Fitz was in a good mood. He had a permanent grin on his face, he had pep in his step and the foreign policy briefing he was sitting through was so much more enjoyable.
"Mr. President, we were thinking we need to bring the Chinese into the diplomatic talks." His National Security Advisor said. They were sitting in the Situation Room, and had been for two hours, debating on the approach about how to keep the Russians from invading Georgia. It was a precarious position to be in, seeing that the United States and Russia had a delicate relationship. This had to be executed with precision, toughness, but at the same time, not restart the Cold War.
But after weeks of obsessing, hand wringing and meetings very similar to this one, it had all been so clear when he woke up this morning. All the cobwebs had suddenly cleared.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is geopolitical maneuvering at its finest. The Chinese are not just going to hop on board, because they have economic interest in not only Russia, but the United States. So we use carrots and sticks. The Foreign Minister has gone on record to say they would be willing to negotiate with us if China finally signed the Euro-Russo treaty. Now, what we have to focus on, his the actual situation on the ground, let's stop thinking big picture and start planning the transition in government that is bound to happen between the ethnic Georgians and the Ossetia's."
The silence that overtook the room was startling. All eyes were on him. Normally, Fitz had been the type to listen intently, ruminate for days. So much so that he knew members in the foreign policy apparatus had dubbed him "Wise Grant", mocking him for his methodical nature.
"Mr. President, what are you suggesting?" General Clark Ross, the gruff Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The burly man was the kind of military man that balked at Fitz's service in the navy. He knew that Ross would hate the idea he had; after all he was nothing but a "fly boy in a pretty white uniform". He happened to think years of being a naval aviator was a joke. Hence, Fitz's uncomfortable relationship with the man.
"What I'm saying, is we need to focus more on pinpointing things that could potentially help the people on the ground, humanitarian aid, talking to the opposing side, particularly the rebel forces and seeing what agreement they can come to. So the next time we see each other, I want plans drawn up and we will have Cole work the details." Fitz said coolly. I'm not going to fucking send troops in harm's way just because you are an insecure little prick trying to prove your manhood.
Ross shook his head slowly as if understanding.
"Well, as much as I'd love to sit around with you all day and talk Georgia, I have a country to run." Fitz said standing up, signaling the end of the meeting. As he stood up, everyone else did.
"Mr. President, you might want to make sure those plans are drawn up as soon as possible." Ross said. Fitz looked at Ross dead in the face. He was confused. What the hell did that even mean?
There was a gleam in Ross's black eyes. One that he only saw when the mere mention of "war" and "troops" came up, and as if it were even possible, he looked more pleased with himself than normal.
"What?" Fitz asked confused.
Ross smiled. "What I mean is things may get a little…tough for you politically so you may want to speed up the process."
Normally, Fitz would ignore this kind of thing. He knew how much Ross loved to bust his chops. But the glimmer in his eye was unmistakable. Not to mention, by the way his body was heating up with anger, he felt like the comment had a lot more to do with something that is none of his business….
"Mr. Ross-"
"General Ross, to you boy." He said sneering. Fitz could feel the room shifting uncomfortably. Fitz smirked. This was going to be fun.
"Do you know that rug, the one in the round office upstairs, it says something, and what does it say?" Fitz asked quietly.
"Mr. President-"His Senior National Advisor began but he put a hand up to interrupt him. He wanted to engage this. "What does it say on the damn rug?"
Ross's sneer increased. "President of the United States."
"Exactly. So let's leave the…domestic policy and the politicking to me and the executive office. You worry about your job, got it?" Fitz asked sarcastically. He rolled his eyes as he strolled out of the Situation Room. Fuck him!
"Cyrus." Fitz said, standing up from behind the Resolute desk. "Thanks for coming in. We need to talk."
Cyrus nodded knowingly. But before Fitz could say another word, Cyrus marched over to desk and slammed a stack full of newspapers down. Fitz rolled his eyes. He knew this would happen. He had been avoiding the papers all morning. He had a lovely time (and fantastic night cap) and the good mood had carried over until about 20 minutes ago when Gen. Ross had made his smart remark. And it seems his good mood was about ready to take another beating.
He looked down at the first paper on top of the stack, The Washington Post, which had a picture of him and Olivia dancing at the State Dinner last night. Above it was the headline, THE PRINCE AND THE POLITICO.
Cyrus was looking at him with an expression that could only be described as "I told you so." His stubby arms were folded, his eyes were wide and his bushy grey eyebrows were cocked so high, it was as though they had been removed and replaced on his forehead.
