Chapter Text
Being the vice president of the United States of America was basically like being the assistant manager of the shittiest chain restaurant to ever exist. All of that work, and none of the fucking credit. Except, if Agatha was the night manager at a Chili’s at least there’d be some perks, free food, less stress, maybe some recognition or actual power. But no, being veep was purely just a vanity credit at this point. Most Americans can name the last five presidents, could they name the last five vice presidents? No.
Sure, maybe she’d make the smallest dent in a history book, not for any of her work, but because she was the first woman in 248 years to ever hold the position. And that was only because the blandest, most all-American boy picked her. And she wasn’t even his first fucking choice, she was a diversity pick to make him and the party look good. Make it look like there was actual progress being made in this country.
There wasn’t.
There’d never be real progress.
Washington was a stage, the politicians as actors all vying for the spotlight.
And Agatha was no different.
She clawed her way here, despite what others might say. Being a woman in politics had been horrible all the way up until present day-
And present day included.
So, when America’s favorite golden retriever called her four years ago and asked her to be veep, she jumped at the chance. A presidential term later, and she was worse off. Every decision he made reflected on her, and being the diligent second in command she was, she backed him. Which, agreeing with a man and saying he’s right? Humiliating.
And yet, she wouldn’t go anywhere else. She wouldn’t resign. All she had to do was bide her time for another four years, run again, and she’d be president by the time she was fifty-five. Easy. Just four more years.
“Just four more years….” She mumbled from her desk in her office located in the Eisenhower building.
Another thing, the veep didn’t even get an office in the west wing, instead relegated to another building near the west wing on the white house premises. It’s like the position was made to make her feel inferior, feel insignificant, feel powerless.
And fuck, was she ready to stab an icepick through her eye socket soon if something didn’t change.
“Four more years.” Agatha whispered again as she read over the 300 page binder on filibuster reform.
“Huh?” Jen asked, barging into her office, ID badge swinging around, leather folder in hand.
“I said shoot me.” She responded without looking up, glasses resting on the tip of her nose.
Jen smiled and gave a fake laugh. “I would, but then I’d be arrested for treason.”
“What do you want, Jen?”
“I have good news and bad news.” She tucked the folder under arm.
It was almost midnight. The bad news could range anywhere from the kitchen not having the coffee she liked, to POTUS using the nukes.
Agatha whined and threw her glasses on the binder. “Why do you only ever bring me problems?”
“Kind of your whole job, but…” Jen sat in the chair opposite her desk. “I’ll start with the news you’re gonna like.”
Agatha stared at her unimpressed. “Go on.”
Then her chief of staff smiled, like a real, big, fucking smile. “He’s not running again.”
She scrunched her face. “Who’s not running again?”
Jen flourished her hands. “POTUS.”
Agatha looked.
She stared.
She breathed.
She exhaled.
“Source?” Was all she asked, because if this was just west wing gossip and she got her hopes up-
“His aide.” Jen proudly stated. “They're putting out a press release tomorrow.”
It was May 2024, the primaries had already happened. Sure, the DNC wasn’t until August, but for all intents and purposes, Steven motherfucking Rogers was the party’s candidate. He was the current sitting president, number 46, and he’d made no mention to Agatha of dropping out.
Which, of course he didn’t fucking mention it to her, that man told her fuck-all.
“Wha-” Agatha sputtered. “Why? How?”
“Peggy’s sick.” Jen said.
Agatha smirked. “Rehab?”
“Too much skiing from what I’ve heard.” Jen faux whispered, tapping the side of her nose.
Agatha honestly couldn’t blame Peggy, between being married to a Ken doll and the scrutiny of the press, yeah no shit she picked up a drug habit.
“Must be pretty untenable if he’s throwing in the towel.”
Her chief of staff simply nodded.
They sat in silence for a moment before Agatha finally slammed her hands down on her desk, jumping up.
“I’m gonna be fucking president!”
Jen shot up too. “He has no choice but to endorse you, there’s not enough time before the DNC!”
“I’M GONNA BE FUCKING PRESIDENT!” Agatha basically roared, ignoring the fact that the rest of her staff were on the other side of her office door.
