Work Text:
I knew if I wanted to be an astronaut, I couldn’t let people see certain parts of myself. Been that way my whole life.
Ellen Waverly S1.Ep10: A City Upon a Hill
“I think repression made Larry and me sick, not that the White House medics would consider a discussion of psychological health alongside every possible spine alignment. The first family would have been happier and healthier if they had, perhaps in the next century.”
Unsurprisingly, the question of what they did next is a problem to consider after the immediate announcement and its settlement. Ellen Waverly Wilson hasn’t given herself permission to fall apart for about fifteen years, so the crying and need for sleep are natural. Coming out at any age is hard, but it is orders of magnitude harder when you are a resident on Pennsylvania Avenue, not to mention the need to come out to the nation to avoid blackmail. The allies in the White House, who are surprisingly numerous, insist that Ellen and Larry stay off the radar for a few days.
So far, the institutions on Earth, the Moon, and Mars operate without the president’s direct oversight.
Pam wishes they could live in a bubble indefinitely, caring for Ellen in ways that were only a distant dream. Until permanent cohabitation becomes possible, fortifying Ellen’s reserves will be the next best thing. Ellen readily accepts tea, light meals, and the cuddle sessions Pam offers. Their conversations range from silly to serious, with no discernible pattern. Ellen finds it easier to talk when their limbs intertwine, and Pam cradles those long, ever-tense limbs.
“Not living authentically can have that effect on people, especially those who need to actively practice compulsory heterosexuality. Things can and do end badly in the end.” Pam agrees, not wanting to deflect from the painful conversation.
Ellen Waverly Wilson looks glorious in bed, especially now that she is no longer pale, trembling and terrified. Sometimes Pam feels they are stuck in a time loop, having deep conversations with the astronaut as Ellen struggles with the weight of the world. The only difference is that Pam walks out the door, and the paparazzi circle, knowing her name and the nature of their relationship. Pam isn’t sure how to articulate all those emotions, but the glorious aspect of Ellen’s confession is that they have time to explore language and learning.
“Don’t get me wrong. Over the years, Larry and I met many people who were cautiously happy in Lavander marriages, seemingly content to live one life and play the exact opposite. None of us dared to talk openly to confirm the facts, but it was always my impression that illicit opportunities arose at fundraisers did more damage than good. Still, Larry and I made each other sick, never able to talk openly.” Ellen whispers, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“It makes me sad to think of you relying on hollow interactions with people who want to be close to power, rather than being held in the respect you deserve. Did Larry have companions over the years?” Pam asks, unsure what she wants or needs the answer to be.
“Larry and I drew a line in the sand long ago, not wanting to blur the dynamic. There was too much to prepare and do for us to have casual conversations. Of course, opening the door to my personal life reveals next to nothing. Losing my heart twenty years ago makes everyday interactions tricky.” Ellen sighs dramatically, glancing at Pam and smiling hopefully.
“That must make the White House even lonelier than I would imagine, feeling stuck with the perfect look, pearls, and the idea of the perfect Republican female leadership role model.” Pam moves over, resting her head on Ellen’s shoulders, still getting used to the idea of everyday intimacy.
Even when things were at their worst, when Pam was doing her best to ignore their past, specifically by building a life with a proudly out girlfriend, the poet wouldn’t hear a word against the candidate and president. Sometimes the poet’s staunch protection gets her into trouble with activist friends who are torn between a Playboy lawyer and a Republican scientist at the conventions.
“You warned me once that I was trapped in pain that is very much of my own making, complete with disappointing people that I love.” Ellen lets her voice tremble with the underlying fear and terror.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better on the topic, President Wilson.”
“When you are a science geek who doesn’t conform to ideas of Southern womanhood, it's easy to think you’ll become an expert at compartmentalising to a dangerous, even pathological, degree. I have no idea what happens next; most of the House or Senate’s actions will be out of my control, but one thing keeps guiding me like a Northern star: things can’t stay the same as they were. My body, mind and soul won’t survive being in the closet any more. Does that sound ridiculous?” Ellen reaches out blindly and clasps their hands together.
“Of course not. After decades of hiding, you have the right to be truthful; it shouldn’t be a luxury.” Pam reaches up and brushes away a stray tear from Ellen’s cheek.