Fitz breathed in and sighed, sitting defeated back in his chair. "Yeah, this is why I called you in."
Cyrus snorted, sitting in the chair across from him, and shrugged his shoulders. "Are you going to even bother looking through the rest of the papers? Or at least reading them?"
"No, because I have the general idea of what they are going to say. Not to mention, I kind of want to ask you something." Fitz said running his hands through his curls and leaning back. The idea had popped up while he had been coming up stairs from his foreign policy briefing. From what he had assumed, Ross was making the point that his relationship with Olivia could potentially be politically damaging. It was something he had not wanted to believe. After all, Democrats did not really care about family values, and a good chunk of them liked him in office because he, well, he was not a crazy right wing loon and the Republican's no matter, what got in line.
But after Thump's reaction to Olivia, both at the state dinner and the story she had told about his meeting, Ross's inference and the media's non-stop coverage, he was not stupid. The signs were there. Not to mention, it had come to his attention, thanks to Joyce's phone call this morning that the White House had a leak, which had been sending the press information regarding the times when Olivia would leave the White House.
"Well, I'm glad you have firmly, removed you head from your ass." Cyrus said sarcastically. Fitz could not help but roll his eyes. Way to gloat, Cy.
"Look, I'm not interested in this consuming anymore newsprint. We have two bills, and a potential war brewing. We have serious problems. So what I'm not going to have, my Chairmen of Joint Chief's making smart ass remarks to me."
"But he does that all the time?" Cyrus said perplexed, leaning forward. Fitz breathed in deeply. He really did not have time for this.
"I mean, he actually said something, I can feel it in my gut; he knows that this is going to blow out of hand. Fuck that. And fuck anyone who wants to focus on my girlfriend. So here's what we do. We have a meeting, next week, the communication team and we plan this out. You talk to Olivia and see how she feels about this." Fitz said standing up, his mind working a mile a minute.
"Why don't you ask her?" Cyrus asked confused. Fitz turned to look at him, his hand on his hips.
Olivia had told him this morning that she would be swamped in work this week, meeting with Congressional members, so if they did not talk on the phone, he should not take it personally. He knew that he she saw Cyrus's number on her phone; she would probably be more tempted to pick up the phone.
"She's going to be busy, and I need her to know it's not me, you know, her boyfriend-"
"-calling to have phone sex, or worse a booty call?" Cyrus finished smirking. Fitz rolled his eyes.
"Stop mocking me, alright, I'm on a roll. I need her to know this is urgent, and I know she will be swamped but she has to be there. And by the way, we start looking into whoever has been leaking when Olivia leaves here. She's very sensitive about the press getting pictures of her after-"
"…your booty calls." Cyrus finished smiling again. Fitz rolled his eyes once more.
"I thought Olivia was like a daughter to you? Why are you joking about…her sex life" Fitz asked uncomfortable, sitting back down." Cyrus shrugged.
"It's the only thing to keep from crying. We have serious spinning to do, James is up my ass about not being home enough and I'm sleep deprived. I'm sure, tomorrow after a respectable four hours of sleep, I'll be fine. But for right now, I'm going to bust your chops. Not to mention, you had that stupid grin on your face this morning to I'm going to assume you had a nice after party."
Fitz smiled, hanging his head. "Look, I get it, but getting back on target, we need to bring out the big guns."
The room hushed suddenly, the jovial nature sucked out. Cyrus's eyes, when Fitz looked up were banging out of his head.
"You mean-"
"Yes. We bring in Brian and the team, they poll, focus group, all that and see where the country is, but only on my Job Approval." Fitz said firmly. He could see the question coming.
"Why would you poll only on your-"
"Because, the meeting next week is how we all agree to handle the press, not appease them."
"Well, excuse me Churchill"
"Don't get smart with me, Cy. I want to see how much political capital I have. But if I poll on my personal approval, it draws attention. Not to mention, we have a leaker. Why would I feed the beast?"
Cyrus rolled his eyes and shook his head. "But we need-"
"We don't need shit. Cy. I'm the President, I'm the only thing between the American people and the environment being shredded, the Russian's stroking their ego and the circus barkers taking the party of Lincoln. I don't have time to poll them on my sex life and I won't give into the madness, we contain, but we don't feed the beast. So with all do respect, we don't need to do a goddamn thing about my personal life. The only thing I need to do is figure out how to date my girlfriend without a fucking press stakeout every goddamn day and my kids. That's my personal life. Now with all do respect, get to work."