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fanficbarbie · 6 months

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❝ ...ready for it?❞

A/N: sorry this took so long. i really have no excuse, my job doesn't allow me to have a set schedule. unedited so ignore any mistakes. i hope yall enjoy. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ chapter summary: the president’s daughter spends her first day with her new security detail.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Michael B. Jordan x Fem!OC, Rome Flynn x Fem!OC, Damson Idris x Fem!OC. Bodyguard x Princess, Secret Service x First Kid, forced proximity, forbidden love, tolerated enemies to lovers, college romance.

─⋆♡ chapter warnings: angst, 18+ black!writer, language, fighting, threatening, choking, physical descriptors (brief), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression.

series masterlist ✰ faceclaims ✰ spotify playlist

The door opens to the media room and in an instant, the social butterfly that helped my mother win the presidency is flipped on. “Secretary Randall!” I greet the short woman in front of me.

“Liberty! It’s been too long,” Secretary Randall returns the familiarity with an outstretched hand.

The smile doesn’t leave my face as I reach out to meet Secretary Randall halfway before Agent Jordan attacks her. “It’s so nice to see you,” I say through clenched teeth. Fuck, my jaw is going to hurt after all this fake smiling.

“It’s nice to see you too. Thanks for making time for this in your schedule,” she chirps a little too loud for my liking this early in the day.

“Of course. I wish I had more time, maybe we can figure something out in the future,” I lie. I hope this is the last time I see this woman until I’m begging for a good student teaching placement.

The photographer directs us to stand in between the windows with the most sunlight. “Yes, that’s right. You’re in class at…” she trails off, hoping I’ll finish her sentence.

The photographer snaps a couple of pictures of us smiling, standing side by side. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel Agent Jordan’s eyes on me, waiting for the secretary to step out of line so he could pounce. “Howard,” I finally blurt out.

Once the photographer gives a thumbs up, I step back giving us each some personal space again. “Yes, Howard. Amazing education program,” Secretary Randall compliments.

“Speaking of, I have class in,” I pause to look down at my wristwatch. “Half an hour so, I’m sorry but I have to go,” I apologize and hope it looks sincere.

She nods, stepping out of the path for the door. “I understand. Have a good day, Libby,” she waves goodbye.

I return the smile, moving to exit the room as soon as possible. “You too, Secretary Randall,” I try to call towards her over my shoulder, but Agent Jordan is blocking my way.

Once the doors shut behind the three of us, Jo clears her throat. “You know you don’t have class in thirty minutes, right?” she asks.

I nod, turning towards the staircase to the residence levels. “Of course, I know. But I just need 15 minutes of alone time before this interview,” I explain.

Jo stops just before we ascend the staircase together, leaving Agent Jordan and me alone. “Got it,” she says, walking back in the direction we came.

My feet rush up the stairs, making a right towards the blue room.

Please let it be empty, please let it be empty, please let it be empty. I chant the mantra in my head over and over again until my hand is on the handle, pushing the door open. A sigh of relief rasps through my body. Thank god, it’s empty.

I step into the room, taking in the relaxing feeling of the calming color. The door shuts behind me and I assume Agent Jordan has closed it and is now standing outside the door. I take advantage of the opportunity, closing my eyes and flopping down on the couch.

My breathing calms and I mentally note to plan a regular massage appointment if things are going to continue this way. When my eyes flutter open, I almost jump out of my skin seeing Agent Jordan towering over my face. “That was good,” he compliments with his signature menacing smirk on his face.

“I know,” I scoff, hyper-aware of his every move now. My eyes watch Agent Jordan come around to the front of the couch. “What are you doing?” I question him.

Agent Jordan pulls at the bottom of his pants a bit before sitting down. “What does it look like?” he chides.

I roll my eyes, feeling them get stuck from the sleepy feeling I’ve yet to shake. “Sitting, yes. But next to me,” I point out Agent Jordan’s perfectly sculpted body.

Agent Jordan shrugs, tilting his head to look at me. “It’s the best way to protect you,” he mutters.

“You’re supposed to protect me from stuff outside the room. There’s nothing to protect me from in here but you,” I counter.

Agent Jordan’s head falls back and he lets out something I thought I’d never hear. A fucking boisterous laugh. “My lady has jokes,” he chuckles.

I roll my eyes, scooting further away from Agent Jordan on the couch. “No. Your lady has questions,” I warn.

“No,” Agent Jordan deadpans.

“Yes,” I argue.

Agent Jordan’s eyes narrow at me sending a chill down my spine. “No, Liberty,” he bellows with finality. “Prep for your fucking interview or something,” he crosses his arms, staring directly up at the ceiling. He doesn’t dare to move and his face is cold as stone.

A few moments pass and I realize, Agent Jordan’s not going to break. I might as well press forward. “What’s your first name?” I ask.

Agent Jordan's lips part and he lets out an exacerbated sigh. “Michael,” he states.

I lick my lips, sitting up to prepare another question. “What’s your zodiac sign?” I buzz.

“Why do you care?” Michael asks, still no movement.

“Because I do. Now tell me,” I spew.

Michael blinks rapidly as if he’s trying to reach up and grab the zodiac sign from his mind. I should’ve just asked him his birth date. “I don’t know. My birthday is on February 9th,” he responds.

My eyes roll again. Gotta love the air signs. “Great, you’re an Aquarius,” I criticize.

Michael’s face scrunches with blithe disregard. “I won’t even pretend to know or give a shit about what that means to you,” he mouths off towards the ceiling.

“What are you doing here?” I ask with my head propped up in my hand.

“Working,” Michael grumbles.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question. Why. Are. You. Here?” I intonate.

Michael’s tongue darts out over his perfectly plump bottom lip and the simple act has me gulping. “Have to be. It’s in my contract,” he reminds me.

“Well, the only reason why an ex-navy seal would be doing this job would be because you did something bad,” I speculate, pausing to search Michael’s face for any discomfort.

Michael’s poker face is award-winning, and he doesn’t crack, so I continue to press. “Were you a bad boy, Mikey?” I coo seductively.

“Don’t,” Michael snaps.

My jaw drops and I cover my mouth with my hands. ”Oh my gosh. Did you kill someone?” I gasp facetiously.

Michael clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth making an unsavory popping sound, causing me to flinch slightly. “I’ve killed so many people, I’ve lost count, my Lady,” he patronizes.

“No, I mean like someone you’re not supposed to,” I elaborate.

Michael finally moves, suddenly snapping his head over to look me dead in the eye. “Stop,” he demands.

A small grin creeps onto my lips. Got ya. I shift on the couch so that I’m on my hands and knees, crawling to Michael. I wish it were under better circumstances but, here we are.

“Oh you killed a bunch of people and now you’re stuck with me. Poor Mikey,” I taunt, inching my way closer to him.

Michael’s mouth twitches as if I’ve offended him but he doesn’t stop me from practically crawling in his lap. “That’s not what happened,” he corrects me.

