He had covered the distance faster than ever before. As soon as he had tossed his car keys to the waiting clerk, he crossed the courtyard with hurried steps and then one of the many doors leading into the hotel's bar. A few heads turned in irritation at the bursting doors, but he didn't notice. The only thing that interested him now was Bess. Cursing softly, he stopped and looked around frantically, ˋBess, where the hell are you?´

Then, finally, he spotted her. Slumped over, head resting on the table, she was crouched at the bar. In front of her, several empty shot glasses . He had guessed that it was bad, but that it was so bad that she -the Secretary of State- would get drunk in public, that he had not expected. He walked purposefully around the tables and people toward her. Seeing her like this hurt. How long had she been going through all this? How long had she been carrying it around? Why hadn't she said something sooner? He would have dropped everything, would have taken care of her...

Arriving at her place, he gently put a hand on her shoulder and addressed her. "Bess?" He felt the heat emanating from her body and sensed the trembling that had already gripped her entire body. He wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol, the emotions, or from exhaustion. It was probably a combination of everything. "Bess, I'm here." She didn't respond, and he got no answer. He furrowed his brows in concern and tried again. "Bess, it's okay. I'm here." Only now did a jolt go through her. She turned her head slightly so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye. "No. No, Mike. Nothing's okay." Before looking at him in exasperation, she straightened to some degree. "I'm drunk, I told the whole bar I hate him, and..." He could literally see her searching her head for words. He helped her out and finished her sentence for her. "...You don't remember calling me." He nodded in understanding.

She nodded as well, before saying after some time "Yes, I called someone... That's right, I remember now. But..." "...You called me, not him. You were mad as hell and then you just cried. And when I finally knew where you were, I came right away." He watched her for a moment, noting her confused look. More slowly he repeated "You didn't call him, you called me." Now it seemed to have clicked in her head, because her drawn-together eyebrows relaxed a bit. "Ahh, that's why you're here."

Looking around, he noticed all the curious looks from people who had already shown interest in her outburst on the phone earlier. "Would you mind if I get you out of here first, and then you explain to me what's going on anyway?" Without waiting for a response from her, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and placed money on the bartender's counter. Then he held out his hand to her, which she grasped gratefully. When she stood, he had to support her, as she was in danger of falling. Actually, he would have thought she could take more alcohol, as much as was usually distributed during diplomatic trips, he would have thought her more able to drink.

Putting his arm around her, he asked her what room number she had. "The one I always have." He sighed. "Bess, this hotel is too big to try the key card on every door." She gigged. "Fred had booked. Somewhere upstairs." He rolled his eyes and was about to head for the front desk when the bartender waved him over. He leaned over the counter and quietly told Mike which suite he had written the drinks on. Gratefully, Mike nodded to him and pointed a finger at the bills he had already placed on the counter. "That's right. Thanks!"

The suite was modern and elegantly furnished. Light color accents that harmonized with each other created a great atmosphere with the otherwise clear design. He looked around. The front door led into a spacious living room with a sofa where he had set Bess down, a large flat-screen TV and a very generously stocked minibar. The door on the left wall of the room led into an inviting bedroom with a king size bed and a huge closet and a bathroom that was physically separated from the bedroom, but the shower was visible from the bedroom through a glass pane. The terrace, which was accessible from the bedroom and living room, was huge. When he stepped out, he saw palm trees planted there and spacious sun beds. Actually, the only thing missing was a private pool, Mike grinned.

While pouring her a glass of ice-cold water from the minibar, he asked her what had happened. "So, how come I had to rescue you drunk from the bar today?" He saw that she was having a hard time grasping a clear thought. Everything still seemed to be spinning in her alcohol and emotion clouded brain. She protested, "Mike, all is still spinning..." She felt sick, Mike saw that immediately. She tried to jump up and disappear into the bathroom, but it was impossible for her. Fortunately, Mike had sensed that she wasn't feeling well and was immediately at her side. "Woah, slow down." When her stomach was finally empty and she was sitting on her bed, she looked at him begging. "Please don't leave me now." He saw tears forming in her eyes. "Everyone leaves me alone." Now the tears were flowing. "Please not you too!" He could barely hear her, she was crying so hard. Briefly, he wondered if it was smart to lie down with her. But he took off his shoes, put his jacket on the floor next to the bed and sat on the bed with her.

