A/N: Yeah, so...first, let me apologize. I know I kind of abandoned Never Easy, Always Worth It and I had no intention to, except I ended up losing the story in an unexpected computer shutdown a couple of months ago. Because those are always fun. I had most of it finished but for the life of me, I cannot remember how I resolved everything. That's going to take some time to redo. Sorry, guys.

But a big thank you to everyone who leaves me those lovely reviews; I appreciate every single one of you. 3

Asymptote

When Mellie makes up her mind, she has her chief of staff place the call for her. The evening is meticulously planned, down to the vintage of wine: dry red that she knows Olivia favors, because she's kissed the taste from her husband's lips on more than one occasion. Fitz, who is strictly a scotch drinker the rare nights when he does indulge. Which have been far more frequent since Olivia resigned from her post as communications director.

For herself, Mellie selects a chardonnay, because it is a celebration of sorts and she wants something crisp and sharp. She goes over the menu with Jose and the table presentation with Margaret even though it's a fairly simple and fairly private dinner with just the two of them; Mellie never misses an opportunity to wield the power she has.

Olivia arrives at eight o'clock on the dot, dressed smartly in a steel grey suit and a sky blue blouse, Jimmy Choos almost bringing her to Mellie's height. Mellie comes in her best First Lady battle armor: a perfectly tailored high-waisted skirt and wine-colored blouse, the kind that says 'working woman' to the feminists, 'devoted wife' to the traditional homemakers and 'vixen' to the left-wing pundits who like to call her frigid and emotionless. They greet each other with hugs and kisses and Mellie delights at the slightly guarded air Olivia has around her.

They make small-talk for the first fifteen minutes, Mellie discussing her charities and Olivia her cases. Olivia inquires after the kids, after how life at the White House is treating her, all smiles and glowing eyes, asking every question except the ones Mellie knows she is simply burning to ask.

So Mellie smiles and sips her chardonnay and broaches the subject herself. "It's a shame Fitz couldn't be here tonight. He misses you terribly, you know."

Her tone is perfectly innocent and Olivia still lowers her eyes, masking her reaction like the good litigator she is. "Well, I'm sure the troops appreciate his visit. His approval rating is sure to soar."

"Cyrus tries. He's not the mastermind you were, though; you had poll numbers in the palm of your hand. He misses you, too." Mellie waits, watching her carefully. "We all do, Liv."

Olivia's smile is uncomfortable and forced. Mellie's, on the other hand, is absolutely genuine. For the briefest moment, she considers the possibility of telling Olivia all about little Amanda Tanner, but decides that they should both eat first before she fires any shots.

Somewhere between the crisp Greek salad and roast lamb, Mellie thinks about the first time she saw Olivia, just after the caucus. Cyrus introduced her as his lieutenant which was absolutely laughable, considering that she was more a powerhouse than Cyrus would ever be where Fitz was concerned. Mellie remembers sitting in a hotel suite, miles of distance in the two feet between her and Fitz on the sofa and watching a woman tell her everything she was doing wrong in her marriage and in her politics. It wasn't so much the first part that bothered her, but the second part seared Mellie to the core.

One of the few things that she had left after marriage and kids and all the little sacrifices she had made for Fitz was her political prowess. Her political potential. The marriage distance problem…well, it was par for the course that Fitz hadn't realized it. Fitz, who was sickeningly idealistic and naïve and green behind the ears in a way that made Mellie wonder how in the world he managed to even tie his shoes in the morning. But Mellie should have seen it, should have been able to correct it without having it outlined in great, shameful detail by a stranger her husband looked all too intently at.

But Mellie has always been a quick study and anyone involved in politics in America had to have the ability to adapt, so she took Olivia's advice in stride and counted the miscarriage stunt as a success when she was able to fool even Olivia Pope into thinking it was reality. And after the sting of the criticism had worn off, Mellie came to respect Olivia. She was magnetic, a planet in politics that drew in everyone around her, mere satellites in her orbit. She was formidable, astute and sublimely clever and intuitive. Hell, it was no wonder she was able to bring Fitz to his knees; there were days when Mellie looked at her and couldn't decide if she wanted to be Olivia (accomplished and in control and smart enough to remain fucking single) or if she just wanted Olivia.