Michael’s breath smells like cinnamon and I catch him glancing at my ass so perfectly poked up in the air. The feeling of being this close to him is intoxicating. “So what happened?” I dig.

All the blood in my body rushes to my ears, hungry for a taste of the man just inches away from me. “What happened, Lady Li–” I cut Michael off with a finger pressed to his lip.

“Stop calling me that,” I mewl just above a whisper. I drag the tip of my finger down so Michael’s plump bottom lip snaps up.

What happens next, I could’ve never predicted. Michael’s rough hands wrap around my neck, squeezing the sides. “Don’t interrupt me again,” he spits in my face before pushing me back.

The force is great enough that it gets me out of Michael’s personal space, but not so bad it hurts. It only makes me want more and I try to ignore the searing heat pooling in my panties. “The problem isn’t with me killing people. We did that in the Seals all the time. I took money for it after. That’s the issue,” he explains to me like I’m a 6th grader now that I’m kneeling patiently next to him.

“So like a mercenary?” I cut to the point.

With a petulant shake of his head, Michael corrects me, “Not like, I was a mercenary.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Jesus Christ. Obviously, the government caught you,” I speak in utter shock. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d ever get caught up in a job like this.

Michael nods, confirming my suspicion. “Mmm. Caught our leader and he was weak. Snitched on the entire group before killing himself,” he explains.

I gnaw on my lip, processing all the information. Although I don’t know them from a can of paint, Michael’s coworkers don’t look like they could do what he’s talking about. Agent Flynn is too bubbly and Agent Idris is so outspoken. “So Agent Flynn and Agent Idris, they’re…”

“The person you hire when you want someone dead,” Michael deadpans.

“That’s, well…” I pause, not wanting to alienate the man. If he has to be with me for 4 years, I want him to get acclimated slowly. If I push too fast, he may run for the hills.

Not that I care what he thinks about me because I 100% do. not. care. “What?” Michael’s voice brings me back to reality.

I’m assuming you can’t have a girlfriend or kids. Too risky in the business meaning a majority of your time is spent with coworkers or alone. No forming real long-lasting relationships. “Sad. Must be lonely with a life like that,” I finish the thought.

Michael shrugs and I watch the statement bounce off of him like water off a duck's back. “Trust me, you get used to it.”

I try to keep my face as composed as possible not to show him pity. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. That’s not a life I’d want to live. Barely any connection and no one to talk to.

“Don’t apologize,” Michael murmurs and for a moment, I see a flash of human in his eyes. The once robotic side of him is slowly starting to melt away and it’s only been a few hours.

Good, he couldn’t keep up this act for much longer. I offer Michael a soft smile before he returns the question, “What are you doing here?”

“Meaning?” I clarify.

“You’re 20, in college already. Why are you living in The White House?” Michael gestures outside the windows to the spectacular white pillars.

Because I’m being used as leverage. It's the same as any young royal, or so I’m told. “They’re trying to set me up with someone. Probably a young prince from another country,” I huff.

Michael’s nose scrunches, almost as if he’s displeased with my statement. Is he jealous? “You don’t seem like the relationship person,” he points out.

I shrug because Michael’s right. Ellis is underage and Hudson can’t be trusted as far as you can throw him; I’m the only child up for the task. “I’m not, but Lady Liberty sure is. If I date the Mexican president’s son, drug trade talk will be easier,” I explain feeling despondent about the situation.

“But you hate it,” Michael says and I feel like he’s staring through my soul. Of course, I hate it. This country has limited abortion access yet I’m being paraded around like a piece of meat to stop a war.

My eyes stay fixed on Michael’s and my breathing slows. Something about him makes me feel safe, although he could work on the scowling. “And I love my mom. What’s 4 years?”

“If their little plan for you goes well, it’ll be 8,” Michael asserts.

A knock rasps on the door before Jo sticks her head in. “Times up. Teen Vogue time!” she cheers.

The loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the fitting room has me wanting to push it right over the balcony railing. The noise is like nails on a chalkboard, reminding me that time is fleeting.

The doors fly open and Ellis bursts in, being closely trailed by Agent Idris. “Guess what I found out?” she asks melodically.

My head shakes at Ellis’s antics. “Do you ever knock?” I ask. I could’ve been fucking naked.

Ellis huffs, sitting down on the armchair closest to me. “No. You’re not doing anything anyway,” she says, gesturing to me sitting idly on the loveseat.

My eyes roll and I hear Agent Idris chuckle lowly. Annoyed with Ellis taking so long to get to the point, I try to speed her up, “What did you find out, bestie?”

A creepy all-knowing smile plasters onto Ellis’ face. “King Charles III is coming tomorrow,” she informs me maniacally.

“Yeah, Ellis, I assumed. It’s a state dinner. The head of the honoring country has to be on the list,” I explain. She’s in high school, she should know this already.

“Yeah, but you don’t get it. The last two state dinners with the prime minister and the previous queen. This is his first state dinner as King,” Ellis explains excitedly with her hands, showing us a visual representation of the King’s importance.

The Brits haven’t been very fond of us since an official July 4th many moons ago. “That probably means way less to him than it does to us,” I inform Ellisr.

The back doors to the room open 4 clothes racks are pushed in with accompanying stylists. “Time to play dress up,” Ellis sighs, standing from her chair.

She can go first, I don’t care for this shit anyway.

Ellis starts sliding the hangers across the rack, looking at each piece with a detailed eye. My hands find the book I was reading earlier in the afternoon and I pick it up, trying to busy my brain with something. A couple minutes pass of ambient noise before I hear Ellis ask, “Where’s Jo?”

I don’t bother to look up at Ellis, knowing her back is probably facing me. “I told her to go home for the day. Like you said, it’s not like I’m doing anything,” I quote her words a few moments ago.

“We’ll be outside,” I hear Michael say from behind me. When I turn around, he’s pulling a reluctant Agent Idris towards the door.

“You guys can sit right there. We’ll be behind the dressing screen anyways,” I stop them in their tracks. Agent Idris turns around with a smirk on his face before straightening his now-ruffled suit.

Michael’s forehead puckered and his eyes blazed with anger. My eyes squint at him, unsure about his sudden behavior change. What the fuck is his problem? “Sweet,” Agent Idris boasts before smoothly crossing over to me.

I pat the loveseat next to me and Agent Idris smoothly slides onto the cushion, leaning close to me. Once he’s content, I turn my attention to Michael, who looks like he could strangle Agent Idris. The veins are popping out of his skull so I stand, motioning for my spot on the couch. “Here, take my spot. I’ll take the chair,” I motion towards my seat.

Michael obliges my request, stalking towards me and sitting in the inevitably warmed seat. Agent Idris, uncomfortable with the proximity of closeness, scoots back drastically. A snort leaves my nose and I lower myself into the velvet armchair.

I turn the page and before I can begin reading, Ellis comes out dressed in the first dress. The grey tulle adorned with black butterflies is perfectly age-appropriate for her. “Oh Ellis, you look so pretty,” I compliment.

