AU: The House Always Wins

A Comedy of Errors

Prompted by my obvious love for DC.

Scene Notes: This scene will be more entertaining if you've seen the movie The American President and/or read my story that follows it, but it should be comprehensible even without that. It is also something I said once that I wouldn't do, namely, a mini-crossover with House of Cards. The only reason I backed down is that I wanted to have an external provocation for what unfolds here. I should give notice right now: I do not like the "vision" depicted in that show. I find it neither accurate nor entertaining, and I'm not going to hide that opinion here.

As for why this is AU: It includes characters from several different things, and various changes have been made to all of them. American President was set in the mid-90s. Here, it happened 15 years later. It is also an AU of House of Cards, given that Frank Underwood is still Majority Whip in this fic (and in a previous one-shot in this fic, that was a TV show rather than reality, so it is an AU of the Bad Influence universe itself too).

Basically, this is Good DC and Bad DC smashed together and Flynn has to navigate. He finds that he is out of practice... or perhaps he never attempted to avoid Bad DC before.

Some of this is based on personal experiences. I do not choose to say how much. I will say that I've been at a gala hosted by a senator before, though no fiascos erupted.

I am posting a warning for Flynn's behavior, as it might be a little upsetting. Rated soft T.

Flynn did not want to be here.

Even with his pretty vivacious wife nearby, even with her distinguished grandfather as the de facto head of their small party, even though the ballroom was filled with political luminaries including the First Couple themselves, their hosts—Flynn did not want to be at this function.

His reputation had basically recovered in the court of public opinion, but among this set, there was still a substantial amount of distrust and dislike for him. It was a distrust that, apparently, was not done away with even though Flynn's ticket to this party was such an esteemed ex-senator as Mr. King. This President was such a goody-two-shoes, it was almost infuriating. He was even more of one than King himself, though the old campaigner had actually made corruption his pet issue while in office. Flynn was an interloper here, a black sheep from both a partisan and a history-of-integrity perspective, and he knew it.

It's all that crap that the bloggers said, he thought sourly, recalling the ugly commentary about his motives—this time loaded with a decidedly nasty personal attack, due to his marriage and their baby—that had made the rounds of the Internet over the previous summer, when the ex-Congressmen were on trial. He had managed to get one blogger to shut up, but silencing all the stupid talk was a game of whack-a-mole, and he wasn't going to play it. Flynn found it appalling that such elite personages as the invitees to the White House Christmas party would give a damn what conspiracy theorists and torch-and-pitchfork ideologues had to say about anything, but—

"The world has changed," he thought, recalling the opening line of one of Rapunzel's favorite movies.

The image of rabid keyboard warriors as Ringwraiths and orcs mollified Flynn for a moment, providing a flicker of amusement. He smiled at the thought and glanced around at the other members of his party.

The Kings were together, as they usually were, conversing cheerily with a current member of the Senate, whom he knew to be strongly in support of strict regulations on Wall Street. Flynn instantly decided to avoid that conversation. There was no good place it could go to, considering the nature of the lobbying from his previous life. He looked about for his wife and located her quickly.

Rapunzel was talking animatedly with a handsome—alarmingly handsome, he thought with some discomfiture—man that he knew to be a weaponmaker-turned-green-energy-leader. Probably here at the First Lady's request, Flynn thought. Mrs. Shepherd's Green Fuel for Blue Skies Initiative was the talk of the town, and she had actually managed to bring activists and business leaders together for the cause of climate change mitigation. Elsa Rendell wanted an in with it; she seemed convinced that she had met the woman once, before she married the President. Though Elsa's sister Anna doubted that, Flynn didn't. This town was a very small world for people working on the same topic, and the odds of two climate lobbyists running into each other were good.

Still, this guy—what was his name? Stark, Flynn remembered—didn't need to be talking to Rapunzel that... interestedly. Didn't he have a girlfriend? Where was she? And why wasn't he looking steadily at Rapunzel's face as they chatted? His eyes kept darting downward, and the neckline on her dress was fairly low.

Rapunzel let out a delighted laugh at something Stark said. She raised her glass of champagne to his and toasted with him, grinning.

And winking.

That did it. Flynn did not for a second suspect her of deliberate flirting, but Rapunzel still sometimes did things without realizing how they looked to other people. Her upbringing of isolation would probably shape her behavior for the rest of her life. But that only made it less acceptable for people to take advantage of it. Flynn made to walk toward the pair.

