Chapter Text
When Selina first met Gary, he’d been just a teenager, so she hadn't even considered him in a romantic or sexual light. She'd also been in labor, which had clouded her observational skills quite a bit. As painful and stressful as Catherine's journey into the world had been, what Selina had noticed was that, several times, she'd barely finished making a complaint or demand before that guy had swooped in with exactly what she needed. Someone who would grind ice chips himself because the ones in the hospital were too big was detail-oriented, someone who would go above and beyond to make sure you were cared for, someone who really gave himself to his job. If she was going to run for Congress, she’d need someone like that.
Once they were discharged and on their way out, she moved to fish a business card out of her purse. If only she’d had someone to hold it for her: Andrew was bringing the car around, Sandra the nurse was pushing her wheelchair, and she was holding Catherine, so she had to hold it between her hip and the side of the chair, rooting around in it one-handed.
“Wait, hey!” she piped up as they headed onto the elevator. “Where’s that guy with the ice chips?”
“Who, ma’am?”
“You know, that fuckin’...” she waved her hand around to try to find the right word, business card trapped between her first two fingers. “...candy-stripper, whatever you call ‘em? Pee-wee Herman-lookin’ guy?”
“Oh, Gary?” Sandra offered. “Um, I think he’s in with another patient, is…it urgent?” She sounded confused, as if she couldn’t imagine why Selina would be looking for him.
“I mean, I guess it’s not that urgent,” Selina snapped, annoyed. She couldn't stand the thought of staying in the hospital much longer, and if having the nurse go get the guy was going to be a whole Thing? “Just give him this card next time you see him, would you Sarah?” She swung her card-holding hand back over her shoulder.
“It’s Sandra–”
“That's what I just said,” she interrupted in aggravation. “Tell him I have a job opportunity for him, okay? Have him call me.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Sandra said patiently, plucking the card from between Selina’s flailing fingers. Once they reached the lobby, her pager alert sounded and she had to run off to deal with a patient, leaving Selina by the front door.
“Sorry, ma’am, your husband should be back any moment, and you’ll be fine right here!” she rattled off as she ran back to the elevators.
“No problem!” Selina yelled after her, just barely managing to force a pleasant tone. “I'll just sit here with, uh…with her, I guess,” she chuckled stiffly as she jostled Catherine in her arms a little for emphasis, hoping Andrew would be quick and she wouldn’t have to sit there for too long. “Just you and me, huh?” she murmured to her newborn, reluctantly patting that oddly large head of disappointing hair. Not two pats in and Catherine started wailing again, and boy that really was an unpleasant noise, wasn’t it? “Hey, I'm not thrilled either, okay?”
When Gary had called her and she’d found out he was only fifteen, she had insisted he at least start college before he came to work for her officially. It made more sense anyway, since she wouldn’t really need any kind of personal assistant until her congressional campaign got going in a few years. They had kept in touch, e-mailing every once in a while, and he’d kept her informed on his progress, letting her know how things were going at school. Nothing too in-depth, she didn’t have time for that—or care all that much—but he at least let her know how his college prospects looked and which ones he was considering. Even through e-mail, he always seemed so happy to talk to her. It was kind of cute: she wasn’t even in politics yet and she already had a fan.
She hadn’t thought she’d get a chance to run for any sort of office until Gary was at least in college, but then Conrad Boyle had kicked it, leaving his seat in the 14th Congressional District of Maryland vacant only five weeks out from the 1996 election. A few decades past his prime and a notorious lech, Selina had been glad to see him go, irrespective of the opportunity it presented to her. Part of her would later blame her loss in that election on the fact that Gary was still in high school at the time, leaving her inadequately cared for and thus not at the top of her game: the majority of the blame lay on her underhanded, overqualified opponent and her lazy, crack-addled voter base of course, but she was always looking for additional places to point the finger.
Two years later, again cutting it pretty close to that year’s election, Porter Marshall, the man who’d defeated Selina in ‘96, died on one of his frequent—honestly excessive, no doubt purely performative—overseas relief missions. That time, she was rested up and ready to put all the lessons she’d learned from her previous defeat to good use, and she got right down to business to throw her hat in the ring for the seat again. Luckily, she would have Gary with her for that one: it was his first summer break from college.
