Three Days Before The Election (Borgen, Birgitte) part 4/5 added

[Chanel_no5]

***Note*** 

So, this is a very Chanel-friendly show, which has been taken advantage of already, particularly in Adult Stories section.  

This story came about because of this gif:

This is literally the first scene of the entire show. So I thought missing that opportunity was a big disservice to the world (or, to me, at least). Then this whole thing slipped out, heavily based on (sometimes with verbatim dialogue) the beginning of the first episode. Though of course I added the sneezy parts, because I'm evil that way.  

This might just be a oneshot, so far, but I'm open to the possibility of there being multiple parts to it. 

 

*** 

 

“That Laugesen, he looks more like some sleazy advertising guy than a politician,” the makeup artist says with a chuckle. Birgitte isn’t going to get into that discussion, it’s too close to a personal attack – much as she dislikes that swine Laugesen from a highly private point of view, her party, the Moderates, still has a deal with Labour that she can’t walk away from. The Moderates will support him for Prime Minister, and in return they will get up to six cabinet seats. That’s the way politics is done in Denmark, through coalitions, and Birgitte is the centre-left leader who can – albeit uncomfortably – cut deals with both Labour and the Liberals. She can go further left than Labour, but not further right than the Liberals. Those are the Moderates’ policies when she’s the party leader anyway, though given the shrinking poll numbers today, three days before the election, she will likely have to resign very soon. So, the Moderates need this deal with Labour to get a government position, and Birgitte isn’t going to jeopardise that for a chitchat with her makeup artist.

But boy, does she agree.

In an unusually clumsy way – very unbecoming of a professional politician, she admits that - she changes subject, pointing to a scrapbook on the desk next to the makeup supplies.

“Do you collect autographs?”

“No, it’s my daughter. She is absolutely crazy about them.”

Kasper has returned from making a couple of phone calls, and he hears this last exchange. He grins.

“You sure she doesn’t want Birgitte Nyborg’s for her collection, then?”

“Nah, it’s more real celebrities you know, movie stars, rock stars…”

Birgitte turns over her shoulder and looks at Kasper.

“Everything under control?”

“Yep. You’re on in eight minutes, and when they ask why you’re backing Laugesen, just tell them how cool we in opposition are.”

The makeup girl gently turns Birgitte’s head so she faces the mirror again. She hates these brightly lit makeup mirrors with a passion; they highlight every flaw with an unforgiving harshness that makes politics seem tame. A line that’s not even deep enough to be called a wrinkle suddenly looks like the Grand Canyon, what looks like smooth skin normally looks like a moonscape of deep pores. Birgitte isn’t vain, but she is a woman who spends a lot of her time in the spotlight and must look her best, and, well… she likes being attractive. Who doesn’t?

But this makeup artist is truly an artist. Birgitte is in awe with the result staring back at her in the mirror. And yet she doesn’t look fake, not less like herself. Just a very attractive version of herself.

Kasper leans in close to the makeup girl and murmurs:

“Can you hide all traces revealing that she hasn’t slept the past two weeks?”

“Huh,” the blonde says, “she looks fantastic.”

Birgitte smiles at her, then looks at her reflection in the mirror again.

She does.

Then she quickly gets her hands up to catch a sudden, violent sneeze.

“HeeISSCHH!”

“Bless you!” the makeup girl says, handing her a Kleenex.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Birgitte says, gratefully taking the offered tissue. “It just…”

“… snuck up on you,” the makeup girl fills in for her. “Probably the powder. It happens a lot.” She laughs. “I’ve been sneezed on more than once.”

“Ew.”

“Ah, it can’t be helped. Let me see if I need to fix your makeup.”

Birgitte sniffles, dabs gingerly at her nostrils, and lowers the tissue. She feels utterly uncomfortable when the makeup girl leans in close, inspecting her nose. She can still feel the tickle, faint but still there, trapped deep within her left nostril. Probably a stray grain of powder, yes. Probably. Allergy season is, if not completely over, then at least at the very tail end, for her.

As if he’s reading her mind, Kasper asks:

“Did you take your allergy meds today, Birgitte?”

She rolls her eyes at him, which isn’t a valid response, and they both know it.

“Did you?” he presses on. Birgitte has to think, but yes, she did. Even if she can’t wait for the day that she can forego them, she’s not going to take any chances and skip her meds now, even if the pollen count is on the low side. This late in the campaign, it’s political suicide to lose control in any way. Even if she expects to be voted out of her leadership position soon, she’s not going to lose face. Not happening.

And then she sneezes again, narrowly avoiding spraying the younger woman, who takes a quick step back at the sudden sound of Birgitte’s sharp inhale.

“HeeESSCHuh! hehmpSSCHHuh”

“Bless you again,” the makeup girl says. “Three for good luck.”

Birgitte smiles absently, but she doesn’t think three sneezes in less than two minutes prophesies any good luck. In fact, she thinks that is a sign of something worse.

Kasper has the same thought.

“Please tell me you’re not coming down with a cold,” he pleads. “Not three days before the election.”

“I’m not coming down with anything,” Birgitte says, and she sounds very reassuring even to her own ears. “Try sitting in a cloud of makeup powder and hairspray for half an hour without sneezing, yourself.”

Kasper doesn’t point out the obvious, namely that Birgitte has been doing TV appearances a lot during the campaign, and from what he can remember she hasn’t sneezed during the makeup sessions even once. But then again, he’s often making phone calls and doing last minute checks while she’s in makeup, so there is a possibility he’s just not been around. He lets it slide, but he doubts the truth in her statement.

***

“But are you sure that the other parties in the coalition are on the same page as the Moderates?” Katrine, the news anchor, asks. Birgitte nods with a smile.

“Of course, that’s the very foundation of a coalition.”

“Hm. May I ask you to comment on this interview with Mikael Laugesen from earlier this morning?” Katrine says, gesturing to the screen behind them. Birgitte has a really bad feeling about this, but she turns to look, discreetly rubbing her nose as she turns. It’s still itching, and she’s starting to feel worried. If it were allergies, her eyes would itch as well, and they don’t. It seems unlikely that the powder from the makeup brush would still be irritating her nose.

Two seconds later she has forgotten all about her nose, when the man she’s officially backing as Prime Minister, blatantly breaks their deal on immigration. Birgitte has negotiated that asylum seekers would be able to start working after six months, because she believes that’s the quickest way to integrate them into Danish society. Laugesen agreed to it. Yet here he is, saying that most of the asylum seekers will be deported on arrival, and they may certainly not get to ‘steal the jobs from regular Danes’. She knows Laugesen is a populistic pig and a master manipulator, but she didn’t expect this.

“Isn’t Laugesen breaking your deal here?” Katrine pushes. Birgitte schools her features into showing a diplomatic smile and nothing else.

“Now, this could be taken out of context”, she tries, even though she knows that no context in the world would help this case.

“No, it hasn’t been edited, he’s just answering the question. Isn’t he clearly going back on the deal with the Moderates?”

Fuck you, Laugesen, Birgitte thinks venomously and throws herself headfirst into a political evasive manoeuvre; however Katrine is a very good reporter and she can smell blood. She interrupts Birgitte in a tirade about how she needs to meet with Laugesen and learn for herself if this was true and not played for the media’s attention, and…

“But that’s not the point here, is it? The point is that he’s clearly going back on the asylum seekers which is one of the key issues for the Moderates. Can you still back Mikael Laugesen for Prime Minister after his public remarks on this subject?”

