A/N: Just a quick note to let anyone starting this story with this chapter that its hurricane story line is actually one I introduced back in September, a month before anyone even knew that Hurricane Sandy was on the horizon. I'm mentioning this because I don't want anyone to think I introduced a hurricane into this story as some sort of cheap gimmick. I actually live in the region that was affected, although, thankfully was spared any damage. My heart and prayers go out to the people on the Jersey Shore, Northern New Jersey and New York who have had their lives completely upended by Hurricane Sandy. I hope to God that our next president, whoever he is, will not forget them and use the power of the federal government to help them get their lives back.

Chapter 35: Climax

The storm was worse than anticipated. Hurricane Cindy hit the U.S. eastern seaboard with a vengeance erasing or demolishing much of what lay in its path. North and South Carolina were particularly hard hit but the hurricane also did considerable damage to the Chesapeake Bay area of Virginia and Maryland.

Fitz and Olivia, of course, had gotten out of the path of the storm before it made landfall. Back in D.C., Fitz, along with key members of his staff and cabinet such as the head of Homeland Security, monitored the hurricane's path of destruction from the White House's Situation Room.

In the days after the hurricane was over, Fitz made site visits with the governors to some of the most affected areas. He visited storm shelters, hospitals and toured some communities where there was extensive property damage. Fitz insisted that Olivia accompany him on these site visits, so she took time off from work to travel with him and got a chance to witness firsthand just how well suited Fitzgerald T. Grant III was to be President of the United States. The person she had once let go to "be the man I voted for," had blossomed into exactly that – a beloved leader with a common touch that made people know that he genuinely cared about their fate.

Olivia was so proud of him. But at the end of each day she couldn't shake the nagging guilt she was feeling more and more. These state visits felt more like a goodbye to the presidency tour, which made her feel sad. At least, that's the way Olivia was interpreting it. Fitz, on the other hand, she noticed, was absolutely in the present moment, focused on the here and now and not thinking about the future, his future, their future. He was determined to do everything within his presidential power to restore the affected areas.

Hurricane Cindy's swath of destruction was shocking, tragic and pervasive. But there were some photos that emerged in the media after the hurricane that brightened the mood of the American people and gave them hope. And those were the photos of the POTUS carrying sandbags and boarding up shop windows with plywood.

When it came out in the news that Pres. Grant had traveled down to a tiny hamlet in North Carolina before the hurricane hit and had gotten down in the trenches to help the townspeople prepare for the storm, the media went wild. Here was the playboy prince of a president, a Republican no less, out there getting his hands dirty and being a true leader, a real man of the people.

The photos of Fitz were straight out of central casting for some feel good Hollywood movie. There he was in one shot, his sleeves rolled up, with Ms. Hattie Carter, tears streaming down her face as she hugged him tight as though he were some sort of prodigal son come home. In another picture he looked regal and so damn presidential with military perfect posture, chest out, hands on hips, his superman curls blowing in the wind, as he stood and talked to local officials. Then there were a series of candid photos that had been taken surreptitiously by the North Carolina townspeople and sold to the media. These were photos that catapulted Fitz to certified "Ridiculously Photogenic Presidential Stud" status. Sweat on his brow, the dress shirt gone, he had stripped down to his white Hanes undershirt as he filled sandbags. In several of these photos one could see just how physically fit Pres. Grant was, his upper back and chest muscles rippling through his undershirt while his taut biceps were on full display.

"That's quite a nice set of guns you've got there, Mr. President," said Cyrus admiring the photo on the front page of the Washington Post.

They were in the Oval Office and it had been two weeks since Hurricane Cindy had barreled through North and South Carolina. Fitz rolled his eyes at Cyrus' compliment.

"Cy, we've still got plenty of work to do. Stop being so frivolous," he said.

"It's not me being frivolous, sir. Blame the media. Have you seen the headlines?" Cyrus asked, dropping a stack of other newspapers and magazines on Resolute, the Oval Office desk.

Fitz quickly glanced at them and groaned.

From the New York Post: "Hail to the Hunk-in-Chief"

From the National Enquirer: "President Beefcake"

From People Magazine: "The American President Gets Down and Dirty"

From Men's Fitness: "Shock and Awe! The Presidential Workout: Get Ripped in 30 Days!"

From Essence Magazine: "Meet our FAPOTUS!"

"FAPOTUS? What the hell does that mean?" Fitz asked Cyrus.

"Fine Ass President of the United States," Cy replied smiling.

"You've got to be kidding me. Jesus Christ! This is ridiculous!" Fitz exclaimed, annoyed.

"Ridiculous? No, it's quite the opposite," Cy said. "This, Mr. President, is political gold."

"Cy, for once, just once, could you stop channeling Machiavelli, put aside your political strategist hat and think about the suffering of real human beings? Just once," Fitz said exasperated. "This stuff that the media is focusing on is so trivial. Who the hell cares what my workout routine is? The economic impact of Hurricane Cindy is going to be massive. We're going to have a devil of a time convincing congressional members of my own party to push through a large stimulus bill to get people back on their feet in the affected areas and you want me to sit here and gloat over some cheesy Instagram photos of me filling sandbags!"

