Triden - More Than Just A Love Story

Chapter 2

Because I did get this bored again, even if there was very little demand for it lmao

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The phone rang three times before Joe heard a click on the other end. Nobody spoke for a few beats. The only noise he could hear was someone breathing on the other end and the regular, if slightly more frantic, shuffle of life outside the Oval Office doors. It barely felt real to him.

Trump's life was in danger. He could have died. He would have died without Joe having– it didn't matter. God, Joe told himself, he was going to keep this call short and professional, and this was nothing but an excuse to tell the fucking press all about it in a show of bipartisanship that–

"Joe."

"Uh, yeah, Hi Donald."

He heard some shuffling across the speakers.

"Joe I just got shot, you know what that means? One of your liberal cunts, believe me, tried to fucking SHOOT ME in my head."

"I-I'm sorry?"

There was a pause on the other end. Some more shuffling and talking back and forth that Joe couldn't quite make out.

"This, like look, this is off the record all right? I swear to god Joe, I have a team of lawyers– the best lawyers– who wouldn't think twice, trust me, before they kick your nice ass to Deleware or wherever the hell you came from."

Joe's cheeks heated and he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not sending it to the press," he said. Though he regretted the assurance as soon as it came out of his lips.

It's not like it would have made a difference anyway, he supposed. Trump's supporters were dedicated to ignoring every one of his controversies, one angry phone call wouldn't change that.

Joe was almost jealous. His party was trying to overthrow him, meanwhile, Trump could be convicted of any crime and his every word would continue to be praised.

"I j-just called", Joe continued, "to wish you well, and- you're okay right?"

His question was met with silence.

Joe was about to continue talking, fearing the awkwardness that would have ensued had he met Trump's quiet with his own when the voice on the other end spoke. 

"I, trust me, I know you don't care. Actually not that it matters to you, I'm okay. The most okay I've ever been. This little shoot-out you set up is going to bring me wonders for this election."

Joe could almost see Donald's hands moving as he listened to him speak. He got so lost in visualizing the conversation despite the blatant lies coming through the phone speaker, that he hardly noticed when Trump's talking slowed.

"Look Joe, we both know you called for the press bit about 'calling Trump', you have that now. We haven't spoken since the debate, and the last time we spoke was the debate before. We only ever speak to debate. That's the truth. And I don't, I really don't know why you think its okay to call now and act like we're friends because there's nothing in our past that lets you do that."

"There's nothing," Joe repeated in a tone implying anything but the agreement Trump took it as.

"Exactly, because, you know–"

Someone knocked on the door, a signal that Joe's twenty minutes were nearing their close, and Joe eagerly heeded their command.

"Donald, I wish you well, goodbye."

Joe ended the call and set his phone on his desk. He didn't know what he had wanted out of calling Trump but this wasn't it. He was so fucking stupid, why would he have thought anything changed now when nothing had changed all those years ago. Or any time they had met since then.

Trump was always going to be a dickhead, and if the last fifty years hadn't changed that, Joe accepted that nothing would.