Chapter 1: The peanut farmer arrives
Chapter Text
Jimmy felt his eyes become heavier and the bleak walls of the hospice starting to fade away into nothing. He felt a young nurse clutching his hand, whispering something soft but even her voice was fading . The weight of his eyes became too much and he closed them.
He blinked.
He felt lighter, younger and more mobile not in his prime but he could settle for this, he also felt…wet. Surrounding him was water , caressing his sides warm as bath water and clear as glass. It was a luscious turquoise that shimmered like the stars on the American flag. It was too clean too still, the type of water jimmy buffet would sing about . Not a single ripple stirred jimmy just floated. He looked into the distance and saw a blanket of soft white sand. He started swimming towards it in his old body that was once used for swimming in serene rivers in Georgia. After a few strokes he felt his feet graze the waterbed and he managed to stand.
Slowly emerging to his feet, his torso rising out the water he saw a clear reflection of himself. It was him of course, but with less wrinkles his hair now had its sandy blonde tone with his iconic side part instead of thin chaotic white hairs that sprung from his head a few moments ago. It was 39th president Jimmy Carter aged 52. Jimmy gasped and felt his face to see if this was true.
“Am I in heaven?” the ex president breathed out like he had finally achieved world peace. He looked ahead and saw magnificent building that resembled the Whitehouse. Four tall pillars holding it up, the several identical windows and immense detail in the building. Surrounded by a tropical overgrowth and a carefully maintained golf course. The American flag waving at the top as if it was greeting Carter as he passed through into heaven.
Outside the building was a wooden dock made out of the finest trees in Georgia in jimmy’s eyes. There was a figure, a person, sitting on a pretty deckchair at the very end of the dock looking out at the tranquil lagoon. Carter couldn’t fully identify the person but deep down he knew who it was.
“Rosalynn….” Jimmy whispered. Tears forming in kind blue eyes. His beloved wife has been waiting for him here for about a year wanting to move on into heaven with her husband.
Jimmy dashed like a torpedo to the dock. The soaked body and clothes slapping against him as he ran. Each step kicked up wet sand behind him carving small trenches on his frantic path to the dock. “Rosalynn my one true love your husband is here!” Jimmy yelled with full emotion ,reaching his arm out. His foot however, got slightly stuck in the soft sand and he quickly plummeted to the ground. He felt the sand invade his mouth of the crevices of his body. As he attempted to get up he heard a familiar low gravelly voice.
“Well if it ain’t the peanut farmer… about time you finally hit the bucket,” Carter’s eyes glanced upwards and locked eyes with the figure he saw. Richard Nixon. Same square shaped head, drenched in hair gel. Except wearing clothes that made him look like the average 70s surf rocker you find on a California beach.
“Mr… Richard N-Nixon?” Carter said now uncertain that he’s in heaven.
“Don’t worry we all had similar reactions, Carter!” Nixon stated like it was another day in paradise . “I’ve heard a lot of…things about you from Ford and Reagan”
“Ford and Reagan!?” Carter screamed with a mix of confusion and panic. “What on, sorry Heavenly Father, god’s fucking earth is happening!”. “I remember…”
“Dying.” The two ex presidents said at the same time. Nixon began “yeah well,”. Then suddenly they got interrupted by screaming from across the lagoon. Nixon quickly sprang to his feet to see what the commotion was. Carter trailed behind him drenched and confused. As Carter and Nixon got closer to source it was easier to identify what was being said.
Carter could recognise the iconic voice from anywhere. President Kennedy. “Jeez seems like Kennedy and Khrushchev are at it again,” Nixon sighed casually like this was a common occurrence. “Sorry..?” Carter replied bamboozled and stopped in his tracks. “This can’t be heaven,” Carter sulked.
“Yeah it isn’t, it’s a reunion for the dammed”. Carter stares blankly but kenndy’s distant yelling interrupted his train of thought and then Khrushchev and Kennedy emerged from the tropical undergrowth. A heated voice thick with a Russian accent and fury shouted, “You think you’re clever, little boy president! Your smile doesn’t hide your inexperience!”
“At least I didn’t bang my shoe on the podium like a lunatic!!” Kennedy’s soft spoken voice reeked with anger. Carter’s confusion was at its peak when Khrushchev stormed out of the palm trees, red faced , shirt half buttoned and waving a rolled up map of Europe like a caveman with its favourite club. Right behind him was Kennedy, with his sleeves rolled up showing his smooth tanned skin and perfect hair. Nixon glanced away when Kennedy entered,trying to avoid eye contact. “You sabotaged the Paris summit with your spy games! Don’t act so innocent!!” Khrushchev bitterly replied.
“You thought you could push me around because I young newly elected president Kennedy,” the ex president said in a mocking Russian accent. “Well, you were wrong. Ask Cuba.” Carter watched in total disbelief as he watched the two dead men fight each other like Highschool rivals with nukes and Nixon flinched after Kennedy’s comeback. Suddenly the two men launched at each other like missiles and tumbled into a bush screaming insults at one another.
Carter just stared at what he’s just witnessed. Two iconic presidents of the us and the ussr wrestling each other in a tropical bush.
“…Well, I’ll be damned. He finally croaked,” Reagan squinted his eyes as he exited the trees. Carter quickly pivoted to see if his ears deceived him. They didn’t. Ronald Reagan was standing before him. “Reagan?” Carter questioned. Reagan carefully stepped over the two men fighting approaching him slowly, arms folded.
“Oh Carter. Jimmy. Jim. James. The 39th president. The Georgian gent himself,” there was a pause. “You know we had a betting pool going to see who the last man standing was… it was between you and Gorbachev” Carter noticed a slight change in tone when Reagan mentioned the ex ussr president. “And well you won…Congrats! Reagan declared.
“I-I wasn’t expecting- any of this,” Carter said still dripping with water, and dazed the embarrassment of mistaking Nixon for Rosalynn was catching up to him. “None of us were. You’d think death would be more dignified. Clouds, angels, eternal rest.” He vaguely glanced at the mansion. “Instead we got a Cold War Reunion,”.
“…is this punishment?” Carter asked saddened.
“Maybe,” Reagan replied, “or maybe it’s just bureaucracy. Heaven didn’t want to deal with us and hell said we are too complicated . Carter attempted to process this looking around at the madness before him. “I thought I was a good man. I tried to be.”
“You were but everyone here is a bastard in some way. Even the sainted ones”. Carter sighed as Reagan patted him on the shoulder, firm but not unkind. “You’ll get used to it. Arguments loop every few days. Eisenhower has a garden- maybe your peanut farming skills might help!” The two men shared a laugh.
Carter gave Reagan a faint smile “You’re don’t seem surprised to see me…” Carter interrupted the silence. “Oh I dreamed that I would outlive you, Jimmy. But I guess even optimism has an expiration date.” Carter turned his head to the bush where the two presidents toppled into. Khrushchev was gone and Nixon was helping Kennedy up and brushing leaves off his body. Nervously removing some from his chest.
Footsteps occur and another man made an appearance out of the bushes. His spectacles could be recognise anywhere, President Harry Truman. “That fucker Khrushchev is such a bully- doesn’t know when to quit!” He chuckled to himself “same with the rest of his soviet kind though,”.
Carter wide eyed screamed “alright what the actual fuck- I-i mean it’s an honour to meet you Mr Truman,” Carter fumbled as Truman walked to the mansion with a deep frown on his face. Nixon and Kennedy followed behind him. “Come on in… I’ll introduce you to everyone and a few familiar faces,” Reagan smirked as he guided Carter into the mansion to be caught up with everything.
Chapter 2: Welcome to the jungle
Summary:
Carter meets the crew and gets told about stuff I guess??
Reagan is sus
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jimmy stepped through the doors of the white columned mansion, still dripping wet, his damp clothes clinging to him like regrets. The interior was grand but crooked, like someone had rebuilt the Whitehouse based on memory and a shaky hand. Velvet curtains sagged against windows and a chandelier flickered above him like electricity had just ended detente with it.