Birgitte feels like a deer in the headlight. You don’t change your carefully crafted strategy three days before the election. You don’t change your policies from what a news anchor pushes you on. You go back and renegotiate deals. That’s what professional politicians do. That’s why they’re professional.

Kasper sees Birgitte’s blank look and tries to mentally send her the saving reply.

“Of course. Yes, of course you back him. Absolutely, you still back him.”

Birgitte is a professional politician, but she is also, still at age 42, an idealist, and there are some lines of principles and moral that she won’t cross. So, she takes a deep breath, looks Katrine straight in the eye and says:

“No, I can’t. If this is the new stance from the Labour Party, the Moderates no longer support Laugesen for Prime Minister.”

“Thank you, Birgitte Nyborg, from the Moderates.”

Birgitte nods, a pale smile on her lips, but that’s just the PR smile, her inside is in complete turmoil. She tears the microphone off her clothes and throws it into the hands of a tech, then storms off set, fuming.

***

Kasper understands how she feels; he would be fuming as well if it wasn’t his job to repair the situation. Instead he confronts Katrine behind the scenes.

“You broke our interview deal. You had the set of questions you were supposed to ask.”

“Ever heard of the free press?”

“Oh shut up, you know as well as anyone it’s not played that way this close to an election.”

“Well, we’re not here to promote your boss.”

“I don’t think anyone could make that mistake.” He shakes his head. Then lowers his voice:

“So when are we seeing each other? You never call anymore.”

“Soon.” She smiles.

“You’re not seeing someone else, are you?” he coaxes, and Katrine just laughs and changes subject.

“Is Nyborg pissed?”

“Nah, she’s a pro,” he says, just a second before the sound of his boss’s high heels cuts through the silence right behind him.

“What kind of a fucking interview was that?” Birgitte snaps. “You don’t pounce on your subject three days before an election. You can go chasing journalistic awards some other time.”

“I’m sorry you take it that way,” Katrine says.

“And how else should I take it?” Birgitte tilts her head a little, but not in her charming way, but as if she ponders whether or not to go for the throat.

“We’re here to cover the election, not promoting your campaign.”

“Yeah,” Birgitte spits, but before she can go on with whatever rant she has planned, the urge to sneeze overcomes her, and she bends over and sneezes harshly into her coat that’s hanging over her left arm. Twice.

When she looks up again, she has lost interest in discussing with TV1’s star anchor. She catches Kasper’s eye.

“Let’s go.”

Kasper nods at Katrine, then follows his boss as she strides down the hall, dropping things as she walks. He picks them up, not saying a word until they reach the elevators.

“You’re changing party policy three days before the election, we need to have a meeting and discuss how to spin that.”

“I have a debate in twenty-two minutes, it’ll have to be later this afternoon at Borgen.”

Kasper nods, stepping into the elevator with her. Birgitte is pacing back and forth in the small space.

“Who the hell does Laugesen think he is?!”

“The leader of the biggest party.”

“He may lead the biggest party but they’re not big enough to get majority without coalitions.”

“True, but Labour is big enough to rule a minority government without the support of the Moderates.”

“There goes our place in the cabinet,” Birgitte groans. “Damnit! If we lose one or two seats in parliament, I’ll resign after the convention. If we lose more, I’ll resign on the spot.”

“Birgitte, your emotions are usually an asset, but right now is not one of those instances,” Kasper says pointedly. Birgitte visibly pulls herself together, takes a deep breath and looks like she’s gotten her emotions under control.

“You’re right. What are my options?”

“Huh?”

“Bent always asks me that. What are my options?”

“The way I see it, you either do nothing, leave it for the voters decide. Or you roll over and do a joint press conference with Laugesen where you tell them that you find it more important to topple current cabinet than to break up the opposition over a key issue. Or…” he drags the word out.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this one any better,” Birgitte mutters and scrubs her nose with the back of her hand.

“No, but it’s your best option at the moment,” Kasper says. “Speak with the Liberals. Hesselboe is desperate. He’s freefalling in the polls. I doubt you’d manage to pry the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, or Finances, from them, but if you back him as Prime Minister, the least he can do is give you four or five cabinet seats. You might be able to get the Minister of Trade and Industry for yourself.”

“You want me in bed with the Right now?” Birgitte asks, but her eyes gleam in good humour.

“I want you in bed with whoever can get you a seat in the next cabinet.”

Birgitte contemplates her options and shakes her head.

“No. I’m not making any advances towards the Right until after the election.”

“But…”

“Thank you Kasper,” she interrupts. “May I remind you that you’re my spin doctor and as such, your job is to sell the policies I lay out, not interfere with them. And it’s the party’s job to remove me if they find my judgment to be lacking.”

“I’m not so sure they’ll let you off the hook on this one,” he replies.

“Neither am I, but I am sure it’s not your job. Shut up now Kasper, I have a headache.”

He sighs and follows her down the hall in silence. Birgitte is rubbing her hand against her nose repeatedly now, the movement becoming more and more careless and frustrated, and then she just cups her hand over her mouth and sneezes again.

“HepTSCHoo! AaISSCHew!”

“That’s not still from the makeup powder, is it?” he says. That is the closest he can get to asking again if she is getting sick.

“No, it’s not,” Birgitte replies, and that is the closest she can get to admitting that she probably is.  

“Shit.” Kasper says out loud.

“Agreed,” Birgitte says. 

 

Edited November 22, 2021 by Chanel_no5
time of day. Jeez.

[crazygirl22]

Even though I've never watched the show I love your stories about it. Another part would be awesome :)

[Chanel_no5]

On ‎5‎/‎14‎/‎2019 at 6:08 PM, crazygirl22 said:

Even though I've never watched the show I love your stories about it. Another part would be awesome

Oh God I’m so happy someone wants to read more, because I was just debating with myself if I can even justify posting all the rest if no one did!! Thank you, thank you, I’m so glad you like it!!   It's not ready for posting yet, but ooooh yeah there will be more! 

This fic is basically going to be a rip-off of the plot of the first episode, though I make some major and some minor detours where I see fit. Also adding the progressing cold. Of course. ^^

 

[blueprint]

I dont know the show at all. But l love this. Its just something very intrigen with it and I want more 💙

[Chanel_no5]

On ‎5‎/‎16‎/‎2019 at 10:35 PM, blueprint said:

I dont know the show at all. But l love this. Its just something very intrigen with it and I want more 💙

Thank you so, so much!! It really makes me happy that you'd want to read it anyway! And there will be more as soon as possible, so keep an eye out.  

[Chanel_no5]

Ohai. I have been high on painkillers tonight so I got through the editing of this chapter before I knew it.    

So, one thing, unlike the fics I have in adult section, this one is played straight, that is, the husband doesn't have our kink.   I felt it got in the way of the plot, the caretaking aspect, and her general misery. 

Comments are greatly appreciated, as always.  

***

 

“How’d the debate go?” Kasper asks when Birgitte returns to the Moderates’ offices at parliament in the afternoon.

“Fine.” She shrugs out of her blazer and hangs it over a chair. “Actually, I think I went at him a bit too hard. I took out my frustration with Laugesen on him.”