“According to the Vice President, I am one declaration away from destroying the Republican Party, and he will do everything within his considerable powers to ensure that I and everything Larry and I tried to do are erased from the halls of power. Mikail is apt in describing it as running into a bear to escape the lion.” Ellen chuckles humourlessly.
“I will still take a while to get my head around the fact that you are talking about world leaders when you casually talk about others’ assessments of the situation.” Pam snuggles even closer, wanting to physically protect the other woman from the pain.
Ellen looks so tormented that Pam has the irrational urge to stride out there and lecture Vice President Bragg and the other senior Republican officials. The poetry lecturer has some understanding of the pressures Ellen faces as a closeted woman within conservative circles, but there is no guidebook for being a president in the crosshairs of her own government.
“Darling, you aren’t alone in Jamestown or the sole survivor of an astronaut mission; you are brilliant enough to solve equations lying here, staring at my ceiling, but there is no solving for ‘x’ in this scenario. The next few days and weeks are going to be hard, with half the country celebrating and the other half baying for your blood. All you can control is to be ready, gather as many resources as possible, and stand firm in my conviction.”
“The one thing that I’m certain of is that I’m the luckiest person I know that you opened the door without signing me away for being the coward who betrayed you over again.” Ellen struggles to get the words out around the pain and more tears.
“Ellen, if I truly never wanted to see you again, I could have turned the security services away at any time, and I wouldn’t dedicate my first four books to you or the programme in general. My acceptance was never in doubt, you were the love of my life since the second time you came into the Outpost and started to doodle on the napkin.’ Pam kisses her softly.
They stay in silence for a few long seconds, staring at each other.
“I imagined reuniting with you a thousand times, even if it meant just hiding at the back of a book signing and not getting in Elise’s way. Sorry that it took a national apology and potential blackmail for me to summon courage by proxy. It’s not the way I would have wanted things.” Ellen whispers, blinking those expressive eyes.
“For the record, I would hunt you down if the only thing you did was find some obscure bookstore to sit in and pine. Our history deserves at least a smidgin of a dramatic entrance, not that you confronting me with a Dear Ellen letter before going on TV didn’t do the job.” Pam reaches out and traces her cheek, conviction in her voice.
“It’s going to be a low bar to clear, but at least now there will be no sneaking out to see you, assuming they don’t kick me out of the place. You might even make an appearance on the schedule, but I’m not sure what the code name will be.” Ellen muses, humour in the notion.
**
Ellen learns to understand pleasure and what it means.
“How does this feel?” Pam asks gently, watching Ellen for a reaction.
It would be both too difficult and too simplistic to assign any practical labels to Ellen’s sexuality beyond being a lesbian. Access to knowledge, information, and communities is generally easier if you live in a progressive part of the country or have strong connections. The pressure on Ellen to project idealised femininity, heterosexuality, and eventually motherhood means that even a quick study still needs to play catch-up and faces elements of uncertainty. Pam is as much a student as a teacher, as they learn the new dynamic.
“A thousand things at once, none of them fit to share with my therapist, even if the man is solid, dependable and gets paid enough not to let me get away with deflections. All I can see is that Larry and I were so wrong to believe that our ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ compromise was even more sickening than I first thought, asking people to pretend these feelings aren’t worthy.” Ellen reaches out and brushes away a stray tear.
Ellen has been struggling with heightened emotions in recent weeks. Perhaps this reflects the effort to build a new life for Scott, completely leaving Washington and letting the Hill pick up or set aside the policies that are her pride and joy. Ellen is still having nightmares about Pam leaving, the FBI, and other mistakes. There is a physiological storm stemming from years of regression and repression; Pam needs to find different ways to offer comfort.
“Hey, we have got through the many mistakes of the Wilsons. I was the first to criticise those policies, but you and Larry were pushed so far into a corner that the worst things can seem sane from a certain point of view. The redemption arc did involve personal honesty and the Presidential Medal of Freedom.” Pam snuggles closer, pressing a light kiss to Ellen’s neck.
“You were right all those years ago, warning me that pushing back against the government’s corruption would end up breaking my heart, worse than being a NASA administrator and all those conservative loopholes. Making those decisions feels even more impossible. Maybe there will be a starting point, if not a new era, as the media pretends.” Ellen rolls over, tangling their limbs together.
