It's not until the fifth assassination attempt that it hits you - this is your life now.
You're sitting in the tiny confines of the tour bus, head in your hands, and you can't leave, you can't go out like this.
"Above all, you don't show fear," you remember Dirk telling you. "Don't let the bastards grind you down" and back then it had been funny and now you are remember the look of hate in the man's eyes when he pointed the gun.
The door cracks open. "I'm sorry," you say. "I need to be alone for a few minutes."
"Jane," says Dirk, and steps into the room. "It's just me."
You look up from your hands then, even though your face must be a mess. Dirk won't care though, Dirk won't need you to be photo-op ready, he's seen you at your worst and he's seen you at your best and throughout the whole bitter campaign he's whispered strategies and encouragements in your ear.
"You did a great job out there, Jane," he says. He sits down on the bed next to you. There's just barely enough room. "Showed that impetuous conflagration of hardcore haters what's up."
"Sure," you sniffle. "Fine, I 'showed them what's up,' but dagnabit Dirk, that doesn't matter if I can't keep alive until election day!"
Your voice wavers on the last word. He slips off his shades and puts them aside and you know he can see the fear in your eyes, in the roll of your shoulders.
His eyes remind you of marigolds.
"Hey," he says, and wraps his arms around you. "Hey, come on Jane. You're talking to me here. Your number one advisor, the chess master himself, the grand puppeteer of this whole fucking thing. You'll stay alive. I'll make sure of it."
You let out another choked sob and he just hold you, shushes you gently, plants a kiss to your worried and creased forehead and you don't understand how he is always so goshdarn calm, alway, even when he's staring down the barrel of a gun.
(A sudden recollection of something he said to you when you were still kids - "If you ever need help, Jane. If you're ever in any trouble at all, let me know. Just say the word." The sincerity burned you.)
You bury your head in his shoulder, let him stroke your short choppy hair as you wipe away your tears with his shirt. "You can't pull everybody's strings," you say.
"Watch me," says Dirk.
His hand clenches around a fistful of your blouse and you hear the butterfly hammer of his heart and you hope you won't let him down.
FILL: TEAM DAVE<3ROSE<3TEREZI
It's not until the fifth assassination attempt that it hits you - this is your life now.
You're sitting in the tiny confines of the tour bus, head in your hands, and you can't leave, you can't go out like this.
"Above all, you don't show fear," you remember Dirk telling you. "Don't let the bastards grind you down" and back then it had been funny and now you are remember the look of hate in the man's eyes when he pointed the gun.
The door cracks open. "I'm sorry," you say. "I need to be alone for a few minutes."
"Jane," says Dirk, and steps into the room. "It's just me."
You look up from your hands then, even though your face must be a mess. Dirk won't care though, Dirk won't need you to be photo-op ready, he's seen you at your worst and he's seen you at your best and throughout the whole bitter campaign he's whispered strategies and encouragements in your ear.
"You did a great job out there, Jane," he says. He sits down on the bed next to you. There's just barely enough room. "Showed that impetuous conflagration of hardcore haters what's up."
"Sure," you sniffle. "Fine, I 'showed them what's up,' but dagnabit Dirk, that doesn't matter if I can't keep alive until election day!"
Your voice wavers on the last word. He slips off his shades and puts them aside and you know he can see the fear in your eyes, in the roll of your shoulders.
His eyes remind you of marigolds.
"Hey," he says, and wraps his arms around you. "Hey, come on Jane. You're talking to me here. Your number one advisor, the chess master himself, the grand puppeteer of this whole fucking thing. You'll stay alive. I'll make sure of it."
You let out another choked sob and he just hold you, shushes you gently, plants a kiss to your worried and creased forehead and you don't understand how he is always so goshdarn calm, alway, even when he's staring down the barrel of a gun.
(A sudden recollection of something he said to you when you were still kids - "If you ever need help, Jane. If you're ever in any trouble at all, let me know. Just say the word." The sincerity burned you.)
You bury your head in his shoulder, let him stroke your short choppy hair as you wipe away your tears with his shirt. "You can't pull everybody's strings," you say.
"Watch me," says Dirk.
His hand clenches around a fistful of your blouse and you hear the butterfly hammer of his heart and you hope you won't let him down.