Reagan snapped him out of his dazed awe. “Jimmy… the others are in there,” he gestured at a room that was closed off by an imposing wooden door. Reagan opened the door and held it open for Carter. Carter walked in with hesitation still unsure about the whole concept. “Guess who’s finally died!” Reagan announced like he was making a speech in the White House. “Welcome to the Western House of the afterlife, Jimmy Carter!”. Reagan said with his unfazed cowboy grin.
Carter looked up at the marble architecture that reminded him so much his days as president. He didn’t even notice the man in the wheelchair coming towards him. Shrouded in cigarette smoke and wearing a three piece suit that looked freshly pressed despite the humidity. Reagan gave Carter a playfully slap before going off to chat with the others.
Carter’s breath caught, “Franklin D. Roosevelt,” he whispered, stunned.
“In the flesh- well more or less!” He chuckled. “You’re a long way from Plains mr Carter…I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” FDR proudly looked at him.
“It’s an honour sir, I-I read your books when I was a boy.” Carter bent down slightly to shake the crippled man’s hand. A firm grip full of respect. Suddenly Carter felt someone slap his back. “It’s about time the peanut picker joined us!!”. Carter was greeted by familiar booming voice. He turned around and grinned, “Lyndon B Johnson,”. The large man with enormous ears and an even bigger voice stood before him. Shirtless. Wearing swimming trunks. Carter tried to pretend that he hadn’t noticed. “Oh hey Franklin,” Johnson said dismissively as he entered the room. Carter was shocked about the absolute casuality that Johnson had towards Roosevelt, the Roosevelt. He adjusted himself after Johnson’s enthusiastic welcome until he heard another familiar voice taking him back to the time he ran for president.
“Don’t mind Johnson-“ Gerald ford walked into view, holding a mug of coffee. He stumbled slightly he managed to right himself up. Carter nodded politely at him. “President ford.”
“Call me Jerry. Everyone else does- you get used to the slight unprofessionalism after a while.”
Then came a tall, serious figure in a pressed uniform shirt and arms folded like a general on parade. His posture had the firmness of world war statue but his blue eyes twinkled beneath the Snow White brows. “Dwight D. Eisenhower,” he said simply, extending out a hand. “I have a garden out back. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about peanuts.” Carter briefly thought about how many times these guys have brought up his peanut farming business.
“I’d be honoured to assist you sir,” Carter said with a smile suddenly feeling like a Boy Scout in a room full of generals. He looked round the taking it all in. He picked up on Johnson joining in Nixon and Kennedy’s conversation. Kennedy seemed to be laughing with that golden boy smile full of hope plastered on his face at something Johnson said. Nixon glared at the man with irritation but tried to seem like he didn’t care.
“Anyway my men,” Eisenhower stated clearing his throat with authority “now we’ve all said hello to one another I must inform you that I have confirmation that debate night is tomorrow. So we shall go through our morning routines then we shall meet in the living room to discus debate strategies and march over to the eastern house and declare victory.”
“S-sorry what…?” Carter interrupted.
“You saw Khrushchev before!” Said Nixon.
“Him and all his soviet scum live in their own commie estate on the other side of the island,” Truman expressed with his voice fuelled with anger.
“We have weekly debates with them- to keep us sane,” Kennedy half joked looking up at Carter whilst making both Johnson and Nixon chuckle.
“Yes!” Truman boomed “I’m planning to get tough with Stalin and Khrushchev this week!!” A wicked grin appeared on his face.
“You say that every week- don’t you care about any of the others?” Kennedy questioned and Reagan and Eisenhower raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t in power so I frankly do not care, Kennedy.” Truman replied. Reagan frowned and Roosevelt rolled his eyes.
“Well anyway gentlemen I think it’s nearly time for lights out,” Eisenhower said looking up at the enormous clock that hung on the marble wall. “Mr Carter I will guide you to your room,” the older man ordered and gestured for Jimmy to follow him. He took one last look at the room of ex presidents. Truman was brooding in a corner, ford and Roosevelt looked like they were having a friendly conversation, Nixon and Johnson looked like they were fighting over Kennedy’s attention. Reagan had a strange look on his face- a face of anticipation, he needed to do something. Jimmy decided to himself that he would follow up on that as soon as possible.
He trailed behind Eisenhower as they walked up the royal red carpet stairs. The walls surrounding them littered with paintings of them all, the moon gradually rising outside the window. He couldn’t believe that he already nearly stayed a whole day in this afterlife madness. Once they reached upstairs Carter was greeted with a long corridor of rooms. “Wake up time is 6 AM,” Eisenhower affirmed.
“W-what..” Carter mumbled, Eisenhower raised his eyebrow. “What do you think about this place?” The question blurted out of Carter like a grenade explosion.
Eisenhower froze, “I prefer not to think about it,” he said avoiding eye contact. Carter thought if any of these men actually expressed their feeling about this place or concept. Eisenhower opened the door to carters new room. Stayed silent and walked away as soon as Carter comfortably took a step into his new room.
Jimmy settled onto his bed, looking through the window that oversaw the lagoon that he crawled out of few hours. The room was comfortable enough but comfort did nothing to ease the pain in his chest. Even in the night he could see a dark silhouette of another building in the distance. Jimmy just knew that it was ussr eastern house. The silhouette couldn’t hide the brutalist shape it had. He thought about the debate that would go down tomorrow, facing Brezhnev once again after their petty Olympic boycotts.
He got changed into his sleepwear and sunk into the bed filled with thoughts. He turned his head and looked at his left hand. His shimmering silver ring in perfect condition. Still it was a reminder that he wasn’t with his beloved Rosalynn. Instead in a Cold War purgatory. He could hear the slamming of doors and creeks of floorboards as each ex president went to bed. Jimmy sighed full of pain and regret.
“I thought I was a good man, love?” He whispered to his ring tears swelling up in his eyes.
That night Jimmy tossed and turned, finding sleep an impossible task sent down by god. He tried thinking about Rosalynn, his son James and Georgia but nothing could make him settle down. He took a deep breath and sat on the side of his king sized bed before getting up and exiting his room.
He roamed around the corridor like a night watchman on patrol. Hearing all kinds of sounds. Johnson snoring like a freight train, Kennedy sleep talking, Nixon and Truman brooding to themselves and Roosevelt settling his cane down and getting comfortable. However there was one thing that caught him off guard. Reagans door was open and he wasn’t in his bed. Jimmy swore he heard him follow the rest of the men to bed. He entered into the room just to check if Reagan slept in his closet or not.
The sheer amount of letters disposed in a mini bin is what caught jimmy’s attention he leaned down to go read one. He stopped himself. No way in hell would he pry into another man’s life and secrets without their consent. He gazed out of Reagan’s window that was slightly open and noticed movement within the tropical jungle.
It was Reagan he seemed to be speaking to someone. Jimmy couldn’t identify who though but they guided Reagan further into the jungle. Out of sight…
dun Dun DUN….
Notes:
A lot of yapping between these goons I promise there will be more old man yaoi next chapter 🙏🙏🙏
Thanks for kudos !!
Chapter 3: Old man yaoi begins
Summary:
Chapter title says it all
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Reagan trudged through the dense jungle undergrowth. Each step was a drag. The worse part the ex president couldn’t even see where he was going.
The jungle night whispered like it was holding top secret documents. Vines coiled around thick overgrown tree trunks. Palm leaves rustled softly with a warm breeze, brushing against each other like gossiping ghosts.
The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy like silver slits. The air smelt of humidity, and old smoke but Reagan plodded on. He was a familiar with the path by now, he’d walked it every week for two years. Not that long considering he’s been here for almost twenty years. He stopped when he heard someone stir in bushes.
“I’ve been waiting here for a good few minutes, Reagan.” A shorter man came into view, with a sharp horseshoe hairline and a birthmark that looked like poured jam onto his forehead. After a few steps Reagan’s eyes locked in with the others warm brown ones. Mikhail Gorbachev.
“S-sorry Gorbachev- we got a new comer in the Western house. Just showing him the ropes I suppose,” Reagan anxiously replied.
“Oh I see. Was it that Bush man I remember him a couple decades ago?” Gorbachev answered, confused.
“God no- it’s Carter. Jimmy Carter. Two presidents before me!” The ussr president nodded as he lit his cigarette.
“How’s he finding this?” Gorbachev questioned as he fumbled with his lighter. Reagan tried to avoid eye contact with the other man.