“The community is strong and will fight any efforts to repeal any of the work at the federal and state levels. That isn’t for you to shoulder alone, Darling,” Pam insists, not for the first time.
Ellen leans over and kisses Pam soundly before moving down her neck and across her shoulders, as if she tries to bring comfort from the physical touch without finding the words.
“All the personal photos I brought into space were socially acceptable, including photos of my parents and brothers and the model plane my dad got me for my fifth birthday, but I desperately wanted to bring that photo of you from the book signing.”
Ellen enjoys learning what she craves now that she no longer has to rigidly compartmentalise the fundamental parts that make up the whole. To her very soul, Ellen Waverley Wilson remains a practical astronaut who wears low-maintenance clothing, hairstyles and shoes. Still, Pam notes a shift back to the look of that nervous candidate for the space programme who didn’t bother with form-fitting or flattering attire.
Without realising or explaining the impulse, the only aspect she works hard to perfect is matching and complementing Pam’s look when they go out. A crisp shirt or cuff links, understated accessories. Perhaps she learns by osmosis from the White House social events coordinators. Their growing list of mutual friends likes to gently tease that Ellen puts the most devoted husband to shame.
“You know that when we go out with Larry and his crowd, you can wear whatever makes you most comfortable; nobody is going to judge you for an MIT sweatshirt and trainers. Your alma mater would throw its wares at you. I know that makeup, primping, and preening aren’t your preferred state right now.”
“I don’t prompt or preen for the people we’re meeting. I lost that habit after leaving a public or political life, but dressing up for you is an entirely different matter. We never got to have any of these moments, and I’m going to make the best of it, including being the companion at your side, showing off the brilliant poet who deserves all the attention in the room.”
“I hate to break it to you, Ellen, but you will never fade into the background.”
“Why do you think I went for complementary looks rather than all black? The bright colours and crisp colours.” Ellen reaches out and tugs the sleeve of Pam’s dress.
**
“Can we stay here all day?”
Pam has been trying to get out of bed for several minutes, but Ellen keeps pulling her back with pleading looks and tender kisses. Her publisher is a friend, but that doesn’t mean deadlines are voluntary or can be extended too far. The small liberal team understand their star author is in love, but there are limits. Pam will need a fully polished draft, without lazy sentence structure or clichés. The poet is already pushing the limits of metaphors about the stars and orbits.
“Love can do a lot and, according to my publisher, is responsible for some of my best work in years, but adoration isn’t going to pay the bills. Before you say anything, we aren’t going to live out the literary cliché of the billionaire’s daughter and the dreamer she loves. Independence is one of our shared values and something that has to work if our little hideaway is going to have staying power.” Pam throws Ellen a warning look, a mix of playfulness and seriousness.
“I learnt from my offer to buy you a house outright and to set it up and arrange it, which is common in my former vice president’s circles, but would go against your every ethical and moral code.” Ellen agrees, with embarrassment and regret in her tone, and she loosens her arms, letting Pam slowly start to disengage.
“There was some nobility in my rejection, but fundamentally, I didn’t have the temperament to be a successful mistress. I would come to resent the time we couldn’t spend together, marking every missed event or thing Larry gets to do openly. Wildly jealous of a gay man who wouldn’t even appreciate the pleasure of public displays of affection.”
“Kiss me goodbye then?” Ellen asks, an uncharacteristic pout in her voice.
“I am going to be in the next room, where you will hear every keystroke and sigh. You were the one who galivanted in a space shift, with only official NASA channels to know you were alive, but not whether you were taking care of yourself or sleeping, none of the details your secret girlfriend needed to know.” Pam obligingly leans in and presses their lips together, then holds out her hand.
“I should have come up with a better code system. Molly, Gordo and Karen would have held our secret.” Ellen’s expression clouds over in old but still raw pain.
“You are making up for that oversight with breathless devotion. I never said that my writing would be solitary, come and watch me, I know that you enjoy seeing watching.” Pam explains as they make their way into the lounge, then into Pam’s small home office before opting for the kitchen table where they have had many conversations.
“Is it weird that I could sit and watch you write for hours and never get bored?” Ellen asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice, as if she were getting ready to apologise for existing in this form as a woman with sexual desires, again.