“Ouch. Poor guy.” Kasper means it. Birgitte normally plays perfectly fair, but when she’s triggered, she can be lethal. Whoever decided the term ‘fight like a girl’ was to mean ‘weak fighter’ never had to fight a pissed off Birgitte Nyborg. “But did you win the debate?”

Birgitte rubs her nose with the side of her hand and sniffles.

“Oh yes.”

She goes to pour herself a glass of water, puts not one but two Alka-Seltzer painkillers into the water and lets them dissolve. Then she downs the whole concoction in three gulps, rinses the glass, pours some more water, and brings the glass with her to the table where Kasper is seated.

“We need to discuss strategy now,” he says. “The party will probably demand your head on a platter for abandoning the line like that…”

“Hardly,” another voice says from one of the inner rooms, and Bent Sejerø, one of the party’s old-timers and Birgitte’s mentor, comes out with a phone in hand. “I’ve just spoken to the leaders of the three biggest districts, and they’re all backing Birgitte.”

“Good.”

“But how do we salvage the election?” Kasper says. “I’ve already mentioned to Birgitte that the logical thing would be to approach the Liberals.”

Bent ponders this and shakes his head.

“No. Birgitte has built her entire platform on attacking the Right; private healthcare, tax cuts to large corporations, all that. She can’t go to the Right and expect a dance partner there.”

“She tore down her own damn platform when she stood in TV and refused to back Laugesen!”

“No, she stood up for Moderate ideals.”

“You think it’s going to look that way to the voters? It’s going look like she doesn’t know which foot to stand on!”

“You mean waltzing from Labour to the Liberals from one day to the next looks any better?!”

“Can we speak, and not shout, please?” Birgitte says, rubbing her temples. “I’m not approaching the Right before the election. That’s my decision and I stick to it. I’m willing to negotiate deals with them if necessary, but I’m not going to be their lapdog. And I won’t fold on the asylum seekers, it’s too major an issue for the Moderates.”

“That’s my girl,” Bent says appreciatively and pats her shoulder. She gives him a pale, brief smile, barely a ray of sun piercing thick clouds.

“The way I see it, we have no choice but to suck this up and continue forward. Maybe even be grateful Laugesen showed his true colours while we could still back out with our own dignity intact. The end debate is tomorrow night…” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat, takes a sip of water, before she continues, “…and if things go as badly as the polls predict, I assume it will be my last public appearance.”

“Not necessarily,” Kasper, ever the loyal soldier, says. “I can whip up a speech that might save at least some part of this. The election is probably a lost cause, but we should be able to keep you fronting the party.”

Birgitte smiles. It’s a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to spend my likely last public speech on smart attempts at tactics.”

“You want a farewell speech? I can deliver.”

“I know you can, and I appreciate that. But this is one thing I’m going to do myself. I want this to be my own words, from start to finish.”

“It’s not like you to just give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Birgitte says as she gets up from her seat. “But I am, at least occasionally, a woman who knows when it’s best to be prepared for defeat.”

Kasper looks at Bent. Bent gives him nothing.

“Where are you going?” Kasper asks as Birgitte puts on her blazer and begins to gather her things.

“Home. I promised my family I’d spend this evening with them.”

“Do you even take this seriously?”

He realises he has crossed a line the moment the words leave his mouth, and he sees Birgitte’s bright blue eyes harden and turn a stormy grey.

“If it had somehow passed you by unnoticed, I work sixteen hours a day on this campaign. Now, it’s Friday, it’s four in the afternoon, and I have already promised to spend the next couple of hours with my family.”

Kasper recoils, knowing this Birgitte is not to be argued with.

“And you should always keep promises you make to your family,” Birgitte says, her voice softer now, and she winks at Bent. “They vote, too.”

The older man chuckles.

“Give Philip my best, dear,” he says. Birgitte nods, smiling, but the tickle in her nose is back and prevents her from replying vocally. Instead, she takes a couple of hitching breaths and sneezes twice into her wrist, shakes her head and sniffles. As she leaves, she sneezes again, and again.

Bent looks at Kasper.

“Has she been sneezing like that more today?”

Kasper sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Not good. When they come in doubles, it’s always the start of a cold.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve known Birgitte for twenty years. Every time she’s had a cold, it started with double sneezes. That’s a cold. No doubt.”

“Great,” Kasper says. “That’s exactly what we need.”

“You are not going to sick-shame her in any way,” Bent says, raising a lecturing finger. “I mean it, Kasper. It’s hard enough as it is on Birgitte right now, she doesn’t need to feel guilty about something she has no control over. This whole thing is over in a couple of days anyway, whether we win or lose.”

“We’re going to lose. Big.”

“Maybe.” Bent smiles. “But things have turned on a dime in the eleventh hour during elections before. It’s not over until it’s over.”

***

Birgitte wakes up on the couch that evening, feeling completely disoriented.

“Ah, look who finally decided to rejoin the living,” her husband says.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she yawns, then clears her throat. It’s starting to feel sore. Not really painful, but uncomfortable. Scratchy.

“You were out like a light the moment you sat down,” Philip says.

She winces and rubs both hands across her sleep-flushed face.

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“I slept for three hours?!”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Philip lifts her legs up so he can sit down next to her, then lets them rest on his lap. “Look, honey, we all know you’re exhausted. You were home in time for dinner, and that’s what matters. I’m a bit surprised you managed to fall asleep, though, the sound level wasn’t exactly low.”

Birgitte only shakes her head, puzzled. She hasn’t noticed anything. She’s been sleeping so deeply it seems more like a coma. The last thing she remembers is sneaking into the living room to check the news, while Philip was cleaning up in the kitchen, and then she made the mistake of sitting down on the couch. And it is a very comfortable couch.

“Honey, we need a new couch.”

“Oh? Why?”

“This one is too comfortable.”

Philip laughs.

“You wouldn’t say that if you had slept another hour on it. Ack, the complaints I’d hear, the whining…”

“I don’t whine.”

“You whine.” He gives her a light kiss on the cheek. “Go take a shower. You smell like pre-election blues.” He frowns. “And garlic. When did you…”

“Shower it is,” Birgitte says and gets out of the couch in one quick headache-inducing, joint-cracking jump.

“You stopped at the McDonald’s drive-thru on your way home and had fries and garlic dip, didn’t you?” he calls after her, laughing.

“I can’t hear you honey, we’ll talk later!”

She runs up the stairs with the full elegance and grace of a herd of elephants, which has him grinning, but then his grin fades into nothing when he hears her sneeze upstairs. Twice. When they come in doubles, that’s almost always the start of a cold. And in the final stage of an election, that’s very bad news.

It could of course just be a coincidence, her complete exhaustion and the sneezes.

He sits back and flips through the channels, finds a sports game that captures his interest, and considers whether he should get a glass of wine.

He hears two muffled sneezes from upstairs.

Maybe heating up some tea water is a better idea.

***

The next morning there is no longer any doubt about it, Birgitte thinks as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. She’s lightyears from the beauty she was yesterday. True, she hasn’t put on makeup yet, but she fears there’s only so much it can do to hide this wretchedness of a cold.

And it’s not just the way she looks; she feels like death warmed over, too. She’s completely drained of energy, her throat is scratchy, her sinuses feel like they’re filled up with thick liquid, and the tickle in her nose has become a constant nagging itch.

She turns away from the mirror and reaches for a tissue, then blows her nose with emphasis, folds the tissue over and blows again.