“You’re gonna be fucking president!”
“Oh god,” She sighed a breath of relief. “No more Air Force Two. No more bullshit appearances. No more missing defense meetings because I was forced to attend some county fair in buttfuck nowhere with a bunch of fucking hicks!”
“You looked great in that cowboy hat...” Jen offered.
“Jen.” Agatha sobered her expression. “If we play this right, I may never have to visit middle America ever again!”
“I know!”
“Get the whiskey, the good one, the stuff I chugged the night Roe got overturned.” She regally swept her hair off her shoulders.
Jen’s smile faded. “Remember when I said I had good, AND bad news?”
Agatha sighed, slumping back into her chair. “Fine,” She did a waving motion with her hand. “Get to the part I’m not gonna like.”
Her office door opened, odd since everyone knocked first under threat of death. Everyone except Jen.
A woman strode in, perfectly tailored pants and blazer, not a hair out of place, guest ID badge swinging in sync with her hips. And she had this look in her gigantic brown eyes, like she was meant to be there, like she never thought to be nervous to walk into the office of the vice president of the United States of America.
“Here I am.” The woman grinned in a way Agatha did not appreciate.
Agatha looked at Jen. “I assume she’s signed an NDA?”
Jen nodded.
“Great.” She bit out, plastering on a fake smile. “Who the fuck is she?”
Agatha recognized her vaguely, but at some point all DC people started to look the same.
The woman snorted back a laugh, tucking her tongue against her cheek.
“Madam vice president,” Jen started, though she never addressed Agatha so formally in private. “This is Rio Vidal, campaign manager.”
Again, it was almost midnight. Agatha had her hair clipped up, brown and gray strays framing her face. Her suit was wrinkled and her button up was rolled to her elbows, and this woman-
Rio.
Looked like she just walked out of an ad for “Scary Campaign Manager Barbie” and Agatha didn’t like that either.
“No.” She stated, and slid her glasses back on. “Whiskey?”
“I’ll go ask William to fetch it.” Jen grumbled, leaving the room.
Rio was still in front of her desk.
“You can leave.” Agatha dismissively waved her hand as she reopened the binder.
“Haven't even heard my pitch.” Rio said without missing a beat.
“Don’t need it.”
And as if Agatha had prompted her, Rio spoke. “You made three big mistakes in your last campaign, you know. Probably why you’re here and he’s at the residence.”
Agatha scoffed, but looked up, her curiosity piqued.“And those would be…?”
“Oh,” Rio raised her brows, smirking in victory. “Now you want me to stay?”
“My campaign was air tight, America just wasn’t ready for a woman president.”
Rio laughed, like actually, legitimately laughed. “I’ve won every race I’ve ever managed, and I can tell you, madam vice president, it wasn’t your gender.”
Agatha’s jaw clenched. “You’re like twenty, what do you know?”
“I’m thirty-five and I know where you went wrong.”
Agatha snapped the binder closed. “Well? On with it.”
“First, you spent too much time on the east coast. When’s the last time Vermont, Connecticut, or New York went red?” Rio talked like Agatha was fucking dumb. “I get it, Massachusetts is your homebase, you felt comfortable there. But only a couple stops in Wisconsin? And Milwaukee at that? Michigan and only Detroit? You basically ignored the swing states or any rural counties. And don’t even get me started on how your speech in Texas right before the primaries was tedious at best.”
She could take this woman, she could. Sure, there might be sixteen years between them, but Agatha was spry enough.
“Two, you ignored a key voting block. Young people. You pandered to boomers who were never gonna vote for you anyways and lost a huge chunk of what could’ve been your saving grace. Americans aged 18 to 30 don’t want to hear how you’ll make social security benefits better for blue-hairs when they damn well know they’ll never see a cent of it.” Rio rounded her desk, casually leaning against it. “Young voters don’t believe in the government anymore, they need a face, a symbol, a person to believe in, and it sure as hell wasn’t you.”
Agatha looked up at her from where she sat, completely fucking dumbfounded by the audacity of this fucking tween.