Ellis steps in front of the mirror, spinning a bit. Her nose scrunches and she fluffs the skirt out. “I don’t really like it,” she murmurs.

“Why?” I ask.

Ellis turns around, kicking the skirt out a bit so she can walk. “Too much tulle,” she calls over her shoulder on her way towards the dressing room.

“So pick one without tulle, Ellis. I know you have one back there,” I chastise her.

Ellis grumbles something inaudible back and I hear the sound of the crinoline moving against the floor. Two zipper sounds fill the air and minutes later, I hear her sigh, “Okay.”

I abandon my book, figuring my turn is upcoming. “Yeah?” I shout slightly at the screen.

Ellis comes from behind the screen in a Tiffany blue dress with minimal crystals adorning the pockets. “Yeah,” she smiles bashefully.

It’s perfect for Ellis, but without accessories, she looks naked. “You need some gloves and maybe some earrings,” I list, walking over to the vanity with crystal pieces laid on the silk trays.

“I mean duh but what do you think? Hair up or down,” Ellis asks and I look up at her reflection in the mirror. She switches between holding her hair up and letting it flow, posing as she does.

Why would Ellis ask me? I’m the most indecisive person on the fucking planet. “Down,” I suggest.

Ellis nods, picking up the bottom of the dress. “Okay, let me get changed,” she scurries behind the screen.

I silently disappear between the racks, hoping that if I stay silent, no one will notice my short stature in between the clothing. “Your turn,” Ellis unfortunately chirps.

My eyes roll and I touch the fabrics. I don’t want anything too extravagant, but sexy enough to command presence. And I’ll be damned if my little sister looks better than me, no offense. I pick a few dresses, putting them on a rack that an assistant swiftly pulls away for me.

Once I’m ready, I step behind the screen. The stylist unzips the first dress, stepping out of the room so I can slip into it. I shed the clothing, folding up my outfit. I step into the first dress, calling for help to lace up the back. “Okay,” I say, finally looking up in the mirror. “I can already tell you I don’t like this one,” I grunt, turning to get a good look at myself.

The dress has a cinched waist, and the blue is bright–it reminds me of a highlighter. It’s a beautiful dress. It’s just not the dress for me.

“So I don’t need to see it. Next!” Ellis shouts. I nod, allowing the stylist to slowly untie the ribbon. I put my hands back on my chest to avoid spilling out of the top of the dress before the stylist puts another dress up on the rack.

Once she leaves, I exhale, allowing the dress to fall to the floor. I pick it up, put it back on the rack, and turn to pick up the next one. This one is a hot red color with a crystalized top. Similarly to the first dress, the red satin flows out from the waist, with velvet roses on the straps. I call the stylist in again to lace me up, and she does so with practiced ease.

When she’s finished, I step out but only in view of Ellis. “This one’s okay,” I say. It’s too sweet and would be a better fit for Ellis.

Ellis shifts with her hands on her hips. “Mmm, we can do better,” she says before turning back to the racks. She maneuvers through the racks, pulling a blue tulle dress and holding it up towards me. “This one?” she asks.

I shake my head, “Too extra.”

Ellis hands the dress off to the assistant, diving back into the rows determined to find something appropriate. “This one?” she asks, holding a long silk dress. “Oh my gosh, please try it for me,” she pleads.

I scoff, taking the dress from Ellis’s hands, “Fine.”

The Tiffany blue silk with the bow on the back makes it a beautiful, yet promising dress. Giddy about the outcome of this dress, I step into it and call the stylist in for hopefully the last time. After she’s done securing the back, she lets me know, and I let my arms fall to my waist. A smile grows on my face when I look myself up and down in the mirror. “You know what, Ellis? You might’ve been right,” I praise her selection.

It fits my body perfectly and it’s a beautiful dress. “Really?” I hear Ellis ask just before I step out from behind the shield. Her eyes drink me in and her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Hell yeah,” she boasts.

Ellis steps to the side and when I look behind her, I see Agent Idris’ jaw is on the floor. My eyes find Michael’s and his face is still stone cold. But I see a flash of desire in his irises the longer we have the staring contest.

Ellis clears her throat and I blink rapidly, returning my gaze towards Agent Idris. Michael notices and backhands the man in the chest. Agent Idris quickly snaps his mouth shut, swallowing before his lips part again. “Hot,” Agent Idris groans, shifting his pants.

When I look down, his prominently hard member is practically waving at me. “Show some fucking respect,” Michael barks, tossing one of my throw pillows in Idris’ lap.

A faint giggle slips Ellis's lips and when I turn my head toward her, she’s covering her mouth discreetly. “Oh come on, I’m being objective,” Agent Idris defends himself before turning his attention to me. “Libby you look beautiful,” my sister’s agent compliments with his arm outstretched.

A small smile creeps onto my lips. “Thank you, Agent Idris,” I say before turning around to face the jewelry case.

My eyes scan the contents of the box, allowing my fingers to pick up a gold ring and slide it onto my finger. “Pretty. You wearing that one?” I hear Ellis ask.

“I don’t know,” I say, similarly abandoning the jewelry to her. “Hair up or down?” I ask, striking my poses.

Ellis squints, gnawing on her lip for a second like it’s the hardest decision she’s ever had to make. Me and you both, Lil Bit. “Down,” she finally utters.

I turn towards the couch behind Ellis. The guys will give me a better opinion anyway. After all, it’s their desire I’m trying to obtain. “Agent Idris?” I ask the man.

“Up,” my sister’s guard answers with such quickness that I wonder if he read my mind before I asked that question.

Michael’s body tenses and his buttons dare to pop off his shirt. “Say another word and I’ll be watching you bleed out on the rug,” he threatens his colleague.

Curious about Michael’s opinion, I pose him the same question, “Agent Jordan?”

Michael’s body stays stoically still but his jaw clenches unnaturally. After a couple of moments, I get fed up with the fact that he won't give me attention. “Fine, what about the jewelry? I don’t know which one,” I return to the jewelry boxes.

Ellis looks over my shoulder before pointing at a box. “Gold,” she states before leaving my side.

I pick up the tray with at least 15 pieces on it. “Way to narrow it down for me, Ellis. Now get out,” I playfully bid her goodbye. “and take him with you,” I joke, pointing at Agent Idris.

“Bye, Libby. See you whenever,” Ellis waves over her shoulder.

“Bye, Lis. Bye, Idris,” I call after the lanky brown man who throws me a wink over my shoulder. These men are going to be the death of me.

I peer out of the window at the tip of the National Monument. Hudson’s obsessive rants about whatever topic he chose are starting to drive me nuts, and we still have 30 minutes of traffic to sit through. “I need you to shut the fuck up for the remainder of our time together in this car,” I whip my head towards my kid brother and snap.

His nose scrunches and he leans forward defensively. “We’re only in traffic because of your stupid education degree. Ceramics has night classes,” he taunts.