“No weirder than the times when I would slow tasks at the Outposts so you would continue watching from your corner with pens, paper and a single bed, and occasionally fries. There is nothing wrong with wanting or needing, even if you don’t have labels or reasons.” Pam gestures for Ellen to take the seat opposite. The table has expanded to host friends and, most importantly, Scott. There are signs of their lives intermingling.
Ellen still looks troubled by the notion, but she obediently sinks into the seat, looking adorably mussed and half asleep in the faded, oversized university T-shirt. After having her wardrobe mixed and measured by tailors and designers, and committed to by them, Ellen has attachments to clothing that is old, comfortable, and suitable for working from home or quiet weekends.
“I’ll be reasonable for bringing your tea and snacks.”
Pam smiles and sets out her notebooks and reference material. She can say, with hand on heart, that she has made good progress on this poetry volume. Falling back in love and living openly with Ellen inspires writing that finds its way onto the page. It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to finish the first draft and have it ready for the editor.
Ellen adores exploring sex and sexual pleasure in ways that weren’t available to her as a hyper-focused, vigilant teen and young adult, or even when they first met and were so desperately in love. It’s as if she wants to make up for the many nights they were apart by diligently studying what brings Pam pleasure now that their bodies are different and respond in different ways.
“You are aware that you don’t need to map the planes of my pelvis with the same diligence you did the first Mars landing sights and Jamestown, that would be a very narrow and specific quiz, if an enjoyable one.” Pam manages with a breathless sigh.
“This is likely a ridiculous thing to say, since my life was in danger multiple times on those ships and bases, but these explorations are far more enjoyable and worthwhile. I did everything that Dex’s advised for nearly 20 years, he was right to suggest staying in the closet, but missing this was life sustaining in different and more or less important ways.’
“That’s extremely Walt Whitman of you, President Wilson.” Pam moves, giving Ellen better access to the landscape.
“I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them” Ellen quotes between kisses.
Pam raises a questioning eyebrow, unable to resist knowing why her science-focused lover would have the willingness and ability to learn poetry in general, and the famous American in particular. There is a faint, adorable blush on her cheeks. Ellen flops down on her side, continuing to map Pam’s ribs and torso with tender finger trails. It’s an electric feeling, with the caress and scars on the fingers.
“I know we came from vastly different professional fields. If we ever got to the point where I would be your plus one to these events, I didn’t want to be a complete embarrassment. Besides, the poetry made an excellent break from going over equations.” Ellen places a hand against Pam’s breastbone with an impish smile.
**
“Are you sure about this? You are welcome to go solo.”
Pam wonders whether Ellen is experiencing a delayed trauma response after years of unsuccessful social engagement outside narrow parameters. The other woman is far more open about their relationship, gradually introducing Pam to family, friends and even Scott. Still, she is most comfortable building Pam’s dream home, which they share. There were tense moments when they tried this the first time.
“No, I want you to meet my friends and have a re-entry into the world. We wouldn’t be going to a sapphic version of a Roman orgy. Couples will be dancing and expressing affection. This is a high-profile club, and you won’t be the first high-profile patron. The of it as the Outpost, with better lighting, dance floor and wine collection.” Pam glances in the mirror, checking out her mascara.”
Ellen leans down and kisses her neck with a delighted sigh.
“When you would tell me about poetry readings, competitions or book launches, I would burst with pride, dreaming of being at your side and pushing you into the nearest dark corner. Perhaps your friends would approve of such passion; I shudder to think what they think of me over the decades. “Ellen murmurs against Pam’s exposed neck.”
“The friends who are worthy of the name gave up asking me or offering their opinions after I yelled at someone for mocking you, Larry and the definition of family. Who we are in general and what we mean to each other is more of a forbidden topic than the celebrities who decide they want to regularly publish poetry. Your speech makes you the 8th wonder of the world in these circles, not to mention acknowledging Will Taylor.”
“No pressure on that score then, let’s hide on the dance floor, you will look wonderful under those fancy lights.”
Ellen Waverly Wilson is true to her world, a doting partner and dynamic conversationalist, but her eyes keep drifting towards the dance floor and quiet corners, drawn by the sounds of music and the beach. Thankfully, the other couples in the group are similarly distracted and devoted to each other. These were worlds she and Larry could never dream of entering, let alone being at the centre of an orbit.
“Dance with me?”
“Don’t judge me for not being a veteran of state dinners and fundraisers.” Pam reaches out to accept the extended hand.
