[OLD CABINET ROOM – PRE-DAWN]
A sliver of winter light cuts across the long table, still littered with half-drunk waters and a single abandoned binder. It’s the hour when power feels fragile.

J. VIVIAN DANCE enters alone. Eyes tired but sharp. He closes the door quietly behind him.

At the far end of the table:
MILES SPENT, posture immaculate, Bible half-hidden under a stack of policy notes like it’s contraband.

They haven’t seen each other in years.

DANCE (smiling, wry):
Didn’t know you were a morning person.

SPENT:
I’m a former Vice President. Sleep and I haven’t spoken in a decade.

Dance laughs — the first genuine laugh we’ve seen from him since Strike’s death. It surprises him.
Spent softens, sensing it.

DANCE:
Miles… I didn’t call you here for optics. I need your advice.

Spent opens his hands — surprising humility in the gesture.

SPENT:
On faith? Or on how to survive the machine you inherited?

DANCE:
At this point, I’m assuming they’ve been co-parenting me all year.

Spent tries to hide his smile. Fails.

They sit.
No staff. 
No note-takers.
Two men stripped of handlers and personas.

A beat of silence — warm, not awkward.

SPENT:
Vivian, I’ll be honest.
I spent four years being… how did Strike put it?
(dry, quoting)
“A decorative liability.”

DANCE (laughs):
He said the same damn thing about me.
Except he used the word “puppet.”

The line lands — hard and true.

For a moment, they aren’t politicians.
Just two men who were used by the same ghost.

SPENT:
You know… if he could see us sitting here, talking like this…

DANCE:
He’d call it betrayal.

SPENT:
Or worse — compromise.

[FADE OUT]

NARRATOR/LUNDY (V-O):
Did you notice their eyes meet?
There’s the bond. 
Not ideology. Not strategy.
Shared emotional experience.
The thing that makes male friendships form instantly and quietly,
without ceremony.

President Dance rises, ready to end the surprise summit.
At the door, he hesitates, hand on the knob.

Turns back.

DANCE:
You know… Washington’s rumor mill is starving.
If we’re not careful, someone will claim Ronald Strike’s two VPs are forming their own ticket.

Spent blinks once.
Then:

SPENT (dry, perfectly timed):
I don’t think America could handle that much decency at once.

DANCE:
Oh, they’d riot.

SPENT:
Cities would shut down.

DANCE:
Memes everywhere.

SPENT:
We’d be accused of witchcraft.

DANCE:
(beat)
We should trademark it.

That does it —
They both burst into full, unexpected laughter.

Not political laughter. Human laughter.
Men who needed to laugh.

Dance steps forward. Spent steps in.

They hug.
A real, unscripted hug.

Not staged.
Not leaked.
Not for cameras.

SPENT:
(smiling into his shoulder)
Imagine the headlines.

DANCE:
No one would believe it.

[FADE OUT]

[WEST WING – HALLWAY – LATER THAT MORNING]

Dance walks with KIM HARKER, his deputy chief of staff — brilliant, nervous, a chronic over-sharer.

HARKER:
So… how’d the meeting go?

Dance waves it off like it’s nothing.

DANCE:
It was good. Real good.
We even joked about a… hah… a Dance-Spent ticket.

Harker freezes mid-step.

HARKER:
You— you WHAT?

DANCE:
Relax. It was a joke.

Harker is already texting someone.

Cut to— [BASEMENT BULLPEN -- 8 MINUTES LATER]

A 22-year-old intern reads the Harker text. Smiles.
Opens X (formerly Twitter).
Posts anonymously:

“If you don’t think Dance-Spent would be the funniest 2028 ticket ever,
I can’t help you.”

75 likes in one minute.
Then 300.
Then 4,000.
Then trending.

“DANCE-SPENT” hit #6 globally in under three hours.

MAGA meltdown videos begin instantly.
Moderates swoon.
Boomers write Facebook novels about unity.
Late-night hosts sharpen monologues.

Cut back to -- [WEST WING]

Harker bursts into Dance’s office:

HARKER:
Sir… it’s not a joke anymore.

She shows him her phone.

Dance stares at the trending topic. Hands slowly rise to his forehead.

DANCE:
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Harker laughs hysterically —
the kind of laugh you make when your career is now a roller coaster.

* * * * *

[OFFICE TOWER – CHARLESTON, S.C. – SUNSET]
Camera glides over a gleaming skyscraper lobby. Gold “MNM” logos everywhere.
Faint holiday music. Corporate-polished Americana.

SENATOR MARJORIE NICOLE MACY (MNM) stands in front of a donor roundtable — poised, elegant, calculating.
The Macy-family heiress. Flag-pin, perfect posture, voice of velvet steel.