“Yeah, cause your ceramics degree is going to come into good use,” I slander his degree choice. I have nothing against art majors, it’s just my brother is a dick who needs to be put in his place right now.

Agent Flynn snickers and Hudson smacks my pants leg. I reach out, grabbing his wrist before he can scurry back to his side of the car. “Touch me again,” I start twisting, eliciting a spew of cries from his throat.

“Ow, ow. Let go,” he pleads.

“And I’ll fucking kill you,” I finish the threat, releasing my grip. He snatches his arm back, rubbing the skin around his wrist.

He mumbles something under his breath before looking across the car at his guard. “Aren’t you supposed to kill her if she touches me?”

Agent Flynn shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the sibling bickering. “I would but Agent Jordan would kill me on the spot. So is there a true winner?” he clarifies.

A giggle leaves my lips. He’s got to be joking, right? “Hahaha, my guard is better than yours,” I tease Huddy.

“Not better just, quicker and more serious,” Agent Flynn needlessly defends himself.

The cars pull up just inside the gates, pulling over to the side of the road. “They’re stopping,” Michael alerts Agent Flynn.

His hand creeps down to hover over his gun when I realize what’s going on. They didn’t tell him about Code Grey. Code Grey is the scheduled mindfulness break, brought to you by the white house. They just want to ensure the first children don’t get off track, especially their prized pony.

“No, put those away. The plan says to the door but we haven’t had a mindfulness break today,” I quickly explain, before the door slides open.

An agent with black sunglasses extends his hand for me to grab. “Come on, Agent Jordan,” I request, although he doesn’t have a choice.

When I step out and the January air hits my face, I grimace. How is walking in freezing temperatures supposed to be good for my mental health?

A hand is placed on my back, pushing me slightly forward. When I look next to me, I notice it’s Agent Jordan. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. But he’s not an option, none of them are.

My brother steps out behind him, following a chipper Agent Flynn. I bid my sibling goodbye, allowing him and Agent Flynn to cross campus together discreetly. They take off leaving Agent Jordan and I to stand in their dust. “Since you’re here, carry this,” I demand, shoving the bag into Michael’s arms.

He accepts it, swinging the pastel pink strap over his back. “Whatever you say, my lady,” he flirts and I roll my eyes.

My hand slides up to hold his arm. The boots I have on are too high for me to walk stably on the salt-covered ground, so I hope he doesn’t mind. Abruptly, I hear the familiar camera shuttering noises not too far from us. Michael shakes his arm so I let go and he secures it firmly around my shoulder, pulling me into his body.

He shields me from the paparazzi on the other side of the gate and for the first time, I understand the reason for him. I wouldn’t be able to do this with a 40-year-old man. The topic of conversation surely wouldn’t be how hot my bodyguard is.

We quickly cross the lawn to the education building. When I scan my card for entry, he looks up at the tall structure. “Shit looks depressing,” he comments, holding the door open for me to enter.

I step into the warm building, feeling an instant pain in my ears and nose from the temperature change. I stomp any possible salt off my boots. “I don’t think higher education is supposed to be fun,” I theorize and he chuckles.

The halls are mostly empty, aside from a few scattered students. I look down and check my phone in my hands, seeing that it’s a couple of minutes past four. My heart starts beating rapidly, and I slightly pick up my pace. I like this professor, and I want to leave a good impression on her. She and Jo are the only people who treat me like I’ll have a normal life after this.

The click of my heeled boots echoes off the walls until I’m standing at the door, looking back at Agent Jordan. “I’m sure she knows about you, but just in case. You’re a transfer student, and we’re friends,” I explain our cover story.

He raises an eyebrow, before taking a step back. “Do I look like a fucking teacher, my lady?” he asks, rhetorically.

“No, you look like a munch,” I respond, quickly pulling open the door before he has a chance to respond. Maybe he’ll charm the pants off my professors and I’ll get an A.

Taglist: @cherrellek, next part

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fanficbarbie · 5 months

Text

❝ therefore i am ❞

A/N: if you want to know what's going on in my personal life, read my past couple posts. i'm not going to go to much into it but i'm back. unedited so ignore any mistakes. i hope yall enjoy. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ chapter summary: the president’s daughter deals with the aftermath of the club. michael becomes unrecognizable.

─⋆♡ chapter warnings: angst, 18+ black!writer, language, torture, blood, hostages, fighting, threatening, weapons, physical descriptors (brief), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression, lmk if i missed something.

series masterlist ✰ faceclaims ✰ libby's cabinet ✰ spotify playlist ⋆ word count: 6.4k ⋆

I’m never drinking again.

The pounding in my head makes me feel like a military missel just rocketed itself into my temple. I groan, wincing slightly at the raw sensation in my throat. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the soft light from the sunrise.

I look at the clock to the right of my nightstand and I am happy to see it’s only 4 a.m. I typically have weekends off from President’s Daughter duty, so I’m grateful for the extra time to sleep in.

I don’t even remember getting up here if I'm honest. Deciding to deal with it later, I slowly shift in the bed. I allow my eyes to close again, flipping to the other side. I sigh, trying to get comfortable when the nausea kicks in.

I inhale a sharp deep breath when I feel a warm hand creeping under my shirt. I moan and melt into the soft circles being rubbed into my back by the physical heating pad. Wait, did I go home with someone?

My body immediately fills with panic thinking about the possibility of a stranger being in my bed. I almost scream when I pry my eyes open and see a sleepy Meredith peering back at me.

My eyes widen and my breathing quickens. I mean, I’m into girls and guys, so it’s plausible we hooked up. “Did we?” I ask, nervous to lift the blankets to see the state of my clothing.

“No,” Meredith sighs, returning her hand to its place on my back.

I groan, shifting in Meredith's hold. “What the fuck happened?” I whisper, burrowing my face deeper into her armpit.

“That prick Teddy roofied you. Apparently, he and Vanessa had a bet. She’s definitely not hanging with us anymore. You don’t remember anything?” Meredith inquires, continuing to rub my back.

I inhale a sharp breath. “No, but I feel fine.” Then, I exhale, pushing on the mattress to sit up. I rub my eyes, attempting to clear the sleep out of them. “How did we get here?” I ask the blonde.

“Michael came to tell us you were leaving and I was ready to be done but Kendall wanted to go hook up with someone,” Meredith pauses and I grimace, attempting to shove the bile down my throat. “Vanessa wanted to stay so I left my guards with them, figuring Michael would keep the two of us safe,” she continues.

I pat the bed for my phone and sure enough, when I find it, it’s dead. “And then, get this. It’s the best part. He made me hold you in position while he shoved his fingers down your throat. You ate a lot tonight, girlie,” the events of the night flow into my eardrums through Meredith’s excellent storytelling.

“Wait,” I pause Meredith mid-story, “He didn’t tell you I was roofied until we were gone?” I ask, quite frankly confused as fuck.

I lift the blankets off of me, sliding out of the bed. Picking up my robe from the footboard bench, I shrug it onto my body. “Mmhm, said something about taking care of it himself,” I hear Meredith murmur.