He'd gone to Cornell, decided to study…some kind of science, she could never remember which one. Or maybe it was business? All those e-mails and phone calls and he’d never actually told her what he planned to do with his degree once he’d racked up enough experience and connections working for her, but she didn’t really need to know, she supposed. He took a while to get accustomed to college life, from what she could tell—he kept his cards even closer to his chest back then—but he’d done pretty well his Freshman year, and that summer he finally joined her on the campaign trail.
He’d been so excited when they finally met again, in her brand new campaign office. His palm was slightly clammy when he shook her hand, his handshake firmer than she was expecting but still so gentle, almost tender. He had really grown up in those few years, his face retaining that innocent look but now a bit more chiseled and confident.
“It’s so nice to meet you! Again. Ma’am!” he faltered, his nervous exuberance tugging ever so slightly on her heartstrings. Not even tugging, more like strumming. There really was something so sweet about him, it almost made her want to reach up and tousle his mop of dark brown hair. She’d never gotten anywhere by being too familiar with her employees though, so she tamped down the urge and slipped him quickly and firmly back into the “Underling” file in her mind.
“Yep, great,” she replied, businesslike. “Can you go get me a coffee from around the corner? Grande skinny latte, extra shot, dash of cinnamon.” She emphasized each new descriptor with a firm tap of her right index finger against her left palm.
“Grande skinny latte, extra shot, dash of cinnamon,” he repeated back, mimicking the gesture with added nods of his head. It was cute, how serious he looked, how much care she could already see he was taking. “Right away, Ma’am!”
He helped out a bit on phones, and here and there around the office, but mostly he was her personal assistant that summer. It took him a little while to learn her moods, her preferences, how to meet her needs most effectively, but he picked it all up much faster than anyone else had before him. Pretty soon he was an expert in how to take care of her, anticipating her needs in a way she might have described as supernatural, had she believed in any of that nonsense. It was hard for her to say goodbye to him when his sophomore year started, but he was able to come back and help out on a lot of weekends so she never got the chance to miss him too much.
Having someone so supportive and helpful around, someone who cared so much about her and treated her so well, was truly a breath of fresh air. He was there for her when she found out Andrew was fucking her press secretary, when her opponent released a particularly nasty attack ad making her out to be some sort of conniving ice queen, when she had a mini-breakdown and almost had to go back to The Spa…finally, he was with her on the night she won the election despite it all. That celebration had been a whirlwind, but one memory that stuck with her was how he’d asked her to dance about halfway through: he had asked so casually, almost jokingly, but the nervous excitement in his eyes had betrayed how much he was hoping she’d say yes.
And she had, okay, so what? What was the harm in indulging the guy a little? Indulging herself a little? Maybe she wanted to bask in his starry-eyed admiration for a song or two—that was an acceptable amount of time to spend dancing with her employee, right? She could tell even then that he had a little crush: the way he watched her, the way he lit up when he first saw her in the morning, the way he sometimes stumbled over his words. She wasn't mad about it, it made him better at his job, and she couldn't say she didn't enjoy the attention.
He held her so tenderly at first, as if he were afraid she'd shatter, but he moved with surprising grace and once they got going he loosened up and held her a bit tighter. His hand was a touch clammy in hers just like it had been the first time they'd shaken hands, his other trembling slightly as it gripped her waist, and he seemed to be doing his best to avoid looking her in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, but she couldn't help finding it all kind of charming. Few people had been so intimidated by her at that point in her life, and she ate it right up.
The last time she'd danced had been with Andrew, Selina realized, and that had been ages ago, years maybe. It wasn't something she thought about much, not something she got the itch for very often, but she really did love it under the right circumstances. That night was a perfect storm of such circumstances, and as Gary whirled her around the dance floor, she found herself beaming. The campaign had been hard on her, but she had won, and it was starting to sink in: she was officially a congresswoman. She felt like she could probably levitate if she tried hard enough. But all too soon, the second song ended, and she knew she had to make herself stop dancing and find something else to do for appearances' sake.
"Well, thank you, Gary," she said, a little out of breath but remaining friendly and relatively professional. "That was very nice." She took a step back from him, and his hand fell away from her hip just slightly too slowly, his other still clutching hers.
