Greetings! And welcome to Followingthefire Fanfictions. My name is Kat. I was born in London, raised in Chicago and I am obsessed with television, movies, books, poetry. I am given over to the humanities, to put it mildly. I have a million favorite shows: Smallville, Friends, Sherlock (check out my Sherlock fic) Scandal is one of my favorite shows. Well, it used to be. I haven't actually sat down and watched a current episode since 5x09. And now a few notes on that head, followed by a brief intro of my story:
Canon Olitz: My personal belief is that they're over. I may be wrong. But I don't see how it would ever work out. According to Shonda Rhimes, Fitz doesn't need to know about the events of 5x09. My only response to that is "Bitch, where?" I have a love/hate relationship with Shonda Rhimes, but more on that later. It's very hard for me to come to terms with that, given that I am Olitz Trash, have been since "Sweet Baby." I fell in love with season 1, relished season 2, accepted season 3, tolerated season 4. And I was just beginning to give up hope. Then came season 5. Mind you, I am a realist. I was not expecting for Olitz to be happy all the time. It's a drama after all.
However, what I had hoped for was to see them figure out how to deal with their issues together, how to grow into their relationship and begin to really make it work. I would've been there for the angst. I would've been there for the drama. I would've been there for cute little makeups every other episode.
But the carnage that was "Baby, it's Cold Outside"? I'm sorry, I can't do it. It made no sense. It made no sense on so many levels.
Now I'm not boycotting. I'm not #NoOlitzNoScandal. I just really can't get with this New Jam (which is sort of insult to injury, in my humble opinion). I love Fitz. I love Olivia. Do I always love the way they treat each other? Of course not. But do I think it should've ended like that? Absolutely not. They've been through far too much. To me, it seems that Shonda and the other Scandal Writers forgot what kept this show from descending into a soliloquy-filled, overbearing, slightly pedantic melodrama about slutty, corrupt, power-hungry politicians and the messes they need cleaned up. That thing was Olitz.
When the show began, Olivia and Fitz were presented as two people who knew what the other one was thinking just by the look on the other's face (Oval Scene "Sweet Baby.") They always said what they were thinking, even when it hurt, even when it was a false accusation. They communicated with words and without them. They were also presented as knowing each other better than any other person. Cyrus said. Fitz said it. Olivia said it. These were two people who knew each other.
Of course, their relationship has never been perfect. It was, after all, an affair. But that it could so easily descend and quickly disintegrate seems highly unrealistic even for the world of fictional romances. Perhaps Olivia's abduction had something to do with that.
Now, I don't know where it's going (I'm not sure, at times, if I want to find out). My theory is that they're not going to end up together. But will probably have some sort of qualified make-up Ala Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand in The Way We Were.
Shonda Rhimes is a strong, fierce independent woman. And I have no problems with that. I'm all for it. But this notion that men are the root of all evil (my opinion, people, not trying to start WWIII) seems baseless to me. It's almost reverse misogyny. Everything is Fitz's fault. Everything is Rowan's fault. Everything is Jake's fault. At what point does Olivia start taking responsibility for her own actions? In the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Granted, in the real world, women still have tons of glass ceilings to break and mountains to climb. And I'm not saying you've got to have a man. I've got one, but trust me, I would feel still like a complete person without him. True happiness, in my opinion, is an internal factor. Women, I believe, are not the inmates of prisons created by the men in their lives. However, it can seem that way if they haven't come to terms with who they are.
Then again, it all plays back into Olivia's fear of being owned. If my father was Rowan, perhaps I'd have this fear too. But Fitz needs to remind her, "She's nobody's victim." She fears being trapped because she can't control the fact that she loves Fitz (and I believe she does). Not having control is what scares her.
Well, enough on that head. Keep calm and binge watch on Netflix.
A Brief Note on Olake: Now, I respect Olake shippers and hope they will be respectful of this work of fiction. However, I just don't get it. I never have. I love Scott Foley. He's great and he's funny. I think it must be hard to be a hated character in any show, but the level of (albeit deserved) hate that gets thrown at Jake has to be hard to take. I assume. I don't know. But from the beginning, I knew I couldn't trust Jake. And now it seems me and the many other Olitz shippers who thought that are finally being vindicated.
Don't make me talk about the dubcon and the creepiness and the degradation and the stupid I've missed you BS. I cannot. He is Command's son. He is not to be trusted. So despite the fact that there's a lot of...contact between Jake and Olivia does not change the fact that Olake, as a thing, is dead.