She gestures to a slide titled:
“THE CENTER IS NOT DEAD.”

MNM:
We can’t win 2028 screaming at ghosts.
We win by bringing back the adults.

Donors nod. She smiles politely but firmly.

MNM:
Vivian Dance may be likable.
But this country doesn’t need a friend.
It needs a professional.

Her advisor whispers:
“Dance-Spent is polling insane numbers.”

She takes a breath, readjusts her blazer.

MNM:
Good. Let the boys have their moment.
A serious candidate always outlasts a trend.

She steps out onto the street. Lights flash. Cameras surround her.

REPORTER:
Ms. Macy — thoughts on Dance reaching across the aisle?

Macy smiles into the mics, crisp:

MNM:
I believe in unity.
I also believe in standards.

Flashbulbs pop.

[FADE OUT]

[WEST WING – COMMUNICATIONS STRATEGY ROOM – AFTERNOON]
A rapid-fire crisis meeting. Screens everywhere. “DANCE-SPENT” trending.
Cable news chyrons shouting variations of UNITY TICKET?!

Press Secretary Ruthie Galarza storms in, half-dressed, still eating almonds out of a cup.

RUTHIE:
Why am I being woken up by a meme?

HARKER:
It’s not a meme.
It’s a phenomenon.

Policy advisors argue:

“Kill it.”
“Lean into it.”
“Ignore it.”
“Try humor.”
“Try solemnity.”
“Try prayer.”

Dance enters, sees the screens, mutters:

DANCE:
…what fresh hell did Twitter birth this time?

RUTHIE:
Sir, you hugged the man.

DANCE:
It was a human moment!

RUTHIE:
Human moments trend, sir.

A digital strategist (25, caffeinated, terrified) slides over a tablet.

STRATEGIST:
Sir… the numbers are…
I don’t know how else to say it…
people love this.

Dance raises an eyebrow.

STRATEGIST:
They love the idea of two normal, non-insane men joining forces.
Even suburban moms are posting TikToks about it.

DANCE:
(realizing the absurdity)
So the country is responding… to a joke we made in private?

STRATEGIST:
America’s exhausted, sir.
They just want two dads who get along.

Dance stares.
Spent stares (he joined mid-scene silently, unnoticed).

SPENT (softly):
I never thought kindness would poll well.

Everybody jumps — they didn’t see him enter.

* * * * * 

[WHITE HOUSE SITROOM – LATER]
Screens everywhere with fresh, shocking poll data:

• Dance approval +6 overnight

• Macy support down -3 among independents

• Moderates +11

• The “Stability Index” hits a record high

A stunned silence.

DATA ANALYST:
Sir…
this is bigger than a meme.
This is a movement.

SPENT (whispers, stunned):
Millions of people… want us together?

DANCE:
No, Miles…
they want a future that doesn’t terrify them.

Spent sits slowly, overwhelmed.

SPENT:
I spent four years being a ghost in my own administration.
I didn’t think America noticed me.

DANCE:
They noticed your decency.
They just didn’t know how much they missed it.

Spent puts a hand over his mouth — emotion flickering through.

But then—

A sequence of extreme-MAGA broadcasts, podcasts, livestreams, and parking-lot rants.

A furious preacher:
“THEY HAVE UNITED AGAINST GOD!”

A bearded ranter in a truck:
“Dance AND Spent? That’s like ordering tofu AND decaf!”

A MAGA mom:
“Spent betrayed Strike ONCE.
Dance betrayed him TWICE.
Now they betray AMERICA.”

Cut to -- [ABANDONED MALL PARKING LOT – ALABAMA – NIGHT]

SILAS GABLE, ex–militia spokesman, is a rugged, intense man in his early-40s, wearing a dark T-shirt, scruffy beard, sharp angry eyes, standing on a makeshift rally stage in an abandoned parking lot lit by bonfires. Pickup trucks form a ring. Barrels burn.

A GOP presidential candidate, Gable’s followers include: 

• Proud Boys knock-offs

• Anti-vaxxers

• Doomsday Christians

• Black-flag wavers

• Loyalists of the late-Ronald Strike

SILAS GABLE:
Dance joined forces with a traitor!
Macy betrayed us YEARS ago!
Redden? … Fairbanks? … Socialist stooges!

Crowd roars like a beast.

GABLE:
America needs a man who fears NONE of them.
Not a puppet.
Not a prince.
Not a PEACEMAKER.

He slams a fist on the podium.

GABLE:
If you want chaos — elect the cowards.
If you want WAR — elect ME.

Fans scream, horns blare, bonfires flare.

GABLE:
If the elites want Dance-Spent…
then patriots want the OPPOSITE.

