This Sailor Moon story is set in an alternate universe with some of my own original characters. Sailor Moon and the cast belong to the magnificent Naoko Takeuchi.

Sessediz

Plot: AU – Serena's life is changed one night in more ways than one. Her father, Senator Kenneth Kelly, has just been announced as the next President of the United States of America. Red, white and blue balloons fall from the ceiling as the new First Family graces the celebration stage but when a gunshot sounds through the grand hall, Serena fears the life that her father has chosen for them.

Rated M: Language and romance, minor violence

As a preface, I know that there are a couple of stories centering on Serena being a daughter to the US President and with Darien (or Seiya, etc) being a member of the Secret Service but I promise that my stories are, as always, original.

There will be some politics involved as this story continues, but no parties will ever be mentioned and the subject will be used only as needed to progress the plot. Inspiration will be pulled from sources such as: Madam Secretary, Alpha House, Scandal, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The West Wing, (and one day probably House of Cards, when I get a chance to watch it), and hey, who knows, maybe The Blacklist will become relevant (not in a crime way).

Additional disclaimer before we get started: I mean no insult to any current or previous presidential families, the Uniformed Service or any other government agency mentioned in this story. Everything written is purely fiction and although research has been done to make this story more lifelike, that is not to say that everything is factual in regards to how things are handled in the United States government.

Reviews of all kinds are much appreciated! :)

Serena Kelly:

"Serena, stop picking your nails," my mother ordered as she continued to pace a hole in the floor. "I know you're not going to school tomorrow but is your homework done?"

I nodded, "Yeah, and Sammy completed his too." My brother was eight years old and more often than I would like to admit I wished I could have as little homework as him. It was my senior year in high school, the year I should be freaking out about what college to attend or what I'll wear to prom and yet here I am, in the backstage area of a hotel's conference hall. "How much longer?" I asked, looking up at the muted television screen.

We had been sitting here for a few hours now, waiting for the poll numbers coming in. Dad was in the lead when they started announcing results but then Senator Anne Granger came out on the top and it had continued flipping till the last few states. It was looking like a close race and I was anxious to just get the final answer. "The polls over on the California side are about to close. They'll final the tally of the first count and then we'll know… hopefully. Most elections get called at around 11 p.m. though Bill Clinton once got declared at 9 p.m."

My father had been busy talking with his campaign manager and running mate for the last hour but he should have been out by now. I looked over to see Sammy sound asleep. Within the next half hour or so we would know if we were now the First Family or not and the last thing I wanted was for Sammy to look grumpy and sleepy in the photos with dad. I only hoped his vest and pants weren't too wrinkled.

My own outfit didn't seem too 'presidential,' but I'm only the daughter; it was my mother that had to look diplomatic next to my father. Though he had been campaigning for some time now, I still wasn't used to this life. Before, I would make special appearances as a senator's daughter but now I was expected to the look the part no matter where I went. The cardigan I was wearing was the one I had worn for the only job interview that I had ever had and that was for Burger King; a job my mother made me quit when our parents told us that dad was going to run for president.

"Hey, hey," I rubbed his shoulder and watched as his eyes opened slightly. "Wake up, sleepy head."

Sammy brought his balled up fists to his eyes and rubbed them gently, "Did daddy win?"

I smiled, "Not yet but it's time to get up. Want a soda?" My mother shot me a glare. "Com'on, mom, it's 11 p.m. and you want him to stay up for at least another hour or two. Let him have it." My mother relented and I pulled Sammy onto his feet.

I remembered there being a row of vending machines down the hall and I had enough pocket change to get us both a snack. As we neared the corner Beryl, my father's assistant since forever, came into view, "Serena, where do you think you two are going?"

"Mom said we could get a soda."

Beryl's eyes widened, "Out there? Serena, your family is just a handful of votes away from being one of the biggest military targets in the world. You have to accept that your life might be changing drastically in just an hour."

I resisted rolling my eyes. "Mom said we might know sooner. We just need a snack, Beryl. It's late and we're tired."

Beryl thought for a moment and nodded, "I'll have something brought to the staging area. And sometimes things happen. Who knows, we could be here all night."

I felt Sammy tug on my cardigan, "All night?" I shook my head and then looked back to the tall red head.

"Alright, but Sammy only likes MUG root beer or 7—."

"Or 7UP, I know Serena." Sammy is at that age where he knows exactly what he wants and when he wants it. He's not too picky or rude, he just has preferences; like dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. "Now, run along."

I hate it when adults say 'run along.' I'm eighteen, I wanted to remind her.