When the words register, the blood drains from my body. “Oh, no. Mer,” I curse, quietly.

My body slowly turns around in an attempt to keep myself calm. “What?” Meredith tilts her head and asks.

I put my hands out on the duvet in front of me, leaning into the mattress. “Did you tell him about Vanessa and Teddy?” I ask Meredith. Hopefully, she didn’t and Michael is in the next room asleep. If she did, the worst-case scenario is he’s already killed them.

A puzzled look washes over Meredith's face and she looks up at the ceiling as if the answer is up there. “Yeah, he wouldn’t stop asking questions on the way back,” she tells me and my world shatters. “Do you know you snore?” she continues, unphased.

My dinner from last night threatens to come up as I think of what to do. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. What do you do when your Secret Service wants to rightfully kill someone who hurt you? “Mer, he’s an ex fucking mercenary assassin,” I snip.

Meredith's brows kit together and she licks her lips. “What’s that mean?” she wonders.

I look at Mer with a blank expression covering my face. I expected a billionaire's daughter to be a know-it-all. “Meredith, are you serious?” I grill.

Mer puts her hands up in defense. “What? I’m not in college,” she reminds me.

I nod, taking a deep breath and looking down at the crisp blue fabric. “A mercenary is someone paid to fight. Paid to kill,” I sigh.

“So?” I hear Meredith ask.

My hazel eyes connect with hers again. Meredith blinks rapidly, slightly leaning forward with intrigue. “You don’t give an addict the key to the drug lockbox,” I explain.

Mer's eyes squint and I can barely see the sea swimming around her pupils. “Wait you don’t think he’s…” she trails off.

My hand instinctively reaches out and wraps around Meredith's wrist as if she’s one of my little siblings. “Get up. We’re going to find him,” I demand, effectively dragging her out of bed.

Meredith stumbles a bit like a baby deer once her feet are placed on the floor and I start moving quickly, leaving dust in our trail. “Relax, Libby. He’s probably in his room,” she calls behind me.

I fling my bedroom door open, walking us out into the shared living room. “Mer, you gave the trained assassin whose only job is to protect me the coordinates to put a bullet through two people's heads,” I tell her over my shoulder before lifting my hand to knock on Michael’s door.

My knuckles rasp on the old oak wood before I press my ear to the door, listening for any movement. No shuffling is heard behind the door, so I try knocking once more. All I hear is my breathing bouncing off the solid material.

I turn around slowly, wide-eyed and fearful. Meredith seemingly reads my body language and her affect changes to match what I presume mine is. “Oh shit. I did didn’t I?” she asks for clarification.

Brushing past her, I grab my spare robe from the living room closet. “Yes. Now put this on,” I scoff, throwing it towards her chest.

Meredith cringes with shock washing over her face. She hurriedly puts her arms through the sleeves, pulling the fluffy garment on. “What are we going to do?” she panic shouts.

My hands begin to shake and I tuck them into my pockets. “I don’t know! Stop screaming! It’s 4 am!” I bellow.

Tears collect in Mer's eyes and threaten to spill over her lower lid. “You’re screaming back!” she screams.

“Because I’m stressed,” I explain, returning my voice to my normal level. I shut my eyes, taking slow soothing breaths that fill my lungs with the crisp winter air. “Okay, deep breaths. He couldn’t have found them, picked them up, and killed them in two hours,” I rant, trying to stay in my delusional world.

The sound of our bare feet scurrying towards the door echoes off the tile floor. “I think you’re underestimating your man,” I hear Meredith jest under her breath before I pull open my door.

When we exit the hall, the first person I see is a random security guard. He tilts his head and squints his eyes at us before reaching for the inner lining of his suit pocket. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I warn him causing him to freeze.

I slowly creep towards him until we’re standing toe to toe. “I’m just going to my sister's room. You don’t need to tell anyone. Understand?” I flirt, slowly reaching up to grab his hand that’s near his jacket.

His eyes widen and he turns a scarlet red. His palms begin perspiring, effectively moistening my hand. Seemingly speechless, he just nods before I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. Once his hand is placed back by his side, I release it now that my skin is covered in the man's sweat. Tipping my imaginary hat to him, I link my arm with Meredith who has been standing by, pulling her down the hall.

When we reach the door, I greet the secret service agent outside her door with a smile. Great, another fucking loophole. “Hey, is my sister in there?” I ask as sweetly as possible.

He doesn’t look down at me and Meredith. Instead, he keeps his head focused forward towards the rest of the corridor. “Yes,” the older man deadpans.

I roll my eyes, deciding to forego asking for permission. I’m already here, all I need to do is get into that room and talk to Agent Idris. “Great,” I brush past him, reaching for the door to her common living space.

It’s a lot different than my serene blue castle. The room is covered in a dark plum shade that matches beautifully with her skin tone. Although it may be depressing to look at during your first visit, the hue of the purple sparkles like a gem bringing light into the room.

My sister is a heavy sleeper, so I don’t worry that my knocking will wake her as my hand lifts. I bang on the door like a cop, pausing to listen for shuffling, but I hear nothing. “Agent Idris, are you in there?” I call through the door before reaching for the handle.

I slowly crack the door open in case he’s just sleeping. When I look in the dark and cold room, it’s empty. I swear under my breath, slowly shutting the door behind me. When I turn to face Meredith, she looks dejected.

I grab Meredith's hand pulling her out of the joint sitting room between the two rooms. “That was just our first stop. I figured he’d take him,” I encourage her.

We exit my sister's living area, shutting the large door behind us. “Have a good morning,” I bid the agent goodbye, hoping he won’t speak a word.

He quickly tilts his head down in a moment so quickly, I almost miss it. “You too, Ms. Washington,” he mutters.

My feet nearly stick to the group as we scurry to the next location, Huddy's room. When we get to the door, I repeat the same steps with his night door guard. “Is Hudson awake?” I ask kindly.

This time the man looks down at me and shakes his head. “No,” he answers.

I smile, pulling my lips between my teeth to look mischievous to the man in front of me. “Good. I need to prank him. Can I?” I ask with hope.

He pauses for a moment, looking at his watch before looking back up at me. He seems skeptical, but I’m hoping he buys it. After what feels like forever, he finally mutters, “Sure.”

I mutter a thank you in reply before entering my brother's living area. This time Meredith thinks she knows where she’s going, and she heads straight for the door on the right. I grab her arm, softly pulling her backward. The layout is flipped from both my sister's and mine, so I understand how confusing it could be. It’s covered in red, but none of the reds match. Some are faded while some are bold. It’s like a bachelor pad for a man who doesn’t get any pussy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has navy sheets on his bed right now.

My hand lifts, repeatedly pounding on another agent's door. This time I’m surprised to see Agent Flynn’s face. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

Agent Flynn leans against the door frame, sleepy wiping his eyes. “What are you doing here? It’s like 4 in the morning,” he grumbles.