“It’s no great loss, but I have every confidence that you will develop expertise. After all, if people want me at those events or the M7 celebration, then a plus one is mandatory.” Ellen declares seriously.
Pam feels her eyes fill with unexpected tears. Of all the things she and Ellen never got to do the first time around, dancing wasn’t ever high on the list. Neither of them was especially talented in that regard, and they had better things to do with their time. Still, right now, the ability to sweep the taller woman into her arms feels like the most important priority in the world, not caring if people will comment on the former president and her lover.
“I will sharpen up my small talk and high school French, and start making appointments with the astronaut wives’ clubs and the first families. You know, Karen Baldwin did her best to be welcoming, but there wasn’t the opportunity at the time.” Pam rests her head on Ellen’s shoulder, getting lost in the music.
Ellen guides her through the steps with typical ease, grace and confidence. Pam inhales softly, catching the familiar, comforting scent of soap and discreet perfume. The former president’s arms are strong and sure, not trying to pretend that they are merely friends enjoying the dance floor. There is no ambiguity in what the couple means to each other; even some of the more distant Waverley cousins find such things scandalising.
“I’m going to marry you one day. It’s not going to be the kind of marriage my soon-to-be former party wants from me, but that doesn’t make the institution any more meaningful, if only so we can complete all the legal paperwork and deal with the officials. Feel like being an official part of the ‘Astronaut Wives’ Club?’ Ellen whispers into Pam’s ear.
Ellen craves new experiences and sensations. Perhaps there is something that comes from being a pioneer and test pilot, always testing the boundaries. She doesn’t have the makings of being a reckless and risk-taking lover, but they kiss and explore at the beach or in remote locations on the outstretches of the private airfields. One of their best date nights is in one of the Waverley aeroplane hangars.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say this is part of your playbook, and that the beautiful pilot would take girls with her, wrapped in comfortable blankets and with picnic baskets. Of course, the saddest thing is that you would be out here alone, working without friends or even the first hint of new love.” Pam leans over and kisses her cheek.
“Numbers and science equations kept me company for many years, decades even. You were good at shifting the narrative, even when we were friends and only trying to convince me to do more than bury myself in textbooks. When I would dream of dates, it was you who were at my side, kissing under the stars.” Ellen gently pushes her down.
There would be a particular scandal if the media found the former president in such a compromising position with the woman he loves. Pam doesn’t have the best publicity instincts, but they grow with every public event and magazine profile. In these moments its different to remember the importance of such realities when Ellen cradles her so reverently.
**
“That may have been the longest 3 hours of my life.”
“Says the woman who learns multiple languages and earns degrees before working as a professional diplomat. Your looks of tortured longing were extremely good for my ego, President Wilson.” Pam leans in and kisses her companion soundly.
It’s no great surprise that Ellen tries to make up for lost time by bringing Pam to every event she can think of and by being the proud plus-one at the smallest poetry reading or facility social gathering. Pam’s friends still adjust to the idea that their friend is dating the former president, but the gasps, stares and requests for autographs are mainly for show.
“The important distinction between these two settings is that in the first, you were an abstract concept I would suddenly pine for. Now you are in the same room, and I can watch the curve of your neck and the way the light hits your loose curls. It’s the ultimate temptation.” Ellen breathes as they pull back, resting her forehead against Pam.
“What makes you think you aren’t equally tempting, sitting in the front row, watching me and silently recounting every word? It gave me the wicked idea of giving you a private reading with far more references to your beauty and less clothing. People think I’m a radical because I live openly and love women, but restraint is impossible now that you are here with me. Those words would make even an activist blush.” Pam declares, reaching up to undo the first button of Ellen’s dress shirt.
“I could get behind that tradition. Let’s keep things private, though.” Ellen dutifully follows Pam as the other woman walks backwards, tugging on the shirt.
They are fortunate to have most evenings to themselves. Ellen Wilson remains in high demand across various press circuits, especially among those interested in politics and science, now that fractures have emerged within the M7 and M6 alliances. There are events that Ellen cannot or doesn’t want to script, especially anything connected to Scott, but nothing goes through the press aides’ and ambassadors' curation. Traditional Republicans don’t know what to do with her, and the more progressive elements remain wary. Pam enjoys building these new evenings when they tangle among the sheep.