But that was nothing special; everyone wanted Olivia, even Cyrus in his own, twisted way. Someone was always vying for Olivia's time, her attention, her assistance. Aides and interns and volunteers came to her with any question they had about Fitz, his likes and dislikes, what he wanted, never thinking once to look twice in Mellie's direction for those sorts of solutions. Olivia was the heart and soul of Grant For President, the glue and the breath and all the answers wrapped up in her petite little body. She ran the campaign efficiently and everything had the barest hint of her touch, from the suits and ties Fitz wore to the words he said to the expression on his face.

And Mellie watched Olivia through it all. Where any other analyst or coordinator would have merely thrown their drowning campaign a lifesaver, Olivia threw them a battleship and sent them to war.

Mellie decides how to begin just as she finishes her lamb. "I thought things would calm down after the campaign," she says conversationally, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. "That we could rest easy for just a little while, but there was none of that during the transition. Well, you remember well enough."

"The campaign was only the beginning," Olivia agrees. "The work began on election night. It won't ever stop now, not until his term is up."

"Terms," Mellie says almost automatically. Olivia's throat flutters in the smallest of swallows. Mellie wonders if Olivia has been counting down the days. "You know the work we have to do won't be completed in four years."

"It's a long way off, still." There is hope in Olivia's voice, hope that Mellie wants to crush under her three-inch heel. "Has the President said he wants to run again?"

He doesn't have a choice. "Cyrus has broached the subject," Mellie says instead, offering her a wistful smile. "And you know that whatever His Majesty Cyrus Beene says is law."

"I'm sure you and Fitz could talk him down if you really wanted to," Olivia replies with a snort.

And really, thinks Mellie, is that the sort of impression Olivia has gotten from her? That she'd actually try to dissuade Cyrus in this instance?

"Did you ever think about running for office yourself?" Olivia apparently finds this funny; her laugh is high and skeptical. As though the mere thought is an impossibility. Mellie's fingers tighten on her glass.

"I do my best work behind the scenes," Olivia says dismissively, waving one perfectly manicured hand.

"Mmm." And that, Mellie thinks, is one of the biggest tragedies of all. "I wanted to, you know. Hold public office," she adds at Olivia's somewhat mystified look. She nods. "I decided that in high school. I was going to go to college, graduate from law school and run for something. Congress, the gubernatorial seat, the Presidency—it didn't matter. I knew that I was smart and dedicated and I had something to offer the world. I wanted to change it, for the better."

"I had no idea," Olivia says after a moment, and isn't that just precious.

"Few people do," she returns, sipping her chardonnay.

"So why didn't you? Summa cum laude as an undergrad, first in your class at Harvard Law—"

"Why do you think?" Mellie asks quietly. Olivia closes her mouth. All roads lead to Fitz. "Fitz had destiny written all over him, even in college. He was a little rough around the edges but he was perfectly poised to continue his father's dynasty—he had the looks, the breeding, the ideals, the charisma." Mellie silently wonders to herself where that last one has gone, over the years. She laughs. "He was the perfect candidate. Everyone knew it—except Fitz himself."

Olivia laughs a little too. "Typical."

"So when graduation came and we moved to DC, we threw ourselves into the political scene." Mellie remembers those early days with fondness. "We were both extremely good at what we did."

"But you were better," Olivia says, and it isn't flattery. Olivia has studied both her and Fitz intensively, when he was running for office. She knows the truth.

"I was better," Mellie acknowledges. "But he had things I didn't. Money, influence, family connections. His background was more tailored to this life than mine, and you know how hard it is for a woman to come empty-handed to Washington and try to build up a legacy."

"So what happened?" Olivia asks tentatively.

Mellie's eyes go distant in memory. "He and I came back home for Christmas one year. It was the first time our parents were doing a joint holiday and all the talk was on us, on how much momentum we were picking up and the options on the horizon. When Fitz's father mentioned the possibility of the governor's seat, the focus shifted. Our accomplishments became his. Our momentum, our potential became exclusively his. I wasn't even a factor in Fitz's father's equation; it was just assumed that Fitz should be the one to take up the seat.

