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“So, Mr. President, environmentally concerned citizens would like to know…” Sydney whispered in Andrew Shepherd’s ear, from her position where she was leaning into his side, snuggled up warm and tight next to him on a blue and green checkerboard couch, her legs drawn up under her and his arm resting warmly around her shoulders, his hand playing with her hair.
He turned his head towards her, his thought far away, still focused on the sensation of her hair sliding silkily through his fingers.
“Hmmm? … would like to know what?”
“Well, they would like to know what the White House itself is doing to reduce environmental pollution in its day to day operations, now that the fossil fuel reduction bill has become a law. Less helicopter flights? More biking to Congress? A compost heap behind the White House kitchen? That kind of thing.”
He snorted a laugh “Well, suggestion three is certainly an option, just to get rid of all the shelved drafts of said law! Of which there are quite a few, since it is a law I struggled for long and hard, which I would have you and your concerned citizens know.”
She leaned in a little to kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, Andy, trust me: We know that you did, and you are our hero.”
He was in not in the mood for talking policy at a deeper level, though – nor did he think that Sydney really was, at that, since her tone of voice had definitely been teasing and light, rather than serious and concerned – so he replied with a light-hearted “Am I, now? That’s certainly good to hear, though polls might be going out tomorrow to find out if that plural you were using there is not just a majestic plural.”
"Oh, but Mr President, how can you mistrust the voice of your environmentally concerned citizens so? We will have you know that… ."
“Yes, Ms. GDC, what do you and your concerned citizens want me to know?”
Sydney looked at him, a mix of amusement and annoyance on her face, successfully sidetracked from her previous line of conversation – just like he had intended.
“Andy, don’t call me that! You know I am in no way the impersonated knowledge of the GDC. I barely scratch the surface of what they can tell you about the environment. I was hired by them to represent their agenda – a very worthy agenda, mind you, and something well worth supporting as any…”
“Sydney, Sydney, slow down!” Andrew Shepherd laughed, and lightly tugged at her short hair – not a difficult move, as his arm was conveniently around her and his hand even more conveniently already located in her hair and they were currently curled into each other on one of the – very comfortable, if he said so himself – sofas his White House living tract had to offer. “And also, I will have you know, again, that if you don’t like to be called ‘Miss GDC,’ then you had better stop calling me ‘Mister President’ while we are attempting to, as you called it, ‘spend some time snuggling on the couch together.’”
She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs lightly “Is air-quoting with such concinnity a skill that comes naturally to you, or did you have to attend classes on it in President school?”
He glared at her with an expression of mock outrage on his face: “Are you mocking my presidential acumen? I’ll have you know that I had to train long and hard to learn how to introduce air-quotes into my casual conversation without people noticing!”
She laughed, “Well, in that case, you should ask for your money and time back, because I’ve got to tell you, Andrew Shepherd, that I can tell when you do it, every single time.”
“Oh?” equally fake surprise washed over his face, laughter dancing in his eyes.
“Indeed, oh. There’s something in your voice when you do it – kind of like when you get that look on your face, the one that tells me you’re holding something back. Only this one is different, far more playful – and I’ve never seen you air-quote other people like that, to tease them, when you’re being the President. You only do it in private.”
He looked at her, amusement momentarily gone from his expression, “Well, being President is serious business.” And then his facial impression changed back to lightheartedness and he smirked mischievously at her, “Though actually, of course, it’s all part of my ongoing campaign to convince you to think of me in non-presidential ways.”
At that statement, she had to laugh again – for this was something he knew that she had managed to do quite some time ago, after all – and lean over to kiss his cheek. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Andrew Shepherd – it’s working.”
“Well, Sydney Ellen Wade, while I am certainly glad to hear that, I would prefer concrete evidence, rather than oral confirmation only,” he replied.
She arched her eyebrows at this blatant invitation. “Oh you would, would you?”
He nodded vigorously.
She bypassed what he so clearly had in mind (for now, anyway) and grinned at him, and with a reply of “Well, Andrew Shepherd of Wisconsin, never let it be said that you did not ask for it!” snuck her fingers under his shirt and started tickling his sides. As he drew his knees up, laughing helplessly and trying to protect his sides by tugging his arms in, she smirked at him. For she had found that men who happened to be the President for a term or two where just as ticklish as people holding some less distinguished office.