Trying to save your friend from making a mistake that’ll land him another 4 years with another president’s bratty daughter. Without me. “I think something’s wrong with Michael,” I sigh.

He reaches in to flick the light on in his room. “What do you mean?” he yawns.

I flinch slightly and my pupils adjust to the change of ambiance. “After the dinner, we went out to the club and I got roofied tonight by some rich kids at the club. He asked Meredith for all their info while I was passed out then dropped us here before taking off with Agent Idris,” I try my best to cover all the information tonight.

His eyes widen, seemingly registering what I’ve said. “Shit,” he swears, turning away from the door to enter the brightly lit room. It’s nice compared to my brother's decor. At least someone has taste. “Shit, why don’t they tell me anything?” he asks, grabbing his phone from his bedside table.

Meredith and I survery the room with curiosity, but neither of us dare to cross the threshold into the space. My attention turns back to Agent Flynn, whose fingers quickly tap the screen before he lifts it to his ear. “Who are you calling?” I question him.

“Damson. Mike’s not answering,” Agent Flynn responds.

My heart quickens and my stomach fills with demonic butterflies. Don’t throw up, Lib. Don’t throw up, Lib. Don’t throw up, Lib. “Do you think they’re,” I prompt Agent Flynn to answer.

Agent Flynn's body tenses, instantly giving his answer away. He looks like he needs a hug. “Yes. You better pray your little friend didn’t just nail a coffin,” he snips.

My stomach continuously bubbles and I scratch my hand with furor. The fuck are we going to do? “Two,” Meredith chirps behind us, correcting the man.

My face mirrors Agent Flynn’s, twisting in confusion. When I turn around, Meredith is standing there unphased by the word she just uttered. “Mer, that’s a little insensitive,” I point out.

Her cheeks turn maroon and she looks down at the floor beneath her. “Sorry, but they deserve it,” she grumbles.

Agent Flynn snickers and I whip my head towards him. He puts his hands up in defense when I narrow my eyes at him. “What? I like her,” he smirks.

I stuff the urge to hit him down into the pits of hell, refocusing on the task at hand. “So where are we going first?” I ask Agent Flynn.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “We?” he asks.

I nod furiously. “Yes, we. How can I trust you’re not going to just let them kill them anyway?” I chastise.

He crosses his arms, standing firmly in place like a statue. “Because, unlike Dammy and Mike, I despise killing people,” he counters.

We stare each other down until a few moments pass. The silence is uncomfortable and it makes me want to squirm, but I won’t be the one to give in. Just when I’m about to say fuck it and go back to bed, Agent Idris groans, “Fine. I don’t have time for this. Let’s go,” he commands me and Meredith to follow him.

We exit Hudson's apartment and into the grand hallway. As we walk by guards, Agent Flynn friendly tips his head up to each of them.“Where are we going?” I ask, barely keeping up after his long stride.

“To find them,” he grumbles, taking a right towards the stairwell.

Meredith increases her pace, able to keep up with Agent Flynn’s due to the length of her legs. “Don’t I need actual shoes?” I ask him, putting my hand on the cool banister as we rush down the first level of stairs.

Agent Flynn looks up at me and his amber-colored eyes sparkle in the dim light. “No, we’re just going downstairs,” he informs us.

We get to my parent’s living area and before opening the door Agent Flynn turns around. He puts his finger up to his lips, motioning for us to be quiet. He quietly turns the nob, opens the door, and sticks his head out before entering the area. Once he’s determined the close is clear, he motions for us to follow him down the next set of steps.

I hold my breath and pray that my clumsy nature doesn’t make an appearance. All that’s heard in the small stairwell is the sound of our feet connecting with the stone steps. Once we get to the entrance hall, Agent Flynn silently greets his coworkers, refusing to haul his quick pace.

Although we’re bolting, I feel like I can breathe. There are only two more flights to go and we haven’t been stopped yet.

We make our way towards the next staircase when Mer asks, “There’s a basement?”

“Yes but,” I begin speaking before realizing, I’m also confused about the concept of the basement. I knew about the Navy Resteraunt and the Secret Service headquarters, but not about anything else that happened down there. And since I’m sure no one else will tell me, Agent Flynn is the perfect person to explain. “Agent Flynn, wait,” I call after him.

“We don’t have time,” he grits between his teeth.

I scurry in front of him, stopping him from walking any further on the ground floor. “Agent Flynn, you will stop right now and explain!” I shout like a baby, crossing my arms and stomping for effect.

He looks down at me and smirks. “Rome,” he states.

My brows furrow and I know I’m going to have wrinkles when I’m 50. “What?” I ask.

He steps around me, heading towards the last staircase. “My name is Rome. If you’re going to yell at me, use my first name. Although I rather you be yelling under different circumstances,” he taunts, jogging down leaving Mer and me in his dust.

Mer looks at me and shrugs before following him. Rolling my eyes, I trail after them. “Michael’s gonna kill you when he hears you said that,” I call down the staircase towards Rome.

“Not when he sees you down there. Then, I’ll be dead,” he corrects.

When we reach the bottom floor, I flinch feeling the cool concrete floor beneath my feet. Rome opens the door for us, motioning for us to walk ahead of him. I’ve never been on this side of the basement. The windowless grey space sucks any life out of the area, as opposed to its warm and wood counterpart.

Meredith and I come to a halt and turn around to face Rome, unsure of where to go. He allows the heavy metal door to shut behind us before he clears his throat. “This is the side of the basement is.. How do you say it?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“A torture house?” Meredith squeaks.

Rome clicks his teeth, pointing at the blonde. “Bingo. Used by the highest clearance. Us, the military,” he elaborates.

“Highest clearance including my mom?” I ask, and Rome’s hazel eyes soften with a nod. “Has she used it yet?” I press on, curious about the state of virginity in the space after the election. I purse my lips, accepting his answer.

“I’m not answering that question,” Rome grumbles before turning his back to us. He leads us down a hall I’ve never been down before. The tight space surrounding us heightens my claustrophobia. My heart starts pounding, so I reach out and grab Mer’s hand for some sort of stability. “You alright?” she asks.

We pass various doors that I don’t dare to ask what’s behind. “Yeah, ’m fine. Just don’t like small spaces,” I confess before we take a right.

At the end of the hall, a huge metal door stands between us and something I’m not sure I’m ready to see. My feet drag while Rome quickly walks the rest of the way, unlocking the door before turning around to face me. “Are you sure you want to go in?”

I lightly throw my hand up in exhaustion. “Yes, Rome. Her friend is in there, for fucks sake,” I point out, gesturing towards Mer.

“Former friend,” Meredith squeaks out before I lightly squeeze her hand. “I mean, best friend,” she attempts to clear up.

Rome looks back and forth at us before clearing his throat. “Libby,” he starts, putting his hand on my shoulder and separating Meredith from me. “When Mike gets like this, he’s like a robot. He turns off his humanity to get to his goal and he only listens to the people he cares about. I’m not sure how he’ll react when he sees you,” he warns.

