Begrudgingly, she lets him wrap his arms around her. He thinks he's comforting her over the loss of David. He's unaware that she's the one that's finally turned the game of manipulation back on him. His touch against her feels flaccid and forceless. She wrinkles her nose, glad he can't see her face. In this moment, this man, this powerful man, this leader of the country - feels petite and small and so unsteady. When she pushes herself against him, she feels him waver slightly. His chest and waist feel narrow pressed against her. She pulls herself away, relieved to be free of his unsteady embrace, if only for a moment.

He's solid. The first time she allows herself to hold him, and be held, she's mindful that this will be different, but this strength is unexpected. He feels sturdy, and she pushes herself into him, hard, knowing he can support her. Aaron is broad shoulders; he's strong hands, firm palms flat on her back. He is arms, muscles and sinew and robust power. He is secure and he is rooted; yet he yields to her embrace in this fusion of strength and softness. Yes, there is the usual nods to middle age, a softer belly pressed against her own; but that's nothing to her. In this moment she is consumed with how it feels to be held by someone who is so solidly unshakable.

He's kissing her now, his mouth on hers awkward and blundering. As his lips land on the side of her neck, Martha's mouth narrows into a hard line. She's trying to drag this out for the good of the country, while simultaneously fighting her urge to hurry through so she can be free of him. He whispers into her ear.

"I need you Martha. I need you." He pushes his hips into hers, grinding himself into her. "Feel that, Martha. Do you feel how much I need you?" He's insistent, almost like an inexperienced teenage boy. She fakes a moan as she palms him through his pants. "Make love to me Marty," he mumbles into her ear. "I need this after today."

She's not sure who initiates it; but they're kissing now; and it's slow and tentative but somehow certain. His hand's in her hair, his kisses moving from her mouth to her neck. She shivers and she can feel him smile, as he whispers into her ear.

"So beautiful, Martha." The feel of his warm breath in her ear makes her heart speed up, and she tries to calm herself, breathing in. "Let me," he murmurs, his hand seeking hers out. She meets his gaze as she pulls back, her eyes questioning. "Let me," he repeats, leading her over to the bed.

It's been years since she can even remember truly wanting him; but tonight it's much past that. This is the finale to their relationship. He doesn't know it, but this is their last chapter.

When he presses himself against her now, it's all she can do to hold back a shudder. She feels a clammy sweat break out across her, but forces herself on. The smell of his too-strong cologne burns her nostrils, and she can't imagine a time where she enjoyed his scent. His kisses feel dry and his tongue in her mouth feels clumsy and out of sync. Martha squeezes her eyes shuts and lets her mind take her away; a skill she's perfected over the years. She can barely feel him this way, can't feel his touch through this dulling of her own doing. She tries not to show the disgust on her face. This man once manipulated her into thinking he was her everything. Never again.

It's the sharpness of it that surprises her the most. It's almost as though she's hyper aware; her senses on overdrive when she's with him. Every touch in that moment making her whole body tremble – a hand sliding down her side enough to make her gasp. The feel of him, hot against her; skin on skin, tongue chasing it's way down her body, she can feel it all and it's magnified a thousand times and it's just on the verge of too much, yet she can hear herself begging him not to stop. The smell of him and of them together – it's a deluge and it's addicting to her; she'd wrap herself up in the very essence of them if she could. She forces herself to keep her eyes open; fighting the urge to shut them tight and run back to a place where feelings are dulled and flat. She meets his eyes before he lowers his mouth to her and she almost cries out from the look he gives her; it's every emotion they've shared in his gaze and it takes her breath away.

It's inundating all of her senses at and her heart is in her throat and they've barely even started it.

She feels blank; so purposefully detached when it's over. She knows if she allows herself to feel anything right now, she will be consumed with her fear and her anger; so she chooses numbness over the pain. He pushes himself up, heading over to the chair he'd placed his clothes on. As he dresses himself, she can hear him talk about making love and her and them; she has to duck her face to hide her sneer. She rolls over, heading over to dress herself. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. A few more minutes and this is done. He comes up behind her, zipping up the dress and kissing the back of her neck. Martha can feel the bile rise up, her stomach churning as she tries not to break. She composes herself; forcefully willing herself through these last moments.

This is almost finished. She can do this.

She can't say she's ever seen him grin before. The limitations of their relationship; the properness required of him; all that had restrained him before. They'd shared smiles of course, but this – this was entirely different.

They're wrapped up in the bed sheets, and each other; limbs entwined as they lay on their sides. Their heads are pressed together as they lay sated and happy when she sees it for the first time. It can only be described as a grin; no other word can capture the way the smile spreads across his face, his mouth, and his eyes. It's an involuntary action, when she mirrors it back to him, reflecting how truly she content she feels right now.

This is safe, this is home. This is the beginning.