Never Easy, Always Worth It

It's seven AM and Olivia is running on four hours of sleep and her weight in coffee and, not for the first time since going into business for herself, she wonders what the hell she was thinking.

Abby's hair is in a messy bun, which means that she's probably running on less sleep than Olivia. Quinn is there, looking expectant and alert and ready to impress. Harrison is pouring himself a cup of coffee and Huck is Huck, passive and silent and Olivia's rock.

Exactly one minute later, the elevator dings. Harrison sets down his mug and goes out into the hall. He returns with a short, somewhat stout woman with red hair beginning to fade with age.

Olivia stands and the rest of them follow. "Senator Carlisle. Good morning."

The senator reaches out and takes Olivia's hand. "Miss Pope. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

She studies the senator as Harrison guides her to her seat. She doesn't know much about Carlisle, other than that she's well-known in political circles for being a shrewd, no-nonsense lady who absolutely crushed her opponent in New York during the last midterms.

She sets her briefcase on the desk. Her thin lips are bent in a frown but her eyes are kind when Harrison offers her a cup of coffee. She nods at each of Olivia's associates when she introduces them, and then straightens resolutely.

"Miss Pope, I'll get right to the point. I'm being blackmailed." Setting aside her coffee, she reaches for her briefcase. "Two days ago, I was given an envelope that contained these."

Senator Carlisle sets down a small stack of black and white photos on the desk and they all collectively lean forward to study them. Olivia perfectly controls her reaction but inside, she heaves a tired sigh. It's always something.

"When we these taken?" Quinn asks, spreading the photos out.

"All of them are over a year old, but the times between them vary. Some go back to 2008, when I…we first met."

Olivia selects one photo and holds it up. Senator Carlisle is outside in a park somewhere, sitting at the edge of a fountain, engaged in a conversation. The woman next to her is younger and has a face that Olivia is sure she's seen before.

"Rebecca Quentin." She looks up to find Carlisle watching her. The senator nods to the photo. "She's been at the top of the bestseller list for five weeks now."

Setting that photo aside, Olivia glances at the others. Most of them are innocuous; the two of them walking together, the two of them at a café, outside of a bookstore. But as innocent as they are, there are two damning ones: one of the two of them huddled underneath an umbrella, foreheads pressed together and another of a kiss.

Those last two transform the body language of the other photographs and it is all images Olivia knows too well; practiced distance between them, sidelong looks and hands that are close but never quite touching. Unfilled longing curls up from the photos like tendrils of invisible smoke that only she can smell.

"I don't need to tell you why this troubles me, do I, Miss Pope?" Carlisle is fiddling with her wedding ring.

Olivia takes one last glance at the photos. "Are you and Rebecca Quentin still involved?"

Carlisle shakes her head. "I haven't seen her in over a year." There is just a touch of pain in that, and Olivia files it away for consideration later.

"And you were involved for two years?"

"A little longer than that. We met at a fundraising benefit in Schenectady, back when I was a state senator."

"And you got these pictures a few days ago?"

She nods. "They were waiting for me when I returned to my office after lunch."

"They were sent to the hill?"

"My heart stopped when I opened them." Carlisle's blue eyes trail over the evidence and she shakes her head. "I thought I had put that part of my life behind me. To have it all come back in a rush on Capitol Hill, for God's sake…"

"Was there anything with them? A letter, a list of demands?"

Carlisle shakes her head. "No, that's the strange part. It's like someone just wanted me to know that they had them." She opens the briefcase again. "I got the name and address of the courier. I haven't spoken to them yet, but I thought it might be useful."

Huck takes the slip of paper from her, studies it and Olivia can already see the wheels turning. "Do you have any enemies that you know of who would try something like this?"

Carlisle's lips twist. "Too many to name. You know what politics is like."

All too well. Shifting in her chair, Olivia chooses her next words carefully. "I have to ask this. Do you think Rebecca Quentin is behind this?"

The senator looks Olivia in the eye. "No," she says, and there is nothing but certainty in her voice. "Rebecca and I parted amicably. Or as amicably as we could. We're both pragmatic people."

Olivia studies Carlisle's face and Carlisle doesn't look away. Eventually, she nods. "We're going to have to talk to her. See if she knows anything."

"So you can help me?"

Olivia smiles. "I'll do my very best."

"Good. Good, thank you." Carlisle lowers her eyes. "Because if this were to come out, it would be the end of me."

"You know, I thought about going gay once," Abby says once the lift disappears beneath their feet.

"I'm not quite sure that's how it works," Harrison pipes up, fingers already flying on his phone. "Looks like Senator Carlisle isn't the most popular Republican on the hill these days."