When Philip enters a few minutes later, she’s on the third tissue and has more or less given up on emptying her airways enough that she’d be able to breathe unhindered.

“Yeah,” he says, almost apologetically, leaning against the doorframe. “I suspected that’s where you were headed.”

Birgitte sighs.

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to the televised end debate tonight.”

He chuckles and pulls her in for a hug.

“Poor sweetheart.” He feels her forehead. “Do you have a fever, you think? You feel pretty warm.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know either.” She holds him tight, drawing strength from his very presence. “Ugh, it’s just as well Denmark will vote me out tomorrow, I’m a pathetic mess.”

“Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Pity Party, our guest today is Birgitte Nyborg Christensen, who might miss out on a cabinet seat, and on top of that disgrace, has a cold,” Philip says in a cheery TV host voice. Birgitte lets out a laugh, almost against her will, and pushes him away.

“You’re not funny.”

“Well, you’re laughing, which must mean that you have a lousy sense of humour, then,” Philip retorts and gives her backside an affectionate pat. “Please don’t lose your election weight this year. You get the most delicious ass.”

She laughs, coughs, and throws a pillow at him. 

“Can I at least lose enough that I can fit into most of my clothes again?”

He grunts and throws the pillow back onto the bed.

“Oh, alright, fine.”

She smiles, but the fiery tickle in her nose is flaring up again, and she waves her hand vaguely in front of her face.

“I have to sneeze…” her breath hitches twice, but nothing comes of it, and she exhales again, frustrated. “God, I hate it when that ha-haaESSHH! HaISSCHew! Happens… iiESSHHoo!” The spray from the last sneeze escapes the barrier that her lower arm provides, and the mist mingles with the morning light coming in through the window.

“Bless you. So, you’re past the double-sneeze stage, then,” Philip observes. Birgitte looks confused. “You always sneeze in doubles when you’re coming down with a cold.”

“I definitely counted three there,” she says and blows her nose again, then rubs her nose through the tissue, hoping it will alleviate the tickle, knowing that’s just wishful thinking.

“When you’re coming down with a cold. You’re very much down with it already at this point, sorry to say.”

“Yeah, true.” She crumples up the tissue, giving her flushed nose a final, upwards wipe with it before throwing it away. “Well, I’ve got to get ready.”

Philip leans in for a kiss. She hesitates.

“Don’t be silly,” he says and pulls her close, giving her a really deep, long kiss. “We kissed yesterday, and you’ve been coughing on me all night, you’ve probably already given me what you have.”

She kisses him again, giving in to the logic of his statement.

“Sorry about that.”

“You’re forgiven.”

He places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I’m positive you have a fever.”

“So am I, but I’m not going to check until after the debate tonight. If I know just how bad it is, I might cave.”

“Aww. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

***

[Chanel_no5]

So, this chapter has quite a bit of caretaking. Also, it isn't going to be written as a contagion fic, because I'm not really comfortable with contagion, but those of you who like contagion between partners could imagine a lot here.  

Didn't bother quoting her actual speech from the show, but there's so much good stuff in it. One of my favourites is: “To believe that the free market is the best cure for social inequality, that’s like believing that cars themselves (*in the context of switching to eco fuel etc) can stop the climate change; it’s not good enough.”

Like. I would not only marry her, I would also vote for her. DAMN, I would vote for her so hard.  

***

Towards the end of the day Birgitte feels like she’s running on fumes, as if control is slipping through her fingers. The icing on the cake is that the clothes she had planned to wear for the debate are among the ones that are a little bit too tight at the moment. What she can fit comfortably into and what isn’t at the drycleaner’s, is a light purple satin dress with short sleeves and a cleavage. Not exactly appropriate for a political debate.

At least it’s more socially acceptable than sweatpants and hoodie, which would be her top choice of outfit tonight if she could stay home.

And this damn cold is running rampant through her body now, breaking through her defences despite all her attempts at stopping it. Denying it is just ridiculous at this point, but she must grit her teeth and work through it anyway.

“You look fine, honey,” Philip says when her cab arrives, but she knows he’s just saying it to be kind. It’s particularly evident when he adds: “Besides, it’s the message that’s most important.”

Kasper meets her at the TV studio, of course with a speech prepared for her, and also with several brands of cold meds.

Birgitte gives the cold meds a look and tilts her head in a ‘seriously?’ motion.

“I know you don’t like taking this kind of stuff…”

“It’s not about dislike.” She sniffles. “I’m barely keeping it together; those things would knock me out. I can’t go in there and seem drunk, can I?”

“Nope. I fully agree, that’s worse. Did you write your own speech?”

She doesn’t reply. She’s not in the mood for the discussion ensuing if she tells him she plans on winging it.

“Well, you’ll be fine if you stick to this.”

Birgitte eyes the speech, then hands it back to him.

“I said I didn’t want any smart attempts at tactics. It’s a waste of time.”

“Smart tactics are never a waste of time. You can still save your position, if you just don’t go off script. Please, don’t go off script,” he begs her, pushing the speech back into her hand until she takes it. “And what happened to the black suit?”

Birgitte shrugs awkwardly.

“Drycleaner’s.”

He knows that’s not true and he knows why she’s lying, too.

“Bet you wish you had listened to me when I suggested you’d get a second black suit one size larger for the tail end of the campaign, huh?”

“Fuck off, Kasper,” she says, gets a tissue out of her purse, and blows her nose.

“For real, though; are you alright?” he asks, and now it’s not her spin doctor asking, it’s her friend. She smiles, as reassuringly as she can.

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me.”

“Then I won’t. I think you’re in for the makeup now.”

She gets the same makeup artist as last time, and the young woman looks dismayed when Birgitte takes a seat in front of the mirror.

“Oookay, I assume it wasn’t the powder, then,” she says, and Birgitte feels a bit embarrassed realising that she remembers the incident.

“Apparently not,” she says. Her voice still carries, although there is a present threat of cracking there, and the congestion is starting to become obvious. Not quite where n’s turns to d’s and m’s to b’s, but it’s in the neighbourhood. “I’m sorry, I might be contagious.”

“Don’t worry about that.” The blonde waves it off as unimportant.

“And I don’t know how much you can do about this…” Birgitte makes a general gesture to her face, which brashly advertises her cold.

“Don’t worry about that either. I’ll fix you up, no one’s going to notice.”

“Thank you, …?”

“Lise. Now, you should probably save your voice. I’m going to chat on anyway because that’s what I do, but you don’t need to answer. Okay?”

Birgitte nods and smiles.

“Good,” Lise says, gives her shoulder an encouraging pat, and reaches for the makeup. “Oh, and…” she grabs a handful of Kleenexes and hands them to the cold-ridden, red-nosed politician. “Just in case.”

Birgitte takes the tissues and keeps them ready. She feels very much like an in-case at the moment, and it gets worse as Lise begins to apply the makeup.

She can feel every stroke of the makeup brush setting off a vibration to the nerve endings in her face, spreading into her nose and sinuses where it’s aggravating an already persistent tickle. She has it under control – barely – but it won’t take much for the balance to shift, giving superiority to the tickle and not to her resolve at holding it back.

She tries holding her breath to avoid getting any powder up her nose, but she can’t do that for very long at a time. The cold is already weighing on her chest, and she just doesn’t have the lung capacity to hold her breath for very long at a time.