I had just turned in the applications for my top three choices for college and one of them already sent back my acceptance. Of course that one was Georgetown University in D.C. and I knew my mother wanted me to choose them so that I would be close. I didn't see the point in choosing a college just because it was close to home… well, a home I couldn't even call ours yet.

When we returned to the staging area I found that my dad had returned. "Hey, Cherry Berry," he said enveloping me in a shaky hug. I've never seen him so nervous. "Truck Man," he tousled Sammy's blond hair with a pat on the head. My parents have been calling my little brother 'truck man' since he was a three-year-old with an affinity for Tonka trucks. One year the cake we ordered was incorrectly decorated or maybe we picked up the wrong one; it read 'happy birthday' with a few rainbow daises on the top. I had already given Sammy his new toy truck from me and he smashed it in the cake to help 'clean up the dandelions.'

"What's the word?" I asked as Beryl returned with two 7UPs and two of those Little Debbie pumpkin snacks.

"Still waiting on Cali, Nev, Org…" my father trailed off. My mother's eyes stayed glued to the television as she clutched her pearl necklace.

"Kenneth, if you're going to be the president you have to say the full names." My mother had turned quite anal lately about the 'dos and don'ts of a United States President' and if her imaginary chart had anything to say about it, my father was certainly not the perfect fit.

I opened Sammy's soda and downed my own. "Be careful, Sam. Don't get anything on your nice clothes." We only got halfway through our snacks before my father's campaign manager appeared.

"Who gave these children food?" he snapped. Damon was a thirty-eight-year-old man intent on getting my father the presidency. I wondered at times if it was because he believed in my father or perhaps he just wanted the acknowledgement that he was the campaign manager that helped President Kenneth Kelly to the Oval Office. Wow, that almost sounds weird. I guess my father was also using the white-haired hipster-dressing man for the young votes, seeing as my father still calls his profile page 'The Facebook.'

"They were hungry, Damon," Beryl defended. Though she herself could be annoying, I was glad that after this was all over Damon would no longer be around. Unless dad loses and tries again in four years.

It was the first time I had had that thought since the primaries; do I want dad to win? If people could read my mind, they'd probably think I'm a rude and selfish brat who doesn't care about her family, especially my father. On the contrary, I love my father very much. It's because of that that I worried about him winning.

As soon as we won our party's nomination my father started getting death threats. It hard to tell how many of them were just angry people riled up by the cultural divide and how many were severe promises. I never got to hear the details of them unless they were listed on the news, but the Secret Service agents assured my family that we were well protected.

I was informed by Beryl that if we won in November we would see more Secret Service agents in our lives. My mother, brother and I would each have a personal agent while my father would have three to himself and they would follow us pretty much anywhere outside of the White House. Of course, there would always be more around at events and definitely throughout the White House but Beryl said that we would basically befriend the agent assigned to us. I wasn't too excited to have someone always looking over my shoulder, snooping in my drawers and waiting by every door. I hope they give me a female agent.

"Bertie," my mother gushed as the woman walked into the waiting area. Bertie Diann was my father's running mate; a woman only seven years older than him but with white hair like a grandmother. Her husband, Artemis "Arty" Diann, was also becoming somewhat of an embarrassing grandfather-type to Sam and me with his magic tricks and dorky jokes.

I remember seeing the first roadside signs with their names together, "Kelly & Diann, Making the future of America today." It was such a simple slogan but the supporters loved it nonetheless.

"Artemis is just so worried... I don't know what to do with him," Bertie looked over at her husband with restful eyes. I loved how Bertie held a powerful stance on fashion. She wore a silk or chiffon scarf every day and they always seemed to be different. Seeing her made me want to rifle through her wardrobe.

Her long white hair was always in a bun and I never saw it down, but I wanted to. My brother spoke up, "Miss Bertie, when will you and daddy win?"

Bertie walked over to us and sat down, "Well, we don't know yet if we'll win, sweetie, but the answer should be here soon."

"Oh, you'll win, alright," Arty spoke up. "Hey, Sam, wanna see what I can find in your ear?"

Bertie tried to stop her husband but Sam was too excited and jumped at the chance to see what Arty could pull out of his ear this time. Sam leaned over the other sofa as Arty reached towards him pulling a hand back before revealing two pink Starbursts. "That's my favorite!" Sam yelled before Damon glared at him for making so much noise. "Sorry, Mr. Demon."

I almost spit out my soda.