Fitz stood up, scooped up all the publications and ceremoniously dumped them in a nearby wastepaper basket.

Cyrus, his head cocked to the side, just looked at Fitz.

"Sir, consider the optics," Cyrus said. "This positive and fawning media coverage is a gift from the political gods. Do you not see what is happening? Do you not see what is going on? The tide is changing. The media backlash that has raked you over the coals these past few months has completely receded and has been replaced with something else…open admiration and affection for you."

"Cy, that's all well and good, and maybe I'll appreciate it a year from now when I'm no longer in office. But for now, while I'm still president, we've got plenty of work left to do and very little time left in which to do it," Fitz said with fierce determination.

"Exactly, sir. Wouldn't it be nice if you had more time as president? Don't you feel like you will be leaving office with plenty of work still undone?"

"Cyrus, we are NOT going to have this conversation," Fitz said firmly. "I've already made my wishes known. I will not run for re-election and that's final. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a country to run."

Cyrus lingered a moment, shook his head in exasperation and then turned and left the Oval Office. As he walked down the hall back to his own office, a little smile crept across his face. He had some political homework to do and he needed to get started right away.

That evening when Fitz got home from the Oval, Olivia could tell something was bothering him. "How'd your day go?" she gently asked.

"Cyrus is stirring up things," Fitz said, taking off his suit jacket. "I hate how he always thinks he knows me better than I know myself."

"What happened?" Olivia asked. She opened the liquor cabinet, took out a tumbler and poured two fingers of Scotch.

"He's trying to put a bug in my ear to run again," Fitz said loosening his tie and plopping down on the couch.

Olivia came and sat beside him. "And what would be wrong with that?" she asked, handing him the glass of Scotch.

Fitz ignored her outstretched hand and looked at her startled. "What?"

"I said, and what would be wrong with you running for re-election?" Olivia calmly repeated her question. She put the glass of Scotch down on the coffee table.

"Liv, we talked about this. We decided that if we were going to be together that I wouldn't seek a second term," Fitz said with a puzzled, questioning look.

"No, actually, we didn't. You decided that and I just went along with it."

"Say what? Huh? Wait a minute. So now you're saying that I unilaterally made this decision, with no thought or consideration of your wishes, to not run for president again?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Olivia replied, scooting over closer to him. She lazily dangled a leg across his thigh. Her delicate signature fragrance of amber and lavender wafted up towards his nose and he could tell she was beginning her classic seduction of him. But he needed to keep a clear head. He gently pushed her leg off his thigh. He didn't want to be seduced. Not now. Olivia looked a little surprised. She leaned forward and picked up the glass of Scotch and tried handing it to him again.

Fitz shook his head no and refused to take it.

"I'm really confused, Olivia. So, what exactly are you saying? You're saying you want me to run for president again?"

"No."

"So then what the hell are you saying? C'mon, Olivia, say what you mean! Stop being so goddamn obtuse!"

"After the Amanda Tanner fiasco, I told you to go be the man I voted for, and now, three years later, you have exceeded the expectations I had for you," Olivia said.

"Well, gee, thanks, Liv. That's mighty white of you," Fitz said sarcastically.

"Fitz!"

"Look, don't you dare patronize me. After everything we've gone through you're telling me now that the future we talked about, that we were planning, isn't what you wanted? Are you kidding me?!"

"This shouldn't be about me. This should be about what's right for you and what's best for this country," The Fixer said calmly.

"Olivia, don't you dare say it," Fitz said, his voice rising in anger. "I can't go through this again with you, and I won't let you…."

She cut him off in mid-sentence: "These past few months I've been very selfish, I know. I'll admit it has been quite the ego boost for me to have you, the President of the United States, so completely and totally smitten with me. And I love you, I really do. And I want to thank you for being so generous with your time and gracious to me."

"Olivia, what are you saying?" Fitz asked, alarmed. "This sounds like you're about to break up with me!"

"Ssssh," she said, putting a finger up to his lips to quiet him. "Let me finish. It's been wonderful being a part of your life full-time and not living in the shadows anymore. But seeing you in action before, during and after Hurricane Cindy, I can see now just how much good you can accomplish as President."

That old fear of Olivia leaving him, abandoning him again, shook his core and tightened his chest with alarm. She was not going to do this to him again. No way. He had to remain calm. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Liv, what exactly are you saying?" Fitz said, a look of consternation clouding his face.

"I'm saying that your country needs you."

"But I need you more," he said softly, pulling her toward him. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed because they had been down this road before, and he was determined to cut it off before it reached its inevitable conclusion, with Olivia deciding on her own, like she always did, to sacrifice her own personal happiness out of some misguided sense of duty or patriotism.

He slid a hand under her grey cashmere sweater and her body quivered as his fingers began to trace gently up her spine. Slowly and sensuously he began to kiss her. Finally, he briefly broke off contact to lift her up and over his lap so that she would be facing him and forced to straddle him.