But every time she has to give in to physics and take a breath, she inhales all the irritating, tickly powder soaring in the air along with the oxygen. Lise tells her in advance what she’s going to do, giving Birgitte an opportunity to keep her guard up, but even so, that moment comes when she inhales a little too deeply, and gets a noseful of powder with it.

She freezes in horror when the full extent of the fuzzy, dust-like tickle hits her. It feels like she’s sniffing a feather duster after cleaning a particularly dusty room.

“I’m… I’m gonna sneeze,” she warns, her voice breathy. Lise puts the brushes away and steps out of the spray zone. Birgitte clutches the Kleenexes, holds them up to her face and prepares for a sneeze that keeps teasing her. She blinks, a tear escapes one eye, and then she bobs forward, leaning into the wad of tissues and tries to sneeze as discreetly and un-messily as possible.

“NktSH! NgTSCHuh! Huhh… aaempSCHuh! Oh… huhhh…”

When she’s finally done, she has sneezed five times and is completely winded. She’s afraid of removing the tissues from her face, but she knows she must. She blows her nose first, wiping her nostrils as carefully as she can before slowly lowering the flimsy paper shield and wincing at the sight of her face.

Her nose is a bright, glowing red, darker around the wings and more pinkish towards the bridge. The tears in her eyes have smudged a bit of the eyeliner, too.

Lise takes a critical look at the damage done.

“You know what, I think we’ll skip the eyeliner altogether. Let’s go for a more natural look. It would balance out the fancy dress, and a lighter makeup is less risky when your eyes water.”

Birgitte nods, too tired to have an opinion, and puts all her trust in the hands of her makeup artist.

Lise delivers.

Birgitte doesn’t look as striking as she did yesterday, but she doesn’t look like she’s at war with what might turn out to be the worst cold she’s had in years, either.

“That is amazing work,” she says.

“Thank you.” Lise beams. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. God knows I need it.”

***

It’s not a tough, cutthroat debate. The night before the election nobody wants to come across as aggressive and unhinged, not right before voters make their decision, so the tone is rather amiable. At least for a political debate where they all represent very different standpoints and have certain personal infighting as well. It’s mostly focused on the two major opponents, who happen to stand on each side of Birgitte. Labour’s Laugesen and Liberals’ Hesselboe, the current Prime Minister. Birgitte is mostly a forgotten afterthought between these giants, and while she’s not being timid when she has the word, she’s well aware that she has done what she can and it’s not going to lead anywhere.

Her nose is still tickling, though. Her throat hurts, too, and her voice begins to crack when she has to speak for a prolonged period of time. She continually takes small sips of water, hoping to at least get through these few hours without coughing or sneezing.

It’s a vain hope.

She manages to hold out for almost an hour, when the camera and the audience are mostly focused on an exchange between the leaders of the Green Party and the Freedom Party.

Birgitte feels a sudden, painful prickle, almost like being pricked by a needle, deep inside her right nostril. She holds her breath, trying to cut off the air supply fuelling a sneeze, and rubs the side of her nose with her fingertips. It’s no use. She’s going to sneeze, and there is nothing she can do about it.

She pinches her nose hard, curling into herself in a desperate attempt at absorbing the impact within her own body, and stifles a quick series of sneezes. It’s nearly soundless, and only the repeated quivering of her upper body reveals that’s anything is going on with the leader of the Moderates.

Well, Laugesen notices of course.

“Caught a cold, Birgitte?” he mouths quietly. There’s no mistaking his schadenfreude, and Birgitte refuses to give him that pleasure.

“Just allergies,” she replies with a serene smile, trying to play it off as nothing. Laugesen seems to have no real interest in mocking her, though. Which is odd, because he’s normally not above mockery and petty revenge.

A while later, she’ll find out that he has bigger fish to fry. But first it’s time for the final remarks, where each party leader gets two minutes to conclude why the voters should vote for their party.

It’s the usual. No surprises anywhere, some clever wording here and there, but mostly it’s very professional, very perfect talking points in neat two-minute-packages. Birgitte is second to last, and she too has a professional two-minute-package of political talking points, the speech that Kasper forced into her hands when she arrived at the TV studio tonight. Because that’s what they are, whether they represent the left or the right. Professional word-sayers, who often have forgotten the meaning behind the words they’re saying.

When it’s her turn, she goes off script. Kasper, despite his objections, will later tell her that’s the best speech he’s ever heard, but Birgitte doesn’t feel like she’s making a speech. She’s talking directly to the people, from the heart. She confesses that politicians have veered too far from the reality of the people they’re supposed to represent. She admits that they have to change the way they do politics. She tells them her vision of the future Denmark, and because it’s not scripted but the sheer truth, it hits home with thousands of Danes.

Kasper is one of them, and he’s the one applauding loudest and longest when she’s finished. Had he really believed Birgitte was giving up? This woman doesn’t give up. She performs at her very best when she’s both sick and on the brink of political demise.

Someone touches his arm. He turns around and sees Lise. She’s speaking to him, but she’s not taking her eyes from Birgitte.

“After that, I’m sure my daughter wants her autograph. And if she doesn’t, I do. Can you get her to sign my scrapbook some day?”

“Happy to,” Kasper grins. “You did an amazing job, by the way. You can’t even tell she’s sick.”

Lise smiles.

The camera turns to Laugesen, and Lise’s smile disappears again.

“Ugh, that guy. I can’t stand him. Sleazeball.” She shudders. “Well. Tell your boss she definitely has my vote.”

***

Laugesen doesn’t have a perfect speech prepared. Nor does he go for a heartfelt improvisation. No, he has more sinister plans.

He immediately goes on the attack towards Hesselboe, and his weapon is a receipt, proof that the Prime Minister has financed private spending with taxpayer’s money. This is a deadly weapon against any Scandinavian politician. If there’s one thing Scandinavian voters just won’t forgive, it’s this.

Hesselboe pales but defends himself violently.

In between these tall, agitated men, Birgitte stands, surprised but composed. This apparent composure is in reality more due to her main focus being on her itching nose, but the image it conveys is one of a calm, unafraid leadership character, flanked by two unreliable emotional volcanoes. Even in high heels, she’s about a head shorter than either of them, but she still appears to be the tallest. Short in height, true, but tall in stature. 

The shouting match between the two men might escalate into a fist fight if Hesselboe didn’t choose to leave the studio instead. As he walks off set, Laugesen calls after him “if that’s not admitting to a crime, I don’t know what is!” and then he chuckles, pleased with himself.

Birgitte is appalled. Both with the supposed crime committed by the Prime Minister – if it’s true, she doesn’t like to make decisions based on rumours – and with Laugesen’s behaviour.

Katrine officially ends the debate, which has in effect ended already, and Birgitte walks off set, joining Kasper outside the studio. He’s grinning.

“That was amazing! You hit all the heartstrings!”

“I wasn’t trying to. I was just telling the truth.”

The adrenaline begins to subside, and she suddenly realises just how sick she’s feeling. The job is done. She has done what she can, now it’s up to the voters.

“Do you have my purse?”

Kasper hands it over and she opens it, digging out a tissue.

“This calls for champagne,” Kasper says. Birgitte shakes her head, her eyes closing, nostrils flaring, lips parting, as a sneeze slowly takes hold of her. She’s not even going to try holding this one back; that’s her award to herself for making it through tonight.

