“Who wouldn’t try to get in your pants?”

That was the last thing she expected to come out of the President's mouth. But then again, he wasn't just the President to her. Sure, Marlene was more surprised than anything; her cocked eyebrows betrayed her cool-demeanor and her grin was amplified by his cheekiness. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, or perhaps he was simply trying to warm her up. Either way, Marcy couldn't deny the flickers within her stomach that always rose up when being flattered, especially by him.

Marcy pushed that aside. For a while, she thought he could be the only man with an all access pass to the aforementioned pants. Even now, while they stood together in the depressing clinical white of the room, the Scorpio in her was itching to try and get his ass in the bed. But no, she had to be good, for now. He'd finally obliged by coming to get her. She wasn't a complete asshole.

An involuntary grunt and a roll of her blue orbs punctuated his last statement. "Oh, fuck you."

Could she say that to the leader of the country? Eh. Freedom of speech and all that, right? He really could have been joking with her, but he of all people should know that she couldn't not remember him. If she was being honest with herself, he would always be the same Nate that could take several hits from the pipe and still have enough stamina to make the floor hear her moaning through the walls. The whole Presidency thing didn't phase her much. At least, that's what she was telling herself as she continued.

"You really think I could forget you? Come on, Nate. I'm a strictly high functioning addict. Who owns a goddamn phone. It's not like you've been off the grid all this time."

"Besides," she said, taking a few more brave steps forward so that they were only a few flimsy feet apart now, "I don't think even sleep-deprived college seniors have such bad stress lines on their foreheads." Marlene chuckled to indicate that it was a joke as she instinctively reached out with her hand, but paused the movement before it could get further than a few inches ahead of her. She glanced at it, laughed again under her breath, then let it drop back to her side. It's destination was meant to be his face, but she supposed that sort of contact was still packed away in the corner of a warehouse they called history.

Marcy shook her head and turned instead to her bag, which was waiting for her on the bed, and pretended to busy herself with organizing the few, random things inside.

"So I guess Alan already talked to you about my situation? I uh, need a place to stay. Bet you got lots of empty space in that big house of yours now, huh?" She kept her tone nonchalant in order to smooth over the almost-accident, but kept her eyes off of him as she spoke.