It was late in the afternoon when Cyrus responded to an unexpected summons to the Oval Office. 

“Mr. President?” he announced himself as he knocked and then stepped into the room. In spite of his worries, Cyrus always enjoyed the  thrill of accomplishment he felt whenever he stood in the Oval Office, knowing that he belonged there.  The clean lines and sense of understated power filled him with a sense of satisfaction that nothing else in his life gave him. No matter what else the day might hold, at the end of it, it was always this. 

The president - Cyrus rarely referred to him as anything else, even in his own mind -  didn’t answer him right away. 

Fitz was seated behind his desk, occupied with the contents of the folder he was holding. Cyrus took the moment to study him. His sense of accomplishment and personal satisfaction faded away.

There was a trace of dark circles under the president’s eyes. He still wasn’t sleeping as well as Cyrus would have liked. As harried as he might be as Chief of Staff - being the power behind the throne as it were - he knew that it was nothing compared to be the actual commander-in-chief of the most powerful country in the world. That alone was enough to take a toll on any man. 

And it had begun to take its toll on Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III. Along with the dark circles, there were new lines of stress in the corner of his eyes; Cyrus thought he might be seeing the beginning of the tiniest touch of silver at his temples. 

The presidency made a man more of what he already was. Despite what he believed the president had learned - that Olivia had insisted he knew - the knowledge of what they had done hadn’t broken him in the way Cyrus might have expected. Or if it had, the president had refused to let it show. That might account for the drinking and the sleeplessness, but until Fitz himself brought it up, Cyrus felt forced to keep silent on the matter as well. 

If Olivia was right, it grieved him in a way that he could never admit to any one. He had played his part in it but the truth of the matter was that was a fact that he could barely admit to himself - let alone anyone else.

It was a lonesome cross to bear. 

Cyrus swallowed back the taste of bitterness that came up and lingered in the back of his throat. He could have done the job just as well, he thought. he’d always known it. Except that he was who he was and he was what he was - and America was in no way ready for that. But for that one fact, he could have shouldered the burdens of the affairs of state just as well as the younger man before him. Maybe even better. 

It was one of the reasons why he had so solidly backed him. Fitz, as he sometimes still allowed himself to call the other man, was a younger, albeit version of himself where intelligence and leadership were concerned. Cyrus could never be him, but... 

No. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on that ancient heartache any longer. 

Even so, there was the evidence of too many sleepless nights on Fitz’s face; too many nights given over to the scotch that deadened his pain. It wasn’t obvious to anyone outside his inner circle, but the signs were all there, ready for anyone who really knew who Fitzgerald Grant was to see. And Cyrus knew a little more than most. He knew that the president was in love with a woman not his wife and losing her was eating him up from the inside out. 

The unspoken issue of Defiance had only made things worse. 

And it was another thing that they would not - could not - talk about. 

“Mr. President.” he repeated. 

Fitz’s eyes finally came up to meet his own. Cyrus took it as a signal to approach. 

“How is she?” the president’s words stopped Cyrus in his tracks.

“Sir?”

The president’s eyes darkened from their normal grey-blue to the dangerous hues of storm clouds as they bored into his own. “Olivia Pope - as if you didn’t know.” He bit his next words out slowly. “How. Is. She?”

He knew they’d met, Cyrus realized. He realized that the president was not happy about it. 

Neither was Cyrus. Who was he having watched - him or Olivia - or the both of them? His nerves were already frayed enough from his own issues. He was not - although he should have been since it was an acknowledged part of his job - willing to put up with this sort of crap. Not in this moment.

“About as well as you - sir.” Cyrus was tired and a little more worn down than usual which was the only reason he allowed some of his own aggravation show. He regretted it the moment he heard his own words.

It was too late to take them back; Cyrus could see that the president had heard the challenge in his voice. In reaction, Fitz came to his feet, the beginning of anger radiating from his entire body.

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” Fitz looked as though he was very close to losing his temper.

He knew he should apologize, but something inside wouldn’t let him. Cyrus refused to back down. “I’m only answering your question, Mr. President.” 

//**//

Fitz was finding it hard to hold his temper in check as he watched Cyrus cross the room. When he was standing directly before his desk, for the first time in a long time, Cyrus faced him eye to eye, without any reservation or apology in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware - sir - that my duties as Chief of Staff now entailed my reporting on Olivia Pope’s comings and goings. Especially since she is no longer connected with this administration.” 

Cyrus rushed on before Fitz opened his mouth to answer.  

“May I respectfully remind you, Mr. President, that I knew Olivia Pope long before you did - and you knew that from the start when I first brought her in to work on your election campaign.  And whether we are on opposite sides of your policies or not - she and I have a relationship outside of that.” 

Fitz noticed that Cyrus’ eyes were just as angry as his own probably were. But Cyrus wasn’t finished with him quite yet. He dropped a final bombshell.

“Or am I supposed to distance myself from one of the few truly supporting friendships that I’ve been able to maintain over the years simply because you’ve been unable to sustain yours?”