“I will stop being a freakshow in a few months, especially if Braggs has his way. Nothing will compete with spending time with you at home, just like we dreamed about, all those years ago.”
“Believe it or not, there is a line of women competing for my attention. Ellen Wilson, you don’t need to stake any claim. Not that I mind overly much when you look at me like that. It makes this poet forget all those words that people pay me the big bucks to say.” Pam pulls Ellen closer as they fall into bed.
Ellen glows with the exploration and the reality of embracing a new identity as a gay woman, no longer trying to fit into conventions. She likes to follow Pam around small, queer-friendly galleries or to plan date nights most weekends as she develops a new schedule outside politics and science, no matter how badly NASA falls apart.
“You look wonderful, Darling. Although I think that this might complement everything well.” Pam stands behind Ellen, handing over a small, narrow box, pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder.
“You spoil me, Professor Horton.” Ellen gently unties the ribbons. There is a hitch in her voice.
Ellen looks so much more relaxed after adopting a compromise look, with formal suits, Oxford shirts, flats or heels, and minimal make-up. She deliberately lets reporters take photos in this look, doing everything possible to distance herself from the woman Governor Bragg would deem acceptable as a female president. Ellen isn’t comfortable with all these desires and expressions, but Pam wants to be there for every movement and discovery.
“Not nearly enough, we didn’t celebrate any Christmases, birthdays and festivals. Because I had the idea that the only gifts you’ve enjoyed in the last ten years were from Larry and Scott, not the legions of diplomatic overtures, now open it, It’s suitable personal and sentimental. ” Pam encourages with a gentle shove.
Ellen opens the small gift as if she isn’t sure what to make of the gesture. Inside the box is a simple locket, from the look of wonder on her face. It doesn’t take Ellen long to remember the small antique shop that they passed on the previous Christmas break. With a trembling hand, the former president flicks it open, blink in delight at the photo of them from Outpost, looking young and eager and in love.
“Dani took the photo, she never said anything regarding our relationship, but your NASA colleagues loved and respected you enough to want you to be happy beyond anything. Regardless of what the political or social environment was at the time. I have a small collection of photos and keepsakes that other people took over the years.” Pam whispers into the silence.
“I have almost forgotten that wide-eyed astronaut who found every excuse to come to the tacky bar.”
**
“How do you feel?”
Ellen stares at her blankly, as if trying to string a sentence together and failing. The president and a former astronaut are conventionally beautiful when addressing the nation. However, Pam made a silent resolve right there to recreate this moment and look at it regularly, as often as possible. Ellen looks so relaxed and happy, tangled in the sheets, breathing rapidly, her eyes still unfocused.
“Like a classic fool for denying myself these moments in the name of a convention that Ed, Gordo, Dani, and I proved pointless by being a community in space. Can we do this again?” Ellen asks, her voice filled with wonder.
Physical desire and sex without secrecy and time limits remain a novel experience. Ellen remains a figure in the newly reformed, more independently minded Republican Party, but her schedule is no longer superhuman, and sleep is uninterrupted. Ellen finds her featureless apartment embarrassing, but Pam wants to bring colour and vibrancy to the place.
“Of course, we can do anything you want, Sweetheart. We may be older, with a few aches and pains, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few good years ahead of us. There is always hope, Ellen, and now we have the luxury of time. Yo” Pam leans down to kiss her, as if to prove the point.
Ellen spends years cultivating her look, with those blazers that fit perfectly; beneath the surface, there are scars and pain points. Through their physical explorations, Pam finds the nicks, scars and burns that the make-up doesn’t hide. The NASA administration did its best to keep its astronauts healthy and to persevere with things like bone density, but it wasn’t a good look when their famous Mercury Girls started to get sick. Sometimes Pam needs to be careful when touching and exploring. They spend a few minutes kissing, reveling in the familiarity and differences.
Ellen reluctantly pulls back, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“I have a better idea. Will you play hooky with me for the day? I am getting to the point where the crashing depression over no longer being president, trying to save the world, and holding the M7 together feels far more important, suddenly.” Ellen follows up her request by running trembling fingers over Pam’s shoulders and collarbones.
“With the high-profile exception of skipping a fundraiser to confront me about the letter, when was the last time you skipped work for fun, President Wilson?” Pam asks with mock seriousness.