"Ah, there you are!" came a voice, interrupting Flynn's course. "I had heard that you were here, and I've been determined to have a word with you."

Flynn stopped and turned to face the person, irritation still evident in his face. "Are you sure you wanted to see me?" he asked.

"Certainly." The clean-shaven, older-middle-aged man attempted to smile, but it came out as a rather sinister-looking leer. "Frank Underwood. Majority Whip." He held out his hand, still leering.

Flynn took the hand and shook it quickly. "Flynn Rider—but I suppose you know that. What could the Majority Whip possibly have to say to me?" He gave a forced chuckle. "I'm not engaged in brokering illegal bargains anymore, you know, so if you suspect some of your caucus of being in with that—"

Underwood started to roll his eyes but quickly chuckled too instead. "This has nothing to do with that. It actually concerns you yourself."

Flynn gave a despairing glance in the direction of Rapunzel and Stark, who were moving away. It seemed that he had to hear out this man in this conversation first, though.

"I understand that you have started a new firm, an issue-based firm that courts philanthropists, foundations, and the like for funds."

"I have."

"I'm sorry to hear that you have settled for money," the Majority Whip oozed. "Choosing money over power is the biggest mistake that people in this town make."

Flynn stared at the man, visibly offended. "If I had any aspiration to elected office, I am realistic enough to know that it isn't going to happen now."

Underwood sipped his wine and shook his head lightly. "It could if you wanted to. You are a talented fellow, and you've talked the talk that people want to hear. That's all that really matters, the ability to make people believe what you want them to. They can be persuaded to put aside anything. If you were to switch your party affiliation, I could help you advance. Much better than grandpa could." He smiled that leer again. "I think you and I would work very well together."

Flynn was not personally acquainted with this man, but he knew quite well that Underwood's "allies" were more properly his feudal vassals and blackmail hostages, and he had no intention of becoming either. "Thank you, but I do not need any of your 'help,'" he said, trying hard to keep snideness out of his voice but not entirely succeeding. "It's not a matter of settling for anything. I have no interest in running for office and never have... and if you think what I do now is lucrative, you're very mistaken. Lobbying is power."

Underwood smirked. "Political office holds greater power. I am trying to recruit for the next cycle, and if you insist on this negative, well... there's a lovely lady in the building you work in now." That unpleasant leer was visible on his face despite his expert attempts to conceal it. "Blonde, young, no unfortunate past political affiliations... she would be a telegenic face, should she be willing to play." The façade of politeness was clearly down.

Flynn did not like this man's implications one bit. "Elsa Rendell is one of the most rigidly principled people I have ever known," he said sharply. The meaning was unmistakable, and Flynn did not care what Underwood thought.

He definitely did not miss the point. "Is she? Well, good luck to her with that." The sneer in his words could not be concealed either.

The conversation did not go unnoticed. Elsewhere in the room, the hosts were observing their guests, keeping a particular eye on the untrustworthy Majority Whip—he had to be invited, the President thought grumpily, even though he really did not want the viper here—when suddenly, the elder politician snagged a younger man seemingly out of thin air. Quickly the First Couple identified the younger person.

"Remind me why we invited him?" the President growled.

"It would have been a snub not to, since he married into Senator King's family and lives here, while they had to fly in from Colorado. And he's reformed."

"Supposedly."

His wife frowned. "Surely you don't give any credence to that garbage that was online last year. I doubt it is any more truthful for him than such crap was for us."

"Oh, no, it isn't that at all. Just... excuse me if I find it suspicious for a corrupt Republican lobbyist who bargained his way out of prison to be conspiring with the biggest snake in Washington."

"You don't know that they're conspiring," Sydney pointed out. "Underwood might have forced himself upon him. He does that." She scowled. "He really needs to go, or he's going to be a liability for the party at some point."

"Well, unless he can be removed by his own constituents, I think he needs to stay exactly where he is," President Shepherd replied. "If he is maneuvered out of the leadership post, that'll just make him vindictive."

"He won't be pacified with it indefinitely."

"Then let him run next election. He won't get nominated. I can make sure of that. There are stories..." He lowered his voice. "Adultery stories. They could be leaked without my fingerprints on it."

"You'd support using his personal life to take him down? You?"