The ice in my toes spreads throughout my body, creating icicles on my nose. He’s warning you because he could see you, and he could kill you. No, Lib, he wouldn’t do that. I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my robe, pulling it tighter around me. “I’m going to choose to have faith on this one. Now open the door,” I demand, looking up at the towering goofball.

He puts his hands up in surrender before turning and pulling the door open. The room is empty, similar to the rest of the hallway. It lacks anything but a metal chair. I rush forward into the space and just when I think I’ve got the wrong room, I look to my right and gasp.

Agent Idris is leaning against an oak table on one side of the room with his arms crossed. Behind the table sits a sobbing Vanessa. Her black mascara stains her cheeks and she’s practically bursting out of her dress.

She flinches and I turn my head, curious to see what she’s looking at. My jaw drops as I watch Michael land another blow to the brunette man’s face. What was once pristine is now dripping with blood. His hands and feet are tied to a chair and he wiggles, attempting to squirm away from Michael’s fist.

I’ve never seen such vitriol and it’s displayed every time Michael flexes his back muscles to swing. The sight is gruesome, and I close my mouth, attempting not to vomit.

“Oh my god,” I hear Meredith say behind me. The sight is gruesome, and I close my mouth, attempting not to vomit. “I can’t watch,” I hear her add before she shuffles out of the room.

“I’m going to go with her. Make sure she’s alright,” I hear Rome say and I nod before the door closes moments later.

I wave at Vanessa, testing if it’s a two-way mirror. My theory is correct and she doesn’t move a muscle. My attention returns to Michael, who’s now kneeling in front of the man, nodding as the man spits out a few words. He’s interrogating him, but there’s got to be a better way to do this. Especially when the kid’s dad is a billionaire.

There’s a button with what looks like a speaker on top of it on the wall. I let my fingers trail over the cool metal before pressing down on the circle.

Vanessa’s sobs fill the space, flowing through the impossibly small device. There’s a gasp before I look up. A sinister grin takes over Michael’s face as he stalks over to his weapons, covered in blood. Michael has decided to move on to the next best thing, a bat. He grabs the wooden spear from the wall, allowing the tip of it to drag on the floor as he walks back over to my perpetrator.

Time slows as I watch him lift the bat, positioning it to rest on his shoulder. He squares his feet firmly in place; I know now is the time. If I don’t stop him now, he’s going to kill him. “Michael,” I utter and he freezes in place. “It’s me,” I choke out the best I can, but it feels like my throat is on fire.

His eyes squint toward the glass as he lowers his arm, walking closer in my direction. “Lib?” he questions with confusion.

His face twists as if he’s on some faraway planet and my voice is his only map to earth. Tears collect in my eyes, threatening to spill over my bottom lid. “Yes. I’m okay. You can stop,” I try to convince him that the route he’s taking isn’t the best.

His once-focused face turns vacant and he begins shaking his head slowly. The pace of his head increases until he’s shaking it rapidly. “No, no, no,” he murmurs as he begins to pace. “Libby wouldn’t be here. She-she’s asleep,” he stutters, talking to himself.

My head nods, even though subconsciously I know he can’t see me. “I am here, Michael,” I emphasize, trying to find the crack in his brain. “Can I come in?” I ask.

His right hand begins beating the outside of his thigh and I know there will be a bruise tomorrow. It’s almost as if he’s trying to pull himself back into his body. “No, you shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have done this here. You shouldn’t be down here. You shouldn’t see–”

“Michael,” I cut his disorganized ranting off. He stops pacing, turning to face the glass. “You’re my guard, my secret service, mine. Whatever you do I do too, remember?” I emphasize.

We made a deal. If we’re in this shit situation for 4 years, we’re in it together. Meaning, no making things harder on the other person. And this is the definition of making things harder.

Michael’s face begins to soften and my heart slows. I found him, he’s coming back. “No, you don’t understand,” he murmurs, seemingly ashamed of his actions.

I swallow thickly before saying, “I’m coming in,” as a warning before releasing the metal button.

Michael’s muted pleas fall on deaf ears as I move quickly to my left, pulling open the heavy door to the torture chamber. He’s in front of me in seconds, and the sight of his blood-stained front makes me nauseous.

“I don’t want you seeing this,” he coldly grits through his teeth. His body tenses, shielding me from the sight behind me.

Those weren’t the terms of our deal, fucker. “Oh, so you were bold enough to do it but not in front of me?” I grill.

He inhales a sharp breath, bringing his nondominant hand up to scratch his scruff. “That’s not what I mean. You just got drugged and no girl should see this,” he explains before his eyes wander down to my feet. “Damn it, Lib. You don’t have any shoes on and you’re fucking naked,” he snips.

My hands go down to my robe, gathering the fabric and adjusting it. “I’m not naked and I’m fine. Best sleep of my life,” I express, crossing my arms in from of my chest and attempting to shield my undoubtedly hard nipples from him.

He rolls his eyes, stepping out of the way to bring Damson and Vanessa into view. “Did you guys get what you needed?” I ask the guard.

He nods, standing from his relaxed position on the table. “They sang like a canary in the first 5 minutes. Trying to get some pictures of you in a compromising position to sell to the blogs,” he recalls.

I raise my eyebrow at the man. “So you let Michael beat this man within an inch of his life?” I question him, voice laced with annoyance.

Damson shrugs, unphased. “What? It was fun,” he chuckles.

Rome enters the room, startling me a bit before I return my focus to Damson. Shaking my head at his antics, I open my mouth to scold him when Vanessa cuts in, “I’m sorry, Libby. I–”

“Shut the fuck up,” I spit in her face, effectively shutting her up. I bend down slightly so we’re on the same level. I want to make sure she understands every word I’m saying. “You don’t get to call me that. Matter of fact, don’t even speak. You’re not in the position to,” I fume in her direction.

Rome whistles before murmuring, “Damn.”

Vanessa sniffs, unable to wipe the snot since she’s bound to the chair. I revel in her this way. Thinking she could fuck me over. Karma is a bitch. “Stupid cunt,” I grumble.

I turn around to face the three men, deciding it’s best to pretend she’s not there so I don’t get worked up. Michael silently surveys my face and my brows knit on my forehead. Why is he looking at me like that?

Rome clears his throat before asking, “What do you want to do?”

What do I want to do? It’s not like killing them would go off without a hitch. Both of their parents are very prominent figures. The best thing to do now is to use them as an example.

Hell, Teddy’s almost dead and I’ll just act like I don’t know her when people ask. She’ll fade to black and I’m sure the message will be well received all over the city. “Let them go,” I command.

Damson kisses his teeth and his upper body curls. He looks dejected that he couldn’t press on. “But we were just getting to the good part,” he groans.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Is he complaining about not being about to kill someone? “And you’ll get your good part if they ever try this again,” I placate.

I nod at Rome, signaling for him to untie Vanessa. I watch as he swiftly unties each notch in the knot. Each rope falls to the ground one by one until she’s standing from her prison. “Thank you so much, Liberty. I’m really sorry, again,” she professes.