“I would imagine things too, and they weren’t so wholesome. I would hope for a time when our kisses would become so commonplace that I wouldn’t need to remember or catalogue them, and I would use them as comfort at night, or as stress relief, really, you would be doing the transition team a service by helping me relax further.” Mischievously, Ellen flips them over so that Pam is underneath her.
Pam feels a thrill at the idea of the prim and proper Republican leader finding relief and comfort in memories, not knowing whether they would ever reunite. There are serious things left unsaid, especially when connecting with Larry or Scott, but these moments make everything feel simpler. Their tortured love story, which resembles literary classics, may not be the most balanced, but at least their obsession remains mutual.
“I would hardly consider such duties a hardship; it's good to know our longing wasn’t a one-way street. I was planning to write for the day, but there aren’t any pressing deadlines, beyond worshipping my muse; you’d be doing me a service.” Pam gasps as Ellen kisses down her body, mapping the features she finds as if charting a new topography.
“One day, I will show you the draft poems about the skills of your fingers and fierce concentration, even an activist poet has limits to what the university is willing to publish. Suffice it to say, none of the offerings is gentle or calm. Your passion and focus make up for any inexperience.” Pam rearranges their positions to try and give Ellen more room.
“I wouldn’t recommend my method or study and focus. I may have the academic mechanics down, but that’s no substitute for the real thing.” Ellen murmurs, inhaling deeply, working to keep the tremble from her voice.
“We have the years to make up for, Sweetheart. Reconnection can be our primary focus for the weekend; there is nothing on the schedule until Dani comes over for dinner. We’ll only need 30 minutes to go through together, especially now that you don’t need to face the nation. Although I firmly believe the calls to the lecture tour and memoir will come soon enough, Pam declares Grady.
“I will make it a rider or demand that I need more pages to dedicate to your honour and a seat for you in the front row. It seems only fair when you gave me the privilege” Ellen seems like she isn’t entirely joking on the matter.
“As if they could try to stop now that I don’t even need to make friends with the Secret Service anymore, but I would much rather know which dedications wouldn’t get past the centralist publishers. By the time the book is in print, you will have the chance to explore far more passionate than practical hobbies and desires. I may even talk you into a radical haircut and ban those beginner outfits permanently.” Pam reaches out and traces the small, silvery scar.
“Alas, it would take decades’ worth of deprogramming to loosen the Waverley standards of womanhood from me. Dad loved me and my science and engineering ways, but it was conditional on my looking presentable in my Sunday best, like one of Scott’s favourite transformers.” Ellen sighs with a mixture of resignation and regret.
“As I keep saying, we have the years to do that work, and I couldn’t think of a more noble cause.” Pam counters, her mind already racing with the ideas and possibilities.
Unfortunately, the words don’t tend to have the desired calming effect on the situation. The scientist in Ellen Waverly Wilson will always break down timeframes into logistics, with an overwhelming task list and the ability to succeed or fail. Pam can practically feel the tension build. Ellen leans up on her side, fiddling nervously with the delicate chain around her neck, a perfect gift from Scott at last Christmas. One of the legitimate moon keepsakes.
“Sometimes I worry you’ll be disappointed by the final stage of coalescence. A news conference proclaiming my love to the world was the extent of my spontaneity. I’ll always be someone whose contingency plans have contingency plans and manuals. Sometimes the geek in the 90s RomCom remains an awkward geek with better titles and theoretical social skills. Ellen confesses that her brows come together in a sense of conflict and pain.”
“Hey, if I wanted you to go through the transformation montage, I wouldn’t have sat through all those late nights at the Outpost while you worked through those differential equations and orbital projections. The world needs as many quiet gays and members of the community as it does bright, shiny creatives. Besides, those decades of being a geek saved your life more than once; therefore, even a second was worth it.” Pam accents each of her points with tender kisses.
“Who knew that scientists need muses as well, although mainly I wanted the excuse to watch you.” Ellen slowly starts to relax.
Pam suspects they will need variations of this discussion; Ellen feels profoundly guilty about insisting that their relationship was closed twice for the sake of her career. Those years of guilt twist into this idea that Pam needs or expects an idealist version of an outed President and reluctant LGBT hero.
“I did, which is why we work so well together, the poetry and the orbital projections in an unlikely trajectory,” Pam insists between kisses