"I would," he said grimly. "It's nothing like what was done to us. We were single. We weren't doing anything wrong. And if it didn't come out in the primary and he did get nominated, it'd definitely come out after that."

She considered this. "Fair enough, then. But be careful that it isn't traceable to you. He's a nasty piece of work."

He smiled darkly. "I know what he is probably better than you do, love."

The meeting with Underwood had agitated and distracted Flynn. How dare that man assume that he would take him up on an offer of patronage, as if of course Flynn's own sense of decency was still so crippled that an alliance with a corrupt, utterly self-serving, possibly criminal politician (if the whispers were accurate) would not offend his morals. Yes, he had done exactly that before—if not for the purpose of running for office himself—but he had publicly and repeatedly renounced that past! The sheer presumption of the offer, let alone the smugly (and approvingly) "knowing" insinuations about deceit in Flynn's rehabilitation, infuriated him.

He was stewing in his own anger so deeply that he had almost forgotten the reason he had bumped into Underwood in the first place. The irritation associated with it was certainly forgotten; the flirtations of Stark were unimportant in perspective. They were probably harmless in intent anyway. And really, he thought, Rapunzel ought to be able to tell when someone is flirting with her by this time. Maybe she's had too much to drink tonight. His wife had, during the brief month of unemployment and depression before they got together, turned to the bottle a great deal, and it had increased her tolerance during that period. But since then, she had reverted back to what she naturally was: a lightweight who quickly became very happy, chatty, even silly.

"Flynn!" her voice exclaimed from close by. He looked around until his gaze landed upon her. Yes, she was definitely on the tipsy side at the moment.

"Hello, Rapunzel," he said. "I trust you've been enjoying yourself."

She beamed. "It's great, and such an honor! I didn't realize Grandpa was friends with them. They're so much younger than my grandparents. But I found out that they worked together on corruption—"

"Rapunzel, please lower your voice," he urged. Lord, she got loud when she was tipsy.

She did so. "Anyway, they were both after corrupt members of the House and Senate—and the Crown Group."

Flynn did not generally mind talking about his past, but considering what his thoughts had been right before Rapunzel showed up, it was one of the last things he wanted to think about at the moment. "Rapunzel, I really don't want to hear this right now," he grunted.

She stopped abruptly, looking hurt.

"Have you talked with the First Lady?" he asked quickly.

"No, I haven't met either of them personally."

"Well, why don't you get introduced and share your experiences about being a new mother," he suggested.

Rapunzel was clearly confused. "But our experiences were completely different!"

"I am pretty sure that your experiences in general are completely different from every other person in this room." It was a low blow, and he felt a prickle of guilt as soon as he said it.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" she cried. "If you don't want to talk to me, why don't you go talk to her about being a lobbyist?"

"Our experiences in that were completely different," he shot back. "She was more like Elsa than me. I wish your grandpa had gotten an invitation for Elsa, actually."

Rapunzel's face flushed with anger just as Flynn realized how that sounded—that he was thinking of another woman and maybe even preferred her company, since he had told Rapunzel to shove off. He opened his mouth to apologize and explain about the conversation with Underwood, and why Elsa had been on his mind in the first place, but she hissed her retort before he could.

"He has never even met Elsa, and that would have been a terrible affront to Max and the other staff." She glared at him and stalked away to her grandparents.

Flynn's irritation flooded back. Yes, he had been rude to her, but she didn't even give him the chance to apologize before storming off. Curse this party, he thought. I should have simply refused to come, even if everyone else in the family went. People would talk, but there are far more interesting items of gossip in this town than my social life. He looked around the room for someone to talk to, finally fixing upon Stark, who was now properly beside his girlfriend. Stark might be an annoying narcissist, but Flynn couldn't really say much less of himself, in full honesty. And what he was not was a politician. He was practical, a businessman and inventor.

The conversation was pleasant. Flynn's personal interests, as well as the objective of his new firm, centered around arts-related gifted education rather than science and technology, but there's nothing wrong with branching out a bit, he thought as he talked with the industrialist. Stark was very interested in it. They agreed to talk more about working together in the future. The conversation seemed to be winding down, and Flynn was feeling a bit better about this whole event, when Stark abruptly changed the subject.

"I've got to ask, why on earth is the President staring daggers at you?" he asked jestingly.