"Thank you, Congresswoman Meyer!" he said in a comically formal voice, grinning as he brought her hand closer and bowed his head to plant a quick peck on it. He still looked nervous around the eyes, but his goofy confidence pulled a happy chuckle from her. It was the first time she'd been addressed that way, which was the main thing she was happy about, of course. Being kissed on the hand for the first time since her debutante ball (that rhinestone-encrusted shitshow of a night) was sweet, and Gary's lips were soft and warm and gentle, but she wasn't going to let herself dwell on it too much.
While the election night party had been wonderful, the House of Representatives proved to be a huge disappointment in terms of the actual job. It didn't afford nearly the level of power or prestige she'd been imagining, but it did end up being a great opportunity for Selina to practice being a politician, and for Gary to practice being her aide. His attention to detail and desire to please really were unmatched, and the more he got to know her the better he got at it. By the time she'd started her second term, fixing her eye on a recently vacated Senate seat, she figured she might as well officially promote him to body man, knowing she'd really need one as a senator and that he was far and away the best candidate.
"Wow, Ma'am," he'd said when she gave him his new post. "Thank you so much! I don't take this honor lightly." His disbelief, excitement, and stone-faced intensity one right after the other made her huff a tiny laugh: his melodramatic nature was really starting to grow on her. "I promise you, Ma'am, I will never—"
"—oh calm down, Gary," she cut him off with an amused scoff. "My God, I'm not givin' you the nuclear codes here, it's just a giant purse." He was so cute when he got all serious like that, she had to throw in a jab or two so he wouldn't see how endeared she actually was. She was having to do that more and more often as they got to know each other better: he was just such an interesting, kind, compelling guy.
"Well, I'll do my best with it, Ma'am," he replied softly, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks, making Selina feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. Pledging his dedication to serve her, thanking her for the opportunity, and embarrassing himself a little all combined to be a surprisingly good look on him. Not even then had she realized exactly what she was feeling for him, but she was getting closer to unraveling the mystery.
Selina ended up winning that Senate race, of course: she'd always known she was destined for more than Pee Wee League Congress, and of course she'd been right. So what if she'd lost Andrew in the process? She'd gained Amy, who at least back then was appropriately loyal and more or less competent. So what if she'd started drinking more heavily? The Senate turned out to be almost as mind-numbing and unglamorous as the House, and without Andrew to fuck the stress and boredom out of her she'd needed something else to take the edge off.
Gary had been so gentle with her during those years, and his presence in her life had helped more than she was willing to admit. More than she could even remember, honestly. Maybe she'd blacked out a few times after overindulging, it was really nothing to worry about: her mother had been so much worse when she was growing up, and she never let herself get to that level. Gary disagreed, though, always so concerned for her. It was incredibly annoying. Well, until the night it ended up saving her life.
It all started on Election Night 2008 when she was re-elected to the Senate, having earlier that year failed at her first attempt to run for President—the less said about that endeavor, the better. Blake Stewart, that bowl of plain oatmeal who'd beaten her to the nomination, had lost so disastrously that the whole party was shaken up. Many of her colleagues confided to her that night that they wished she'd gotten the nomination instead, but nothing could make her feel better about the prospect of waiting another four years in congressional purgatory until she could run again. She…wasn't handling it well, to put it mildly. She put on a happy face at her re-election party, but the moment Amy gave her the go-ahead, she split to go home and drink alone.
The drive back to her home in Maryland would have been unbearable, even just as a passenger (of course she never drove herself anywhere anymore), so she had her driver take her to the modest condo she kept in Georgetown—two bedrooms, 2.5 baths, 24/7 security service—nothing fancy, but she wasn't about to live like a hobo. Catherine was with her whoring huckster of a father for the week, blessedly: at first Selina had been furious that Catherine hadn't wanted to join her on election night, but honestly it was almost entirely for the principal of the thing, and with the night having gone the way it had she was relieved not to have to worry about what to do with that whiny snooze fest.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur: one minute she was opening her ornate wrought iron front gate; the next she was in her backyard, drunkenly smashing an empty vodka bottle on the brick patio; and finally she was collapsing into bed, dress half unzipped and makeup half worn off, not even getting under the covers before she passed out until late morning.