“Like h-how everyone else found it…” Reagan’s voice trailed off. He felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder, it startled him slightly but he was greeted by Gorbachev ‘s affable smile. “Something troubling you, Reagan?” The shorter man asked. Reagan sighed, his shoulder resting under Gorbachev’s grip. “With Carter’s arrival it’s just made me think what all of this is again. Heaven doesn’t know what to do with men like us, we’re too…”
“Complicated.” The two men said at the same time.
“Ha.. well Reagan after you spoke about peace you built missiles so you seem pretty complicated!” The two men chuckled , slightly closing the gap between them.
“Well you spoke about reforms after you went to go build tanks,” Reagan replied his voice full with laughter. As the us president’s laugh died down he looked at the shorter man. Cackling still at their little joke.
Reagan felt like someone had dropped a hydrogen bomb in his chest. He tossed Gorbachev’s hand on his shoulder like it was a worthless fly. “We’re not friends,” Reagan growled. The shorter man looked at him in confusion. Remembering the times where him and Reagan met outside of political meetings even being introduced to the Reagan family. Still he replied with what the us president wanted him to say, “no I suppose not,” then silence.
Silence that pierced the two men like a bullet from a flock of doves. Until Reagan turned round and said their catchphrase they said at the end of every meeting, “If it’s God’s will,” then Gorbachev replied quietly “I would look around the room to see if god was there.”
-
The morning came slowly. A pale orange haze spilled through the velvet curtains of the western house painting the marble halls in a soft light. Somewhere, a distant radio crackled into life blasting the national anthem. Everyone heard Carter scream in surprise- it was the signal for them to all get up and start their routines. The mansion started to stir and stink of coffee and cigars as everyone went down to mingle. Floorboards creaked, doors opened and familiar voices rose in sleepy grumbles and groans.
Outside, steam curled lazily from the natural hot springs, the only part of the western house that felt remotely peaceful. Even though it was still fairly early Kennedy and Nixon were already heading down to the springs. Wanting to beat everyone to it. Not a word was spoken between the two ex presidents but they enjoyed each other’s presence in purgatory.
The hot springs laid at the edge of the jungle, half hidden by a curtain of creeping ferns and curvy lianas. A veil of steam rose from the water’s surface as the springs bubbled gently. Pale stones surrounded the spring in an uneven shape only just about tamed by human hands. The words “Property of the western house” was carved into one the rocks. The water itself shimmered like tarnished glass, blue-gray and scattered with minerals that glowed faintly in the morning light.
As the two men arrived they immediately started stripping. Nixon finished first and folded his clothes neatly on a rock before he dipped himself into the hot waters silently. Kennedy followed him a few moments later, his perfect body practically glowed in light. He moaned as he immersed himself into the water, the steam surrounding him.
Nixon put his hand over his mouth and looked downwards like some embarrassed schoolgirl. Kennedy settled in stretching his arms out to lounge. Self unaware that his biceps were flexing naturally. He breathed out.
“So, what do you think about Carter?”. Nixon snorted “Soft hands. Talks like a Sunday schoolteacher, what Reagan and ford said about him was right, you?”.
“I don’t know,” Kennedy replied “There’s something pure about him. Makes us all look like crooks.”
“Hey, everyone here except you is a crook John,” Nixon said with sympathy watching Kennedy give his golden boy grin. “You were the first one of us that actually tried getting along with those commie bastards!” Nixon reassured.
“Yeah, after I nearly ended the world- most intense 13 days of everyone’s lives.” Kennedy sighed not noticing that the older man had approached him. “Look John I hate to admit this but if I was you I would’ve launched missiles from the US and Turkey in probably two days top… you’re a good man.” Kennedy opened his mouth to say something but a familiar booming voice interrupted and the two men attempted to scramble away from each other quickly enough.
“Well well well,” came Johnson’s unmistakable drawl. “I thought I heard two ghosts grumbling.” He laughed to himself. Behind him, Carter stood looking bewildered but polite, still trying to get the hang of things. “Don’t mind us, I was just showing old Jimmy here the springs” he grinned “Thought y’all wouldn’t mind a crowd,” he said eyeing Kennedy as Nixon scowled in a corner. Kennedy gestured lazily.
“Make yourselves at home. Just don’t make it weird.” Nixon groaned and placed his hand on his forehead, “it’s already weird.”
-
The four men marched back to the mansion like a battalion. Johnson was attempting to hold a conversation with Kennedy as nixon and Carter trailed behind. Carter began, “So now we’re going to talk debate strategies with the others,” Nixon nodded. “S-sorry this may seem like a stupid question… who actually lives in the eastern house?” Carter asked nervously.
Nixon sighed, “there’s Brezhnev, Gorbachev, Andropov, Khrushchev and Stalin.”
“No Yeltsin?!” Carter questioned. Nixon raised a confused eyebrow. “Who?”
“Ummm no one!!” Carter panicked as they entered back into the western house, Kennedy kindly holding the door for them.
Immediately they bombarded by Eisenhower, demanding them to take a seat. The long table in the western house’s grand hall had seen better days. Cracks split the varnish like old political promises, one of the chairs still had scorch marks from a Truman outburst a few debates ago. Sunlight spilled through the arched windows, illuminating mugs of bitter coffees that belonged to even bitter men and war scarred faces of America’s past.
Eisenhower stood at the head of the table palms pressed to the surface like he was about to brief troops going into Normandy.
“Gentlemen,” he said, voice crisp. “It’s time we strategies.” Roosevelt spoke first from his wheelchair placing his cigarette down after exhaling a pile of smoke.
“Every week it’s the same war, just with fewer bullets. Maybe this time we try silence instead of speeches.” He says lightly ,but there’s weariness in his eyes. As soon as he finished Truman stood up as fast as lightning with fire in his eyes, “Silence is surrender, Franklin. The only way to deal with Stalin and Khrushchev is to make them sweat in their damn boots.” He slammed his fist on the table, “We go hard. No mercy this time.”
“I agree with Truman.” Eisenhower stated, “Within reason- precision not chaos. We keep the upper hand by staying coordinated.”
Kennedy added, “Last week I quoted Karl Marx to prove a point and Khrushchev threw a shoe at me. Let’s not pretend these debates are civil.” He chuckled “But I’ll go another round I’ve got a few things to say to him after our brawl yesterday!!” Nixon groaned and patted Kennedy’s thigh. “John you grandstand too much, I cleaned up the fallout back when we were alive. This time let me lead. I’ve studied each of their tactics and I lived through detente.” Carter watched this pan out slightly disgusted so he decided to speak up, hesitantly but sincerely.
“Forgive me for asking, but… have any of you tried not provoking them? Diplomacy, maybe peace.” He looked around for approval. Silence.
Ford replied, confused but meaning well. “Wait- I thought you’d be furious after what Brezhnev pulled. Didn’t he humiliate your administration?” He sipped his coffee with his eyebrow raised. Carter sighed softly, “anger isn’t justice,” he saw that he received a few eye rolls. He turned to Reagan who sat next to him, staring at his hands like he was lost. Carter made a mental to confront Reagan about his disappearance last night to him at some point. Reagan avoided eye contact when Carter looked at him.
Eisenhower cleared his throat. “We meet at the courtyard at 6PM then we shall walk together to the eastern house and declare victory!! So my men, wear suits, stay sharp.”
The group began to disperse: Roosevelt lingering to snuff out his cigarette, Nixon muttering something as Johnson winked at Kennedy on his way out. Carter didn’t want to know what the hell was going on between those three.
Carter watched Reagan leave last. Not saying a word in the meeting, no plan in mind. He imagined Reagan wanting to get involved the most, but no. He walked out just a shadow moving towards something he wasn’t ready to explain or accept. Leaving Jimmy to process that some figures he looked up to wishing he could one day become them. Are complete. Bitter. Assholes.
Notes:
Hoped you all enjoyed it. I won’t be updating for a couple days cuz I’m at download festival 😝😝.
Thanks for kudos!!
Chapter 4: Presidents crash out over debates
Summary:
The debate is finally happening chat!!
Everyone is angry and bitter
Notes:
Guys download wiped me out sorry for the delay!!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The jungle path to the eastern house was surprisingly clean. No shrubs, no overgrown lianas, probably cleaned when this tradition of debates started.