Flynn whipped his head around. Sure enough, the President was fixed upon him. Flynn scowled. "I'm assuming it's that he only invited me because I'm related by marriage to one of his friends, and he didn't expect or want me to actually show."

Stark frowned. "There are others here that I know he's not friendly with."

"Well, I haven't even spoken to him, or about him for that matter. I've never met him, so whatever his problem is with me, it is not something I said." He feigned unconcern. "Maybe he thinks I taint his wife by association. The same profession and all, but my reputation is... well."

Stark chuckled with Flynn. As he moved away, leaving Flynn again by himself, he considered what he had just said. The remark was made as a joke, but as he thought more about it, it occurred to him that it might actually be correct. The First Lady was an ex-lobbyist herself, and the presence of one with his notoriety might bring unpleasant associations about the entire line of work.

The conference with Underwood came back to his mind. The Majority Whip, a political ally of the White House, had simply assumed that his reformation was a fraud. A political ally of the White House, he repeated in thought, rolling the phrase around in his mind. Corrupt as hell, but an ally. Yet I am persona non grata, singled out so strongly that other people notice it. Hypocrites. Hypocrites, every last one of them.

This theory, which—once formed—Flynn did not doubt for a moment, set his blood boiling. I'll give him something to glare about, he thought spitefully as a plan formed in his mind. Without considering the matter any further, without considering whether there might be other explanations for the President's seeming dislike of him, Flynn scanned the room until he located the First Lady. She was talking with a middle-aged couple who, based on the woman's clothing and jewelry, appeared to be very rich and very bored. Flynn promptly made a beeline for this group.

Flynn knew he had a winning smile, a smile that could melt hearts and open wallets. It didn't always work on Rapunzel, of course, but that was because she knew him too well. He questioned how well it would work on a woman who, prior to her marriage, had been a lobbyist—a notoriously hard-nosed one—for several more years than he had and probably was very familiar with all the tricks of the trade.

Maybe it was the season. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was her general contentment and happiness with her life. And maybe she was pleased to be the object of attention of a handsome young man under 30. That was Flynn's hope and intention. Even when people were happily partnered off, many times their vanity was nonetheless flattered when someone much younger than their spouse paid attention to them. But whatever it was—or whatever combination, more likely—Mrs. Shepherd, to her surprise, was enjoying the conversation with Flynn a great deal.

That surprised her. She had not thought that ill of him; she had not believed a word of the rubbish said of him last year in the blogs. But the ugly incident with his former firm and that Wall Street firm had really cast a pall over the whole profession, and it had been used against her—and the President—early in their relationship, when the opposition had been trying to take him down in an election year. It hadn't been Rider's fault that the oppo had been trying to use "Crowngate"—a case indicting lobbyists who, ironically, were mostly aligned with them—to slime everyone in the profession simply because it was convenient for their electoral goals at the time. But it had made her a little wary of him.

In all honesty, she was still wary of him. Getting to know her, making nice with one of his hosts and a friend of his grandfather-in-law, was one thing, but he seemed a little too charming in this conversation. He seemed—flirty. And she couldn't figure out what he meant by it. He was a married man, a happily married one by all accounts (including Mr. King's), and even if he hadn't been, she was definitely so. What did he intend?

Maybe he doesn't intend anything, she thought, as she discoursed with him about education policy. That was what he did now, and that was what she had done before switching to energy and climate policy. Maybe he too has had some wine and is enjoying himself.

He had just escorted her, by the arm, over to the nearest serving-tray when she pulled away. Something had caught her eye.

"Excuse me," she said, her tone suddenly frosty. "I need to speak to my husband. I believe he wants me for something." She quickly hurried off.

Flynn followed the back of her head as she scouted out the President. It was not difficult to find him.

Rapunzel had been talking with her grandparents and attempting to put Flynn's unpleasant mood out of her mind. He had hurt her feelings a great deal by cutting her off, trying to send her away, and saying that he wished another woman—her friend—had been present. She did not suspect him of anything concerning Elsa, but it did bother her a little. At work, he would see Elsa whenever they chanced to meet in the building lobby or the elevator. They had their profession in common, too. Rapunzel knew them both well enough to know that they wouldn't betray her, but the idea of him forming a strong friendship with Elsa—a friendship based on aspects of his life and personality that, truth be told, he really did not have in common with Rapunzel—made her vaguely sad. She wanted to share everything with him. When he had been strictly a writer, it had seemed that this might be possible, as she too loved the arts. But the other passion of his was not killed by a bad experience; it was merely dormant, and it could easily grow once more in soil that wasn't poisoned.

