so long, and now that they were out, you couldn't quite catch your breath. You looked down at your lap, unable to meet her gaze.
She didn't answer right away. You could hear the faint shift of her breath, the quiet rustle of fabric as she sat closer, her hand slowly reaching out to find yours. You felt the warmth of her touch before she gently squeezed your hand, as though grounding you.
"I don't want to be the reason you feel that way," she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity. She hesitated for a moment, then continued, her gaze steady on yours, her eyes searching.
"I know things between us have been… complicated, and I never meant to make you feel disposable. I care about you. I care about us."
Her thumb traced slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you further as you looked up to meet her eyes. "This isn't an arrangement, or a game. This is real for me, and I want it to be real for you too. You matter to me more than you know."
You leaned in, your lips brushing against Kamala's. She froze for a moment before kissing you back, her hand sliding up to cup your cheek. The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with an unspoken promise. For a brief moment, the world around you melted away, and it was just the two of you, connected in a way words could never express.
---
Three years later
The Roosevelt Room was packed, the air thick with tension. Kamala sat at the head of the table, her face a mask of calm that you knew masked a whirlwind beneath. Advisors, strategists, and White House staff were crammed into every available seat, some standing against the walls. Papers were scattered across the table, and the conversations were loud, overlapping, and relentless.
"Madam President, we need a clear stance on the economy before we launch the campaign!"
"What about foreign policy? The world's eyes are on you!"
"And the healthcare reforms? Do we lead with that, or—"
"Hold on, what about endorsements? We need to lock those down first—"
Kamala tried to interject, her voice calm but firm. "I hear all of you, but—"
"Madam President, the approval ratings—"
"Social media outreach needs to be—"
"If we don't address climate change—"
Kamala's jaw tightened, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. You could see the frustration building, her patience wearing thin. When yet another person cut her off mid-sentence, she finally had enough.
"Enough!" Kamala's voice rang out, commanding the room.
Silence fell instantly as everyone turned to her. She leaned forward, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
"I am aware of every issue on this table and the weight of the decisions ahead. I do not need to be barraged with questions or shouted over when I haven't even had a chance to speak. I'll decide if I'm running for reelection when I'm ready. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a moment alone with my chief of staff."
The room was silent as her staff exchanged glances. Slowly, they began to gather their things and file out, leaving you and Kamala alone. She let out a long breath, leaning back in her chair as the door closed behind the last person.
"Chief of staff, huh?" you teased, raising an eyebrow.
Kamala's lips quivered into a small smile as she stood, walking over to you.
"I guess I should ask if you'd like the job again," she said playfully, her hands finding your waist.
You smirked, crossing your arms. "Only if you promise I won't have to throw myself on the ground anymore."
Kamala laughed, pulling you closer. "No promises," she murmured before wrapping her arms around you in a hug.
You felt her lips against your temple before she tilted your face up to kiss you. It was slow and soft at first, then deepened as the tension from the meeting melted away. Her hands slid up your back, and you felt yourself giving in to the moment.
The buzzing of her phone cut through the silence, vibrating against the desk. Kamala glanced down, her brow furrowing as she read the notification.
"Harris campaign? Taking the high road? All you need to know," she muttered, her tone laced with disbelief.
Your irritation flared. "Ignore it," you said, your voice firm.
Kamala's lips quivered into a small smile as she placed the phone back on the desk without a second glance. "Done," she said simply before pulling you back into her arms.
As the kiss deepened again, her hands tangling in your hair, she pulled back just enough to whisper, "Second time's a charm?"
You smirked, your breath warm against her lips. "We'll see."