Eye of the Hurricane

Once again, it's nighttime at Ft. Harrison. O, how President Grant II longs for his own bed, at the Grey House...

In Fitz's suitcase, Liv sleeps...still under a thousandth her normal size. Also at that size, Elias crawls up next to her, and lies there. He looks around. He sure hopes President Grant II doesn't have any mites in his socks he hasn't told Liv about...

"I still think we should've crashed in Domina's bras," he whispers, looking around. "Something about this creeps me out."

Eyes closed, Liv smiles, and pats Elias on the bare upper arm. "Is this how you and Ophir pillow-talk, when she's paying attention to you?"

"Nein. I just have a bad feeling. That's all."

"Elias?"

"Ja?"

Liv yawns. "I've had boyfriends who were less paranoid than you."

"Ja, ja, I'm aware of the concept. I've been bullied by it, even. But over the course of my life, I've noticed something. Whenever I've a bad feeling about something, I'm right. Your dominus, President Grant II, has left the Grey House in the less-than-capable of hands of a trio of gay elephantfish. I know they're his chiefs of staff, and that gay men are not known for their militarism, but..."

With that, Liv snores. Elias sighs.

"So," Elias mutters, "no sex tonight?"

Outside the carryon and high above, Fitz lies in his bed, on his back. He stares, blankly, up at the painting of teenage Abraham Lincoln, slaying that hideous vampire. Weeks here, and he STILL hasn't gotten used to it. O, the people who need to stay here, who'd rather go to sleep, and then wake, to that image...

It's facilities like this that cause Fitz to miss the days of pinup chicks...as much as his own Christian parents used to hate them...

Ophir slips in, in a pink negligee. She approaches Fitz's bedside, in baby steps...

"Do it," Fitz orders, without moving his eyes or head. "I'm sick of dreading...and I'm sick of staying loyal to women at the same time."

Ophir smiles, and takes off the negligee, from below her waist, to over her arms. Beneath, she wears a white bra...with red Stars of David on the cups.

Fitz arches his brows, and smiles. "You're bold...as much as I'm supposed to hate red on an Israeli flag."

She shrugs. "What can I say? I'm an amazon, bitch."

She happily crawls across the bed, and mounts Fitz's midriff. She shields the Abe Lincoln-Vampire Slayer painting from his sight. Down here, all he can see is the Afroasian president's hooters. And they are VERY nice hooters...

She caresses his hair, and smiles down upon him. She bends over, and kisses his forehead.

"Is this," Fitz asks, smiling, "really the best you can do?"

"I'm a woman," she insists. "Unlike men, I don't have to abuse the opposite sex, just because I'm stronger."

Fitz scoffs. "So, you think I'm weak, too. My wife does too. And while she never tells me, I'm pretty sure Liv thinks I am too."

"I don't think your Liv thinks that anymore. She's down there, with my Elias, worshipping you like a god." She bends over, and kisses him on the lips. "Just as my Elias still thinks I'm a goddess."

"He's lucky to have you. NEVER squash him like a bug...if your critics find out about him."

She chuckles. "They'd probably lose their credibility overnight." She caresses his biceps, with her hands. As an amazon, Fitz would expect them to be more calloused... "But don't you dare worry about my Elias. I wouldn't speak of squashing him like a bug...as mean as I was to him when we first met."

"He probably gawked at you then, too."

"Don't know; wasn't watching. I was a bit more concerned about those racist Germans who would've assassinated me, if his Turkish-German gang hadn't shown up when they did." She smothers his face in her rack. "SUCH a terrible way to get assassinated. I sure hope none of your predecessors have suffered the shame."

Fitz shrugs, with his eyes buried in Ms. Ophir's rack. "Lincoln was shot in an opera house box...in the head. The guy wasn't Turkish, but he was a bit of a rogue; he was killed when they burned down a barn. Garfield was shot in a train station. It took him several months to die; getting shot there in the 19th century has a mortal disadvantage. McKinley was shot by an anarchist, when he shook hands with him. His shooting hand was bandaged, and he used the bandage as a Trojan horse for the pistol. Even so, none of my predecessors are female. And Turks don't seem to prefer the NAU, for some reason..."

"I'm sure they were shot on their own home soil, too. I was nearly killed in North Rhine-Westphalia...which is virtually Jewish hell, to anyone who knows how many Holocaust camps there were there, back in the day."

"No, none of my predecessors were assassinated in...the Valley of the Shadow of Death. They were all just on lower ground than the Grey House."

Ms. Ophir kisses Fitz on the mouth, again. Fitz likes.

"You are SO much funner than my wife," he admits. "If I wasn't in love with Liv, I'd consider settling for you."

She giggles. "Don't bet on it. I'm a leftist. Plus, your voters hate Afroasians."

Throughout the night, things heat up. Ophir's shadow dances on the wall, as she gets more active while working on Fitz...

The hours pass. Outside the fort, a cold wind blows. Wolves howl.

Inside, the zipper of Fitz's carryon zips shut...by itself.

Still in Grant II's sock, Elias starts to wake. He reaches over, for Liv, and...

She's not there. He probes around more, but she's nowhere to be felt. Concerned, pulls a light out of his briefs, and shines it around. Liv's nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, Elias presses a device in his ear. "Domina, I don't know if you're awake, and I wouldn't blame you if you're not, but I think President Grant II would like to know that his mistress has probably been abducted." He looks around. "And I think I might know a trio of telepathic elephantfish who might be responsible..."

Up in the bed, Ophir wakes. "Sorry, dove," she says, into her own earpiece. "Did you say something?"

Elias sighs, and starts to repeat his alarm.