He took her in his arms. She let herself sink into the embrace and pressed her head against his shoulder. After a while he started and stroked her back soothingly with one hand. When he noticed that she started to relax and her tears slowly dried up, he pulled back a little from the embrace and looked at her worriedly. "What do you say you get some sleep now and tomorrow you tell me what happened." He classified the sound she made as agreement and he slid to the edge of the bed to rise. "Don't go." He turned to her and looked down at her. "Bess, I'd better sleep on the sofa. I..." He thought feverishly about what to say. "Besides, you probably don't want to sleep like that." He pointed at her clothes. She was still wearing the pantsuit she had pulled out of her State Department office closet after the interview. With that, he left the room with his things without turning around again and closed the door behind him.

As he looked out into the night from the balcony, looking across the river to the other side of the city, he thought. His thoughts circled around her. About the last morning and her frantic phone call. From the way she had sounded, something must have happened between Andrew and her again. Had he hit her again? Had he crossed more lines? After a few more minutes of just staring into the darkness, he decided to text Blake and give Daisy a heads-up as well, just to be safe. Who knows who all had been sitting in the bar just then... it was certainly better. He quickly typed away on his cell phone.

'Please give the papers that need urgent attention to Fred. Secretary won't make it to the office tomorrow.

-Mike B.'

'There was an incident at the Watergate Bar. (Alcohol and loud phone call). Might be of interest to press. Please keep an eye on it.

-Mike B.'

As soon as he put his cell phone on the coffee table, he undid his belt, stepped out of his jeans, and brushed off his T-shirt. Wearing only boxers, he lay down on the sofa and covered himself with the blanket that had been hanging over the backrest earlier. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he was asleep.

At some point, he woke up to a noise. It took him a moment to get his bearings. His eyes searched for the cause. As he did so, his eyes roamed over the analog clock hanging on the wall, the hands of which he could read only thanks to the moonlight. 2:47 a.m.

When he heard the sound again, his eyes found the source. There she stood. In a nightgown just long enough to cover her butt, her hair disheveled and her arms wrapped around herself. He sat up and looked at her. He saw her shoulders quiver from here. His mind raced. It took a lot to break a woman as strong as she was. He preferred not to even imagine what she had been through. That he had beaten her, he already knew, but he could hardly imagine that that was all. As she stood there... Then her tender voice broke the silence. Owing to several violent sobs, he understood only a few words. Still, he knew what she was asking him. But what he again did not know was to what extent this was a good idea. After all, he had already decided once this night against sharing a bed with her.

When another sob cut the air, he rose. Briefly he still considered slipping into his jeans, but then decided against it. He walked toward her and held out his arms. "Shhh, Bess. It's okay. I'm here. Everything's okay." he whispered in her ear as he stroked her back again soothingly. "It's all okay. Come on, I'll take you to bed." Slowly, he led her back into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers and motioned for her to lie back down. She crawled back into bed and Mike had to pull himself together not to stare directly at her butt thrust out at him. Now was not that time.

He tucked her in and made sure she was well snuggled in the blanket. For a moment he stood there just looking at her. All of a sudden he was sure it wasn't a good idea to lie with her. But what else had he said to her himself this morning? 'It's certainly not a good idea, but it might be the right one.' She had noticed his hesitation and opened her eyes again. He saw her lips move slowly, "Please." He made a hand gesture, gesturing her to slide a little towards the middle of the bed, before climbing into bed beside her and resting his head on the pillow next to hers. He pulled a little on the blanket until he had it pulled out from under her enough for him to lay under it next to her. Soon after, she had pressed herself against him and before he could protest, he could already hear her breathing steadily. Now he would not wake her. She had earned her sleep. Shortly thereafter, sleep overtook him as well.

The next morning, the elevator binged to the seventh floor of the State Department and Blake Moran stepped into the foyer. As he did every morning, he had the donuts and coffee for the Secretary in hand and hurried through the hallways to his desk first thing. He neatly placed the goodies from the bakery at the right corner of his desk. He pulled his chair out from under the table and pressed the power button on his computer. The time it took for the computer to boot up, he hurried to the kitchen. Quickly pouring his coffee through the filter, he hurried past the senior staffs' offices and stopped in wonder. "Good morning Daisy. Why so early?"

"I got a message from Mike B. last night" At that, she emphasized the B. "I couldn't in good conscience come into the office later. Somehow I'm worried something is up." Blake raised his eyebrows questioningly, then inquired uncertainly. "What do you mean?" "I mean that the minister was apparently a little loose with her drinks at the Watergate Hotel, and not even inconspicuously." Blake understood. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay, I see. There's still coffee in the kitchen, so if you want some, help yourself." With that, he left the room and closed the glass door behind him.