Nine U.S presidents strutted along- each in their best suits, pretending they weren’t sweating. Johnson whistled a military tune whilst walking behind Kennedy who was adjusting his cufflinks with precision. Nixon walked beside him with his hands behind his back like he was preparing for a resignation speech.
Ahead of the group loomed the Eastern house. Its massive ,concrete, brutalist shape dominated Carter’s vision. The flagpole out front still flew a tattered red banner, decaying at the edges (like everything else here).
“God, it gets uglier every week,” Ford muttered.
“We’ve seen worse,” Truman grumbled.
As the heavy doors creaked open, Brezhnev appeared flanked by, Andropov who stood behind him like a well dressed shadow. In the distance Khrushchev leaning against a railing like a gargoyle in suspenders.
Brezhnev’s gaze swept across the Americans but stopped when it landed on one unfamiliar face in the back.
“Jimmy Carter,” he said coolly his lips curling into a smirk . It struck a slight bit of fear into him, after 42 years he thought he would never see this man again, but there he was. “The Sunday school teacher has finally decided to join us!” Brezhnev laughed. Carter didn’t respond. He stood awkwardly at the back, eyes down, arms crossed. The others didn’t even glance at him.
“Just let us in!!” Nixon growled.
“Our pleasure,” Brezhnev replied smugly whilst Andropov glared at them.
The men entered one by one. Carter felt Brezhnev staring at him as he entered, he didn’t look up ,he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He heard Eisenhower lift up Roosevelt’s wheelchair to help him enter. Roosevelt smiled, thankful for the help.
Inside, the Eastern House was dimly lit but warm in a way that felt sinister.
Carter looked up and his eyes met with a giant portrait of the main man. Joseph Stalin. He couldn’t believe that he was in the same building as him. His mind started spiralling with the weight of Stalin’s atrocities.
A voice broke the spiral, “Come on Jimmy,” Roosevelt sighed, Eisenhower had already gone into the debate room. Carter nodded and stumbled towards the debate room doors. He looked back and saw Roosevelt sadly gazing at the portrait. He breathed out, “I-I’m coming…”. Roosevelt opened the door for Carter and he tried to enter without anyone noticing.
However his eyes were immediately met with Stalin’s. His pupils constricted, eyebrows furrowed showing his dark brown brooding eyes. He snarled and removed the pipe that seemed to be attached to his lips.
“Now, who’s this.” Brezhnev opened his mouth to try and humiliate him but Roosevelt appeared behind him and beat Brezhnev to it.
“This is Jimmy Carter ,39th president of the United States,” Roosevelt announced bluntly but Stalin nodded. Carter walked around the grand mahogany table trying to find a place to sit. Kennedy gave him a small hand gesture to sit by him.
“Here Carter sit here,” Kennedy whispered presenting a chair in between him and Nixon. Carter hesitantly sat, visibly uneasy , and a sensed a wave of annoyance come over Nixon. He glanced around the table.
Next to Stalin was Gorbachev, who looked miserable but was trying his best. Stalin cleared his throat.
“Before we begin I’d like to introduce a new rule: no shoe throwing,” he glanced at Khrushchev who nodded.
“Well damn, I was gonna bring my finest boots just for you!!” Truman snorted.
“You want me to throw one now, cowboy?” Khrushchev replied with venom. Kennedy stood, “oh I will you war mongering bitch!!”. He started untying his shoes. Carter looked around him with panic. “This was supposed to be professional,” Carter thought.
“You‘re on! Mr I nearly ended the world twice!!” Khrushchev bellowed. Nixon pointed his finger with anger, “You do not get to speak to him like that!” Khrushchev chuckled, “Can’t little boy President stand up for himself!!” Carter fidgeted as these pathetic bickering carried on.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat eyes flickering between the looming soviets and the Americans sniping at them. The table felt like a battlefield already, and no one had brought up policy or actual issues that were never settled between the men yet. Nearly everyone was involved in this mindless squabbling.
Brezhnev let out a long performative sigh and gestured his cigarette towards Carter.
“Do you speak, or blink nervously in morse code?”. The laughter that sprung from Khrushchev was a wet, ugly thing. Even Andropov allowed himself a rare half smile. Carter inhaled. Shaky. But then he did something few expected. He stood.
“I may not shout like Truman or play the cowboy like Reagan,” Carter said. “But I won’t sit here and let every one of you mindlessly bicker over nothing and let actual attempts of principle be treated like a weakness. I decided to come to this debate partly because it was mandatory and because I believe the most dangerous men can be met with dignity. That might seem naive to some of you. But I’d be naive and decent than be cruel and proud of it.
The room went still.
For a moment, even Brezhnev blinked.
Then slowly like tectonic plates grinding beneath the earth ,Stalin rose from his chair. “Decency?” He growled, voice low and cold. “Is that what Truman brought to Potsdam or what Kennedy brought to Paris or what Reagan brought to anything?”. The three men referenced stayed silent.
Stalin’s eyes fixed on Carter.
“You think dignity is armour, Mr Carter. But out there-“ he jabbed a finger vaguely towards outside, “dignity gets buried beside the weak. I’ve crushed men with firmer spines than yours and sharper minds than Kennedy’s. And they all began their fall by assuming that I cared about how softly they spoke.”
Carter tried to hold his ground, but Stalin stepped forward eyes narrowing.
“You walk into this house- my house thinking your softness is a virtue. You think it makes you noble? But it makes you forgettable. You were a flicker, not a flame. History barely stopped to notice.”
The words hit like a hammer strike. Jimmy barely had any time to process as Stalin pivoted, pointing at Gorbachev. “And you.. don’t smile. You carry my empire and burn it like wet paper. You’re not a leader. You’re a cracked mirror of the west.”
Gorbachev looked down in shame.
Suddenly, Reagan stood up like he was ready to denounce the old communist he didn’t say anything. No one said anything.
Kennedy nudged him, “what are you doing?” He whispered. Reagan grumbled and sat down as quickly as he got up.
The silence continued, even Brezhnev didn’t laugh this time. Roosevelt glanced at him with sad eyes he opened his mouth to say something but someone else erupted before he could say it.
Truman rises suddenly, fists clenched. “That’s enough, you tyrannical son of a-!”. He slammed his fist on the table with anger. The tea cups rattle. Gorbachev flinches. Nixon’s eyes narrow. Kennedy half-rises as if to calm him but it was already too late.
“I’ve had it with your damn lectures!” Truman snapped, “You talk about strength? You buried a nation under fear! I swear what you did the purges, the blockades , the lies! I don’t need a history book to know when I’m staring evil right in the face!”
Stalin took a drag of his pipe before replying calm and contemptuously.
“Such fire harry. Yet no bomb in the room this time to make you seem intimidating.” The room gasps. Reagan turns sharply. Even Khrushchev winces. Carter visibly tenses. Truman boiled like a metal finally reaching its boiling point.
“You twisted old bastard! You don’t get to-“
He lunged forward ,only slightly but enough for chaos to ripple. Eisenhower instinctively stands in to block him. Ford and Nixon both grab Truman’s arms. Truman struggles, roaring like a kettle.
“Let me go! I’m not done! This isn’t a debate! It’s a goddamn funeral of the truth!!”.
“Harry shut up before you blow a gasket!” Nixon said through gritted teeth. Ford butted in with a forced calm tone to his voice, “Mr President, please- don’t let him win by dragging you into a trench. He’s not worth it!”.
Eventually, they pulled Truman towards the doors. Red faced, still yelling whilst being dragged. Stalin leaned back in his chair, faintly assumed, almost smug. Brezhnev clapped in a mocking manner, “And thus concludes our weekly debate!” Andropov chuckled, “Do they always cry this early!” Kennedy stood coldly still at the end of the table. “This debate is over,” he stated. He exited. The US presidents one by one rises and followed Kennedy out.
Carter looks down at his hands, still shaken but composed. Reagan pauses before leaving. He and Gorbachev locked eyes again across the room, it was unreadable.
The door closed and Jimmy could hear Truman’s muffled screams in the courtyard.