Her recollection of the next few days was no less hazy, she couldn't ever summon up more than fragments leading up to That Night, no matter how hard she tried. Everyone cheering for her when she came back to work the next day was nice, but she couldn't summon up much enthusiasm and (she was pretty sure) spent the rest of the day holed up in her office, alternately sleeping and sipping from the flask of whiskey she kept in her desk.
A couple of days later (who remembers how many), instead of going right home after work, she had her driver take her to the marina where she kept the Labor Day when she brought it to DC. Everything was pressing in on her, and she just wanted to be out on the water alone for a few hours, even if the boat never left the harbor. The night got even fuzzier after that.
She climbed on board.
She blinked and she was below deck, drinking an embarrassingly mid-range Pinot noir straight from the bottle.
Then she was back up on deck, leaning against the side railing of the boat and hurling a framed photo of herself and Andrew into the inky black water.
She must have reconsidered that last decision, because next thing she knew she had hooked her arm through one of those life-preserver donut things and was clumsily jumping with it off the boat, presumably intending to swim after that stupid picture frame.
Jesus, the water was cold. She couldn't see shit, the feeble light cast by the couple of lamps on the boat barely reaching her. She had no idea which way to swim, could barely think over the persistent pain of the near-freezing water piercing her skin. Why had she thought this was a good idea? When had she even had this idea? Her brain ached, her teeth ground together as her jaw clenched violently, and the chill seeped down into her bones.
The water was calm, nothing more than a few ripples rocking her back and forth as she held the life preserver close, resting her head against it. She was so tired. She couldn't feel her feet, or her legs, or her arms. She didn't want to fight anymore, couldn't even if she tried. Her last thought before everything cut to black was relief.
The next thing she felt was the hard wood floor of the boat deck against her back, the sting of air rushing into her lungs, then deep, all-consuming cold. She coughed, her chest spasming, the echo of icy water like knives along her airways. Where was she? What was happening? Her wet clothes clung to her, trapping the cold against her skin. The darkness clouding her eyes bled into fuzzy light. She could vaguely see the outline of someone looming over her. Her cheeks buzzed with pain, her left in particular aching as if a hand had just struck it.
"Ma'am?" came Gary's concerned voice, frantic and trembling. "Ma'am? Are you awa—" his voice melted down to a quiet hum before coming back up in anguished sobs. "Please, God, please let her—"
Selina blinked blearily and Gary's terrified, desperate face faded into view, his lips flapping rapidly but his voice only reaching her ears in spurts. He bowed his head, screwing up his eyes.
"I can do all this through Him who gives me strength…" he chanted softly to himself before he moved again. Yes, that was his hand slapping her cheek for sure, not hard at all but she couldn't help but think even now that his hands were surprisingly strong, that this was the first time they'd been anything other than gentle with her. She sucked in a few wet, shallow, painful breaths as she tried to answer him.
"Ga—Gary?" she croaked, finally. His relieved, elated laugh rang in her ears.
"Ma'am!" he cried, throwing his arms around her neck, and she nodded with a hum. "Ma'am! Oh thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus…"
"What's…" she managed to mumble before the effort overwhelmed her, throat too raw and lungs too weak to speak any more. Gary pulled back from her, laying her head gently back on the wooden floor.
"Ma'am, Ma'am, don't try to speak," he said urgently, lovingly. "You inhaled some water, it's all out now but I think you have hypothermia, I need to get you downstairs to warm you up as soon as possible, can you move at all? Don't answer that!" Since when was he a doctor? Wait, he wanted her to move? She could barely move to shake her head "no."
"It's okay, Ma'am, it's okay, I think I can do it myself," he said, psyching himself up. He was starting to fade in and out again, and when he got one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and began to lift her, everything went dark.
When she came to, she was in the double bed below deck, lying on her side on top of the blankets. She blinked a few times, her surroundings mostly coming into view. There was a chair next to the bed, right where she was facing. She shifted around a little, noticing she was wearing one of the fluffy white robes she kept on board, and nothing else. How had she gotten down here? Where were her clothes? Was she alone? She heard shuffling from the bathroom, but the door was half closed and she couldn't see if there was someone in there.