Olivia eased down and sat on top of him, her thighs straddling his own. Although they were both still fully dressed, she could feel his want growing in size, an already considerable hard bulge forming within his pants. Olivia began to grind into him and ran her fingers through his curly hair. Fitz smirked and grabbed her face with both hands and began to kiss her again.

"Fitz, I'm deadly serious," Olivia panted, peeling her swollen lips away from his.

"And I'm deadly serious too," he said, looking at her with tremendous love, want and desire in his smoldering grey-blue eyes. "Liv, what's it gonna take to convince you once and for all that I'm committed to spending the rest of my life with you? I don't want to be president if it means I can't have you."

"But the only reason why you're not running again is because of me," Olivia whined.

"That's not true," Fitz said.

"But Fitz..."

"But nothing," he said, capturing her plush open mouth with his lips again so that she would shut up and stop talking, stop thinking, stop trying to fix a situation that didn't need fixing.

He wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and then gently flipped her on to her back. Olivia was completely defenseless with Fitz on top of her. Her breathing quickened and she inhaled his warm, woodsy intoxicating scent of sandalwood and cedar. She could feel the moisture that had already pooled between her legs, she was so aroused by him. By God, she loved this man with every cell of her being. It was going to be so hard, no impossible to say no to him.

He supported his weight on his elbows and gently caressed her cheek. He was looking at her intently, searching her face for the guilt and doubt she had been struggling to hide for the past few weeks. Their faces were mere inches apart. He dipped his head down along the side of her face and inhaled her scent deeply. Olivia turned her head to the side to give him full and easy access to her neck. His tongue darted out and lightly licked the smooth, warm skin behind her ear and then captured her earlobe between his teeth. He gently tugged on the fleshy lobe before he hoarsely whispered in her ear, "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

It was then that something inside Olivia's mind shifted. In the past, she normally would've pushed him away or would've come up with some reason or rationale as to why what they were doing was wrong. But not this time. She was no longer afraid to admit it. She wanted him. She wanted to be there for him, body and soul. She wanted to share her life with him, come what may. In the past, she had thought this, but now, finally, she believed it and actually felt this in her gut that this was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. Sacrificing her own personal happiness was no longer going to be her natural default. Running was a coward's way out and she was no longer afraid.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "I'm not letting you go, either," and then pulled his mouth down toward hers. She kissed him passionately and when their lips parted and his mouth traveled down to her neck, Olivia shuddered at the touch of his rough tongue against her smooth delicate skin. "Fitz, please, make love to me," she said.

Without a word, Fitz scooped her up off the couch and carried her into the bedroom. They quickly undressed one another and climbed into bed. Tender exploratory kisses deepened into much more. The connection between them was strong but Fitz wanted to do something to deepen their bond and intensify the intimacy between them.

"Look at me. Don't take your eyes off of me."

Olivia did as Fitz commanded. His beautiful face tensed slightly as he entered her. He gripped her right side, placing his left hand directly on her pelvic bone and as he pushed down into her, piercing her hot slick entrance, Olivia cried out in pleasurable pain, and her eyes naturally closed.

"Goddamn, Liv, you're so wet, so fucking tight," Fitz grunted as he began to slowly move inside of her. "And I love it. All of this is for me, isn't it?"

Olivia, feeling so wanted and desired, was momentarily speechless and just nodded her head yes, her eyes still closed.

"Open your eyes," Fitz softly said as his cock began to grow even harder and thicker encased inside the constrictive sticky walls of her vagina. Olivia began to writhe underneath him as she felt his rigid hardness continuing to fill and stretch her out from the inside.

"Look at me," he said again in that deep sexy baritone of his. Her eyes snapped open. He slowly rocked back and forth into her body, establishing a rhythm as his eyes held her in their magnetic pull.

The heated desire radiating from his eyes as they connected with hers was blistering and unlike anything Olivia had ever experienced before. She was emotionally laid bare. There was no hiding, no faking, and no pretending under his intense gaze.

A moment of truth had finally arrived and it was time for Olivia to be completely open and honest with herself and with Fitz. The sensations that he was unleashing in her body and soul were indescribable. Her eyelids fluttered and slightly closed as she reveled in the complete and utter bliss she was feeling.

"Livvie, open your eyes," he said again. She obeyed and in her beautiful mahogany orbs Fitz could finally see reflected all the love, desire and want she had for him. "Livvie, sweet baby, say the words you know I need to hear," he whispered in her ear.

"I'm yours, Fitz, I'm all yours."

A/N: OK, Gladiators, this chapter took a lot out of me. It feels like a natural ending to "The Heart Wants What it Wants" but it's not the ending I originally had in mind, so I still have a few more loose endings to tie up. I fear that what I have left to write is going to feel totally anti-climatic after this chapter. Oh well, guess, that's the price I have to pay.

Thanks for hanging in there and continuing to follow this story. Your reviews are my only reward. Thanks!