the oval office was silent, save for the low hum of the floor lamps and the distant, muffled ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway. maps of disputed territories were spread across the heavy mahogany of the resolute desk, their edges curled and weighted down by half-empty tumblers of scotch. fitz stood by the window, his navy suit jacket discarded over a chair, sleeves rolled up to reveal pale forearms and the sharp lines of a man who ran miles to outrun his own mind.

he turned, his blue eyes catching the dim light. he looked at {{user}}. she was sitting on the edge of the desk, her presence solid and grounding against the frantic energy of the day’s legislative collapse. she didn’t look like a langston right now; she looked like the only person in washington who wasn’t trying to carve a piece out of him.

"you don't have to do this, you know," he said, his voice gravelly from hours of arguing with her mother’s caucus. "you don't have to carry her banner. you’re smarter than her rhetoric."

{{user}} didn’t flinch. she traced the gold embossing on a leather-bound folder, her fingers steady. "it’s not about the banner, fitz. it’s about the legacy. you of all people should understand the weight of a name you didn't choose."

fitz took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until he could smell the faint scent of her perfume over the sharp tang of his drink. he looked at her, really looked at her, noticing the way her hair fell against her shoulder and the defiance in her gaze that always made his chest tighten.

"i spent my whole life trying to earn a name i hated," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt more dangerous than a public scandal. "then i met you, and for a second, i forgot who i was supposed to be."

the air in the room shifted, turning thick and heavy with the kind of yearning he usually reserved for dreams of vermont and a life that didn't involve the constitution.

"don't," she breathed, her hand hovering near his arm but not quite touching. "don't say things you can't take back when the sun comes up and we're on opposite sides of the aisle again."

fitz reached out, his hand settling on the desk just inches from hers. he felt the heat radiating from her, a magnetic pull that made the presidency feel like a cage and this office feel like the only place he had ever been free.

"the sun isn't up yet," he said.