The two men glared at one another as the impact of Cyrus’ words hung in the air between them.

“Do you want to explain yourself, Cyrus?” Fitz asked. His voice might be quiet but his tone had gone low and dangerous and the anger in it was clear.

“I didn’t think I needed to, Mr. President.” Cyrus never forgot who he was talking to, but that didn’t stop him from being himself. And right now, he was both angry and offended.

Fitz suddenly realized how tensed up his body was, as though it had sensed a possible physical threat instead of merely a verbal one. Every muscle in his body was stiff and angry and he could feel his heart beating heavily.

His response surprised him. Then again, there had been a lot on both of their plates in the last few weeks - and that just concerned the things they did talk about. There were elephants in the room that weren’t being discussed, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. And the combined weight of them had been weighing heavily on them both.

Olivia was only a part of that.

Automatically, his mind veered away from thoughts of her. He just couldn’t bear to think of her these days. Fitz took a few steps away from his desk in a conscious effort to force himself to relax. “I’ll let that comment go - for now.”

“How magnanimous of you, sir.” Cyrus’ sarcasm was evident, fairly dripping from his last word.

“Don’t push me, Cyrus.” Fitz warned him. The merest thought of Olivia’s name was enough to push him over the edge and he found himself desperately wanting to back away from it. If one of them said the wrong thing right now, words might be spoken that could never be taken back by either of them.

He was betting that Cyrus was thinking the same thing, but evidently that wasn’t going to stop him from voicing his thoughts.

“I might say the same, sir.” No, Cyrus was not letting up. “Either you’re having me or she-who-must-not-be-named-in-your-presence followed. Neither one of those scenarios sit well with me.”

Fitz moved; he walked over to a side table that held a tray, a crystal decanter of scotch and several glances. Without looking, he felt Cyrus tense behind him.

He had to admit - he did want a drink. A drink would wash all the thoughts that did not have to do with work from his head. It might take more than one though, it usually did. But it could be done. Fitz had proved it several times before now.

“Why? Isn’t that something right out of your playbook? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” It was his turn for sarcasm. “You should be proud.”

“Who’s your enemy in this scenario, Mr. President?”

Fitz didn’t know the answer to that. Worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to. He reached out with one finger to trace the edges of the decanter’s faceted stopper. The lure of the liquor called to him. He could always depend on it to stop the questions that hammered in his head at bay even if the effects were only temporary.

It had become something of a habit lately, he knew he shouldn’t, but more and more he hadn’t really cared.

Behind him, Cyrus shifted. He felt him move closer.

“Am I now the enemy, sir?”

“Of course not.” Fitz managed to get out.

“But I’m no longer your friend, am I?”

Fitz turned around. “I never said that!”

“You haven’t had to.” Cyrus said. “Your actions of late have made that very clear.”

“My actions have been of a man dealing with several complex issues at a time with no let up in sight. You might want to remember that.”

“I never forget it, Mr. President.”

Thankfully, Fitz heard the change of tone in Cyrus’ voice. The anger had receded and there was a trace of compassion there instead. He knew that it was probably as close to an apology as he was liable to get.

“I think the same could be said for both of us.” Fitz answered.

Fitz turned away from him again. They had just been skating on thin ice for a moment there. What he’d just said was true.  Even if he couldn’t admit it, he knew that he was not ready to deal with these kind of personal questions right now. There was no room for them right now.

Still, he allowed himself a few moments of reprieve. Was Cyrus right? Was he jealous because the other man still retained some semblance of a relationship with Olivia that he no longer had?

Fitz didn’t want to look at the possibility of Cyrus being right too closely. The rational part of his mind recognized that even if the other man was right, that didn’t mean that he either liked it or wanted to hear about it. Again, he was tempted to drown that answer along with the first. It was the lesser of two evils and promised to at least take away the pain momentarily.

At the same time, a part of him argued, how could he trust what was coming out of Cyrus’ mouth when he knew that he was just as involved in Defiance as Olivia had been? Cyrus had lied to him just as she had lied to him.

Fitz drew his hand back and clenched it into a fist as once again the drink called to him. At least it never lied or led him on with soft lips and a scheming heart. It was what it was - a release - however temporary - from the pain. It promised nothing more.

He had never felt more alone than he did now. It was an aching loneliness claiming him, a heaviness in his gut that nothing could heal. There wasn’t enough work in the day, or alcohol in the night to fill the void that lived inside him now.

After all, how could he trust anyone any more?