"Sammy!" my mother rushed over to him, "That is Mr. Damon. Day-Mon not Dee-Mon. Now, apologize, young man."

Everyone was too busy with the current situation to notice that the news anchor was now talking about the results being in from the last few states. "Shh!" I pointed to the television set trying to get everyone's attention. "Hello? The results!"

Damon unmuted the speakers and we all held our breath as the newswoman began—

"And from Nevada the first count shows a win by Senator Kelly."

A few more states were announced and although we won two more, Senator Anne Granger won another three. We were so close to getting the 270 and everyone wanted to celebrate but if Granger snagged California the race would be over and she would win. Sure, we had won Ohio, but that's not a 100% guarantee. I can't believe how close this election is.

"We've just received the results from the state of California which…" the newscaster had a slight momentary paused. I wasn't sure if it was just me who noticed it but the look on her face read that she must have realized that she was getting to announce the next projected United States president; being that the vote wouldn't be finalized till December. "California has been won by Senator Kelly. The votes are in and the results currently show Senator Kenneth T. Kelly of Delaware as the next President of the United States of America."

The television turned black with a single click and Damon was in front of us, "Alright, First Family, you're up," he announced proudly. My heart started beating out of my chest. Oh my God.

Arty nudged me with an outstretched hand, "Everything changes now, milady." I nodded hesitantly and let him help me up. Arty leaned in and brushed my long hair off my shoulder, "You'll do just fine; just be sure your brother stands still for the photos."

I smiled back at him as I readied my game face from my soccer days. "Com'on, Sammy," I said, reaching for his hand. He still had the Starbursts wrappers crunched inside and I moved them to his pocket. Damon lined us up and I watched my mother standing proudly with my father who no longer looked like a nervous wreck. Bertie was as cool as ever and Arty wrapped her arm through his. This is it, I thought as Damon cued the announcer.

"Presenting your President-Elect, Kenneth Kelly and Vice President-Elect Bertie Diann!"

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheering as we filed out to the center stage; dad and mom in front, Sam and I behind them, and Bertie and Arty behind us. In our pairs, we each held hands and with our free hands we waved at the booming crowd.

Red, white and blue balloons and confetti littered the open air and my sight was additionally blinded by the slew of camera flashes. Some people were chanting "Kelly" while a few others piped in with "Diann" but an overwhelming "USA" sounded over the others and it made the entire scene invigorating. I smiled like I had never smiled before and beamed at the sight. Sammy held my hand tight and did a great job of looking 'cute' as Damon always said he was best at doing for dad's campaign.

I didn't realize just how noisy the grand hall had become from the celebrations until all the blood ran from my body and I threw myself down to the ground covering Sammy entirely.

A gunshot had erupted throughout the room and everyone was ducking for cover. Screams now replaced the previous chants and it was almost deafening. Dad, mom, Bertie and Arty were all crouched down on the ground as Secret Service surrounded us in a circle. Two agents pulled on my arms but my initial reaction was to fight it.

"Miss Kelly, we have to go," a male voice recited. I looked up and everything seemed to be in a dizzying fog. "Miss Kelly," the man said again as he pulled on my forearms.

I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew we were backstage again with a man physically checking my father for wounds. No…

"When is the car getting here," one of the agents asked.

"As soon as Control confirms there is a clear path it will be brought up to the side entrance," another stated.

"Did they find the shooter?" their questions trailed through my mind as I tried to wrap my head around the last ten or so minutes.

I looked to Sammy who was paler than I felt. "Sammy," I whispered, holding his face in my hands. "Are you alright? Sammy?"

"Did they shoot daddy?" he asked shakily. I quickly looked to the left to see my father consoling my mother. Dad nodded to me as he brought mom to us.

"No, Truck Man, daddy's alright."

The rest of the night, and leading up through the morning, was the most stressful night of my existence thus far. We weren't allowed to go to the hotel room that we were booked for anymore. All of my stuff was sitting either in the drawer or my suitcase and I mildly wondered when I would get my things back. That doesn't matter now.

The agents wouldn't say where we were going just that it was a safe house. It was late when we arrived and I looked at the simple little building thinking about how regular the place looked. Is this really safer?

I remember the sound of my mother crying and my father talking with Beryl about updates on the situation. Sammy and I had to share a bed, nothing that we weren't already used to from previous hotel stays, and he tried hard to stay awake but luckily his body gave out around 3 a.m.

That left me there holding him with a suited man sitting stoicly in the chair beside the bed. His right hand was out of view but it was bent at an angle leaving me to believe it was resting on a gun.

This is my life now.