“HaaESSCHHew!”  She sniffles. “No, I think it calls for hot tea and bed. At least for me. HeeISSCHoo! Ugh. But you have fun, Kasper. I’m going to call a cab now.” She pats him on the shoulder with the hand not clutching the tissue.

“Birgitte,” he says in a low voice. She turns around. “I assumed you’d want to go straight home, so I already called a cab. It’s outside waiting for you.”

She smiles, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You did one hell of a job tonight. Go home, get some sleep, get over that cold.”

“I’ll do my best. Goodnight, Kasper.”

“Goodnight.”

He smiles as she walks off. He's always proud of his boss, much as they can argue sometimes, but he's never been more proud of her than he is tonight. 

 

***

When Birgitte gets home, she goes straight to change into the sweatpants and hoodie that she’s been longing for all day.  

Philip is in the living room working on his laptop. There’s a glass of wine next to him.

“Hi treasure,” he says, taking off his reading glasses. “That was some performance.”

Walking across the room, Birgitte pulls the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands, and then sneezes into them.

“AESSCHoo! HeTSSCHew! Oh my God… huh-huhAASSCHoo! Ugh, damnit… HeeAASCHoo! Hah-! AhhhEESSHHew!”

“Especially considering that you sneeze like you’re being paid for it.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” she sniffles and removes her hands from her face, pulling the now considerably damper sleeves back from her hands again. “I did sneeze during the debate, was it noticeable? I don’t think I was in frame, and I kept as silent as I could, but...” she shrugs. To be honest, she’s feeling so crappy she doesn’t really care.

“Nothing that was noticed on TV, but you sounded pretty congested. You got through it well, though.”

“Yeah, and I got said what I wanted to say.” She yawns. “At least it’s over with now. Given the poll numbers, I may not even have to be at the election night watch party tomorrow.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you,” Philip says. “Have a look at this.”

He opens an internet page and turns the laptop so she can read.

“Labour heavyweights call for Laugesen’s resignation. What?!” She sits on his lap, takes his wine glass and absently takes a sip.

“By all means, help yourself to my Merlot,” he says. Birgitte chuckles.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! But you’re so going to catch this anyway.”

“I was thinking more what a waste of a good wine it is when you can’t taste anything,” he says and kisses the corner of her mouth. Birgitte barely notices; she’s reading the article.

“Several big names within Labour thinks his behaviour was despicable and unbecoming of a leader.”

“Guess they’ve been living under a rock since he became their front figure, if this is news to them,” Philip says.

“Yeah, but… they’re not booting him out tonight, not over that, not with an election tomorrow.” She turns her head away from Philip, pinches her nose hard and stifles a sneeze. “NNKThh! Ugh. Not gonna happen.”

He wraps both arms around her and hugs her tightly.

“You’re probably right. God, you’re hot.”

“Why thank you, you’re pretty good-looking yourself,” she says, trying to sound flirty despite feeling as unsexy as can be.

“I didn’t mean it like that this time, though,” he says, letting go of her. “You have a fever. Up. Up you go, get the thermometer.”

She reluctantly gets up and goes to get the thermometer, but she doesn’t want to know what it has to say.

“Was the dress embarrassing?” she asks over her shoulder as she walks into the bathroom and looks in the medicine cabinet. “Heh… ehhhyISSHHHeew! Damnit!”

 “Depends who you ask. The general public couldn’t care less after that speech you made. Your daughter was mortified, but she’s a teenager so you’re embarrassing by default. Your son didn’t care, he thinks you hang the moon.”

“And my husband?” She returns, climbs back onto his lap and puts her arms around his neck.

“Your husband doesn’t care what you wear, as long as he gets to take it off,” he says, takes the thermometer from her, checks to see that it’s on, and sticks it into her mouth.

Birgitte closes her eyes and leans her head against his shoulder. He gently runs his fingers through her hair.

“Poor darling. That’s a really ill-timed cold,” he mumbles.

She nods with her head still on his shoulder. Now that she must keep her mouth closed, each breath is accompanied by a thick, wet sniffle. She feels sick and disgusting, and she’s certainly not in the mood for anything more exciting than sleep.

She nearly dozes off before the thermometer beeps and announces it has done its job. Philip takes it and checks it, frowns, then feels her forehead again, stroking his thumb across her hairline.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

“What does it say?” she asks, but it’s a question lacking any interest.

“38,7. That’s a real fever.”

“You thought I was faking?” she smiles and buries her face into his shirt. Her nose tickles again, and she rubs it against him, but only succeeds in making matters worse. She’s too tired to sneeze, but her nose doesn’t care.

“No, but…”

“HeyISSCHiew!”

“Yeah, that wasn’t wet at all,” he notes ironically. “Jesus, Birgitte, I’ve already showered today.” But his voice is soft, and the hand rubbing her back is even softer.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Ugh, I feel like crap.”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to bed now,” he says.

“Mmm. Good idea.”

She doesn’t move.

“Which means that you have to stand up,” he clarifies, nudging her lightly, but the only response he gets is a soft snore. The fierce leader of the Moderate Party has just fallen asleep against his shoulder.

He decides to let her sleep like that for a little while, gently rocking her in his arms.

***

[Chanel_no5]

I realised that I have to cut the final part in two, because it’s gonna be too lengthy and too chunky otherwise, so this is part 4 of 5.

I really hope others like it/still like it, I’d feel embarrassed just burping all this text out there otherwise. I know it’s probably a show that nobody here has watched, but I hope the fic is a decent (or maybe not too decent… ) read anyway.

So... if you do like it, please let me know. It's really, really appreciated (and soothing for my nerves. )

 

***

“Are you watching the news?!” Bent shouts. Birgitte grimaces and holds the phone away from her ear.

“God, Bent, I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet,” she groans, her voice thick and hoarse and her head pounding with a sinus headache.

Bent doesn’t apologise.

“Then get out of bed and check the news!”

“I will, if you stop yelling,” she says.

Philip stirs in bed next to her but doesn’t wake up. She closes the bedroom door behind her, glad that he’s still asleep. She has a feeling she’s kept him up most of the night by coughing; her throat is raw, and her chest feels a bit tight. And if not by coughing, then by snoring. Her sinuses are completely blocked.

She stumbles into the living room and turns on the TV, keeping the volume low so not to wake anyone else in the house.

Then she drops the remote.

Labour has kicked out Laugesen. Not only for his behaviour in the debate, but for some surfaced, very racist, email correspondence.

The country’s biggest political party has kicked out their leader on election day!

“What the hell is happening, Bent?”

“What’s happening is that we might be facing a landslide election, Birgitte.” His voice is a more reasonable volume, but he sounds very upbeat. “This could go either way. I suggest we dress up for tonight.”

Birgitte is barely listening; her nose has suddenly started to tickle like crazy, but the sneeze seems reluctant to come out. It feels like she has a tiny feather, a down from the pillows maybe, stuck in the back of her nose. She gets to the point where her watery eyes close and she takes a couple of hitching breaths, but no further than that. She looks towards the light coming in through the window, hoping this will be enough to trigger that teasing sneeze.

“Birgitte?” Bent has waited for an answer for several seconds while she’s been wrestling with this tickle.

“One s-second… I’m… huhh… I’m trying to coax out a s-stuck sneeze… hahh… hahNGTshkk!”