They shuffled back to the western house in silence. Jimmy noticed they were lacking members, surely this wasn’t everyone. Then it clicked and Jimmy stopped in his tracks.
No Reagan. No Roosevelt.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed it more old man yaoi on the way I promise 🙏🙏🙏
Thanks for kudos!!
Chapter 5: Private summits
Summary:
Lots of sneaking and Carter is concerned about everyone
Notes:
IMMM BACKKKKK
IM SO SORRY GUYS ILL BE BETTER
Chapter Text
Jimmy stopped in his tracks after noticing the two president’s absence. He tried to reassure himself thinking that there was another path back the Western house, but it was just too suspicious. No one else noticed that Jimmy had stopped walking and even more worryingly they hadn’t noticed Reagan and Roosevelt’s disappearance. He turned his head and the eastern house invaded his sight.
He sighed. Then he started walking back to the eastern house.
—
Stalin walked back to his room, arms behind his back. He could still hear the shouting of Truman in the distant, “does that man ever shut up?” Stalin mumbled.
The stench of tobacco and iron filled the Eastern house ,especially Stalin’s room from the enormous amount of pipes he’s smoked over the years. He noticed that his door was slightly open. He stopped and snarled.
He raised his boot up and kicked the door aggressively then entered with paranoia radiating from his body.
“That was rather aggressive,” Roosevelt emerged from the corner of Stalin’s grand room. His wheels awkwardly creaking as he rolled slowly towards the Russian.
“W-what the fuck are you doing here, Frank!” .Roosevelt said nothing. He lit his own pipe and looked up at the ex-ussr president. Stalin looked down at him and sighed, “you shouldn’t be here,”. Roosevelt raised his wrinkled hand to silence the man.
“You didn’t have to do that to Carter…or Gorbachev.” He firmly stated.
“I did,” Stalin replied as he turned around to face away from the American.
“He arrived here only a few days ago, Joseph. You didn’t have to tear him apart.” Stalin puffs his pipe. Doesn’t say a word. “I watched you up there, and I didn’t recognise what I saw. You were always sharp,yes. But cruel like that? No.not then.” Stalin finally spoke with bitter venom in his tone, “Don’t act like you didn’t know the man I was. You were always so good at looking past it.”
“I was good at believing people could change…especially during times of crisis!”. Roosevelt pointed his finger at Stalin who’ still had his back faced towards Roosevelt.
“Naive,” Stalin muttered.
“Hopeful.” Roosevelt corrected him,slightly raising his voice.
“Lower your tone, frank.” Stalin ordered.
“Scared your soviet sons will find out you actually care about an American’s opinion?!”. Stalin pivoted. Looking down at Roosevelt in his chair. His expression unreadable. He huffed.
“They sent you here to watch me unravel, is that it?”
“What?… Joseph do you hear yourself- it was my decision to come here. To speak to you because I didn’t expect there would be a day where I’d be ashamed of my old ally.. my friend-“ Roosevelt tried to reason.
“Oh shut up, frank you’re just angry because I told the truth and you haven’t seen how the others of your kind have antagonised me after your death.” Stalin snapped. “And do you think I should be soft now? Apologies to the weak? Hold their hand while they tear down what I built.”
Stalin panted ready for Roosevelt to finally snap at him and show that he’s just like the other US presidents. Roosevelt took a puff of his pipe and breathed it out calmly before beginning, “I think you’re still afraid.” Stalins eyes narrowed.
“Of what?” He said with malice.
“Of being forgotten. So you burn down the house to feel the heat one last time.” There was a long pause. Tense and thick. The air between them charged with something unspoken of. “You can’t keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Joseph just so you can keep a reputation of yourself for people who either kiss the ground you walk on or hate your guts no matter how you act. But I’ve seen you when no one’s looking.” The American finished on. Stalin looked hostile and pointed at the door, “Wheel yourself out, frank… you know the way.”
Roosevelt didn’t say anything, he turned his wheel chair and slowly exits. Stalin stands there motionless, staring at the wall. Pipe smoke curls into the ceiling almost ghost like.
—
Reagan shoved away jungle shrub. Ignoring the vine that just swatted him in the face. The humidity sticking to him like glue, he loosened his tie and undid his top two buttons. “You’d think it be colder round the eastern house,” he laughed to himself.
He finally reached the coast of the eastern territory. It was a quiet overlook near the eastern house. Moonlight danced and sparkled over the sea like Russian ballerinas .
There was a man leaning against the railing, back turned smoking a cigarette. It was the man Reagan was looking for. Mikhail Gorbachev. Slumped on the railing like he was on his fifth divorce which Reagan had some experience with. He strutted towards the shorter man and stood beside him.
“You alright?” He said nonchalantly. Gorbachev didn’t look. “You shouldn’t be here.” He put simply.
“We all heard what Stalin said to you. That was- “ .Gorbachev cut him off “what do you care?” He spat.
Reagan tried to reassure him, “Because it was cruel. And-“
“-And what? You’ll give me a pat on the back? A speech about freedom?” Reagan faltered and stuttered unsure on how to answer. Gorbachev continued coldly, “You told me we aren’t friends.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Reagan raised his voice slightly.
“You said it plain. We are not friends.” The Russian laughed bitterly, “God I believed you would be different. That maybe after fucking dying you’d stop playing cowboy and actually, civilly, speak to me.”
“You think it’s easy for me?” Reagan snapped, “Talking you behind everyone’s back, defending you in secret-?”
“Defending me? You’re pulling my leg Ronald!” Gorbachev replied with resent. Reagan’s eyebrows furrowed and continued the argument sharply, “From my advisors. From my image. From the people who wanted you dead, Mikhail.”
Gorbachev finally turned towards Reagan looking up at him with anger and brown eyes filled with fire. He dropped his cigarette and stomped on it with frustration.
“And yet you stood there and called me the enemy. In front of the world. Over and over. Like it didn’t matter,” he paused “Like I didn’t matter…”
Reagan sighed and placed his palm on his forehead.
“I had to. It was politics”.
“And what about us?” Gorbachev demanded. Reagan went quiet. He didn’t even try to move his mouth. Like the cogs in his brain had stopped spinning.
“Nothing.” Gorbachev spat. “That’s what we were. Convenient.”
“Don’t say that. You think this was easy? You think I didn’t feel everything?” Reagan consoled.
“No, I think you felt nothing. Because I tried Reagan. I tried to get along with you- I-i changed some of economic policies f-for you. And you- you turn me into a fucking headline!” The Russian shouted.
“That’s not fair.” Reagan said bluntly.
“What not fair is that I let myself hope. That maybe behind the smile and the speeches, there was a man who actually gave a damn!” His thick Russian accent tangled into his English speaking voice. Reagan finally started to raise his voice.
“I do give a damn!”
“Then where were you? When I was loosing my country? When they laughed at me? When he-“ gesturing his finger towards the Eastern house, “-he torn me apart tonight and you just stood there!”.
Reagan took a step forward and Gorbachev took a step back.
“I couldn’t-“ Reagan stopped and his voice lowered “I don’t know how to help you anymore.”
“You never tried. Not really. Because helping me meant admitting something. That you cared. That I wasn’t just a performance in your little capitalist circus!”. Reagan looked hurt. Distraught. He tried to defend himself.
“You think I wanted this?! You think I liked pretending you were the villain, calling you names on stage, signing off every damn missile!”
“Then why did you?” Gorbachev snapped.
“Because I was scared!” Reagan interrupted then lowered his voice, “Because I thought if I’d let myself care too much, I’d loose the war- and maybe even myself. And I couldn’t afford to that. Not back then…” Gorbachev stared at him.
“And what are you now?”. Reagan stuttered, “I don’t know…”. A long silence that stung like a switchblade.
“You don’t get to mourn what you’ve never fought for.” Gorbachev whispered. Reagan’s face tightened, Gorbachev turned around and started walking back to the eastern house, not looking back.
“Go home ,Reagan.” Reagan looked up at the star. He couldn’t see them, like something was blocking his vision. He wiped his eye. “Tears fucking tears,” he thought. He kicked a rock which made him wince in pain before making his way back towards the western house.
He walks the long way back to the western house. Hands deep in his trousers pockets, head low. The winds start to pick up and the waves grip the coast to his right.