"Really." Abby's voice is mild. "There was this girl in my dorm at NYU; she had breasts like you would not believe."

Olivia misses Stephen but she can't help but think thank God he's gone. Nothing good would have come out of him being here for this conversation.

Quinn is examining the photos with a furrowed brow. "These pictures are years old. If it were to come out, we could say that it was all in the past and the senator just made a mistake."

"And maybe the handsome prince will propose to the housemaid and we'll all live happily ever after." Abby takes the photos and stands, moving towards the wall to hang them. "There's no way to prove that, no time stamp. These could have been taken yesterday for all the public will know and Senator Carlisle's word is as good as dirt if this all comes out."

"Our priority is to find out who has them and stop them from leaking," says Olivia. "Let's focus on that for now."

"I can start with the courier service," Huck announces, closing his laptop. He glances at Quinn. "Come with?"

"Good. Abby, I want you to get ahold of Quentin's people. I want to talk to her today, if possible. Harrison." He looks up from his phone to meet Olivia's gaze. "Find out all you can about the senator. If there's anything else on her we should know about."

When the room is cleared, Olivia walks over to the wall. She takes in the sight of Carlisle and Quentin, both so clearly in love and wonders if it would've been easier if she'd just stayed in the damn White House.

She pours herself a fifth cup of coffee, goes to her office and turns on the news.

"—the word coming out of the Vice President's office this morning publicly opposing President Grant's endorsement of S-179, the Senate bill designed to give children of undocumented immigrants funding to continue their education. Voting on S-179 is scheduled for later this week."

And Olivia decides, nope, to hell with working for the government.

She sets to work.

Abby returns to the offices at eleven AM with a box of donuts and Rebecca Quentin, best-selling author.

"That…was fast," Olivia murmurs, looking into the main room where Quentin is seating herself in a chair. Normally, Olivia waits until she's gathered evidence on a person before face time.

"Well, when Olivia Pope says 'jump'. Or in this case, 'Linda Carlisle'."

"She looks worried. How much did you tell her?"

"Enough to get her here. That is, who I was and that we had a problem with Senator Carlisle." Abby chooses a donut with frosting and sprinkles and takes a big bite. "You want I should call the rest of them back?"

Olivia considers it for a moment and then shakes her head. "Take notes for them," she says, watching Abby wolf down her donut and grab her laptop and the box.

Quentin stands when they enter the room. "Olivia Pope?"

"Rebecca Quentin. You've already met Abby." They shake hands and sit down.

"She mentioned something about photographs," says Quentin, eyes flitting between them. She has a smooth, clear voice.

Olivia lifts a hand and motions behind her to the wall. She watches carefully as Quentin's expression goes blank. The author rises, movements slow and jerky, and she comes around the table, staring at the wall. Her eyes grow wider as they move over each photograph and she stops at one—the one of them underneath the umbrella—and presses her fingers against the corner of it.

"Jesus," she says under her breath, covering her mouth with one hand.

"When was the last time you saw one another, Miss Quentin?"

"It's been more than a year since I've seen Senator Carlisle," she says, straightening. Olivia doesn't miss the way she addresses Carlisle and it draws a sense of empathy from her.

"And you knew she was married."

Quentin gives her an ironic look. "She was with her husband when I first met her." She moves back to her chair, hugging her slender body with her arms. Quentin is very much the opposite of Linda Carlisle: taller, younger by maybe seven years or so, classically beautiful with long, dark hair, an elegant profile and sharp green eyes. Eyes that meet Olivia's. "Do you think I did this?"

"A scorned lover is always a possibility."

"I'm not exactly scorned," she says slowly. "What we had was…fleeting. It wasn't supposed to last and I went in understanding that. We both did."

"Did anyone know about the two of you, Miss Quentin? Did you ever confide in friends or family or co-workers?" Olivia inquires, leaning forward.

Quentin shakes her head. "I didn't even tell my parents. Oh, I'm not exactly in the closet," she says when Olivia arches an eyebrow. "If this came out, it wouldn't hurt me at all. Not in the way that it'd hurt Senator Carlisle." She leans forward and cradles her head in her hands. "God, I feel so bad for her. I never wanted this to happen."

A glance across the table catches Abby watching Quentin carefully as she straightens and smoothes the hair out of her face. Abby nudges the box of donuts closer to Quentin. To Olivia's great surprise, she takes a plain cake one and nibbles at it.

"What does the blackmailer want?"

"We don't know yet."

"If it's money, I can help," she offers. "My new book is doing well. And the senator shouldn't have to handle this all on her own. There are two people in those pictures."