"I'll never forget what my mother told me after the dinner was over." Mellie raises her eyes. "She said that Fitz had the better chance to make it and that it was my duty as his wife to step back and support him. That it wasn't fair that I was trying to outshine him and it was too big a waste of Fitz's potential for him to take a backseat to me."

Olivia makes an incredulous noise. "Jesus, Mellie."

Mellie's lips quirk up in the smallest of rueful smiles. "I remember…God, I was so angry with her. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she was right. That there was no way the both of us could share the spotlight. There's no such thing as a political power couple."

"Bill and Hillary—"

Mellie laughs, more tickled by the irony than anything else. "She wasn't able to make a name for herself until after his Presidency was over. It was always the Bill Show." She wonders if she'll be half as lucky, when all is said and done.

"So you just…gave it all up?"

Mellie meets Olivia's eyes and fires her first shot. "I loved him, Olivia." She watches the words impact, watches the emotions flit over Olivia's face as she soaks it in, watches for no other reason than that she enjoys it before she continues. "There was nothing I wouldn't do for him, for the man I married. And he was sweet, too, at first. He tried to keep me as involved as possible, made sure that I was a part of every step he took to get to the governor's mansion. But after a while, he stopped worrying about me and over time…"

Mellie glances towards Olivia, who is looking at her with a profoundly sad expression. "It wears on you, when you set aside everything that you are for a man. I think that deep down, Fitz knew it was killing me and he felt guilty, but talking about a situation you can't get out of is about as useful as trying to catch smoke. No matter how much you love a person, sometimes it just isn't enough. Given enough trouble and enough time, love sours. Fondness fades. Patience and compassion wither away until all that's left is memory, and trying to live on memories is no way to spend a life." She pauses again, watching Olivia carefully. "And I'd hate to see the same thing that happened to me happen to you."

Mellie can tell the very second the realization strikes Olivia. She goes still, her breath catches, and time itself seems to stop, halted on Mellie's command. Mellie waits until Olivia has collected herself enough to raise her head and face the tiger. Her eyes are over bright.

"Mellie." Her voice is barely a breath of air.

The First Lady inclines her head. "There is a scar at the base of his pelvis, just above his left thigh. Have you kissed that scar like I have? Did Fitz ever tell you how he got it?"

"Mellie," Olivia says again, breath coming a little faster now.

"Sometimes I can catch a whiff of your perfume on his clothes—especially that old Navy sweater he likes to sleep in. It's a lovely fragrance, if a bit too flowery for my tastes."

"Oh, god." Olivia drops her head, presenting Mellie with the top of her scalp. "You knew…the whole time, you knew? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I was considering what to do about it." Mellie studies her. "Did you think I was sitting on my big empty bed listening to Alanis Morissette and crying? I'd wager that out of the two of us, you're the one more likely to go to bed in tears."

"I'm sorry. God, Mellie, I'm so sorry."

"I wish you wouldn't apologize if you don't mean it."

"I—" Olivia's breath is choked. "You must hate me."

Mellie runs the pad of her finger along her glass, surveying Olivia with disbelieving eyes. "Oh, please." Olivia's dark head pops up and Mellie could write sonnets in honor of the perfect look of surprise on Olivia's face. "Do you honestly think you're the first mistress a sitting President has taken? Christ, I doubt you're even Fitz's first conquest." That wounds her; Mellie can see the way her pretty brown eyes change. And she looks so sad and pathetic there that Mellie feels compelled to offer her some small comfort. "You're the only one he's looked at since New Hampshire. Does that really make you feel better?"

"You have to be angry," Olivia presses.

"Oh, I am." Or was. "But not at you." Mellie runs a tongue over her perfect teeth. She smiles crookedly, staring up at the ceiling. "The greatest man in the country is still a man, and when it comes to their dicks, men are all the same: stupid." Olivia's lips quiver with the insult.

And Fitz will get what's coming to him, one day. Mellie will make sure of it. "But let's not ruin a perfectly good evening by focusing on Fitz; we were talking about you. I don't hate you, Olivia. You were a friend to me. You still are." Olivia looks away. "Do you still consider me a friend?"

"I…"

"And what's a little betrayal between friends?"

Olivia looks like a trapped animal. It is a good look, Mellie thinks. "We've stopped. We stopped when I resigned my position."