I get that some people might have enjoyed seeing Olivia in what was a seemingly regular relationship without the drama of Olitz. That I understand. However, that does not change the fact that Jake was sent to sleep with Olivia by her father (ew!). He slightly redeemed himself by saving Olivia's life. But he undid that when he brought up that Remington bull. Come on, everyone knows that he only did that to try and keep Olivia and Fitz apart. I mean, Olivia was mad at Fitz for all of fourteen days. Score one, Ballard! Then he killed James. He killed James. Him sitting with James until he died did not justify that. Murder is Murder. Now I know Fitz killed Verna. I am not justifying that. I will just say that Verna had tried to assassinate Fitz, murdered Britta Kagen and was about to expose Defiance. In short, she had to go. However, that does not justify it. Still, the blood on Fitz's hands is nothing, nothing compared to all the people Jake has murdered. I lost count. Now if anyone wants to bring up Remington: all I'm gonna say is that is on Rowan, not Fitz. For further argument, see A Few Good Men. Either way, I'm not sure if I want Jake dead. But away somewhere very very far would be nice. I would love to see Olivia and Fitz happy in Vermont. I don't think it will happen, but part of me still has hope. Dwindled, but present.
Now to introduce this story: This story takes place during the events of 2x22 and then diverges from there. It's basically a tale of what could've happened if Liv had stuck to the plan that she and Fitz had made. Personally, I don't believe that Fitz would ever ask Liv to give up her career. Now this story is Olitz endgame. If you have a problem...take it somewhere else. It's fiction, people. I can do what I want.
Characters belong to Shonda Rhimes, ABC, Disney International etc. Plot developed by me. Enjoy.
A Plan, A Plot, and A Dream
One
"Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today."-James Dean
A known unknown, Olivia Pope thought with very little mirth. That is what he was. A known unknown. He'd been a politician for years, decades even, and yet he had never made it out of the drudgery of small-time politics. He was a Governor, a well-appointed, fairly competent, occasionally murderous, megalomaniacal Governor.
And presently, he was punching way above his weight. He had been, on varying occasions, her opponent, her client, and her colleague. Now, he was the enemy, an enemy that had to be dealt with succinctly and definitively.
He had hubris, Olivia granted him that. Sashaying into the Oval Office, leveling a shocking (albeit true) accusation at the President of the United States, and then demanding entrance into the White House Inner Chamber in exchange for his silence. His confidence would've made Casanova proud.
Still, confidence only took you so far without the stones to back it up. Such stones came in many forms, but when hurling dangerous, potentially politically catastrophic accusations at the leader of the free world, usually they came in the form of proof.
Or as Whitney Houston would've put it, "Show me the receipts."
Reston didn't have any as of yet, and that was the way it was going to stay as far as Olivia was concerned. She was going to squash him like the annoying ant he was, then she was going to neuter Billy Chambers.
Billy Chambers, that murderous, right-wing, whack job. Honestly, she thought she'd handled that. But alas, he was still the proverbial thorn in her side. He had the Cytron card, and with it he had the secret that could bring down not only an entire administration, but the fabric of America itself.
All this she had to contend with. In addition to one of her oldest friends and mentors being in the hospital. Cyrus Beene really would die for the Grant Cause, that was certain. She loved Cyrus. But she knew she was going to be waging a war with him for the foreseeable future.
She was going to be First Lady. That was the plan and it was going to work. The present First Lady was going to be deposed. And she would finally have what she had been wanting so desperately for the last five years of her life: Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III, also known at the 44th President of the United States of America.
Cyrus Beene, Chief of Staff Extraordinaire was probably going to have a few things to say about that. And so was the Republican Base. But she didn't care. Not this time. She was going to be with the man she loved. To hell with consequences. Her plan was going to work.
As soon as Fitz had told her his plans of moving her into the White House, she had had rejected them as romantic and foolhardy. But then she asked, why not? Why should she not be with the man she loved? Why should she not look out for her own happiness?
She could fix and handle anything. She was Olivia Carolyn Pope, Crisis Manager Superlative. She could make the American public believe whatever she wanted them to believe. That was the plan.
She felt her confidence swell as she finished dressing for the night. Her cell phone rang and she smiled. Only one person called at that hour.
"Hi," she answered, unable to keep the smile out of her voice.
"Hi," President Fitzgerald Grant responded, equally cheery. "How are you?"
"I'm good," she answered honestly for the first time in a long time. In truth, it was an understatement. She was beyond good, she was great. But she wasn't about to admit to the source of her happiness that he was the source of her happiness. She had her pride, after all.
"How are you? Are you still at the hospital?" she queried, hoping he wasn't. Hoping he was on his way to see her.
"I just left. Cyrus kicked me out, threatening to check himself out and run the country himself if I didn't get back to doing it."