"Hello?" she called, groggy and hoarse. Shit, she couldn't even sit up, she was so worn out. Her whole body felt prickly, like when her hands and feet started to warm up when she got back from skiing.
"Ma'am?!" Gary yelled, tumbling out of the bathroom and rushing to her side in a flurry. Right, he was there. And she was there. Because...right. Yikes. "Are you awake again? Are you okay?" His hands fluttered to her forehead to check her temperature, down to her neck to check her pulse, back up to her drying hair to brush it behind her ear.
"I d'know," she mumbled weakly. "Feel like, uh…a snow foot."
"A what?" he replied, stressed out and confused, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Th—the phone on board, Ma'am, it um…it doesn't work," he sobbed shakily. "I can't get a signal out here, and…and I'm only certified for first aid, I have to go get help—"
"No, Gary, please!" she moaned, reaching out to grab his wrist with a shaking, prickly hand. If this got out…well, she might as well just get back in the Potomac and finish the job. "No one can know, please." He looked so hurt, and sad, and scared, but he nodded in resignation.
"Of course, Ma'am." His voice quivered like he was holding back tears, but his eyes showed his determination to do right by her, to care for her even when it was life and death. "I think I—no, I—I can handle it. I'll handle it." He squeezed her shoulder with a trembling hand, and she smiled weakly.
"Thanks, Gary," she muttered as she lost consciousness once again.
Next time she woke up, she was under the blankets, with a towel wrapped around her head. The overhead light of the small cabin was off, the room lit only by the much more muted bedside lamp. God, even that little wisp of light made her head pound. She felt like she was suspended in Jell-O. She didn't feel cold anymore but she sure felt Weird. She could make out Gary in the dimness, seated in the chair by the bed, head bowed and eyes closed, his hands gripping the sides of his head in fear as he curled in on himself.
"Please, Lord," he whispered. "Don't take her away from me, please." Selina closed her eyes again, not wanting to intrude. He sounded so scared, so desperate, it sent a shiver of…well, something through her heart. What even was that? He was just so sweet, it was hard not to feel something. Didn't have to mean anything, really. She drifted off again, feeling warm for the first time that night.
When Selina woke up again, for real this time, it was finally morning. Fuck, she'd never had a hangover this bad. Never felt like someone had belt-sanded her lungs before, either. Jesus fucking Christ.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she groaned, coughing around the words. The harsh light of the sun through the bedroom porthole singed her eyes, sending stabbing pain along her optic nerve straight to her brain. But there was Gary, still seated in that chair next to her bed, looking exhausted but happy to see her awake. Had he stayed up all night?
"Ma'am, how are you?" His voice was groggy, but his eyes shone with a sweet, almost motherly concern. Not that her own mother had ever looked at her like that, but she'd seen it often enough in movies.
"I've felt better, like when I was in labor that one time."
"Yeah, I…remember that," he said with a small, sad smile. Right. He was working in the hospital. Made sense that he knew first aid. That was the day they'd met, Catherine's birthday. He really had seen her at her worst, and he was still here, after all these years. "I really hope you're more careful from now on, Ma'am, I was…that could have been really bad."
"I mean yeah, if it means I don't ever have to feel like this again, fine!" she laughed humorlessly. "Fuck, feels like someone's been pulling my brain like taffy. Like, on one of those big hook things, y'know?" She tried to sit up, failed, and flopped back down on the bed, and Gary got up to readjust the towel on her head, and to check her vitals again.
"Just…maybe stay off the boat if you've been drinking, Ma'am." Right, she was on the boat. Which reminded her—
"How'd you find me? How'd you even know which boat was mine? Pretty sure I never told you about this old thing."
"Oh! Right," he began awkwardly, sitting back down cautiously. "Well, uh, you left work early, and it was getting late and I hadn't heard from you about lunch tomorrow, or today I guess, and you weren't answering your phone, so I went to your place to check on you, but you didn't answer the door either, so I used the hide-a-key because I got worried, and then I went in and you weren't there, then I was gonna go to Maryland to see if you were home home but then I, um…well, I remembered I could just call Pete so I called him and he said he'd dropped you off here…" He was stumbling over his words, sounding so unsure of himself, meanwhile Selina was stunned into silence. Would anyone else have tried that hard to get a hold of her?
