Author´s note: I am baffled by the response to this fic, thank you everyone, it really means a lot and I´m so glad you guys keep enjoying this little story. Since I am no longer on holidays I would guess that about one chapter per week will be realistic from now on. Sorry for that.

Jennkyle: Hehe, thanks. I was hoping to make a good characterization of pissed off Fitz, they had it coming for quite a while.

Sdia75: Wow, it´s just so great to see how you´re progressing through the story and sharing your thoughts on each chapter, thank you so very much for this. :) On Jake: It was similar for me, I didn´t dislike him really, not at the beginning. That has changed but I won´t begrudge you your opinion there. To each their own ;) I can´t really tell yet how things are going to turn out for Jake, there are several options of how big the trouble is he´s currently in. My guess: it´s big trouble. On Mellie: I find her very difficult to read. An intriguing character for sure but I have the feeling she is misinterpreting her feeings towards Fitz for love. She wants that perfect marriage with a picture book president and gets frustrated and manipulated over being denied what she feels she was born for. That´s how I see it and in that the tragedy of the character would be that she is unaware of that. I btw always thought her full name was "Melanie", but scandalwiki insisted on "Melody" so that´s what I went with there.

LoreneMichelle41: Intriguing options and I think we both agree on this needing some time. I have a few ideas in the back of my head on that, i´ll see how it plays out eventually.

Guest: Agreed with Mellie being powerhungry, I think that´s what drives her. On divorce, I believe that´s more complicated than just getting it done. We shall see.

Cleo: Hehe, yes, that was what I was hinting at. I like seeing her I a position where she has to feel those insecurities of losing control, because I guess for someone like her that would be a nightmare.

Jourdan: Here you go ;) Olitz is endgame yes, as for the rest, I won´t be spoilering my own story, sorry, dear. ;)

Chapter 18 – And loss thereof

Some days, Cyrus Beene wondered which evil demons had possessed him when he had decided to get in on the Grant campaign. Politics was no clean business and true power meant not being prissy about getting one´s hands dirty, he had never had any qualms about that. But that he could stand, even though he preferred to not go into details even with himself about the dreadful results such dirty work could sometimes yield. What he couldn´t stand was once more being forced into the role of what? Marriage councilor? Peace maker? Baby sitter for grown people? All of it combined most likely. Hell no, that had never been in his job description. A few threats to political opponents, a little pressure at the right points and hinges in the political machinery…that was what he was good at. Not this. He had started working for a man who he believed a classical politician, the typical upbringing, pretty wife, charm … so did it really astonish him that all that Kennedy-esque flair had brought along the women as well and one in particular? Of course the First Lady in his reality did not possess the naïve demure grace of a Jacky Kennedy and just lived with the fact of her husband being a cheater. Why the hell couldn´t these kinds of affairs stay with the democrats, plain and simple? Probably because that really would have made his life insufferably easy… His stride reflected his mood as he made his way to the West Wing, feeling rather sorry that it was so late that there weren´t any interns around to yell at, because that would at least have given his frustrations some possibilities to vent.

He wondered why he even bothered, because this was probably a fool´s errand. He knew the president well enough to be certain that right now the other man would have retreated to the Oval, probably staring at a piece of art, musing about life and its shortcomings and the countless ways said life had treated him unfairly. Cyrus didn´t like it when his boss drowned himself in self pity of that kind and whereas he could to some extent understand the younger man´s moods after all that had happened, at some point there was no longer an excuse. Hell, at some point it was time to man up again! So had he!

The First Lady had stormed into his office mere minutes ago, almost hysterical, ruining what might have become a late night but a night that he was about to take home. But hey, she seemed to almost expect him to be available around midnight… Who needed more than four hours of sleep, right?

"He is totally losing it, Cyrus, I swear he is. He´s retreating from me."

He had suppressed his urge to roll his eyes at the woman. Refused the need to rub his temples in frustrations. When would those two people get their grip on things for fuck´s sake? Sometimes it was as if things were all just personal troubles for them and then it was for him to tidy up the mess, to smoothen the diplomatic waves because of course Fitz, wailing in self inflicted anguish would not think beyond rejecting an already set up phone call with the Iraqis. He had sighed.

"What now, Mellie?"

"He went to see her! And then he came back and yelled at me."

Cyrus had suppressed a growl. "I told her to stay away from him, how did he even know she was back?"

"What the hell does this matter right now?" She had waved away the explanation. "He just stormed out and I have no idea what he´s up to. I´m…I´m scared he´s up to something really bad." Cy looked up at her. Funny, he had thought. When other spouses, loving wives said such a thing it would be followed by elaborating or at least it would be implied that she feared her beloved might harm himself. But of course this was Mellie…

"I…I think he might actually flip and do something that harms his presidency."

"Oh like he hasn´t already." Cy had snarled, more to himself.

"I´m serious, Cy. He has threatened me with it. He says he´ll leave if I don´t….sleep somewhere else."

