At 5:54:43, Logan's valet is zipping up the Presidential garment bag as The Man Himself -- in a fresh shirt and tie -- is complaining to the long-absent Exposition Call Center in Bangalore: "Yes, I agree, Wayne Palmer should be at the airfield, but if we can't find him, I'm not going to wait for him." That's fine; Wayne's probably still rifling his way through Buchanan's prodigious stash of cufflinks, neckties, and Japanese pornography. In any case, we won't be seeing him again this season. Logan notices that his wife is hovering in the doorway, and he gestures for the valet to leave the room as he instructs the Call Center to have a copy of his speech on the helicopter for him to go over on the way. Would that be the speech that Novick dashed off in between conspiring to overthrow the President? Should be a good one. Logan hangs up and tells his wife, "I'll be out of your way in a second." FLOTUS brings up Logan's plan to meet Palmer's casket at the airfield, and he starts getting defensive. But she says she's there to apologize. She lays it on thick, begging for forgiveness. Logan's thrown by her contrition, and guarded: "By tomorrow, I could be the man you hate again." FLOTUS says that even though she doesn't always understand him, but she needs him and loves him, and that won't change. "Not tomorrow, not ever." His voice cracking with emotion, Logan returns the sentiment.
Logan sits down next to her on the bed, too skittish to touch her yet. "Fly with me to Washington," he whispers, brushing away a tear on her cheek. FLOTUS says she'd much rather stick around Not Camp David for a while. Logan protests that he has to go five minutes ago. So she grabs him by the tie and pulls him in for a kiss. It's quite a performance, if only for the fact that she's able to refrain from throwing up in his mouth. And then she releases him and sits back, smiling, telling him to go. But her smug/seductive expression says, You and I both know you're not going anywhere now. Logan picks up on it, and invites her along to the airfield. She says she has a better idea, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "There's a helicopter waiting for me," Logan "protests," giddily. FLOTUS tells him to let it wait. Logan says he can't. "Yes, you can," FLOTUS reminds him. "You're the President." Well, for another hour or so. But Logan doesn't know that, so he smiles, kisses her again, and goes to the phone. I refuse to check for "tenting." "Tell the helicopter to stand by," he tells the phone. "Until I'm ready," he adds, a bit snappishly. "And make sure I'm not disturbed." As he speaks, he's standing behind FLOTUS, rubbing her shoulders, so he can't see the progression of emotions across her face: first grim satisfaction at having achieved her mission, then grim dread about what she's going to have to do to follow through.