I scoff at her fakeness. She’s never liked me and she's only pretending to for her mortality. “I’m only letting you go because I’m not a woman hater. Take this as a warning. You tried, but you failed. Try again, I won’t stop them next time. I will let them kill you, Vanessa,” I promise her.

She nods before slipping back on her club heels. She looks at me, awaiting her next instructions. “Meredith can probably take you home. You have to talk to her now too,” I gesture towards the door, beckoning her to leave.

She nods, allowing her gaze to fall to the floor before she scurries out of the room. I reach into my robe pocket, quickly texting Meredith an update so she has a full grasp on the situation, although she’s probably standing right behind the glass pane.

I’m highly aware that this is a strange place to start a friendship, but maybe it’s the start of something long-lasting. “What about him?” Rome asks, pointing to the barely human face crumpled over in the metal chair.

“Call clean up and have them take care of it. It’s almost 6,” Michael instructs before grabbing the bottom of his blood-soaked shirt. He seamlessly lifts it over his head, showing his perfectly sculpted physique. His abs could easily handle a week's worth of my laundry, irritating the stains from the fabric.

He pulls the top from his body, allowing it to fall to the floor. I’m rendered speechless, feeling it inappropriate to drool in a situation like this. Damson seemingly notices me staring and he clears his throat, causing my eyes to shoot up to the light in the ceiling.

I spin on my heels, unsure of what to do. Once we leave this room, we’re not going to be able to discuss this. There are mics and cameras in every room but the bathroom. I know some camera angles have changed to give me some privacy, but every entrance and exit is being recorded. No one moves in The White House without the Secret Service knowing.

I almost jump when I feel a hand on the small of my back, being brought back to reality. My eyes connect with Michael’s when I lower my head and his once black irises have returned to brown. “You need more sleep,” he simply states.

I nod, unsure of what to say to the boys. A cheery goodbye doesn’t necessarily mesh well with social norms. Michael doesn’t allow me to deliberate, lightly pushing me forward towards the door.

I conceded, turning the need to think off by following his lead. He opens the door for us, ushering us through the entryway. As we walk through the empty viewing room, I look to the left one last time at the scarlet scene. My stomach gurgles, and I snap my eyes to the floor. “You sure you okay?” Michael asks, opening the next door for me.

In the grand scheme of things, I feel fine. But if I say that after being through a traumatic situation, he’s going to lock me up and throw away the key. “I’m more concerned about you,” I disclose genuinely as we walk down the hall.

He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by his actions. “I’m fine. This is what I do,” he grumbles.

“Used to do,” I correct.

“It’s my job,” he argues and I remind him why I hate him sometimes. It’s like talking to a child.

“I don’t think revenge killing was in the position description,”

The walk back up to our apartment feels like it takes forever. The winding staircases and onlookers dare to swallow me whole. I’m not sure a barefoot and clotheless president's daughter with her shirtless Secret Service agent paints the best picture.

My endless suggestions that Michael at least be checked out by the nurse fall on deaf ears. So when we enter the living room of the apartment, I point at the couch commanding him, “Sit.”

He raises his eyebrow at me but doesn’t make any moves to put his bottom on the cushion. “If you’re not going to let me take you to the infirmary, you’re going to let me clean you up,” I explain.

His eyes search mine for deception and I sigh, annoyed with the consistency of this game. “Fine,” he finally gives in, moving to take a seat on the couch.

I leave the room to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom, filling a cup by the sink with warm water so I can rinse his hands. When I get back, Michael is patiently waiting for my return, anxiously flexing both his hands.

Taking a seat next to him, I bring his hand into my lap to calm his fidgeting. “Stop doing that. You’ll keep opening and breaking the skin,” I worry.

“I was trying to see if it was broken,” he counters and suddenly I feel like an idiot.

“Oh,” I mumble, twisting his wrist to examine his hand. “Is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, slinking down into the couch cushions with a sigh. He looks exhausted. Large brown circles darken the spot beneath his eye and I feel a pang in my chest. “No, probably a hairline fracture,” he speculates and I can tell he’s trying to ease my anxiety.

I pick up the washcloth, dipping it into the cup of water. We sit in silence for a few moments until he winces. Something’s wrong with his hand and he fucked it up because of me.

I quickly clean the rest of his hand, eager to rid the thick sexual tension between us. This is the longest he’s ever touched me and it intensifies the fire in between my thighs. Not right now, Libby. You’re bandaging his hand. “You’ll see the doctor when we wake up,” I demand once we’re finished.

Snapping the first aid kit shut, I scoop the remnants of the bandage wrappers up with my hand. “We?” I hear Michael's question.

I nod, having already made my decision. I just need to stick to it. “Yes, we. You haven’t slept in like 24 hours,” I point out before standing from the couch.

I toss the trash into the pale blue bin on the other side of the room. “I’m fine,” Michael reassures.

“Yeah right,” I scoff before going into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I make sure to wash my hands before relieving myself one last time for the night. Once my hands are scrubbed once more, I apply some vanilla lotion to keep them from drying out.

When I exit the bathroom, Michael hasn’t moved from the couch. He watches me cross the room over to my door with laser focus. “Come on,” I beckon him to join me.

He shakes his head and his body becomes cement. “I’m not sleeping in the bed with you,” he objects.

I roll my eyes at his combativeness and part my lips to say, “I’m not asking you to sleep. But I can’t trust that you won't just leave again.” and kill someone.

He shakes his head but he still doesn’t make a move. Fuck, what do I have to do to get you in my bed? It shouldn’t be this hard. “I wouldn’t,” he reiterates.

“Then come, for me. Call it suicide watch,” I rephrase, hoping it’ll do the trick.

The tick of the clock fills the room and several seconds go by before a glimmer of interest sparkles in his eyes. “Fine,” he concedes, standing from the couch.

He crosses the living area until he’s standing just inside my bedroom door. I shut the door behind us, locking the door just in case Jo didn’t get the memo to not wake me up early this morning.

In the soft light of the early morning room, I shed my robe and Michael sheds his pants. Grabbing a scrunchy from my vanity, I attempt to tie my unruly hair back up underneath my bonnet. When I turn around, Michael stands by the side of my bed patiently waiting for me. He holds the corner of the duvet up for me to climb in.

Once I’m hugged by my warm vanilla fragrance, I watch as he walks over to the other side of the bed, replacing Meredith for the night.

My eyes blink rapidly at him, trying to adjust through the night. “Go to sleep, my lady,” he chides.

Not having any energy to argue, I sigh, turning my body away from him and allowing myself to get comfortable in my bed. As soon as I’m settled, my body begins to give in to the exhaustion of the night’s activities.

I begin to doze off before I feel Michael’s hand snake up my side. I hum at his warm touch, scooting back into his body. “Stay, please,” I request in a daze.

“Okay,” I hear him husk before sleep envelopes me.

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