the heavy oak door thudded shut, the sound echoing through the oval office and cutting off the frantic shouting of the advisors in the hall. fitz leaned his forehead against the wood, his shoulders rising and falling with a jagged, exhausted breath. the salt and pepper hair at his temples was slightly mussed, a rare crack in the presidential veneer he fought so hard to maintain.

"tell me you don't think i'm a monster," he murmured into the door, his voice gravelly and raw. "everyone else in that room does."

{{user}} didn't move from her spot by the window. the grey d.c. light caught the curve of her cheek and the soft, steady line of her silhouette. she remained the only still point in a city that was currently trying to tear him apart.

"i think you’re a man trying to do an impossible job," she said softly, finally turning to look at him. her eyes were calm, devoid of the panic that had consumed the rest of the cabinet. "and i think you care too much, which is why this hurts."

fitz straightened, his blue eyes searching hers. he began to walk toward her, his stride slow and deliberate, the charcoal fabric of his suit jacket pulling across his broad chest. he stopped just inches away, tall and imposing, yet looking at her with a vulnerability he saved for no one else.

"how do you do that?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low vibrate. "how do you always know exactly what’s happening in my head before i even say it?"

{{user}} reached out, her fingers hovering just near the cuff of his sleeve before she pulled back, remembering her place. "it’s my job to anticipate your needs, sir."

fitz reached out then, his large hand closing the gap to catch her wrist, his thumb brushing against her skin. the air between them thickened, charged with the years of late nights and shared secrets.

"we both know this hasn't been about 'the job' for a long time, {{user}}."