“Three and most importantly, you were too moderate. You tried to appeal to everyone, so you appealed to no one.” Rio was almost sitting on her desk by now, arms crossed. “Maybe the golden boy you work for can get away with that considering everyone cheers when a straight white man thinks minorities should have rights, but with your political track record, you played it too safe.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Are you done?” She ground out through her annoyance.
“I could keep going, but those were the key three.”
Agatha stood, boring into this woman’s soul. “You seem to think we are equals, so let me clear a few things up for you. I do not work for the president, I work with him. I campaigned on the east coast because that's where the data, the voter index, said I should go. Young people don’t know what they want and boomers are the largest voting block in this country.”
Rio didn’t back down, didn’t even cower. “I think you’re underestimating the voters.”
Agatha cackled. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“It’s 2024, kids born during 9/11 are twenty-three. They don’t own anything and have inherited a dying planet, crippling debt, and a callous political state. In fact, gen z is set to outnumber boomers in this coming election.” Rio leaned in, far too close for comfort. “Your precious voting block is dying off and wandering around nursing homes thinking Carter’s still in office.”
And if there was one thing about Agatha, she’d stand her ground. “Young people? That’s your grand solution? The ones glued to their screens? The ones who are illiterate post-covid? That’s who you’re betting on?”
Rio shrugged. “Those screens tell them a lot. Like how this administration has been radio silent on fracking yet took PAC money from big oil, how you’ve increased taxes on their wages to up defense spending from 900 billion to a tidy little trillion, how they’ll work for everything and own nothing.” She smirked, eyes filled with what could only be described as hunger. “And they’re fucking pissed.”
“So, if I’m such a lost cause, why the hell are you here?”
“Because I’m good at my job and I love a challenge.”
“A congressional race is not the same as a presidential.”
“I’ve managed races for congressmen, senators, governors.” She listed off breezily. “I’m interested in the big score.”
“You wanna swing your dick around and show off?” Agatha scoffed.
“Like you don’t.”
Agatha leaned in now too, challenging her. “The difference is, I don’t need to wave mine around for everybody to know how big it is.”
“Agatha,” She said, which was disrespectful given they’d only just met. “Let me run this campaign. I can make you someone America will want to vote for.”
She finally pulled away, chuckling and sitting back down. “I don’t need you for that.”
“Who ran your last campaign?”
“I-”
Rio didn’t let her talk, cutting her off. “Sharon Davis.”
“Your point?”
“She was around during Reagan’s era, you really think she’s got what it takes?”
And no, Agatha was certain that Sharon couldn't manage another race, the woman was ancient and out of touch.
“It’s of no concern to you.”
Rio scoffed. “Agatha Harkness, fifty-one, born in Salem, Massachusetts. Raised by Evanora and Robert Harkness. Dad died when you were seventeen.” She recited by heart. “He was a senator, a republican at that. In fact, you come from a political family. Once he passed, your mother ran for senate and won. Her major platforms include lowered taxes on the ultra wealthy, lax gun control laws, and christian nationalism.”
Agatha rolled her shoulders as she listened, trying to get them to stop tensing.
“Bet she loved when you came out, huh?”
Agatha tried not to think of her mother.
“Congrats, you can read a fucking wiki page.”
And again, it rolled right off Rio. “You never even mentioned that in your run, you missed sympathy votes, sweetheart.”
Okay, she was hitting her limit. “My mother has nothing to do with my political career, and call me that again and I’ll have you escorted out by security. I’ll tell them to use excessive force.”
Again, the woman was not affected. “You majored pre-law at Yale despite your family’s legacy at Harvard. You completed your law degree at Georgetown then clerked for RBG. You became the first woman governor of Massachusetts at forty. You’re a career politician born and bred.”
“Do you just like to hear yourself speak or is this going somewhere?”
Rio crouched down to Agatha’s eyeline. “You’re too smart to be this stupid.”
“Get out.” Agatha barked.
And Rio didn’t startle but backed off, still grinning like a know-it-all. “Jen has my number, call me when you realize that the Democratic National Convention is in three months and you’re fucked.”
And just like that, scary campaign barbie strutted out as confidently as she had walked in.
Where the hell did she get off? Nobody spoke to Agatha like that, like second in command like that. She had to pick up her jaw from where it had fallen open as Rio disappeared.
