Finally… it was over.
A sigh of welcome relief blew through President Graham's lips as he let loose the anxiety that had proliferated throughout his body over the past two weeks. He tried to let all of the memories surrounding Ashley's disappearance go as he rose from the tall-backed, black leather desk chair that crowned the center of his main telecommunications office. Her abduction, the cult behind it all, none of it mattered anymore...
Everything is fine now.
For the past eighteen hours or so he had been sitting in that chair, watching the many holographic screens that lined the office's back wall, communicating back and forth between the multiple agents working on the case, and trying to keep up with the events surrounding Ashley's retrieval. It was tiresome work to be sure, sitting in that stuffy room for the better part of the day wearing a heavy black suit he didn't get the chance to take off, but to see the events unfolding before his eyes, to know everything that was going on for himself, he wouldn't trade it for a weeklong vacation at a Tahitian luxury resort. God knows you needed one too...
Slowly he worked his way to his residential quarters, nursing a headache that was born from a mix of fatigue, anxiety, and prolonged exposure to computer screens. Being the president was infinitely more tolling than he had anticipated. Streaks of grey had already began to highlight his blonde locks, fine lines now traced his eyes, and if he didn't know better, he would say his mental health was slipping as well... goddamn headache.
Presidents really do age faster, don't they?
He could understand why, but the dermatologist would have to wait. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to: press conferences were to be held, a welcome party was to be prepared...
... and a trip to Starbucks was to be arranged. There is now way in hell he could do this all without a massive amount of caffeine.