January 2001

"I, George W. Bush, do solemnly swear..."

"Do we have to watch this?" Zac was tapping his heel anxiously as he leaned uncomfortably far forward on the sofa. lThe inauguration was on every channel - even here in the HanCave.

"You really don't appreciate history, you know that?" Taylor jibed, returning his attention to the waffle iron. In his experience, the best waffles were the ones that came out about a minute before the thing started beeping. Not doughy, but not burnt. Perfection. "He's already like half-done."

"...and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect..."

"You know, without us, that guy would be a pile of ash right now." Zac shook his head. "It's just not right."

"...of the United States." A cheer went up from the Washington crowd. Zac leaned forward and flicked off the TV - maybe for the last time.

"Don't think about it," Taylor suggested. "Think about the new album. Think about the tour."

"Now who doesn't appreciate history!? Isn't that a little selfish??"

"Think," Taylor added, "About the chicks."

"Chicks are good."

"Chicks are good."

"And have a waffle."

They ate in silence. The last four years had been better than anyone their age should reasonably hope for, and rarely did they complain. Sometimes the pressure got to them - knowing that at any time they could be summoned from the HanCave and have to deal with God knows what. But they took every mission in stride, and the good they did was its own reward...

...which is not to say they turned down the generous government stipend, regular donations to their favorite charities, and unlimited credit at Musician's Friend.

What's more they had written many songs between missions, and the next album would surely be the best by far.

The HanCave wasn't a cave, but rather a massive basement apartment in Arlington, Virginia. It had everything a base of operations needed. Bedrooms, a well-stocked kitchen, a recording studio, and a generous cache of weaponry that would make any third-world intelligence agency cringe with envy. Isaac loved the armory. He was down there taking inventory right now.

"Wow," Zac looked up, "he finished the oath of office like ten minutes ago already. Maybe we won't..."

But there would be no maybe. Taylor and Zac were bathed in blue and red as the enormous Hanson symbol set into the ceiling flashed for their attention.

"...that thing is so lame," he finished meekly.

"You're the one who didn't want a doorbell. We'd better get to the car." The middle Hanson slid his plate down the stainless-steel bar. It landed in the sink and the automated dishwasher's conveyer pulled it lazily out of sight.

"Can I drive?" charged by the prospect of semi-legal driving, Zac momentarily forgot about the depressing meeting he knew lay ahead.

"You can start it."

"Sweet. Last one there's a backstreet boy."

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"Good evening my fellow Americans. I am proud to address you all, for the first time today, maybe even the first time ever, as our President." Bush smiled wide and nodded.

It felt good, but it didn't sound quite right.

"Hello America. I'm George W. Bush. And I'm the President."

That didn't sound much worse, but it didn't sound much better either. Bush scratched his temple lazily. It's true what everyone said - this was a nice office.

"Everybody who's President," he chuckled, "raise your hand." His left arm shot straight up. He KNEW he'd never get away with that one on camera. Still, he had to say SOMETHING to the country.

"Mister President, Sir?" squawked one of the black boxes on his desk. Bush lowered his arm quickly and looked over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

There was silence. He waited a moment, for the box to say more. It said nothing.

"Greetings, America. Sometimes we elect a President. This time it was me. I'm your George W. Bush."

"Sir?" The box said again.

"What?! I'm a very busy man!"

The box sat in disrespectful silence.

"Myyyyy America has a first name, it's U-N-I-T-E-D."

"Myyyyy America has a first name, it's U-N-I-T-E-D. My America has a second name, it's S-T-A-T-E-S. Hey America. Remember the commercials that had that catchy song? I sure do. I'm the President."

"Sir you have to push the red button." Bush let out an exasperated sigh and slammed his hand down on the desk. There did appear to be a box with a red button. He pressed it carefully.

"What is it?"

"There are some kids here to see you." Success! He pressed the button again.

"Some what?"

The door to the oval office swooshed open and Zac Hanson breezed into the room.

"Hey boss. She says there are some kids here to see you." Apparently unashamed, the boy made a beeline for the jar of sourballs on one of the many ornate tables spread around the room. Five seconds later, two secret service agents ran in, sweaty and confused. "Sorry guys. I guess I win. Myyyyy America has a first name..."