He mutter under his breath, over and over. Half at himself, half at Gorbachev but mostly the ache in his chest that won’t go away.
“Not friends. Real nice Ron. Real clean. Coward.” He kicks a rock into the sea which hurt more than intended. “Why’d I go after him? Why do I care so much? I don’t owe him anything. I told him that.” The words sounded hollow now thinking them aloud. He stopped, staring out at the sea. The moonlight making it look endless, empty. “What the hell were-are we anyway?!” He yelled. He exhaled and the western house started to come into view.
—
Carter took deep breaths as he got closer to the eastern house, practically standing on their door step. His knees shook as each step was telling him to turn back and hope Reagan and Roosevelt will be back in the morning.
The grand door started to slowly creak open. He froze for a moment expecting Reagan to come out yelling. But instead it was Roosevelt. He wheels himself out, head down, hands trembling faintly on the rims. He rolls a few feet onto the stone porch, into the humid night air. His face was pale, glossy and worn. His face perks up when he notices carter standing outside the house.
“…Jimmy?” He whispered surprisingly. Carter stepped forward, slowly, he almost felt like he was intruding something.
“I-I came to check on things..,” he stuttered, “You weren’t with us after the debate..”. Roosevelt didn’t say anything. He just turned back towards the door, like whatever happened inside was still echoing.
“You okay..?” Carter asked.
Roosevelt lets out a small ,humourless breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob.
“Just old politics,” he sighed, “wouldn’t want to bore you, Jimmy!” He said with false humour. Carter’s expression flickered with sympathy.
“Was it Stalin?” He questioned.
Roosevelt paused, his fake smile quickly fading then took a puff on his pipe, “It’s always Stalin.”
Chapter 6: Old men play games #1
Summary:
This is how everyone’s recovering from last night
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Rise and shine, Gentleman!” Eisenhower’s voice filled the sleeping corridor, “Today we will sharpen our wits, strength and unity!”.
Jimmy jolted upright, tangled in sheets, the remnants of restless dreams evaporating in morning light. His eyes were sunken,his hair matted. He hadn’t really slept at all. Not after last night.
Images still rattled around in his head: Roosevelt’s hollow expression as he left the Eastern House. Stalin’s voice venomous and triumphant. He sighed and got up, wearing only his navy blue boxers. He opened his door and was greeted by Eisenhower dressed in shorts, a white polo shirt and aviator sunglasses.
“Glad to see your already dressed and ready to go ,Jimmy!” He patted his fist on Carter’s heart. Jimmy’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“S-sorry?” He stuttered.
“Team building exercise!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm, “Johnson and Kennedy are already downstairs I’ll wake the others and we will go to the beach!” And he strutted away to bang on Ford’s door.
Jimmy made his way downstairs too tired to take in the patriotic painting and the fact that he was only wearing his boxers. He could laughter from Johnson and Kennedy which was surprising, he’d thought the debate would’ve bummed them out.
Johnson finally noticed him.
“Hey Carter, want a pre-game beer!” He shouted with Texan accent seeping through. Dressed in jean shorts, cowboy boots and hat.
“I think he needs coffee rather than a beer!”Kennedy laughed. Dressed in short athletic shorts.
“I’d appreciate that,” Carter said bitterly, “what’s even happening today?”
“Volleyball match, Carter!” Kennedy replied, handing a pair of aviators. Then walking to get a coke from the fridge.
“Volleyball. Now? Really?” Carter muttered.
Eisenhower’s voice thundered down the staircase as he march the rest of the ex-presidents.
“Five minutes to gear up! Shorts, shades, sweat- let’s build unity with some honest American athleticism!” He announced.
Kennedy threw his arms around Johnson and Nixon who both scowled at him. Johnson looked irritated but Nixon looked uncomfortable like he wanted to run away and hide in a cave.
“We’ve not anything like this is in a long time …this’ll be great!”. Johnson threw Kennedy’s off him.
“Says you’re 43 year old ass!” Johnson replied and got a few laughs. Kennedy turned towards Nixon and smirked.
“Well, Dick, we might have a round two,”.
“Whatever you say…” Nixon whispered and tried to laugh off the embarrassment that crashed down on him like a nuke.
Reagan brushed past him, “fag…” he whispered not even loud enough for Nixon to fully hear.
Reagan was wearing a white polo, navy blue shorts, a cowboy hat and aviators. He placed his hands on his hips. Carter noticed his posture was slightly off and he just looked pissy by the way he was presenting himself. Carter had a feeling on the reason why that could be amongst all the other questions he had for Reagan.
“Reagan, about time you joined us,” Eisenhower clapped. Then he paraded outside signalling for everyone to follow.
They all the net set up perfectly and the ball placed next to it. The score board with the team names had been prepared.
“I set this all up at 4:00am as we, my men, need to work as a team…this became crystal clear time me after the events of last night!”. Everyone awkwardly looked at one another but didn’t say anything. Roosevelt slowly raised his hand.
“Dwight, how am I supposed to play this game in…my condition?” He gestured to his wheelchair.
“I shall quickly explain the rules to you Franklin and you can ref,” Eisenhower replied.
They looked at the teams that Eisenhower had set up on the chalkboard. One team: Carter, Reagan, Kennedy and Nixon. The other team: Truman, Eisenhower, Johnson and Ford. Johnson’s faces looked slightly pissed.
He laughed, “Kennedy and Nixon on a team… that’ll go down like a missile!”.
The sun blazed, the ocean glimmered beyond the net. The teams and Roosevelt get into position. A whistle dangles round Roosevelt’s neck, “Let’s keep this civil, gentlemen. No elbows, no fists, and for the love of god no political references during serves.”
“Aw, you’re worried I’ll incinerate the competition?” Truman chuckled whilst stretching.
“Enough with the chatter!” Eisenhower shouted and threw the ball at Carter, “Jimmy you’re serving.”
Carter tosses the ball and serves a gentle technically perfect hit over the net. Truman dives for it like it’s the last bottle of bourbon on earth, kicking up a load of sand only just managing to toss it back.
“Hell yeah, Harry!” Johnson cheered. The match intensified quickly. Kennedy leaps slamming the ball with more force than expected.
“That one was for America!” He said cockily.
“Fuck your 43 year old ass!” Johnson yelled as he dived dramatically to save the ball but ended up colliding into Eisenhower. He raised his hand, “alright that’s one point to them!”
The game dragged on past the point of competition. Tensions turned into laughter and no one cared about the scores. The sun shined on everyone and there were smiles with no evil political agenda behind them. Johnson somehow ended up on Truman back and kept yelling “yeehaw”. Carter actually finally felt at ease. He sighed in relief. Feeling that he could actually get used to this place. He thanked Eisenhower in his head for this exercise as everyone was acting as if yesterday hadn’t had happened.
Carter was quickly snapped out of this thought as Nixon lunges to return the ball and ended up crashing directly into Kennedy. The two collapsing in the heap, Kennedy’s bronze, perfect, tanned calfs in the air. There was a small thud when Kennedy landed on his back and a louder one when Nixon landed on Kennedy’s stomach.
“Watch it, Dick, we’re not that close.” He teased whilst winded.
“Give it a few more games and we might be,” he smirked and wasn’t trying to get off the younger man. The others chuckled. Ford whistles, even Johnson cracks a smile. But, Reagan ,who had been silent and quite stiff throughout the whole game, suddenly slammed the ball onto the ground.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake…” his voice was sharp and the laughter died instantly.
“Why don’t you two faggots get a room and spare the rest of us!” He spits venomously towards Nixon and Kennedy.
Silence.
Carter freezes mid step, Ford’s jaw drops and Johnson stops pretending to be a cowboy to check if he heard that right. Nixon and Kennedy quickly got up. Kennedy’s eyes narrowed as he approached Reagan whose face was screwed up in disgust.
“Excuse me?”. Reagan doesn’t wait for Kennedy to say anything more. He turns away abruptly, shoulders tight, jaw locked and storms off down the beach, kicking up sand behind not looking back once.
“…And that concludes our team building exercise.” Roosevelt sighed from his ref chair and Eisenhower nodded. Carter watches Reagan disappear down the shoreline. His grip on the ball he picked up tightened. No smile.
