The Debate and The Damage Done

1-before the debate

Joe sighed in nerves and anticipation as the secret service agents buzzed around him, giving a thrum of danger in the otherwise controlled night. He looked down at his phone, never quite knowing the right series of buttons to press to get what he wanted. He found the phone button and dialed his son's number. He wondered briefly if someone hacked his phone, they'd think he was conspiring with him. Joe wasn't. He never was. He just needed to hear Hunter's voice.
"Hey dad." Hunter answers, sounding more gruff than Joe remembers. He smiles softly as his son's voice fills his ears.
"Hey son. I'm in the green room for the debate. Wish your old man luck?" Joe says, sounding far more feeble than he thinks he should. He curses his stupid cold. His voice is scratchy and nasally.
"Of course dad. Knock Trump dead." Just as Joe was about to respond, an agent knocks on his door and tells him it's five minutes until it starts. He says his goodbyes and sits up, straightening his tie and adjusting his rosary, stashed under his shirt. He walks up to his Chief security detail and asks him a question,
"Hey Bill. Do you think I could have a minute? Get all of the agents out?" Joe asks. Bill, in an all black suit and an earpiece in that he's listening to intently, nods. The many agents clear the room at Bill's signal, and for just a moment, Joe is finally alone.
  "Nice green room. Melania practically turned mine into a hair and makeup studio." Joe jumps at the voice that echoes from behind him. He stands up as quick as he can manage, crossing the room to make it to him.
  "Donald... we can't do this here. Too many eyes." Donald rolls his eyes, getting even closer to Joe.
  "I wasn't going to try anything. I have to save my frustrations for the debate." Donald says, smiling slyly. Joe tries to stay serious, but he quickly laughs and pushes Donald's chest.
  "Biden Versus Trump. The battle for democracy." Joe says, suddenly feeling like he needs to sit down. Everything comes rushing back. The American people, approval ratings and statistics float messily in  his mind. Donald, ever caring, senses his upset and leads him to a chair. He grabs Joes hand.
  "Don't be nervous," Donald says, his voice softly cracking. He knows that his best friend, his everything, isn't in his prime anymore. He's tried everything to get out of this debate, for Joe's sake. Joe looks down, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
     "I'm not nervous, Donald. I'm tired. Why do we have to do this? Why can't we just love each other? Me, loving you. Why is that so wrong?" Donald sighs at Joes words. He, Like Joe, just wants to be at peace. But the world, their parties, are counting on them.
     When Donald announced his plans to run for president in 2015, he didn't think he would win, to be sure. He didn't agree with anything that the republicans said, other than taxes (he's rich after all.) But nevertheless, he employed the right people, and soon Donald Trump was the president of the United States. He tried to his best, but it wasn't good enough. Donald didn't know what the  American people wanted or needed, and when he lost, he was content in it. But now, nearly four years later, he stands in the exact spot he did then. Facing off against his beautiful boyfriend in a country so divided that their truth may shred the fabric of the nation. There's a soft knock at the door.
"Mr. President, the debate is starting."