“Don’t stifle like that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Birgitte pinches her red-hot nose and rubs it repeatedly.

“Bent, it’s six in the morning on a Sunday. Election day or not, I have a family that probably wants to sleep.” She has barely finished the sentence when the urge to sneeze strikes her with a force that’s impossible to hold back, and she explodes with a loud, full-bodied sneeze anyway. “HAAEESSCHoo! And there goes that good intention,” she mutters.

“Bless you. Now, you either find something sharp to wear for tonight or I’ll take you out shopping today.”

He makes it sound like a threat. Birgitte, currently in her shabby flannel pajamas that she usually only wears in winter, and still shivering a bit even though her fever has gone down, thinks he’s getting way ahead of himself. Yes, fine, voters will probably abandon both Labour and the Liberals, and some of them will choose to vote for the Moderates instead, but she thinks plenty of them just won’t bother voting at all, or turn to the populist, racist Freedom Party to show their disdain for politics in general and politicians in particular.

It’s not that she doesn’t have faith in the Danes. It’s more that she’s afraid that Danes have lost faith in themselves, because voting for populist hate parties in order to punish other politicians is a form of subconscious self-harm behaviour.

She rubs her nose with her knuckles and tries to sniffle. She’s so congested she can’t.

“You don’t think you’re overplaying this?”

“Have you seen the pundits? They say the Moderates might gain as much as eight or nine seats in parliament from the turmoil in Labour and the Liberals. Their screw-up and your fantastic speech last night created a perfect storm.”

“That’s possible, but when have the pundits ever been right?” she replies, but she does feel a surge of excitement. Eight or nine seats sound like utopia, far out of their reach, but if they could gain as much as four or five, her position as party leader would be cemented, and, more importantly, they’d have a much stronger voice in the debate. Much more influence.

“When they bet you would take over Moderate Party leadership after Esben resigned,” he says, and she can tell from his voice that he’s smiling. “I’ll call you back in a few hours, search your closet and if you don’t find anything you like, we’re going shopping. You’ll probably end up in the spotlight tonight.”

“Bent, calm down. This whole drama could just mean that people don’t bother voting at all.”

“Or it can mean that you’re looking at a cabinet seat after all. Did that cold steal all your enthusiasm, dear girl?” he chuckles.

“I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“No, you’re taking the defeat ahead of time. I’ll call you later,” he says, then hangs up.

Birgitte shakes her head, turns off the TV and tiptoes back to the bedroom, as quietly as she can so not to wake Philip, if he by any chance slept through her sneeze.

But when she gets back into bed that consideration is undone when a sudden, tickly, uncontrollable coughing fit strikes her. She tries to muffle the cough into her pillow, but Philip puts a hand on her trembling back.

“’s okay honey,” he mumbles. “I’m awake, Just let it out.”

She does. She coughs until she’s out of breath and her chest hurts.

“Want me to get you some water?” Philip asks.

“No, I’m f-fine.. eyISSSHHuh!”

“Your opinion of what passes as ‘fine’ is sure more flexible than mine,” he says as he takes her into his arms, spooning her, and she wheezes out a laugh. “What was so important that whoever called couldn’t wait until normal people wake up?”

“Implying that we are the normal ones,” Birgitte says. He chuckles and nuzzles the back of her neck.

“Implying just that. So what was it about?”

“It was Bent. Labour did throw out Laugesen.”

He freezes.

“On election day? Wow. Almost sounds like a coup.”

“Could be. Not everyone in his own party were happy with his statements on asylum seekers. They know he’s trying to steal voters from the Freedom Party.” She clears her throat, wincing a little at how sore it is. “And Labour values are usually a bit more openminded than that.”

“You do know this whole mess with Labour and the Liberals benefits you greatly, right?” Philip asks. “Who else would they turn to, in this turmoil?”

“There are several other parties to turn to,” Birgitte says matter-of-factly. “The Green Party, Solidarity, New Right, yeah, even the Freedom Party, for those so inclined.”

“Look, honey, when things seem chaotic, people want someone they feel they can trust. Someone to fix things. Svend Åge can be funny, in his own, drunk-uncle kind of way…”

Birgitte shudders, and the shudder turns into another cough. Philip rubs soothing circles on her back until she gets herself back under control.

“Speak for yourself, I can’t stand the man.”

“I’m speaking for the general public right now,” Philip replies. “And there are people who think he says it like it is. But most Danes are smarter than that. They don’t see him as a leader. Yvonne? She caters to the upper class. The old-fashioned upper class. Military decorations, big mansions and tea parties with the Queen. And she’s not a leader in any sense of the word. She’s been on Hesselboe’s leash the past seven years and everyone knows that. Solidarity… they’re too far to the left.”

“I share plenty of values with Solidarity, you know,” Birgitte reminds him.

“Values, yes. But they’re stuck in the 1968-movement. It doesn’t work in today’s political climate. And Lindecrona has the enthusiasm but no real leadership qualities. Then we have the Greens. Very clearly a one topic-focused party, and climate has never been on top of the list of voters’ interests in any election. Led by Amir, who is a likeable guy, forward-thinking and energetic. But he wasn’t born in Denmark. And however highly we want to think about our progressive democracy, that’s still going to be an issue for some voters. Even voters who wouldn’t go so far as to vote for the Freedom Party.”

Birgitte hums. It’s true. She doesn’t want it to be, but it is.

“And then,” Philip says and turns her over, so she faces him, “there’s the Moderates. The Goldilocks party. Not too little, not too much, just right. Led by this… nice girl. Not a doormat, but not an aggressive conflict-seeker either. She’s somebody you can put in charge of things and trust that the work gets done, because she finds ways that no one has even thought of before. Established, but not establishment. An ordinary, relatable Danish woman. Even rides a bicycle to work on most days.” He raises his eyebrows. “I bet the Green Party leader doesn’t. Yes? No?”

She shakes her head. Philip goes on:

“No racist correspondence. No embezzlement suspicions. Not even a traffic ticket. An all-around good Dane… a nice girl.”

“Ugh, you make me sound so boring.”

“Politicians are supposed to be boring, honey. Otherwise they’re just media entertainment. You’re not partaking in any suspicious activities, that is, if we exclude the really filthy ones with your husband behind closed doors…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Birgitte says, smiling.

“Let me refresh your memory,” he says, moving in for a kiss, but she firmly pushes him back and turns away to sneeze, muffling the wet, desperate outburst into the blanket.

“HehIGTSSCHuh!”

“And that’s why I keep petitioning that we’d get two blankets,” Philip jokes. 

“Ugh, yeah, that was wetter than I thought. I’m really sorry if I give you this cold,” she says. “It’s no fun at all.”

“Because… colds usually are?” He chuckles. “Better that than the other way around, though. I’d hate to be guilty of getting you sick during the final days of the election.” He touches her forehead with the back of his hand, then runs his hand down her cheek in a featherlight caress. “Your fever is down, at least.”

“Good.” And then, as if it’s directly related: “Bent wants to take me shopping.” She rolls her eyes.

“Bent? Shopping?”

“Clothes for the election night watch party. He thinks we’re looking at a landslide election.”

Philip sighs loudly, grabs her by the shoulders, and shakes her.