The boy was wearing a black wind-suit with some kind of symbol on the lapel. His hair was shiny and tied back in a long ponytail. Bush wondered if he could get a wind-suit like that.

"Listen kid..." one of the agents began.

"It's alright - he's with us." Two more be-wind-suited boys entered at a more leisurely pace. "You know how much he likes screwing around with you guys."

'This is getting interesting,' Bush thought 'Maybe its a surprise party.'

"...This is highly unorthodox," the agent continued. "You boys are going to have to leave immediately." The longest-haired boy whirled on him and took hold of either arm.

"Boo!" he said.

"Zac! Be serious!" Taylor snapped. These boys looked a lot alike, but Bush was guessing this was the middle one. They were obviously brothers. If there was one thing George knew, it was the importance of knowing who your brothers are.

"Guys? This is the President?" The last one to speak was a beanpole of American youth with a chiseled features and scruffy locks. "Hello mister President. I'm Isaac..."

"...I'm Taylor..." The Middle boy.

"...and I'm Zac." Bush's eyes went from one boy to the next, finally settling on Zac's hand, which had removed itself from the senior Secret Service agent's sleeve and was in presidential sourballs.

"And we're Hanson." They said in unison. Of course! Bush might have known. They even talked in harmony.

"Of course you are! Agent Gilmore, unhand that young man at once."

"But sir, I'm not going to-"

"Chop chop. And get our dinner ready." Dejected, the secret service agents turned and left.

"Make yourselves at home boys. We need to have a little talk. I've heard a lot of good things about you in the briefings."

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

The path from the oval office to the white-house kitchen was long, and one both agents had walked many times before.

"I can't believe he got your name wrong," Agent Marcus laughed. "Did he even say what he wanted to eat?"

"No," the other man growled. "And it probably isn't as easy as peanut butter and banana anymore. The name thing doesn't bother me. It's just that those kids..."

"...aren't going to be coming in here and messing with our security any more after today." Marcus finished for him.

"I hope you're right. I really do. What do you think he wants?"

"He's from Texas, right? Can't go wrong with steak."

"Yeah. Can't go wrong with steak."

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"So you see boys, while your service has been infantastically valuable to this country, the old er... um..."

"Strategery?" Zac suggested.

"Yeah that's it," Bush smiled. "Thank you young man. The old strategery just won't cut it anymore. Our plan is one of..."

Zac chortled, and Isaac kicked him in the ankle. Bush had been talking for several minutes now, and it was obvious where this was going.

"...compassionate conservatism. International terrorists will tremble at my plan of faith-based initiatives, which will lead to..."

Taylor thought of the first time he had ever been in this office.

Taylor thought of the first time he had ever been in this office. They had set up the Rhodes, Zac's four-piece kit, and Isaac had gone acoustic. It was a four-song set off of Middle of Nowhere, and they had killed. The whole cabinet had enjoyed it.

"...the conclusion of Operation Tulsa Thunder." Bush sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together. It seemed to him that he was forgetting something. "Are there any questions?"

The three boys sat in stone-faced silence.

"Again boys - America thanks you."

Zac raised a hand, tentatively.

"Yes uh... Zac? Am I right? Zac?" Zac nodded. "Yes Zac?"

"What about the HanCave." Taylor rolled his eyes. Admittedly even he had become somewhat attached to their home-away-from-tour-bus-away-from-home, but he knew the President wasn't naïve enough to let them keep it.

"Keep it," Bush said. "With your country's thanks." It still seemed to Bush that there might be something he was forgetting. Perhaps his tie was crooked? He straightened his tie. "Of course officially it will belong to your parents. The paperwork's all been arranged. And you'll need to keep up the whole, 'confidential' thing."

Isaac nodded for the group. Whatever he had forgotten was really nagging at Bush now, and he desperately wanted to remember before the end of this meeting.

"Mister President? Lunch is served." His talking-box said.

"Enough business!" Bush guffawed and rose to his feet. The three Hanson's followed suit. "To the presidential dining room! Sandwiches await. I hope you boys like peanut butter and banana!"

Whatever the 'nagging thought' was - no point fussing on it now.

The rock-sensation / dispenser of worldly justice followed Bush silently out of the room.