Olivia nods. She waits until Quentin finishes her donut before she stands. "Thank you for your help, Miss Quentin."

"Can you keep me informed? And call me if there's anything I can do." She shakes Abby's hand first, then Olivia's. "And…when you speak to Senator Carlisle again, please tell her that I'm sorry this is happening."

They both watch Quentin exit the office. Abby shuts her laptop and whistles. Olivia closes her eyes.

"I swear to God, Abby, if you say the word 'breasts' to me—"

"You spent the better part of two years trying to get me to sleep with Stephen," Abby points out. "And now that I'm interested in somebody—"

"You aren't allowed to be interested in anybody while you're on the clock. Call Harrison, find out how he's doing with Carlisle and give him a hand. Give me some background on Quentin, just in case."

Abby nods, gathers her laptop in her arms, and considers another donut before heading for the door. She pauses there and twists at the waist to shoot Olivia an impish look.

"Breasts."

"Get."

Olivia goes back to her office and switches the news back on. After a minute, she hits the mute button and lets her mind wander over the facts. Her eyes find the crawl, the words 'Senate' and 'bill' stand out against the thin rectangle of black backdrop and as she turns to fire up her Mac, she mentally crosses Rebecca Quentin off the list.

After lunch, Olivia steels her nerve and takes out her cell phone.

"Beene," comes the gruff reply.

"It's me."

"If this call isn't you telling me that you're coming back to work for us, I don't want to hear it."

"Long day, sugar?"

"I've got an earthquake in Chile, an observation satellite that went down somewhere off the coast of North Korea and a Vice President who can't seem to keep her damn mouth shut. So, you know. Lots of down time."

"Your day is about to get worse." On the other end, something clatters to the floor and it's swiftly followed by the sound of Cyrus cursing. Olivia's lips twitch.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Smiling. I can hear you smiling. What have you got?"

"One of the S-179 committee members had an affair."

"Cuckoo-cachoo. Welcome to the Grant Administration, where infidelity is the name of the game."

Olivia can't help but bristle at his tone. "So has James finally come to his senses and found someone younger and less ruthlessly career-driven?"

"Touché. Which senator is it? DeWitt, Montague? His wandering eye is the stuff of legend."

"Wrong on both counts," she says, taking a deep breath. "It's Carlisle. Out of New York."

And it's a sign of how potentially bad this could get that Cyrus Beene has been struck speechless. "Linda?"

"It gets worse. Do you know the author Rebecca Quentin?"

"…You're kidding me."

"Yep. There are photos." She barely has a second to yank the phone from her ear when Cyrus lets out a stream of loud curses. A woman in a Burberry trench passes her by, eying the phone with arched eyebrows and Olivia offers her a helpless shrug. "Caller, are you there?"

"—am I the only one in this goddamn city able to keep their pants on?"

"You are a god among men and the rest of us are base creatures controlled by urges. We aren't worthy, Mr. Beene."

He snorts. "Is it Quentin doing this?"

"No. She had no idea about the photos and seems genuinely concerned for Carlisle. There was no note, no blackmail demands. The photos were sent by courier to her office on the hill."

"So you're telling me that one of the few Republicans that has vocally signed off on the bill to fund the college education of children of undocumented immigrants is now being blackmailed."

"In a nutshell."

"This isn't a coincidence. Any ideas?"

"None, until I turned on the news this morning and heard about Sally Langston's loose jaw."

"You think this thing with Carlisle came from her?"

"Not her specifically, no, but it wouldn't be the first time somebody in Langston's corner was a snake in the grass," says Olivia. "If this comes out, it's going to take Carlisle's vote off the table. She'll have to resign."

"Has she said she would?"

"In so many words. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I'm working on it, and if you could keep your ears open I'd appreciate it."

"Of course." Cyrus is silent for a minute. "You know what? Why don't we just retire? Go some place nice and sunny. Bora Bora, maybe. We could lay on the beach and have drinks in coconuts with little umbrellas and get drunk talking about the good old days, just you and me."

"Please. You'd cry yourself to sleep every night if you didn't have James, Cyrus."

"And if you suddenly went missing, he'd hijack the situation room and level this planet country by country to find you."

The words almost make her stumble on the sidewalk, but she catches herself.

"Oh well," Cyrus continues with a sigh. "It's a nice thought. I'll keep an ear to the ground on Carlisle."

"Thanks." Olivia knows it's time to hang up now, but she doesn't.

Cyrus sighs. "Fine, by the way."

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to. He's doing fine. Invested in 179, thinking about several ways to overturn the 25th."