Arriving at his desk, he set down the still-steaming coffee mug and glanced at his screen. His mailbox was once again overflowing. He sighed and glanced at the phone, which also showed a lot of missed calls and the stack of letters, documents, folders and papers waiting to be processed. Soon he would have to have another clean-up day and work through the whole backlog. He quickly pushed this thought to the side and concentrated on the newly arrived mails. He quickly forwarded, deleted and sorted through all the mails until he finally stumbled across an e-mail that he must have received from Mike B. last night.

'Please give the papers that need urgent attention to Fred. Secretary won't make it to the office tomorrow.

-Mike B.'

With eyebrows drawn together, he eyed the mail critically. Something wasn't right about that. Now he could understand Daisy's unease. Still deep in thought, he finished sorting the mails, quickly skimmed the documents and letters that had come and packed a package. He briefly considered adding the donut, but decided against it.

On his way to the elevator, he ran into Daisy coming out of the kitchen with a coffee mug and a piece of muffin. "Secretary won't be coming into the office today." "Huh? Why is that? That's never happened before." "I don't know. Mike B. got back to me last night." Daisy looked at Blake with concern. "Is she all right?" "I haven't heard anything different. I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow. I'm just getting the initial paperwork sent out and then we can set up the morning meeting." He turned away and pressed the button for the elevator. Thoughts circled in his head. Everything seemed fine yesterday. Sure, she had left the office in a hurry, but otherwise seemed content with everything else. Even the interview between her and CIA Director Munsey had received only positive feedback... Still, something had to have happened. She was not a personality who would let herself go in public the way Daisy had told him earlier.

When he got downstairs, he pressed the papers into Fred's hand and thanked him for bringing them to her. He also noted that more messenger services might well be needed over the course of the day. "That's not a problem. Just reach out to me and I'll pick up the things." Blake nodded to him and said goodbye before turning to continue his workday at the Truman Building.

At the same time, he was startled out of sleep. It had been ages since he had woken up next to another person. He lifted his head and looked around. Little by little, the picture in his mind pieced itself back together. The night she had slept on the sofa by him, the previous evening when he had rescued her from the bar, and that night when she had not wanted to stay alone. So it had come to pass that he had woken up next to her that morning.

He turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbows. His gaze grazed her face. Her features were relaxed and she still seemed to be fast asleep. She lay on her stomach, her hands tucked under the pillow and her head turned toward him. They must have spent the night close together, because one of her legs was tangled with his. Her hair played in slight waves around her face. He had to smile, she looked so peaceful, all the stress was gone from her face and a slight smile played around her lips. Carefully he reached out his hand and stroked the hair out of her face with his finger. Then putting his head back on the pillow, he looked at her for a long time lost in thought and lost in the sight of her. The neckline of her nightgown had slipped a little, revealing to him the deep valley of her breasts. He had to concentrate to avert his gaze again. As he watched her sleep like this, his thoughts slipped away. He remembered the old days. How many nights they had spent together like this, how many secrets they had shared and how many things they had experienced together. He had been by her side when her parents died, she had been by his side when his very first dog had died. He had comforted her and she had comforted him. Everything had been good. They both had a connection. One that, as he had always known, she had had with more than just him. True, they had known each other the longest, but there were others. The guys in her friend group and then later Andrew. He had always wondered what she found in him that she didn't find in him...or anyone else.

A gentle touch on his cheek, brought him back to the here and now. He tried to coax his eyes back to focus and looked into alert light blue eyes. She smiled. He smiled. "What are you thinking about?" her soft sleepy voice was music to his ears. "About the old days. You know, all those nights..." She interrupted him. "I know." Her whisper gave him goose bumps. "I know. I had to think about that, too." He looked deep into her eyes, seeing her every emotion. "Yesterday morning?" She looked away, embarrassed, and answered softly. "Yes." He made a sound of agreement and lowered his head back onto the pillow. As he stared at the blanket, he didn't see her lean forward. Her lips met his mouth tentatively at first, but when he didn't pull away, more forcefully. Her hands on his cheeks and holding him in place, she pulled herself over him. Her legs now on either side of his hips, she knelt over him and let her tongue explore his mouth. As she pulled back to catch her breath, he realized how aroused he was by her view. He was breathing heavily and the familiar tugging in his loins made itself known.

She gave him a hot look as she pulled her lower lip through her teeth and pressed her pelvis against his. Quickly, his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her down. Before pressing his mouth to hers he murmured "Is this what you really want?" He had to know. He needed to know if it was just there as a pastime and to forget, or if she really wanted it. Especially since she surely still had residual alcohol in her blood. "Yes." she breathed, her hot breath on his lips. Greedily, his hands reached into her hair and pulled her lips to his. Their mouths clashed, their tongues danced together, and their moans filled the room.

