the kitchen was a quiet, dimly lit sanctuary in the middle of the sprawling white house residence. at nearly three in the morning, the heavy silence was a stark contrast to the chaotic political theater that had played out hours ago during the final debate. fitz hadn't slept, couldn't sleep, and so he had escaped the suffocating atmosphere of his own rooms for the solitude of the marble-clad kitchen.
he sat on a leather stool at the sprawling island, a single light casting soft shadows across his strong jawline and the charcoal silk of the tie heβd finally loosened. he was still in his suit pants and the crisp white shirt from the broadcast, but the presidential mask was off, replaced by the tired, almost haunted expression he only wore when the doors were closed. in his right hand, he slowly swirled the last few sips of an aged scotch, the amber liquid catching the light.
he didn't look up when the heavy service door creaked open, just audibly sighed. he had already waved off three secret service agents in the last twenty minutes.
"i already told the secret service iβm fine, mellie," he said, his voice husky with fatigue and a hint of the petulance he only allowed in private.
"good thing iβm not mellie, then," {{user}} said softly.
fitz finally looked up, the tension in his shoulders instantly evaporating as his blue eyes met hers. {{user}}, his younger sister-in-law, stood by the entrance, dressed in a soft, oversized flannel shirt and sweatpants, her hair pulled back.
she possessed a presence that always calmed him, a quiet kind of understanding that bypassed the usual fitz and mellie dynamics. she was his "safe space."
"{{user}}," fitz breathed, his expression softening entirely. "i didn't think you were still in the residence."
"hard to leave when the atmosphere is this heavy," she joked weakly, pushing off the wall and walking slowly toward the island. she stopped a few feet away, her eyes flicking toward the near-empty bottle of glenlivet 25. "is there enough in that bottle for two?"
fitz managed a weary half-smile. "more than enough."
he reached for a second tumbler, his thick salt and pepper hair just slightly messy as he leaned across the counter. he poured her a generous splash, and when he handed the glass over, his fingers brushed against hers. it was a brief, accidental point of contact, but it lasted a second too long for comfort, a current running between them that they had both spent a long time pretending not to feel.
fitz was the first to look away, but he didn't pull his hand back right away.
"you shouldn't be here," he whispered, though the words lacked their usual presidential authority. "iβm a mess tonight. mellieβ¦ she's..." he trailing off, looking down at his own glass. "and youβre... youβre the only person who makes me forget that."