"Well, if he eats his vegetables and lets the Secret Service do their job, he shouldn't have to worry about Sally coming for his seat."

"I'll tell him you said that. It'll perk him right up."

Olivia rolls her eyes and hangs up this time.

Olivia can hear voices before the lift even reaches the offices.

"—I'm just saying how much easier this would all be if Carlisle would stop living a lie and just be who she is."

"It's not that simple."

"It might be a little simpler if she were a Democrat."

Lord, here we go. Olivia hates it when her employees talk politics. The grates part and Olivia squares her shoulders.

"No, it wouldn't be," Quinn insists. "Being gay or bisexual and in politics is never simple, ever, no matter party affiliation."

"It might be easier if all the naysayers got a good look at Rebecca Quentin," says Harrison, eyeing her photo. Olivia comes into the room just in time to see both Abby and Quinn glaring at him. He holds up his hands. "I'm just saying—"

"Lipstick lesbians are hot?" Abby finishes. "Thank you, Stephen."

"Lipstick lesbian?" asks Quinn, her nose wrinkling.

"Good afternoon," Olivia says sharply, setting her purse on the table. "What have we got?"

Harrison flips open a portfolio. "Linda Josephine Carlisle, born 1961 in Buffalo, graduated top of her class at Columbia University. Married nineteen years to Adam Carlisle, theology scholar and ordained minister. One son, Lucas, his from a previous marriage, student at Baruch in Manhattan." He adds photos of the husband and son beneath Senator Carlisle's.

"Beard," Abby mutters. Harrison gives her a look. "The husband, not the kid."

"She's center-right in her voting record, always has been, even as a state senator. Clearly, since it's hard to get elected as a Tea Partier in the Northeast. Fiscally conservative but fairly socially liberal except on abortion."

"And gay marriage?"

"Stop it, Abby," Olivia says. "Go on, Harrison."

He shrugs. "There's not much else to say. She's a political teetotaler, no association with anything remotely shady or underhanded. Ran a good, clean campaign during the midterms and by all accounts, a devoted wife and stepmother. She's a vocal member of the 179 committee, something that can't make many of her right-wing colleagues happy. My guess is that whoever's blackmailing her has a stake in the bill going to the White House or not."

"Good. Abby?"

"Rebecca Ann Quentin, born 1970 in Hoboken. Hottie," she adds, shooting Harrison a judgmental look. He rolls his eyes. "Graduated from the University of Delaware and published her first fiction novel when she was twenty-six. Her third one just came out six weeks ago, topped the charts for five. She and Senator Carlisle met at an education benefit in New York three years ago, I confirmed it with the chair of the fundraiser who positively gushed about having a best-selling author and a senator on her guest list. From what I can gather, Quentin lives a pretty quiet life when she's not doing the press circuit for a novel."

"When did she move to DC?" Olivia asks.

"According to interviews she's given, she visited here to do research for her novel and liked it so much she ended up saying. Translation: I'm the mistress of a woman who recently got herself a cushy job as a US senator and I wanted to be closer to her. And given how quickly she got here and how concerned she was for the senator, my guess is that she still loves her. Which gives Rebecca a possible motive. I recorded the whole thing on my laptop, if you guys wanted to see," Abby adds. She smirks at Olivia. "Breasts."

Olivia turns to Huck, who is glancing between them with a crooked expression. "I…don't even want to know. We found the courier service and the kid who delivered the photos."

"It was his first time to Capitol Hill," interjects Quinn.

"Not the usual service government agencies employ to do their fetching, which means it could be someone inside trying to cover their tracks or someone outside trying to make us think it's someone inside trying to cover their tracks. Or any combination of that, really."

"Did anyone get a look at the person who dropped off the package?"

"It was a busy afternoon and nobody could tell us anything specific," Quinn says. "All package deliveries require information on the sender in case of failed attempts, and this was the slip the sender left with the photos."

She offers the piece of paper to Olivia. "Levi Roman. 201-312-6127. Anything on that?"

Huck shakes his head. "An alias. Preliminary searches didn't come up with anything."

"And I'm guessing the phone number isn't valid, either."

"The number is disconnected but it's a New Jersey area code. I've put it in the system for tracing." Huck punches a few things into his laptop. "The courier service had a closed-circuit surveillance system. I got the video of the day but I haven't reviewed it yet."

"Excellent. Harrison, you're with Huck. Abby and Quinn, I want you to keep looking for information on a Levi Roman."

Olivia is reaching for her purse when Abby makes a sound.