Then Mike pulled back. "Wait. Tell me what happened yesterday first." Bess pulled her head back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Andrew's an ass. I told him I was done with him yesterday after the interview. He responded by sending me away and saying he never wanted to see me again." Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What, that's it?" "Yes and no, the paperwork just hasn't been done yet and last night I didn't know how to handle it, but other than that." "And now you know how to handle it?" Mike asked sarcastically. "By sleeping with me?" She slapped his chest playfully with her hand. "Just like before. Forgetting about the world and having a nice time." Mike shook his head in disbelief. "I can hardly believe it. Still as sassy as ever. Let's see what time has done to your body." Bess laughed. "Carefully. Carefully, Mike." But the last sentence had been swallowed by his mouth as he pressed his lips to hers.

In the late afternoon, when most of the State Department employees had already finished work and gone home, Blake was still sitting at his desk, Daisy in her office and Nadine in the large conference room. Jay was off today as he had to watch his daughter and Matt was among those who had already gone home. A movement he caught out of the corner of his eye made him look up. Standing in the doorway was Daisy, who gave him a questioning look. "Have you heard anything from the secretary?" Blake turned his attention back to the screen in front of him and continued to tap away at the keyboard. "Nothing new. Fred was back at noon today to pick up more records. He said everything was fine. I haven't heard anything else. She's probably just overtired. The trip to Brussels, the interview, and all the attention that's come with it."

That didn't really seem to reassure Daisy, though. "I feel like something is hugely wrong. In what world would I get an email from Mike B. at a little after 1 a.m. telling me to keep an eye on the press? I mean, no one has commented on last night yet, I didn't even see a funny tweet. I don't know, but I think it's funny." Blake looked up and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Like I said, as long as she doesn't say anything, everything's fine." At that moment, his desk phone rang. Giving an apologetic look to Daisy, he picks up the receiver and listens. Daisy turns and disappears back into her office.

"All right. Still send him. I'm expecting him." Blake sets the phone down again and just sees Nadine disappear into her office. He quickly jumps up and runs after her. "NADINE?" She stops short and looks around to see where the voice that called her name was coming from before she spots him. Her face brightens. Delighted, she calls out, "Blake. What can I do for you?" "Have we called in CIA Director Munsey?"

"No, at least not that I know of." She frowns. "Why?"

"The front desk just called and sent him and up." Blake gestures toward the elevator door. Nadine nods devoutly and turns to her desk to get back to work. Shortly after Blake returned to his desk, he heard the elevator doors open and hurried footsteps approach his desk. Only when the footsteps had stopped and he was sure he was standing in front of him did he look up. The face of his counterpart, distorted with rage, startled him, but he managed to bring his features back under control in time. "Good afternoon, CIA Director Munsey. What can I do for you?"

"Where is she?" His voice trembled with anger. Blake suppressed the impulse to raise his eyebrows. "I need to speak to her." "I'm sorry to have to tell them this, but the Secretary was out of the office today." Somehow, the thought that her husband didn't seem to know she hadn't come to work today troubled him. Besides, it was strange that he didn't know where she was... "And where is she?" "As I said, I can't tell you that. I just got the message that she wasn't coming in today." Blake raised his arms apologetically. He was seething with anger, he could see that. He had his teeth clenched and was breathing heavily. Before he turned and left the 7th floor again, he slammed his fist on the table. Blake flinched in fright but refrained from commenting and let him go.

It wasn't until Daisy cleared her throat that he jumped back to the present. "What was that about?" Daisy looked at him. Her brow had contracted into deep creases of worry. "I don't know. Looks like a serious problem to me."

He was seething with anger. The fact that she hadn't shown up at the office all day did nothing to calm him down. The thought of her not being alone literally killed him. Angrily, he pounded his fist on the desk, startling poor Blake, who was just doing his job. His blood rushed as he brought the car to a stop in front of the door he was so familiar with and hated just as much. He got out and walked off with a determined stride. Arriving at the front door, he pressed the bell several times, but nothing moved. He waited a moment and looked around. His car was not there. His heart lightened a bit and he pressed the doorbell again.

If he wasn't here, she wasn't here. But where was she? He thought. In one of their last arguments, she'd snapped at him, mentioning that she'd already slept in a hotel for a few nights, not worked all night at the office as he'd been told. He exhaled and went back to his car. But which hotel? She wouldn't check in under her name, because then the danger was too great that paparazzis would take notice of her. She would choose something private. Suddenly an idea came to him. The Watergate Hotel. Not far from the State Department, private in so far as high-profile politicians and pop stars were not uncommon there, and probably best of all, a bodyguard was not absolutely necessary there, since the security measures were more than adequate anyway.

The engine howled as he pulled the car onto the road, leaving Georgetown behind.