Hungover and the Vice President

President Bowmore woke up with a splitting headache. It felt as if he'd drunken the whole night, which he hadn't. The only drinks he'd had were either coffee or water. Is it the Flu season? He thought, but quickly remembered what time of year it was. Impossible, it was still too warm for the Flu. He'd had a strange dream, but before he could try and recall it someone burst into his office. Funny, he'd dreamt something along those lines, someone had come into this very office unannounced...

"Mr President sir," his secretary softly called, "should I send the Vice President in or not? She says she has something important to tell you." His secretary was one of the best, she never allowed anyone inside without warning him, especially because she knew he sometimes fell asleep at the presidential desk. 

"Send her in." He said, simply waving his hand. He didn't really care about what Vice President Gibson thought about him. She was an old time friend, someone he knew would never kick dirt on him. Abby, his secratary nodded and left, leaving the door open for the second-in-command. 

"Good morning, Mr. President." Lottie said as she stutted inside. She smiled at her friend and superior. "Did you sleep well?" President Bowmore just shook his head. He was too tired to respond with a witty sentence. "I think we ought to turn your desk into a bed, otherwise you're going to get back problems from staying her so often." She joked. He just nodded his head and as he'd done with Abby before; waved his hand in the air noncholantly. 

"What did you want to tell me, Lottie?" He asked. 

"Are you alright?" She repeated, drawing her eyebrows high. "You seem...hungover."

"I didn't drink anything last night." Bowmore answered swiftly. "I swear." He added as he saw that her expression still hadn't relaxed. 

"If you say so." She obviously didn't believe him, but what was she supposed to do? Would this type of behaviour occur constantly she'd stage an intervention, or simply hide all the alcohol in the White House from him, but this was truely the first time she'd seen the Country's Best Man hungover. "I'm here to talk about the Ukraine-."

"I had a weird dream last night, Lottie." He suddenly said, interrupting her. "I don't really remember what it was about...it's on the tip of my tongue, or my mind rather...why can't I?...whatever. What were you saying about the, about the...about..." 

"About the Ukraine." She said, feeding him the lines. He nodded and, after rubbing his eyes, propped his elbows on the table, rested his face on his knuckles and stared at her. 

"Then tell me, what is it?" 

"Mr. President, do you want to take the day, or at least the morning, off? If I'm not mistaken you don't have any meetings until noon. I can talk with the Defense Secretary and the State Secretary. They can work on solutions with their team, which I can present to you in a few days. All you need to answer is wether we should keep sending them aid."

"Do what you think is right, Lottie. I'm too tired to make the desciosion myself, but I'm sure that I'd pick the same you would." He rubbed his eyes again. Where was this tiredness coming from? Had someone poisoned him. Ah! That had been it! He'd dreamt something similiar, he was sure he'd thought he'd been drugged in his dream as well, perhaps this was some sort of placebo-effect. 

"Alright. I think you should go to your room, Alistair." She said, calling him out. "It would be for the best. I'll send someone in to check on you around twelve, in case you're not up." She gave him a pityfull smile and turned to march out of his office again. 

"Wait, Lottie." He said. She stopped. He looked at her for a long second. "Thank you. Truely. I don't know what's with me today, but I simply can't." His voice was flat. "Thank you." He repeated. 

"You're welcome Mr. President. Now I've got work to do, see you later." The Vice President took her leave, closing the door behind her. President Bowmore was sure that she'd tell Abby to come inside if he didn't leave in a few minutes. He shrugged, there was nothing to do, not in this state. It felt as if he'd only slept three hours, four tops, even though from the time he'd taken rest up till the hour he'd awoke at least six and a half hours had passed. 

And why was he so hungover? 

He stood up, pushed his chair in and crossed the room. As he reached for the doorknob the dream, suddenly as if carried on angels wings, resurfaced in his mind. He remembered everything, in detail. Goebbles and Hitler! He laughed aloud. That had been one heck of a dream. "Good thing our brains aren't monitored yet, if it came out in the press that I'd dreamt about socializing with Hitler..." He opened the door, still laughing and shaking his head. 

Abby looked up from her desk. "Nice to see you're up and well, Mr. President." She said politely. He smiled at her and nodded in her direction. One of the first things he'd learned in politics was to never ignore someone, even if you weren't listening, just awknowlage them, otherwise you were seen as incredibly rude. 

He took the elevator to the top floor. The upwards rush made his stomache lurch. He sincerely felt hungover. Perhaps Hitler's whiskey is so good one feels it though dreams, he thought amusedly. Those thoughts were the last ones about the dream that occupied the President that day. He had more important things to think about than strange dreams. Little did he know how important these dreams would become, and how they'd end up playing a vital, even central role in his life as President of the United States.