"Good for you," Mellie says brightly, eyebrows raised. "It's made you both absolutely miserable and it's starting to have an effect on the way Fitz functions day-to-day, but I bet those morality points were absolutely worth it in the end."

Olivia blinks. "I…I don't understand."

Mellie sighs and straightens in her chair. "You are both better at what you do when you are around each other. Fitz is a better President when he has you in his purview. You saved his campaign and got him elected only to let him flounder in office?"

"What are you saying?"

"Come back to the White House," Mellie says simply. "Come and bat for the administration again. Make Fitzgerald Grant one of the most accomplished, most magnificent, most loved Presidents in history. Because God knows the silly man can't do it on his own and I certainly can't drag him kicking and screaming to glory myself. Well, I suppose I could," Mellie corrects herself, "but I don't really want to."

"Mellie," Olivia starts, looking ready to crawl out of her skin.

"And think of how much easier it would be this time around, knowing that I know. We were a force to be reckoned with before," she continues, thinking of faked miscarriages and story-spinning and Defiance. "Think of all that we could do now, together again."

"This is…" Olivia shakes her head. "I can't. I couldn't."

"Yes, you could. You are the most powerful woman in the world, Olivia," says Mellie, watching Olivia's eyes widen, and maybe she's too good, too blinded, too lovesick to take advantage of that. Mellie certainly isn't. "Come back. Help me change the world. You and Fitz can spend your nights burning a hole on every vaguely horizontal surface in this house for all I care, as long as you help me."

And this is what finally pushes Olivia too far. She leaps to her feet, fervently shaking her head, swiping her arm through the air. "No. Absolutely not. I can't, and I wouldn't even if I could. I'm not like you, Mellie."

Mellie watches her stand there—the mistress, in all her righteous anger—before she sighs. "No. No, you aren't. More the fool you."

Olivia raises her chin. "He wouldn't love me if I was."

The remark is designed to pierce and for the briefest moment it does, but disappointment overrides it in the end. Mellie folds her hands on the table, gaze never leaving Olivia's face. "You do know the two of you will never be able to be together," she says calmly. "Three years from now, Fitz is going to run again and win again because he'll come on bended knee to you to work his re-election campaign and you, my dear, are the absolute best."

"I…"

"Four years after that—provided this little infatuation of yours lasts that long through God-knows what sort of pressures and problems Fitz will be facing as Commander-in-Chief—do you honestly think he'll retire and retreat from politics completely? Idealistic, hopeful, passionate Fitzgerald Grant, hang up his hat for good?

"No, Liv. He and I will move back to Santa Barbara and somewhere between speaking tours and public works projects, he may sit down and write a novel. But more than all that, he as a former President will have a duty to lend his voice and support to any up-and-comings in the party. Do you think he can do that after divorcing his wife, the woman who stood by him during his years in office and taking up with the woman he cheated on her with? He can't come back from that, Olivia; a senator or governor could possibly, but not a former President. And you had better believe that I certainly won't make it any easier, for his sake as well as for mine. There will always be something in the way, some reason for him not to go to a lawyer. Will you wait for him through all that, sit and watch for him like a puppy dog missing her master? Let him love you only when it's convenient?" Mellie makes a noise in her throat. "You're better than that, Liv."

Don't make the same mistake I did.

She watches every future scenario play across Olivia's face—missed dinners, nights alone, the harsh reality of an empty bed. All of them, getting older and greyer and less tolerant of it all.

Mellie licks her lips. "Have him now," she says firmly. "Nurture him and guide him and have him now, because there's not going to be a fairy tale ending. There is no such thing for women like us, Olivia. We have to do what we can with what we've been given. At least until we can learn to stop fucking the men in the office and take it for ourselves."

Olivia is silent for a long time, eyes focused on the mantle just behind Mellie. Mellie waits with bated breath and her heart flutters when Olivia meets her eyes.

"No," Olivia says, her gaze hooded and defiant and firm.

The two women stare at each other for a long moment before Mellie leans back in her chair. "Fine. I'm sure you can find your own way out."

Olivia gathers her bag and strides from the room, all the while looking like she's actually won something. Mellie sighs, reaches for her glass and finishes her chardonnay, accepting her defeat.

For now.

END