Olivia couldn't help but roll her eyes. Cyrus was still Cyrus. "How's he's looking?"
Fitz sighed, and Olivia thought she heard a door closing in the background. "Pale, fragile," he admitted with no little concern.
Olivia was concerned too. But she was concerned for numerous reasons. She reached for a bottle of Du Bellay, knowing she was probably going to need a few glasses. "Did you tell him my plan?" she asked finally. She needed to know what Cyrus knew. Cyrus in the dark was one thing, Cyrus informed was quite another.
"He heard it," Fitz conceded. "It's a brilliant plan, Liv. He'll get on board. I'll make him get on board." Fitz knew as well Olivia that Cyrus was going to be a hard sell. Cyrus had his own agenda. Granted his agenda was to make Fitz the greatest President in the history of Presidents, and by extension himself the most legendary Chief of Staff to grace 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Divorcing your blue-blooded, DAR perfect political wife and marrying your decidedly-not-a-WASP mistress did not fit into Cyrus' plan. This, they knew. This they had to contend with. Olivia answered with a silence Fitz knew all too well. She wasn't convinced.
"What?" he prodded.
"He wants you and Mellie back together, if you're going to run again," Olivia said, verbalizing what they already knew. "He planted the story about you visiting the pastor, didn't he?"
Fitz sighed. He loved Cyrus. He trusted Cyrus—most of the time. Cyrus was undeniably an asset, if kept in check. If not, God only knew what chaotic cacophony he would unleash if things didn't break his way.
"You're worried about him. You love him. You don't want him to die," Olivia said, reading Fitz's mind. "I feel the same way. But that doesn't change the fact that's he still Cyrus." uj
Fitz smiled. "Put your hand too close to the cage and he will bite it off." Cyrus was a lion—fierce, devouring and formidable. Great to have on your side; but had to be kept under tight control.
Olivia smiled. She'd had missed this. Him. Them. It had been a dark road for them lately. Both of them had been behaving pretty badly. Olivia knew she'd drawn first blood when it came down to Defiance. Fitz knew he'd been something of a rather repulsive asshole after he'd found out.
But they were turning over a new leaf; moving forward…together. They were together. She almost didn't believe it. It felt so natural, so easy, and yet it was like a dream. She honestly believed she was going to wake up and he wouldn't have been there, nights earlier, laying the gauntlet down for her.
She told him to earn her. Grant men did not back down from challenges. And he had answered. And it was beautiful. And she was on Cloud 1009.
"Do you want to come here to sleep?" she asked, though she doubted there would be much sleeping.
Fitz smiled. "Well, it's funny you should ask…" A long press on her doorbell made her smile. She knew it was him before she got up from her seat.
She opened her door, to reveal him standing there, flanked by Tom & Hal, a smile tugging at his lips. In unison, they hung up their phones.
"Hi."
They breathed a mutual sigh of relief the way they always did when they were together. They both took a strange comfort in knowing that they were loved and loved in return.
She gazed up at him, reveling in the sight. His hair, curly but tamed, the blue of his eyes was currently cerulean and flashing longingly at her, draped in a dark trench, a royal blue tie peeking through. He looked like home. And Good God, there was no place like it.
He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. If he had bothered to look back at his SSAs, he would've discovered that one looked bewildered, but insanely curious, and the other looked disgusted, oozing boredom.
Fitz pulled Olivia by her waist into his arms and pressed a long kiss to her lips, letting his own hover over hers inhaling her perfume, tasting the sweetness of the wine on her lips. Her hands gripped his forearms for a minute, and then found their way into his hair.
They broke the kiss; but not apart. He planted a soft, tender kiss to her forehead and rocked her in his arms for a few quiet moments. This was his heart, this was his home. This was his Livy. In this moment, all he wanted to do was hold her, mold her lithe body to his own.
Her delicate frame and soft skin felt precious pressed up against him. He sighed deeply, not having been this happy since….before she'd left the White House.
Well, he wasn't letting her get away again. She was trusting him; and he was not going to break his promise. He'd chosen her, earned her. Whatever he had to do to keep her, he would. The days of watching her walk away were over.
He'd lost himself. But he was coming back around, and he felt a better man for it. He'd do anything to take back the harsh, cruel words he'd uttered to Livy. He'd been so hurt, so betrayed. But as angry as he was, his loins still ached for her, craved her and he had to have her.
Even when there was anger, there was The Pull: an indescribable, irresistible, irrefutable force pushing them together in some of uncontrollable alchemy. Fighting it was futile, resisting it impossible. It was a fever and the only cure was to let it burn.
He placed a kiss to her temple and let out a deep, hearty sigh. They pulled away from each other slightly, just enough to look in each other's eyes. They smiled at each other, both of them ready to put away the stresses of the day and just be.