“Hello, Birgitte! That’s what I’ve spent the past five minutes trying to tell you! You’re not going anywhere; you’ll stay leader of the Moderates. No doubt about that. You’re going to gain seats in parliament, not lose any. The Moderates are never going to be the biggest party and therefore a Moderate will never be Prime Minister, but if this goes well, you could end up our next Minister of Foreign Affairs.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, they’ll never give that post to someone who’s never had a seat in the cabinet before. Education or Trade and Commerce maybe, but never Foreign Affairs.”

“Honey, listen. You start out by making yourself less valuable than you actually are. You just assume that you’ll be getting the scraps in the negotiations because that’s how the negotiations have been pre-election, but - ”

Birgitte cups a hand over her mouth and sneezes. It turns out to be a far more violent sneeze than she expects.

“EuuRRSCHUuh! Oh God…”

“ – bless you, treasure - if this election really is a landslide, everything changes. You could be the one in position to make the demands.”

“I’ll look into that when we get there, okay? Bent told me not to take the defeat in advance, but we shouldn’t celebrate in advance either.” She huddles up close to him, and he puts his arm around her. “Let’s go back to sleep for another hour. This cold is killing me.” She leans into his shoulder. “And I guess I have to go out shopping with Bent after voting.”

“No. Don’t worry about the clothes. See, that black suit…”

“The one I can’t fit into?” she says sarcastically and looks up at him. “Yes, I know the one.”

“Well…” Philip caresses a strand of shiny dark hair out of her face. “I may have called the drycleaners yesterday and told them that since they shrunk your suit, you had to improvise your clothes for the debate, and they should reimburse you.”

“You did not.”

“Look in the closet. They delivered it about the same time that Laugesen went off on Hesselboe. I don’t know what connections they have, but they’re fast.”

“God, I love you.” She grabs him and kisses him passionately. “Now I’m gonna reimburse you.”

“Frisky, huh? What about your cold?”

Birgitte grins mischievously.

“What cold?”

***

Edited May 26, 2019 by Chanel_no5

[crazygirl22]

Don't worry, Chanel, I still love it even though I've never seen the show 😂 . You'r writing is so perfect I don't even have to watch it to picture it in my head 😍 Thanks for updating! Can't wait to read on!

[Chanel_no5]

On 5/27/2019 at 5:17 PM, crazygirl22 said:

Don't worry, Chanel, I still love it even though I've never seen the show 😂 . You'r writing is so perfect I don't even have to watch it to picture it in my head 😍 Thanks for updating! Can't wait to read on!

Thank you so, so much!!   I'm so glad you still enjoy it, I feel so relieved!   Thank you! I hope I'll get the final part finished sometime during the week.  

 

 

ETA: yeah... that's a very long week...  

 

Edited November 18, 2021 by Chanel_no5

[blueprint]

The sweetness of this...💕totaly made my day ! Thank you! 🌷

[Chanel_no5]

On 5/30/2019 at 10:28 AM, blueprint said:

The sweetness of this...💕totaly made my day ! Thank you! 🌷

Thank you!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm pretty new to caretaking and H/C, but these characters did have that kind of sweet and caring relationship, so it wasn't at all difficult to go there.  

 

Edited November 18, 2021 by Chanel_no5

[Esile]

I really enjoy this story even though I've never see the show. Actually it did make me want to watch it. 

I love the connection between husband and wife, the caretaking is really sweet and realistic.

I look forward to read the last part of it.

[Chanel_no5]

On 6/11/2019 at 12:28 AM, Esile said:

I really enjoy this story even though I've never see the show. Actually it did make me want to watch it. 

I love the connection between husband and wife, the caretaking is really sweet and realistic.

I look forward to read the last part of it.

Oh man, I can not recommend it enough! Once I got past the language issue (subtitles are my friends..), this is possibly one of the best shows I've ever watched. So I tirelessly encourage anyone to give it a shot. Maybe one day I'll manage to corrupt someone...  

Thank you so much! They really did have a very sweet connection, those two.   The last part is momentarily put on ice as I have some more important stuff I need to wrap up, and life hit as well, but I'll post it as soon as I possibly can!   Thank you so much for reading!

 

Edited October 13, 2019 by Cobweb_no5

[rsquared906]

Apparently there's a Borgen season 4 coming? Maybe it will get the juices flowing for the last part? Also, this is amazing and has made me want to watch the show. 

[Chanel_no5]

5 hours ago, rsquared906 said:

Apparently there's a Borgen season 4 coming? Maybe it will get the juices flowing for the last part? Also, this is amazing and has made me want to watch the show. 

FOR REAL??? *checks imdb* FOR REAL!!! AAAHHHHH GOD LOVES ME AGAIN!!!

I had actually forgotten that I never finished this fic, things were so messed up in my life there that everything just floated together and, yeah, it was a mess. I do intend to finish it though, at some point, so thank you for bringing it to my attention. And thank you so much for reading and enjoying it! I can recommend the show SO much! It's fantastic!  

[rsquared906]

Please do! I can't imagine the noise of an election watch party with a sinus headache, or a million cameras flashing when you need to sneeze, or all the coalition building one might have to do when losing a voice...

Also, your emoji game is on point!!

[1a2b3d4c5]

The dream I didn’t know I had has been realized! I started watching Borgen a few weeks ago and became completely obsessed (by all of it, but especially Birgitte). I was scouring the internet for anything Borgen-related (there is not much…) when I came across this. No way, I thought, is there someone else who has these 2 things in common with me who actually went and wrote a fic about it. And then I thought well maybe there is, but there’s no way it’ll actually be good. But wow it is so good, super well written and totally in character! You have no idea how happy this made me. And then I kept looking and I found you have a bunch of others…omg thank you! Anyway sorry for rambling on (and I know this is like 4 years later), but know that if you do ever come back to this I’ll be here for it! And if not that’s fine too, it’s so great. 

[Chanel_no5]

On 11/26/2023 at 2:53 AM, 1a2b3d4c5 said:

The dream I didn’t know I had has been realized! I started watching Borgen a few weeks ago and became completely obsessed (by all of it, but especially Birgitte). I was scouring the internet for anything Borgen-related (there is not much…) when I came across this. No way, I thought, is there someone else who has these 2 things in common with me who actually went and wrote a fic about it. And then I thought well maybe there is, but there’s no way it’ll actually be good. But wow it is so good, super well written and totally in character! You have no idea how happy this made me. And then I kept looking and I found you have a bunch of others…omg thank you! Anyway sorry for rambling on (and I know this is like 4 years later), but know that if you do ever come back to this I’ll be here for it! And if not that’s fine too, it’s so great. 

I saw your comment several days ago but I had to take some time to process all of it before I replied because it came as such a surprise! Thank you SO MUCH!! I can't even tell you how happy I am that it could make someone else happy.   Oh believe me I know, there's not a whole lot of Borgen-fics out there, and there's not a huge audience for the genre in general so it's even harder to find anything within a... niche interest like this.  It means a lot to know that others enjoy it, I know only too well what lonely obsessions feel like. 

I had actually started on the final part but I lost the whole thing when my then-computer broke down, and I felt so discouraged I never got around to pick it up again. I can't promise that I will (I have a ton of stuff I should write/want to write/have promised to write lined up already and limited energy), but it absolutely increases the chances to know that there is an audience for it and it's not just me screaming enthusiastically into the void.  

Thank you so much for taking the time to comment, it really made my whole week, and welcome to the forum!