It isn't realistic that two people will share every interest with equal fervor, she thought. She supposed it was possible that one day she might grow into an interest in politics to equal his, but that day was beyond her imagination right now. Talking with her grandparents certainly had not kindled such an interest to that degree.

While she was in the middle of a lighthearted discussion about the architecture and furnishings of the White House, her grandmother suddenly blanched at something she saw that was behind Rapunzel. Rapunzel did not fail to notice.

"What's the matter?" she asked, turning around to see what had so discomfited her grandparent. What she saw made her face fall.

Next to a serving-tray of some type of party food, Flynn was standing with the First Lady, clearly laying on the charm. Rapunzel gazed at the scene in humiliation. Her husband had deserted her out of apparent boredom and was chatting up a married woman almost twenty years older than herself, in full view of many Washington luminaries. She was so mortified, she wished for a trapdoor to open up and swallow her.

Flynn was unsure who was looking at him more murderously, Rapunzel or the President. –No, he quickly decided that the President's glare would have dropped him dead right there if looks could kill. Rapunzel looked upset and embarrassed as well as furious.

All other thoughts fled his mind. What have I allowed to happen? he thought miserably. Why did I let all these people get to me instead of sticking with Rapunzel and the Kings? Why did I act on the irritation like this?

Flynn knew—he knew—that the decisions he made in the heat of anger rarely turned out well. Hotheadedness in a fight had almost cost him Rapunzel back in their early days. Joining the Crown Group had itself been a reactive act to being scorned by a woman from college. Going to New York and confronting the thuggish traders, on their own "territory," by himself had almost cost him his life. He knew this. Why did he allow his very reason to fall prey to anger?

There was but one thing to be done. He had to get to Rapunzel and her grandparents and explain himself. They would probably need to leave the party. He just hoped that this fiasco hadn't cost Mr. King the regard of a friend.

It all came out: the general sense of unwelcome that Flynn had felt from the start, the spark of jealousy kindled by seeing Stark flirt with Rapunzel (Rapunzel herself blushed; as Flynn had first suspected, she had not known that the man was doing it), the offer from Underwood and the insulting implications thereof, the assumption that the President was glaring at him because of his history and profession, and the outrage he felt (spoken in a low tone that no one else could hear) about how the President could have a problem with him but be allied with a snake like Underwood.

"Flynn," Mr. King said in clear tones of exasperation. "They are not allies in any sense but that of necessity, and they certainly aren't friends. He knows perfectly well what Underwood is. Didn't you know, the President and I first targeted him when we were trying to root out corruption on the Hill?"

That was news. "I did not."

"I did," Rapunzel said. "I tried to tell you about it." She gave him a pointed look. He gazed back apologetically.

"Well, nothing ever came of it. He covered his tracks well. But he also never found out about it. Anyway, he's definitely not a chum of the President. That is probably why he was glaring at you, the fact that he saw Underwood and you talking and assumed the worst. And then when you followed it up by talking to Stark, who is an ally of theirs..."

"This is absurd," Mrs. King exclaimed. "It has clearly been a night of misunderstandings. We should go to them and explain what was really going on."

Everyone agreed on this course of action, and the group shuffled over to where the President and First Lady appeared to be in the middle of a dispute themselves. Flynn felt a prickle of guilt. He was certain that they were arguing about him.

They broke apart and put on their best faces for the approaching group. Interest seemed palpable on both of their faces at the recognition of who was coming.

"Mr. President, sir," Mr. King broke the ice, "I think there have been several misunderstandings between you, your wife, and members of my party here, and I hoped we might all set the record straight amongst ourselves instead of ending the night with ill feeling. My grandson-in-law was really upset over what he perceived to be disapproval of his very presence here."

The First Couple raised their eyebrows.

"As it turns out, it was all the doing of a certain weasel in the House that we all know."

Recognition spread over both their faces.

Flynn spoke up. "When he was talking to me, sir, it was to offer me his patronage if I wanted to run for office. There were several sly remarks made to the effect that he and I would be well-suited for each other. I was offended by that assumption, so I refused."

Relief filled the President's face. "In that case, I apologize for misapprehending you. You are correct that I thought that conversation took, let's say, a different route."