His followers erupt. 

A dark sub-thread emerges:
#BurnTheTicket

Gable raises a black flag.

GABLE:
THE REPUBLIC WILL BE REBORN IN FEAR!

Cut to a single camera livestream.
20,000 viewers.
Climbing.

[FADE OUT]

[WHITE HOUSE PRIVATE RESIDENCE – NIGHT]
President Dance sits alone on the Truman Balcony.
Phone buzzes.

Caller ID: MILES SPENT

He answers.

SPENT (V-O):
Vivian…
do you… regret our meeting?

Dance lets the silence settle.

The night breeze moves the curtains.
Washington hums like a distant machine.

DANCE:
Miles…
it actually reminded me I’m still a human being.
I don’t regret that.

Spent exhales a shaky breath — the perfect, subtle “man trying not to sound deeply moved” sound.

SPENT (V-O):
I don’t either.

A quiet beat.

SPENT (V-O):
So what do we do now?

DANCE:
…we don’t make any decisions right away.

SPENT (V-O):
Okay.

DANCE:
But let’s be honest…
we’re not the ones driving this anymore.

Spent chuckles softly.

SPENT (V-O):
America grounded us… and now America’s steering.

Dance smiles into the night.

DANCE:
Let’s hope they know where they’re going.

[FADE OUT]

[RALLY BARN – IOWA – NIGHT]

Louisiana Senator Marjorie Nicole Macy stands on a hay-bale stage in front of a sweating, furious crowd.

The lighting vibrates like a rock concert.
Confederate flags just slightly off-screen.
Merch table selling “PATRIOT HERITAGE!” swag.

Macy holds a megaphone despite having a microphone.
It’s the vibe.

MACY:
They think Dance and Spent can FIX America?
They can’t even FIX A DOOR HANDLE BETWEEN THEM!

Crowd roars.
She slams the megaphone on the podium theatrically.

MACY:
I will NOT let TWO MEN OF WEAKNESS
pretend they are MEN OF STRENGTH!

Close on her eyes — spark of unhinged charisma.

MACY:
A Dance-Spent ticket?
Over my dead patriot body.

Her followers ERUPT.

Someone in the crowd screams:
WE’LL BURN THE TICKET!

The chant rises, primal:

“BURN THE TICKET!
BURN THE TICKET!”

Macy smiles slowly.
She didn’t start this fire.

But she loves watching it burn.

[VENN’S COMMAND ROOM – INTERCUT WITH GLOBAL DATA FEEDS]

Dim lighting. Glass screens. Maps glowing with sentiment analysis.
A hive of analysts typing quietly like monks.

Nicolai Venn sits in front of a panoramic screen showing:

Debate topics; Trending hashtags; Emotion-intensity meters;
Localized rage maps.

He notices something:

• Marjorie Nicole Macy’s rage wave rising.

• J.V. Dance-Spent gaining moderates.

• Fairbanks gaining the donor class.

• Graham Sinclear gaining independents.

A balanced chaos.
Exactly what he engineered.

Venn murmurs to himself, almost serene:

VENN:
Perfect.
Everyone thinks they’re winning.

He turns to his chief data analyst:

VENN:
Boost the Macy clips another eight percent.
Not enough to help her win —
just enough to make Dance uncomfortable.

ANALYST:
And the Dance-Spent memes?

VENN:
Let them run wild.
Hope is a destabilizer.

Venn sips tea like a man watching his garden grow.

[WEST WING – ROOSEVELT ROOM – 11:52 PM]

Dance, Spent, Harker, Ruthie, and three top strategists sit around a glowing table.

The screens show a horrifying split:

• The country loves Dance-Spent

• The extremists hate it

• The middle is waking up

• The Dems are imploding

• The GOP is fracturing

• The world tilts.

STRATEGIST #1:
Sir…
if this continues…
this might not be a joke anymore.

SPENT (under his breath):
Lord help us.

Dance rubs his temples.

DANCE:
We do nothing tonight.
We make no statement.
We lean into authenticity — and silence.

RUTHIE:
That’s… risky.

DANCE:
Everything is risky.
But forced messages smell forced.
We’ll let America talk.
Tomorrow… we’ll listen.

Spent nods.
The first time he’s felt useful in years.

* * * * *

President J Vivian Dance walks alone down the dark West Wing hallway. 
An aide scrambles past him, phone in hand:

AIDE:
Sir — the debate schedule is finalized!
You’re opening the first one!

Dance freezes.

The first debate is imminent.
The world is watching.
The country is shifting beneath him.

He whispers to himself:

DANCE:
God help us all.

[FADE OUT]
[END OF EPISODE 5]

Senator Marjorie Nicole Macy