Chapter Text
Joe Biden looked wistfully at the framed photo of the White House that adorned his desk. He fondly remembered his time there. When he was a youngster, he knew that one day he would sit in that Oval Office. He just didn’t think it would be so hard to give it up. “Curse you, Kamala!” he muttered, “If only she hadn’t made me step down from the race…” Selfishly, he still believed that if he were running, Donald Trump wouldn’t be sitting in office right now. That Oval Office was sacred, holy. It shouldn’t be tarnished by the likes of scum like Donald Trump.
Joe imagined Donald sitting behind that desk, haughty, regal, and beautiful. He imagined Donald slamming his chiseled fist down on the Diet Coke button as interns scrambled in fear, desperate to serve him one. Donald had a way about him, a way that made you desperate to prove your worth to him, to make him realize you were a valuable person. Joe had been like those interns, too, stuck with fear and awe of this powerful man. He didn’t feel like that anymore. He knew better. There was much to fear about Donald Trump, but there was more to love. Joe blinked slowly. He couldn’t think like that anymore. Love for that man was bound to go nowhere. He knew what Donald thought of him now. Donald wouldn’t be thinking these pathetic thoughts over Joe, so Joe shouldn’t think these thoughts over Donald - no matter how much his heart soared when thinking of the man.
Joe sighed, leaning back in his chair. He ought to go out to see Jill. He ought to be out on the beach, playing with his grandkids, whom he worked so hard to pardon. He ought to take up a hobby or read that book he kept setting aside. He ought to do a lot of things. But he couldn’t get himself to move from that chair. He imagined himself in that Oval Office again. He would vanquish Donald from that sacred house, pull him out by the ear, and leave his body in an orange lump on the steps of the Oval Office. That would show him! It’d prove that Biden was not one to mess with. It would prove that he was strong. He ran his hand through his balding hair. He remembered a time when it had been glorious, flowing in the wind. All great things fall. Joe Biden knew that too well. He remembered a time when he was the greatest politician on Capitol Hill. Now, he was just a joke. Donald called him Sleepy Joe, and his supporters jeered. Joe could hear their laughs as he tried to sleep, feeling them tearing into their skin, like tiny knives. Donald’s rejection hurts. Joe could easily remember a time when Donald wouldn’t be quick to question Joe’s stamina both as a leader and as a lover…
Joe blushed. There was no use in remembering how it used to be. Donald and he were long over. Joe was no longer on Capitol Hill, where there were always bustling affairs and drama. He was in sleepy old Delaware. It was time to get settled in his new life. His knees cracked when he arose. He stood and walked towards the window overlooking the lake outside his house. The sun was just setting, rays sneaking into the foliage and painting it the most vibrant green. The lake shimmered, and laughter arose from the beach beside it. Everything here was perfect. “ Then why do I feel so incomplete?” He pushed that thought from his mind. He could be happy here. He pushed the painful thought of Donald from his head. To think of Donald was too painful. Anyways, Donald Trump had no place in his new, small life. He smiled to himself, imagining Donald’s boisterous personality at this little lake house. “Gee, he would hate it here.” He laughed. But underneath that sly smile and husky laugh lay a deep hurt. He knew Donald would never visit this lake house. Donald had made it all too clear that all he wished for was a casual relationship, but Joe had never been the chill guy who held his tongue and gave Donald space.
Gosh, Joe wishes he could go back to a year ago. Those truly were the days. Donald would come over to the White House on the weekends and they’d play a round of golf before heading back to the president's suite for a different type of exercise. Joe used to dream of where they’d be in a year. He’d either have his second term, or Donald would be president. If Donald were president, maybe he could get an apartment in D.C. and continue visiting Donald. He’d been so naive. He should have known better. He can still remember Donald’s harsh words that fateful night, berating him.
You are a quitter, Joe! You aren’t worth anything
. Joe winced and turned away from the window. He paced his office. He needed to get out, get a hobby, get away from that awful room and those awful memories. He stopped pacing in front of the door, holding his hand slightly above the handle. He needed to leave this room and his memories behind. It was time to start his new life. It was time to make Joe great again. “I could be happy here,” he repeated to himself over and over and hoped that if he said it enough times, it would be true. He placed his hand onto the handle, his flesh seared by the cold brand of the metal. This was a fresh start. He could be himself--outside Donald Trump and politics and the whole capital--in Delaware. He just needs to stop reminiscing on this stupid, not-so-youthful, asinine infatuation with Donald Trump. Trump was in the past. Joe Biden turned the knob of the door and stepped into his future.