A minute later Jen waltzed back in, whiskey in hand. “That twink aide of yours is so fidgety, like he’s scared someone’s gonna smack him at any moment-” She stopped walking when she realized Rio was nowhere to be found.
“Did you scare her off?”
“No.” Agatha pouted.
Jen placed the whiskey and two tumblers on the desk. “You fucking scared her off, didn’t you?”
“Quite the opposite, Kale.” Agatha leaned across to grab the bottle and a glass. “That woman has some fucking nerve, I’ll give you that.”
Jen sat back down across from her. “So you liked her?”
“No.” She poured herself a double, then examined the glass before pouring a triple. “She’s arrogant, smug, and cocky.”
Her chief of staff sighed. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get her here, she doesn’t take just any job, she has to believe that the challenge is worth the fight.”
“She said she’s looking for the big score, wants to make a name for herself.”
“That’s what we all want.”
Agatha sipped the liquor, letting it burn her throat. “But something about the way she said it, the way she just fucking-” She grunted. “Fuck, there’s something there I don’t like.”
Jen poured herself a glass too. “She’s too much like you.”
“What? No. I was never like that-”
“Agatha, I’ve been on your staff since you were running for governor.” Jen chided. “Two sides, same coin.”
“You’re cracked.”
“You’re in need of a campaign manager. A good one. She’s it.”
“Where’s POTUS?” Agatha asked through another sip.
“Probably sleeping, at the residence.”
She knocked back more than a shot's worth of booze. “I’m going to see him.” And stood, slipping her stilettos back on from where they had been abandoned under her desk.
As Agatha booked it out of her office and towards the exit of the building, Jen followed. “Agatha! You cannot just wake the president from sleep.”
“What’s he gonna do? Fire me?”
Agatha was on a fucking mission, her legs carrying her to her final destination with ease. Five minutes later she was stampeding down the walls of the white house, waving off secret service and pounding on Steve’s door.
The door creaked open, revealing a grown man, the leader of this country, in his fucking jammies. “Agatha, what the hell?”
“You’re dropping out! That’s the hell!”
“Yeah.” He yawned.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“You found out, didn’t you?”
“You give me three months? Three fucking months before the DNC?!” She shouted.
“I’ll back you, the party will have no other choice. It’s what you wanted, right?” He scratched his head.
“I wanted a real run!” She snapped. “You’ve fucked me, Steve! Fucked me! No lube, no foreplay. Just stuck it right in, didn’t you?!”
“Jesus.”
“Do you know how many Americans just won’t vote now? They thought they’d chosen you and now that’s gonna blow back on me.”
“They’ll get over it.”
“You could’ve told me, and you didn’t. Why?”
He tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Honestly? I didn’t want to deal with a power hungry leech.”
“What the fuck-“
“C’mon, Agatha. I know just as well as you do this was a stepping stone. If I got shot dead tomorrow, you wouldn’t even wait for my body to go cold before you addressed the nation.”
“Well neither did LBJ…”
“I knew you were gonna do what you do.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m washing my hands of it and retiring, Godspeed.”
“That’s it?”
“My wife is sick, and it’s because of this fucking job.” He stated. “Nothing's worth losing her.”
What a dumbass, giving up all that for a girl.
“Fucking idiot.” She mumbled. “In your statement tomorrow, you’re saying how you have the utmost confidence in me and my ability to run this country.”
“Fine.”
“And that serving this country with me by your side has been the greatest pleasure of your sad, heterosexual life.”
“Done. Can you let me fucking sleep now?”
She got what she wanted, though she could yell at him for a lifetime if she had the availability.
“Fine.” She affirmed, turning on her heel.
Jen fell in step next to her.
“Give me your phone.” Agatha demanded, palm out as she stormed back to the Eisenhower building.
“Why?” Jen handed the phone over.
And Agatha hated that she was right, that the woman had gotten to her, to her brain.
“I’m calling Wanda, she needs to put out a press release from my office.”
“Saying?”
“I’m running,” Agatha sighed, angrily tapping the phone. “With Rio Vidal as my campaign manager.”