“Well… my men,” Eisenhower said trying to break the silence, “who’s up for a post-match beer!!”. There were murmurs and nods from everyone and Eisenhower went back into the mansion and brought out a few crates of beers.
“You good?” Nixon whispered quietly towards Kennedy.
“Never better,” Kennedy replied stone-faced. Carter drops the ball to the sand below him to get a beer. Game over
—
The presidents were glistening with sweat and sprawled across the sand. The sunset was like a dimming spotlight at the end of a show. The men’s faces were light shades of pink.
Johnson was fanning himself with his cowboy hat and lying down dramatically on the sand like he had just fought a bear. A conversation was going between everyone and Carter wasn’t paying attention still thinking about the debate yesterday and how quickly it all went to shit. He had an idea but waited for the right time to propose it. Cautiously, he began, “You know… this might seem a little out there, but… what if the next time we did this we invited the Eastern house? The Soviets”.
Nixon choked on his drink, “You want us to what?”. Kennedy patted his thigh and raised an eyebrow, “Well it’s not completely insane. Could use the chance to see if Khrushchev can spike a ball harder than he slams a shoe and also it could be fun!”.
“Hell, I’d pay to see Stalin in shorts!” Johnson joked whilst wiping his chest with a towel.
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Eisenhower stated, skeptically, arms crossed his arms, “This was meant to be about strengthening our unity.”
“It still is. But if we’re all here we might as well make the most of it, right? If we treat them like enemies all the time, they’ll never be anything else.” Carter said.
“Because they are the enemy Carter!” Truman interrupted and got a nod from Nixon. “Look, invite them over it could be funny but, one, I’m not gonna be the one knocking on the house asking them to come round and two don’t be surprised when I beat Stalin’s commie ass into the ground!”. Truman stood up and nearly fell over, clutching his beer, “Now if you don’t mind I’m gonna go cry over the fact I killed 210,000 people,” and just like Truman walked back to the mansion, limbs all over the place.
Notes:
Sorry it was short tbh I dont really know how to right a volleyball match and I was just thinking of top gun.
THANKS FOR SUPPORT THO!!!
Chapter 7: Detective, Diplomat Carter
Summary:
Carter starts to piece things together and everyone else is in denial.
Notes:
I went on holiday and lost motivation but I’m back now!!
Chapter Text
One by one the presidents went back to the mansion to rest for the night. There were still a few still out when Nixon left, Johnson, Kennedy, Eisenhower and Carter.
Nixon plodded back to the mansion leaving his beer behind on the beach. It was late at night and he wanted to read his book on president Lincoln, for the sixth time.
He collapsed onto his bed, all his muscle aches finally kicking in. He groaned and stared at the wall for a good ten minutes.
He sat up slightly at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it owes him an explanation. Reagan’s voice still rang in ears, venomous and sharp. The words he said didn’t just aim for him and Kennedy on the court, but burrowed under Nixon’s skin like it was made for him all along.
He’d told himself that it didn’t matter. That Reagan was just in one of his moods. But still… his eyes lingered on him and Kennedy with regret? Hate? Insecurity? Nixon sighed.
A knock startled him on his thoughts. Three sharp slams. Then Kennedy’s unmistakable voice, warm and a little too smooth for this hour.
“Dick, you awake? Or are you brooding?” He snickered through the door.
Nixon closed his eyes,”this couldn’t end well” he thought. He rubbed his temples,
“What do you want, Kennedy? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Middle of the night’s when the interesting conversations happen.”
Before Nixon could object, the door swung open. Kennedy stumbled in, hair tousled, shirt half- unbuttoned, clearly drunk more than anyone should be on an island of leaders.
“You’re drunk.” Nixon stated. Kennedy smirked at him with half-flushed cheeks.
“And you’re uptight. Seems we both have our vices.” He grinned, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care, like it would erase the fact he barged in uninvited.
Nixon folded his arms, “You wake me up just to annoy me?”
“Partly.” Kennedy replied, “But mostly just to talk.”
Nixon narrowed his eyes. “Talk about what?”.
Kennedy leaned against the wall, pretending to think, but his eyes were fixed on Nixon in a way that felt too direct.
“You ever think about how weird it is? You and me here. On the same island. Playing volleyball like a bunch of teenagers?”.
Nixon huffed, “It’s Eisenhower’s idea of torture.”
“Maybe. But I don’t hate it. Not all of it.” Nixon shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not making sense…”
Kennedy sighed, “I’m saying… I don’t mind sharing a team with you. Or y’know… being around you.”
Nixon blinked. His heart gave an unhelpful lurch. He searched Kennedy’s face for mockery, but only found that half- smile tinged with something softer.
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“Maybe,” he replied, “Or maybe I just needed a little courage. To say something I shouldn’t.”
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Nixon’s mind was a blur, Reagan’s slur still echoing, Kennedy standing here saying things he shouldn’t, the island feeling all too small all of a sudden.
“Go to bed ,Kennedy.”
Kennedy pushed off the wall and headed to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob.
“Night, Dick. Try not to overthink things.” The door clicked shut, leaving Nixon in the quiet, heart pounding in a way he couldn’t quite justify.
—
Nixon woke to sunlight slicing through the shutter and an ache behind his eyes that wasn’t entirely from alcohol. He’d slept technically- more like drifting in and out of restless half dreams where Kennedy’s grin and Reagan’s voice kept overlapping in a way that made no sense.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.
“Goddammit, John…” he muttered.
It hadn’t been a confession but it was just enough to crack something open in Nixons mind that he didn’t want to look at too closely. The worst part was he couldn’t decide if Kennedy had meant it, or if it was just the bourbon talking.
“Nixon?” Ford called, “Breakfast. Eisenhower says we’ve got something to discuss.”
Nixon groaned, dragging himself upright. He caught his reflection in the mirror, rumpled shirt, tired eyes he scowled at it. The idea of facing Kennedy at the table made his stomach twist.
Still, he got dressed, buttoning his shirt with slow, methodical movements, as if delaying the inevitable would make the conversation at breakfast disappear. It wouldn’t and judging from the sound of the chatter downstairs, the island wasn’t going to give him a moment’s peace.
He made his way downstairs and the dining room looked like a crime scene. Half empty coffee mugs, mismatched plates and the faint smell of fried eggs battled against the heavier stench of booze and sun cream. Most of the presidents sat slouched in their chairs, nursing their hangovers like fragile glass.
Reagan’s seat at the far end of the table was conspicuously empty.
Eisenhower rubbed his temples, “Right since we’re all… here,” he gave a side eye at Reagan’s absence, “we need to discuss tomorrow’s potential exercise as I thought about it more last night and maybe some friendly competition could do everyone on this island good…”
“I’m not inviting them,” Johnson groaned.
“That’s why I have nominated Carter to invite the Soviets to a game.” Eisenhower stated.
Carter blinked, halfway through sipping his coffee.
“Me? why me?”.
“Well it was your idea and you’re the most peaceful one…” he whispered the last bit.
Before Carter could even answer, Ford cleared his throat and sat up straighter, wincing slightly from the movement.
“I’ll go with him,” he said.
“That’s not necessary-” Carter reassured.
“It is. Someone’s got to keep you from accidentally giving Khrushchev the beach.”
There was a ripple of laughter, but Nixon stayed quiet, eyes flickering towards Kennedy and then away just as quickly. His coffee had gone cold.
“Fine. Carter and Ford. You leave after breakfast.” Eisenhower declared.
They moved onto smaller talk but Carter kept glancing at Reagan’s empty chair. He drank the least yesterday due to him storming off so it wasn’t due to his hangover.
The two presidents departed, the morning air was thick with humidity, the kind that made every step feel heavier. Carter walked beside Ford down the jungle trail towards the Eastern House, an envelope tucked under his arm (Eisenhower’s official volleyball invite inside). Carter thought it was weird how quickly Ford had volunteered to join him. He had the feeling that it wasn’t because he cared about diplomatic beach sports.
“You didn’t have to come along, you know ,” Carter spoke, finally breaking an awkward silence.
Ford shrugged, “Yeah, I did. Needed a chance to talk to you without a crowd.”
“About?”.
“Reagan,” he stated.