He had laughed a cold, sharp laugh. "Leave. Like what, sneak past the Secret Service in jeans and a university hoodie?" For some reason that had not amused her at all and he had been rewarded…or punished, with a blank look of the kind she always wore before shit was about to hit the fan. "Cy…."

He had slammed his hands flat on the desk before he had gotten up. "All right. Fine. You stay out of his way, I talk to him." And see if I can talk some reason into this bullhead he had added in thought to himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Fitz had always thought there was something oddly calming to the nightly Oval Office. Always had been. Maybe it was because once the day ended and people went home this part actually went rather quiet. Maybe it was because the historic significance of the room, its walls having weathered more than just one crisis tended to let one´s own problems shrink into insignificance or if not quite so, at least to a manageable size, the artwork, framed in heavy gold and the silent bust of Abraham Lincoln unphased to personal turmoils and at the same time encouraging that any storm could be navigated if there was just someone steering the ship into the right direction.

Maybe that was why he had come here after he had rushed out of the Residence, slamming the door on Mellie. Maybe it was, some small voice in his head suggested, that of course a president would retreat to the place that embodied, personified his power when said power was threatened and manipulated. But who was he kidding, because he knew that in reality he had merely retreated to a room that reminded him of … her. Yet, sat in his leather chair, his heart still pumping fast from the fight he had just started and fled he knew that he had to come to terms with all things Olivia, all things Livvie, before he could allow and feel her calming presence in this room again. The presence not of herself but the memory. The times they had talked in the Oval Office, and all the other times they had done other things. The chemistry of those memories that had used to carry and energize him before, that night in November it had all been too much, the spell of these things past crushing, breaking like a wave and drowning him under it. What he needed was to try and pick up the pieces and, while sorting them, seeing whether they still fit, whether they still formed a picture that he liked and wanted. He felt confused, uncertain, weak, despite that empowering moment minutes ago. Seeing her again had been wonderful and painful, but he needed time. And during that time, he needed to occupy himself. At least, there was the liberating feeling that at last a process of sorting things out had been put into motion and that it would resolve itself in the end – one way or the other.

He leant back, looking up at the ceiling which, just like the carpet in front of his desk and the desk itself bore the great seal of the United States, a large bald eagle, arrows clutched in one talon, olive twigs in the other, the one representing war, the other peace, the whole image demonstrating the nation´s readiness for both but the direction the eagle´s head - turned towards the twigs – showing the preference of the latter. If only things were always as simple as symbols claimed. As simple as the credo of "Ex pluribus unum", written on a thin banner above the bird´s head. Meanwhile he, the allegedly most powerful man on the planet was even having trouble to make one out of two. How ironic that was. Yet, despite all the confusion, despite the emotional rollercoaster this evening had been he felt better than he had in days. Whereas meeting Olivia had tossed his emotions into new turmoil, yelling at Mellie, finally saying a few things that maybe he had had to say for a long while, had calmed him in a way that felt almost like a high.

Yet, it was funny, he thought when the door to the Oval was opened so quickly that it might have pulled an ordinary door off its hinges, that all these people around him apparently had issues with having him feel at peace or somewhat good at least for more than a few precious moments. He decided to not let that disturb him. Not right now. Not when he was just trying to get things back on track, not when he felt…somewhere in the vicinity of okay, still thriving on the kick it had given him to call Mellie out for exposing him like she had, with the anger about this still fuming underneath the elatedness. Fitz leant back in a pose of indifference, gazing up at the seal again. His Chief of Staff, he could hear as well as tell, was livid.

"First you throw a tantrum in the situation room, pulling off unnecessary power play with the Joint Chiefs, then you box through on your own to set up a call that would cost us precious time when we could already have bombed these ISIS assholes into oblivion," Cy was on a rampage, he could tell. Maybe, Fitz wondered, he had been practicing this little speech on the way from his office to the Oval… "and when I move heaven and earth to get that call set up without making this country look like the supplicator in this, offering to the Iraqis something they require from us and making it look like we´re asking permission…. you blow off the entire call in yet another hissy fit after a call with the woman who has been playing and toying with you and manipulating you…" The older man was panting in anger. When had he last seen him like this Fitz wondered with a calm that astonished himself… "and now for your wife who is most obviously the more sane person in this marriage and by god that means something to rush into my office minutes before midnight to stammer about you threatening her with resigning…"

"I didn´t." Again, his voice was calm and he liked that. It gave him a flair and feeling that befitted the odd mix of emotions of the moment, that dimmed anger over layered by an almost high.

"What?"

"I didn´t." Out of a whim he leant back a little more in his chair, hearing the leather creak and put his feet on the surface of the desk. Only then he met Cyrus´ gaze. The other man was staring at him, red faced, his jaw had fallen slack, open mouthed. That too, felt good and he found himself thirsting for that feel good like a man dying of thirst. Fitz shrugged. "I didn´t threaten her to resign. I just pointed out possible results of her being a bitch."