"So you're telling me that she wouldn't have an easier time if she were a liberal instead of a self-hating Republican?"

Olivia sighs and wonders what time it is in Bora Bora.

"It's not always about that, Abby," says Quinn. "There are perfectly valid reasons for someone of an alternative sexuality to be a Republican."

"Yes, like self-hatred."

"That's not true! Olivia's friend, President Grant's chief of staff. He lives openly, right Olivia?"

Olivia had to stop herself from snorting. Cyrus didn't exactly do anything openly. "I'm ordering Chinese. Anyone want anything?"

"Republicans are a religious party," Abby says slowly, as if speaking to a child. "The majority of them are Bible-thumping Christians. To associate yourself with Republicans is to think that all homosexuals are going to hell. Linda Carlisle had a two year affair with a hot bookworm and hid it from the world. She hates herself."

"Peking duck. Last call."

"That is the most narrow-minded thing I've ever heard in my life," Quinn snaps. "You are the reason conservatives label liberals as intolerant and high-and-mighty assholes."

Abby grins. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Olivia leaves the room.

She's in the middle of her third viewing of Abby's recording when her phone rings.

"Have you ever read anything by Rebecca Quentin?" she says without preamble.

"No, but if the New York Times is to be believed, she's this century's Jane Austen."

"And who was last century's Jane Austen?"

"Jacqueline Susann." A chair creaks and Olivia envisions him leaning back, wearing the little smile she fell in love with. "It's the first sign of a workaholic, taking the office home with you."

"I'm in bed, I'll have you know."

"Really." And Olivia can't help it; she grins like a teenager at that note in his tone.

"And I'm not alone. I'm currently sharing it with Quentin's latest novel, my laptop and a quart of orange chicken. Jealous?"

"God, yes. Do you know how long it's been since I've had Chinese?"

Just for that, she pulls her trump card. "I'm also wearing nothing but your old shirt from college." Every second the silence continues, Olivia's grin gets a little wider. "Fitz?"

"You have derailed this entire phone call. I hope you're happy."

"I am. I'm delighted."

"Of course you are. While my brain reboots, why don't you tell me what's going on with Senator Carlisle?"

Olivia does, as broadly as possible. Neither he nor Cyrus nor anyone need to know specifics. When she's finished, Fitz sighs, long and heavy.

"What a mess. I'm sorry this is happening to her. If this gets out, she's through."

"For the moment, only you and Cyrus know. And the only reason I told you both is because Carlisle getting ousted would require contingencies from the White House, if you want to get that bill passed."

"And here I thought the fact that I'm a fantastic kisser swayed you into spilling your secrets."

"No, but that's good for swaying…other things." And she feels proud for making him laugh.

"So…you heard what Sally said?"

"She's always spoken her mind."

"People like her are what's killing the party," says Fitz. "People who see people who look differently or love differently or pray differently and automatically think they're less than. I guarantee you that immigration patrol wouldn't look twice at a foreigner from Sweden, or Ireland."

"Are there lots of Swedes and Irish in Laredo?"

"You know what I mean, Olivia. How much of the opposition is truly about national security or American jobs for Americans, and how much of it is concern masquerading as racism and xenophobia?"

Olivia considers this. The conversation Abby and Quinn had earlier prickles at her mind and she sits up.

"Fitz," she begins. "I need to ask you a question."

"Anything."

"It's something I promised myself I would never, ever ask you," she continues. "And something I'm not sure you'd even appreciate me asking."

"Liv." Concern laces his tone. "What do you want to ask?"

She takes a deep breath. "Why are you a Republican?"

There's silence on the other end of the line. Olivia counts ten seconds and then Fitz sighs. "Have you seen how many sexy Democratic men there are in this country? I would've looked plain and unremarkable standing next to Biden and Emmanuel."

Olivia blinks. "Oh, that's why you're a Republican—you're an asshole."

"I also hate gay people, brown people, people who aren't Christian, poor people, female people, old people, young people—especially young people, kids today are so strange—"

"All right, all right, it was just a question."

"I knew you were a liberal."

"Apolitical," she corrects.

"Liberal," he insists. "I could tell. That smug sense of superiority when we met after the caucus."

"Good night, Fitz. Let Cyrus handle Sally Langston and tell Jose to rustle up some egg rolls for the next state dinner."

"I want my shirt back, you know," Fitz returns petulantly.

Olivia grins and licks her lips. "If you want it back, come and take it off me."

"…God, Liv."

"Good night, Mr. President."

And oh yeah, it's good to be in business for herself.

My god, this show is taking over my life. Thank you to everyone who read & reviewed my last story. More of this to come.