"Actually, I think I'm the one who owes an apology for being overly familiar with your wife." He gazed up sheepishly. "And I owe another to my wife—for the whole evening, really."

Rapunzel squeezed his hand in acknowledgment.

"Apology accepted," Mrs. Shepherd said, "though I wasn't bothered. I enjoyed talking with you."

Flynn smiled, a real smile rather than a purposely flirty one. That settled things. The conversation began to flow freely as the chief executive and his old ally caught up and shared stories, and the rest discussed the state of the policy world. They were interrupted several times by other people who wanted to talk with their important host and hostess, but otherwise, the King party stayed near the First Couple for the rest of the evening. Rapunzel did mention new parenthood to the First Lady, and a one-on-one conversation got started that all the men immediately backed away from.

"It really sounds as if your labor was worse," Rapunzel said.

"But I never had any doubts. I think you—I cannot imagine—a premature baby. That man"—she jerked her thumb back toward her husband—"insisted on having me pampered and petted throughout it because I was 40, but there was no real concern about it after a certain point."

"It's what they do," Rapunzel said, laughing.

At last it seemed that the party was breaking up and guests were leaving. The King party indicated for their coats to be brought to them and prepared to take their leave.

"Oh, before we go, there is one last thing," Flynn said, remembering the substance of the conversation that nearly spoiled their evening. "There is a woman who works in my building... she is friends with my wife and me... name of Elsa Rendell." He glanced at Mrs. Shepherd for signs of recognition, but there were none. Maybe Anna is right, he thought grimly, but plunged on. "She thinks she met you once, in a downtown bar one night the winter before last."

The redhaired woman exchanged an embarrassed glance with her husband and considered. "That was when we had a—misunderstanding—and I recall now, I did meet a young woman. Platinum blonde hair... she said she was also in environmentalism and disliked her employer. No, wait, she had been dismissed by her employer that day."

"It does sound like her," Flynn agreed.

"The Progressive Center for Environmental Justice—that was the name of the firm," Rapunzel added. "She has been a solo climate change consultant ever since then."

"Oh, yes, it definitely sounds like the same person. She's well rid of those people. It's a dead-end firm. They are not interested in doing anything that could actually, realistically, be accomplished."

"Well, I am afraid I have to tell you, Underwood may be interested in recruiting her—I think he meant as a candidate, but who can say with him when it concerns ambitious young people. My wife and I will warn her about him if she doesn't already know what he is—"

The President and First Lady were looking stony-faced.

"—but I also wanted to tell you—"

"She's really interested in your initiative!" Rapunzel broke in. Flynn gazed at her, smiling. It was vastly preferable for the message to come from her, the charming granddaughter of one of the man's old friends and allies, rather than from him.

"Is she?" Mrs. Shepherd said with interest. "What did she think of doing?"

"I'm not sure of the precise details, but you know she has a degree in the science itself too and she's really interested in the Arctic situation and winter storm preparation for cities. She says they're going to get worse."

"They likely are," Mrs. Shepherd said grimly. "Well, the initiative has many—"

"Tentacles," the President supplied with a smirk.

She swatted at him playfully. "Right. There are many areas of policy that relate to the topic, and it is very possible that there would be a place for her. I assume she would prefer to remain a private consultant."

"As far as I know," said Rapunzel.

"That's all right. Most of the people involved are. Well, I will certainly look her up and talk with her about it. Thanks for the recommendation."

"You're quite welcome. We support the goal of the Initiative."

As their driver brought them home—or, in the case of the Kings, to the hotel suite in Fairfax close to Flynn and Rapunzel's condo that they had booked—they all lapsed into a pleasant, contemplative silence. It was broken at last by Rapunzel.

"I am glad we were invited to that," she said. "I wasn't sure at first—I was intimidated by the idea, and then the evening started off so unpleasant, but I'm really glad we went. The city was lovely too. I love how it looks this time of year."

Mrs. King smiled indulgently. "So do I."

The car stopped at the condo. "I guess I'll see you—whenever," Rapunzel laughed, hugging her grandparents in turn. "Hopefully more than just on Christmas."

"We're staying until New Year, you know," Mrs. King said. "You'll definitely see us more."

"Great!" she said, beaming, as she got her things out of the car. "See you later, then! Good night!"

"Good night."