Cy´s eyes had briefly flickered to his feet, apparently for the briefest of moments wondering whether or not to call his boss out on that childish move but decided against it. "I am not here to play games, Mr President. I am here to help you lead a goddamn country, but I am not here to babysit a grown man."

Fitz had started to gently swivel his chair, but stopped at that, slowly took his feet off the table and looked at Cyrus, raising his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Usually, he knew, that tone would put almost anyone in place, even Cyrus, but the other man was too far gone in his own rampaging frustrations to let himself be intimidated. Good, Fitz thought with an inward growl.

"When you´re president of the United States there can´t be moods like that. There is more on your shoulders than just your own problems." Cy had raised his voice right away, the moment he had stepped into the office. It had stayed that way. "and I was prepared for that and still and you know damn well that I was always there to deal with the dirty work whatever it was, is and will be but hey…" There was a bitter, almost crazy laugh. "apparently I am the only person taking all of this seriously."

"Oh I know your kind of dirty work." Fitz´ voice was still calm, a lot calmer than it had been with Mellie earlier but he could tell there was a threatening undertone to it, one that wasn´t lost on his Chief of Staff either. "The kind of dirty work that makes junior aides disappear after they claim I impregnated them." He got to his feet, leaning his knuckles against the surface on his desk. "the kind of dirty work that makes reporters and questions disappear?" He believed to see Cy whince on the latter.

"Your presidency, any presidency depends on that kind of thing to happen and we both know that."

He ignored that and changed the topic to what really mattered, what he really wanted to know. "You knew she was back in town? Was that your little setup? Yours and Mellies?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Right. There are some things your nose doesn´t belong in, Cy." Now his voice was threatening, a calm, menacing undertone. It actually froze the half insane smirk on the other man´s face, the one he had chosen for the occasion of setting his boss back in line. His line. Like so often before. "I am done with the two of you telling me what to do and what not to do. I am done with you chaperoning me, Cy. I am done with the manipulation."

Cy opened his mouth, took a breath. "The manipulator in this is her. Nobody but her. Because you know why? She´s back on American soil for not even 24 hours and she´s already got you by your presidential balls again and you don´t even notice she´s playing with you!"

An hour ago this choice of words would have made him flip. Strangely now, it didn´t. Possibly because something told him that Cy expected him to. That they would yell at each other and in the end that would all be fine, things would be back to normal and the yelling would be forgotten. The disrespect would be forgotten. But not this time. He sat back down. Just looked up at him. "Cyrus, if you don´t leave this room right now, I´ll have the Secret Service help you with it."

"Fitz, you…."

"It´s Mr President!" this time, for the first time in the entire conversation he did raise his voice into a sharp snarl.

Silence fell. Baffled silence. A second passed. Two, loudly ticking away, commented by the large grandfather clock next to one of the even larger windows that were facing a tranquil midnight garden. "If you don´t leave now, Cy, you´ll be escorted out. And on top of that, if you don´t leave I´ll expect you to resign. No, I won´t expect it, I´ll demand it. And if you don´t believe me, ask Mellie whether I´m in the mood for jokes tonight."

It had felt good earlier to see a baffled, shocked face while a feeling of victory flooded his veins, but Fitzgerald Grant found that the feeling didn´t get old, not even when he felt it a second time in the course of an hour as his clearly shocked Chief of Staff shot him a disbelieving glare and stormed out. Yes, that indeed did feel good. He leant back, heaving a relieved sigh, reveling in the raw, bitter triumph, his head spinning form the realization of how much the people around him were eager to manipulate him into a man who was merely functioning instead of living and at the same time relieved, he had finally noticed.

After staring at the ceiling for another minute or two, he sat up again, his gaze moving to a drawer on the right side of the table. His hand moved towards it, hesitated then he opened it. There were a few papers in there, nothing important since bills and treaties were always kept in the saves unless they were on his table for consideration or signing. Just a few random things. Pens. A letter he had gotten from a veteran in the Afghan war that had been moving to him, an issue of Time Magazine in the month of his first election – after Defiance had been revealed he had stopped being proud of that and the issue had stayed almost forgotten in this drawer. But it wasn´t what he was looking for. He pushed these things aside, fingers seeking for something underneath it…and found it. The metal felt cool against his fingers as he closed them around it and took out out. He stared at it for a moment, memories flooding back, so many memories, now overlayered with doubt and bitterness but hope…somewhere, there was hope..somewhere there was a soothing feeling to the thing amidst all the Mellies and Cys. He had stored the thing away, hidden it away just like he had hoped to hide what he had felt, because it had hurt too much. He had requested another a day or two after his reelection after Mellie had insisted that the absence of a flag pin made him look unpresidential. It had felt odd. Not right.

He reached out and, after weighing it in his fingers for about a minute maybe, he grabbed the flag pin that had once been worn by Dwight D. Eisenhower and slid it into the pocket of his jeans.