"And there was this one time when you were arguing with—with Andrew on the phone during the um…divorce?" The way his voice dropped almost to a whisper for the words "Andrew" and "divorce" made her smile to herself. Cute. "And you told him he couldn't have the Labor Day and how you'd sink it first so I always just kind of assumed it was a boat you were talking about, so when Pete said he dropped you here I just figured I'd look for that one? Then I saw you…" he trailed off, allowing her to infer the rest. He'd really noticed all that? Remembered all that? She was glad he hadn't told her last night, it would have warmed her up way too quickly.
"Wow, Gary," she muttered, nonplussed. "Didn't know you, uh…noticed that much, or whatever." She didn't have the energy to pretend not to be touched. It was uncomfortable, realizing just how deeply he cared for her, but it felt nice too.
"It helps with the job," he replied softly with a shrug, downplaying his skills as he so often did. "I just…pay attention and like, take note of things I guess, so I can tell what you need?"
"Well, um…" Fuck, this was going to be hard to say, but she felt she owed it to him after all he'd done. "Thank you, Gary. I'm…I'm glad you were here." She got the words out pretty quickly, and it had only hurt a little bit. Phew.
"Of course, Ma'am," he said earnestly, looking and sounding on the verge of tears. He really was such a delicate little flower: it reminded Selina just why she tried her best not to show him how much she appreciated him most of the time, he could barely handle a simple "Thank you" without a whole emotional outburst.
"What'd you do with my clothes?" She didn't want to directly address the fact that he'd likely undressed her last night, figured this was a less uncomfortable way to ask. He blushed faintly, ugh, why did he have to look so sweet all the time?
"Oh, I'm sorry about that, Ma'am," he murmured anxiously, subtly wringing his fingers together in his lap. "They're hanging to dry in the bathroom, actually they're probably dry by now…" he looked over to the bathroom door before shaking his head and turning back to her. "Not important, I just um, wet clothes can keep your body temperature too low so I had to get you in something dry to warm you back up, I promise I didn't look, or-or anything…"
"Oh my God, Gary, it's fine," she assured him, covering her gratitude with an eye roll. "Just wondering, that's all." There was still one thing weighing on her though, one thing she wasn't even sure she remembered fully. Had he really…?
"So, uh, last night…" she ventured, evading his gaze. "I think I remember something, it was right after you brought me down here…?" Gary's eyes widened in realization, his face going pale again, even paler than it was a minute ago.
"Oh, um…" he began carefully. "We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to, Ma'am, I—I just did what anybody—"
"—well, I don't know about that," she chuckled, again without any humor. She couldn't think of anyone else who would have done that for her, not even Andrew back when he was halfway decent. "But yeah, if you ever mention that to anybody, even to me…"
"Don't worry about it, Ma'am, it's forgotten," he swore to her, calmly and maybe a little wistfully. She had no idea what to do with the emotions welling up inside her. She almost wished he'd hug her, but she'd never initiate anything like that and she knew he wouldn't either.
"And it's 'below deck,' by the way," she blurted out instead of dwelling on it.
"What, Ma'am?"
"Last night you said you needed to get me 'downstairs,' but you say 'below deck' on a boat. Seriously, have you never been yachting before? Sailing even?"
"Um, I rode a canoe once, at camp—"
"—Jesus, Gary, it was a rhetorical question. Keep talkin' about your boyhood glory days and I swear to God I'll jump right back in that water."
"Sorry, Ma'am," he laughed sheepishly, looking a bit embarrassed but mostly happy to see her acting like her regular self again. She was happy too, that really had been a close one.
Try as she might, she never forgot that night, or that morning. She knew he'd keep her secret, knew he wouldn't try to leverage it over her. Still, from that day on it hung over them, wove itself into their regular interactions. As often as she brushed him off, pretended not to care, she would always know he was the one who'd saved her life, the one who'd gone further than anyone else ever had, or ever would, to help her. And that was before the second big shift in their relationship, before he gave her one of the few things she'd ever truly wanted.