They stepped over a twisted root, the path crunching with dry leaves.
“You’ve noticed it too,” Ford began, “He’s been different… off. Not just since the debate -before that.” Carter breathed out in relief, finally being able to share every strange thing Reagan has done since he’s arrived.
“I noticed the first night I got here. He vanished into the jungle for hours. Didn’t say where he went. Then he randomly stands up when Stalin was slandering Gorbachev and last night…” Carter’s jaw tightened “I mean what he said to Nixon and Kennedy that was just mean!”
“Exactly. That wasn’t drunk Reagan. That was something under the surface. Something he doesn’t want anyone poking at.”
Carter paused, “You think it could be Gorbachev? I mean they were pretty close when they were alive…”
“Potentially…it’s something he doesn’t want to admit, Jimmy,” he groaned.
“Still… I’m going to talk to him about it when we get back. I can’t just leave it alone. If he keeps lashing out like that it’s going to turn ugly.”
Ford glanced sideways at him, “You sure you’re ready for that fight? You poke at Reagan the wrong way, you’ll get the whole performance- the speeches, the outrage, the martyr act.”
“I’m not looking for a fight. I’m looking for an answer.”
They fell silent as the faint silhouette of the Eastern House came into view between the palm trees. Carter straightened the envelope underneath his arm.
“Well… let’s see if the Soviets are in a sporting mood,” Ford said with zero enthusiasm.
The presidents walked the last few steps to Eastern House porch, the wood warm from the late morning sun. Ford wrapped his knuckles twice as heavy round the door knob as he knocked.
After a few moments, the grand door creaked open to reveal Brezhnev, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, hair mussed like he had just rolled out of bed, though the sharpness in his eyes suggested he’d been awake for hours.
“Ah…the American delegation.” He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Come to challenge us to something ridiculous or did Stalin offend you that much?” He glanced at Carter and snickered to himself.
Ford grinned, “volleyball. Carter’s idea,” he tapped Jimmy on the shoulder.
Brezhnev raised an eyebrow, “Volleyball?” A chuckled rumbled from him, “We will crush you.”
Carter extended the envelope, but Brezhnev didn’t take it immediately. Instead he looked between the two men with that half amused half calculating expression Carter had learnt the hard way that it meant he was deciding how much to say.
“Stalin has been… brooding.” He said quietly.
“Brooding?” Carter raised an eyebrow. Wondering why he was telling them this. Brezhnev nodded slowly, “I have not seen him like this for… hmm a long time. Paces the halls at night, mutters about the debate. Not victory, not politics… something personal.”
“And that’s unusual?” Ford asked carefully.
“For Stalin? Yes. When he wins against yous he celebrates and when he looses he denies it happened. But this…” He finally takes the envelope and taps it against his palm. “This is something else. You Americans have really rattled him.” Brezhnev’s eyes lingered on Carter just a fraction too long before stepping back into the doorway.
“I’ll give this to him. You will have your answer by tomorrow. In the meantime…” he gave the two Americans a sly grin, “maybe don’t expect him to be gentle.”
The door closed with a deliberate clank, leaving Carter and Ford staring at the polished wood for a moment before heading back down the steps.
“Well it seems that we aren’t the only ones with someone acting out character.” Ford said awkwardly and that was about the only thing the two of them said on the way back to the Western House. Carter’s mind started to linger on Stalin. He remembered finding Roosevelt outside the eastern house when he went looking for him after the debate. Everything was starting to make less and less sense. Luckily, the sight of the mansion came into view.
They passed the hot springs which contained Truman and Roosevelt. Truman heard them passing by and quickly turned around to get their attention.
“How did it go?” He shouted. The other two presidents struggled to get their words out.
“Did you see Stalin?” They both said at the same time. Truman said it smugly whilst Roosevelt asked it with a sense of concern in his voice.
Ford put his hand on Carter’s shoulder, “I’ll talk to these two you go find Reagan and be careful of what you say for the love of god.”
Carter slipped in through the door of mansion trying not be noticed by anyone who was hanging about inside. He made his way down the hallway towards Reagan’s room, carrying the weight of too many questions.
He knocks.
“Ron? You in there?”. No answer. He waits, then tries the handle. It’s unlocked. He steps in.
The room is dark. Curtains drawn. Reagan seated on the edge of the bed, tie loose, still in the outfit he was wearing at the game minus the cowboy hat. Though his shirt was wrinkled and there’s a deep scowl carved into his face.
“If this about the game, I don’t want to talk about it.” He said flatly.
Carter closed the door behind him, “Tough. We’re talking.” Reagan sighs, tilts his head back like he’s hoping divine intervention will stop this conversation before it starts.
“You stormed off yesterday like a teenager. You called Kennedy and Nixon-“
“What they are.” Reagan muttered.
“What?” Carter breathed out loosing patience, “Then help me understand. Because ever since I got here, you haven’t felt like the Ronald Reagan me and America knew.”
“Maybe because this place isn’t real. Maybe none of it is.” Reagan spat defensively.
“Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind riddles just because something real got under your skin.”
“It didn’t.”
“Then why did you flinch when Stalin went after Gorbachev? Why do you look like someone’s kicking you every time his name comes up?” Carter let his thoughts unravel out of his mouth.
Reagan snapped, “You think I give a damn about what two perverts do on a beach? You think I care?”
“Oh don’t change the subject Reagan… You do care and that’s the problem!” Carter raised his voice.
Reagan turns away, runs a hand through his hair. His voice drops shaking and low, “Fuck you, Carter I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to end up here. To feel… this way.”
Carter’s voice softened, “Ron, if something happened between you and Gorbachev-“
“Nothing happened!” Reagan snapped again with a sense of fear in his tone. Carter paused to think about what to say. He admitted that Ford was right Reagan really is a ticking time bomb.
“…but you wanted something to happen.”
“It’s not supposed to be this way.” Reagan whispered putting his hands on his face.
“You think I’m judging you,” Carter reassured, “I’m not. But you said something yesterday that hurt people. You need to ask yourself why it came out like that.”
“Because I panicked. Because I hated seeing something I couldn’t name!” He yelled.
“Or couldn’t name in yourself.” Carter added on. Reagan finally looks at Carter. His eyes eyes radiating his anger toward Carter and himself.
“You mean I’m weak?” Reagan said at a suspiciously normal tone. Carter stares at him with confusion, “When did I say-“.
Reagan swiftly interrupted, “Get out Jimmy, now.”
Carter breathed out completely losing his patience with everything, “You want to isolate yourself ,fine. But don’t pretend it’s for some noble reason. You’re scared. And you’re alone. And you hate what that says about you.”
“You always were a sanctimonious little bastard!” He bitterly whispered.
“You can stew in shame forever, or you can admit there’s more to you and more for you in this place than you realise. But I’m not waiting for you whilst you insult everyone else in the process.”
Carter opens the door and makes a swift exit. The light from the hallway spills across the dark room. Reagan doesn’t follow. Doesn’t respond. Just stays there like a statue crumbling from the inside. Fists clenched staring at the floor as door shuts.
worsewriter on Chapter 2 Thu 12 Jun 2025 02:42PM UTC
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Boiled_CrowBrain on Chapter 4 Fri 04 Jul 2025 10:35PM UTC
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M0tley_crue on Chapter 4 Mon 07 Jul 2025 11:49PM UTC
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Boiled_CrowBrain on Chapter 5 Wed 09 Jul 2025 10:23PM UTC
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Boiled_CrowBrain on Chapter 6 Fri 18 Jul 2025 10:47PM UTC
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M0tley_crue on Chapter 6 Fri 18 Jul 2025 11:31PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 18 Jul 2025 11:31PM UTC
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chaosgirl93 on Chapter 6 Sat 26 Jul 2025 10:14AM UTC
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Megatron (Thatone_marvelfan) on Chapter 6 Mon 11 Aug 2025 05:18AM UTC
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Megatron (Thatone_marvelfan) on Chapter 7 Mon 11 Aug 2025 05:33AM UTC
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Boiled_CrowBrain on Chapter 7 Mon 11 Aug 2025 07:59AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 12 Aug 2025 08:07PM UTC
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KH18 on Chapter 7 Wed 20 Aug 2025 10:03AM UTC
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