it's arithmetic [Constance x Vasco]

v a s c o
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Vasco had sat watching the change of districts until the sun had turned cherry red on the horizon. He became accustomed to weightlessness; it took concentration to regain his own center of gravity now, fifty years on.

Long stretches of time vanished into the blur of fields and smokestacks that raced past the train’s windows.

When he’d seen the tips of light spiraling out the oil fields of five, Vasco had turned to the empty seat beside him with a familiar grin. He’d parted his lips to tell his wife to get a good look at the red, blue, and purple flames that illuminated the night sky, only to fall silent.

Speaking couldn’t come easy now, his voice lost to the din of those around him, wilting like a sunflower in the heat. Here the jockeying of the train car drowned out whatever words he’d managed to get out, which was just as well. He’d gone back to flipping through the pages and pages of papers he’d tucked into his leather portfolio when the train slowed into the district station.

He'd stood in between the stone columns leading out the station with his suitcase to steady himself. For a moment, he believed that if he let go of the leather satchel over his shoulder and took a step, he might float skyward.

It was the mundane that had always brought Vasco back down to the earth, and, in as much as he’d lost, he wasn’t quite ready to drift away. Nothing conquered grief like purpose; and that had meant putting his feet back down again and trusting they’d stay on solid ground.

He steadied, tucked his shirt into his slacks, and ambled down the steps toward the glass windowed office buildings stretching on in the distance.

He’d taken a meeting with Constance without hesitation.

He remembered Constance as well as he’d remembered anyone, not as a politician remembering hands shaken but with the curiosity he’d always had. What were her intentions, her hopes, and her dreams? Could she weather the storms the capitol would throw at her?

And if she couldn’t, would she swallow her pride and take someone else’s hand?

When he arrived at her office door, he’d adjusted the sunflower pin on his pocket and gave a gentle knock.

“Ms. Fear,” Vasco’s voice called out as he pressed through the door, almost swallowed up by the space. He gave a smile and stood in the doorway with his left hand drawn up to his elbow, ready for a handshake if the opportunity presented itself. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting. How are you?”

v a s c o
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The room was lit with warm yellow of lived in light.

Nights must’ve been spent here among the delicately filed papers and smartly arranged books. Constance’s office stood in direct opposition to the scattershot method he’d arranged his own. Time and again Emma would remind him that he’d have gotten more done if it didn’t take an excavation team to find anything.

“Sunlight’s our specialty.” Vasco replied, his hand in hers. He sank into the cushion of the seat in front of her desk only to find Constance take a seat next to him. “And you should see my office. Every time I turn around, I feel like another tornado has blown right through everything.”

An ache creaked through his voice that dragged under his joke like a riptide. As the last few months of his third term wound down, sleep became a rarity. His daughter Yani would find him in the kitchen late at night, radio low, scratching away and then scratching out papers spread across the hardwood table.

(Or some nights, when they would sit together and whisper about how hard the day had been. The emptiness of the third chair at the dinner table ate away at them so that they could hardly stand. Only by the grace of holding on to one another did they steady their feet for morning.)

“It’s been a tough time, Ms. Fear.” Vasco had never lost his honesty, no matter how small his voice became. He searched the features of Constance’s face for trust, as though it were as easy as shaking her hand to find. “But every day is better than the last.”

He gave another pained smile. No, he wouldn’t be expanding on that. He took in a breath and slapped his hands to knees.

“You’ve been so kind to invite me here, I'm ashamed to admit I don’t think I know much about district three at all.” Nothing more than the Sparks had given. He had imagined it flat, gray, and full of short people who moved in a hurry. “What’ve you kept yourself busy with?”

v a s c o
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He liked the sound of her voice.

Constance had a depth to her that could not easily be moved. Where people in district two may have compared themselves to lions, as Vasco listened (did they noticed that as much as he spoke, he was always listening) she had a strength all her own. He admired that. It would serve her well for the difficult choices she’d have to make.

“Oh!” Vasco brightened as she mentioned that she’d decided to run for mayor. “That’s amazing. Ah! I wish I had known sooner. I’d be happy to give to you my endorsement. It might not mean much to people in three but I’ve known a few of your mayors.” The Sparks had been there when he’d started so many years ago, and then Nixton, who hadn’t stayed long.

“Just take care of yourself. It’ll be hard the first year but that’s the toughest part. Finding all the things you wish you could fix that don’t seem to have easy answers.” For a second, like the sun passing behind a stray cloud, Vasco’s face fell. And just as soon as his smile faded, it returned again. “But you’ll soldier on, and find that you do the best you can.”

Not that she needed his advice, but he’d become accustomed to speaking in the past tense now that he was retiring.

… what’s next for the Mayor of Eleven?

“Well… funny you should ask.” Vasco leaned backward in his chair. He placed his arms behind him and grasped at the edges of the soft fabric with his hands. “I am retiring. Not that there wasn’t work still to be done. But there were some limits that I – well, I couldn’t help but think if I could do more for everyone, not just eleven, I should.”

What would Constance think of him when he told her that instead of remaining head of his district, he was willing to throw it all away for a half-treasonous run at the council? Though he supposed that was half the fun. How much of a revolutionary was she?

“I’m running for the high council.”