Fitz reluctantly pulled away to remove his coat and suit jacket, the ever-present tie pin clearly visible as he tossed them on a nearby chair. He loosened and removed his tie, and instantly, he looked relaxed and at home.
"Scotch?" Olivia asked, her eyes twinkling up at him.
"Please," he said with a smile. Liv loved her Scotch, not as much as she loved her wine, but she loved it nonetheless. There had been many a night on the campaign trail where she and Fitz had finished off a bottle of Dalmore or Macallan, sharing secrets, sharing dreams, sharing love.
She poured Fitz a glass of Macallan, as the Dalmore was saved for the most special or stressful of occasions. When she returned from the kitchen, he was sitting on her couch, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked slightly disheveled, and immeasurably sexy as he crossed his legs and grinned at her. She sat down beside him, handing him his drink. He accepted it with one hand and pulled her closer with the other.
They raised their glasses and clinked them together. They each took a long sip, before setting their glasses down and cozying up to one another. Fitz wrapped his arm around Olivia's waist as she settled her head into his chest. There were no second thoughts, no turning back. They had decided. They had decided to move forward…together.
The road would be long, they both knew. There would be some bumps. But they would overcome. There would be gossip, whispers, and accusations both subtle and outright. But they would survive.
Fitz smiled into Olivia's hair. "This feels like a dream," he admitted, planting a lazy kiss on the top of her head. "We finally get our shot, the chance to make this work, to make it real." He could feel Olivia's heartbeat quicken with every word he spoke. "You and me…in this together. A chance to be. Nothing in the way."
Olivia shifted ever so slightly in his arms. He was so full of hope, so idealistic, so romantic, so….Fitz. And she loved him for it. But damn, it made it hard for her to lie to him. She was hoping that she would never feel compelled to tell him about Jake and that little misadventure. Her futile, misguided attempt to forget him, to try to feel something with someone else.
It hadn't worked…not really. It had barely sated her physically. Jake was nice, a cute little distraction. At least, he had been at first. Now knowing that he'd been spying on her, probably lusting over her from afar….it unnerved her. Granted, Fitz had ordered Jake to keep her safe. Still, keeping her safe and sleeping with her were two entirely different things. And Fitz never would've ordered Jake to do that.
He was far too aggressive, possessive and jealous. In anyone else, she would've found his Alpha male tendencies annoying. But for him, they were cute and endearing and usually led to the best sex ever, so she tolerated them, welcomed them even. Secretly, she relished in the way he gripped her in his arms, the way his teeth dug into her shoulder, the smoldering looks he would give her that made her drench her panties….
She dropped her trail of thought. If she continued down that road, she was going to kiss him and he would make her beg to be fucked, which she would, and he would oblige her and then this very necessary conversation wouldn't take place.
She started to reason that they could discuss it later, after he'd brought her to multiple orgasms. Then she remembered, when Fitz took her to bed, there was no such thing as later. So it had to be now, and she couldn't waste another second.
He and Jake were friends. Good friends, even. They'd had seen combat together. Those bonds were usually unbreakable. That meant Olivia had to tell Fitz. Otherwise, Jake would tell him himself and she would be damned if she let anyone come between them again.
She pulled away slightly in order to look him in the eyes. "If we're really going to make this work, we've got to be able to be honest, to communicate even when it hurts. Right?"
He nodded. "Right." His eyes clouded over with concern.
"In that case, there's something I need to tell you."
She reached for her wineglass, taking a quick swallow for courage. She was unsure how to begin. Fitz, after all, was Fitz. And he was possessive, jealous and aggressive. Which was all well and good when he was whispering words of possessive passion, holding her down and fucking her until she thought she had died and entered Valhalla. But it wasn't so good for the situation. She knew that the thought of her with someone else sent him into conniptions. So she braced herself for the storm.
She planted, a brief lingering kiss on his lips. She looked away from him for a few moments.
"Liv, I'm starting to worry here," Fitz said gently. "What is it?"
"It's not a big deal," she caveated quickly. One of his eyebrows raised at that. Whenever a person said it wasn't a big deal, it was a big deal. "I mean…it's trivial, really."
"Livy, you're stammering. You don't stammer. Just tell me."
She nodded, keeping her eyes on her wineglass the whole time. "It just um…while we were…apart….I sort of…saw someone," she the last part quickly, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. She downed the rest of her wine and waited.
Fitz's eyes widened slightly at her words. He looked to the ceiling, then back at her. He hated the thought of her with other men. Literally, it made him insane. He couldn't think, he couldn't sleep whenever he thought about her with someone else.
When he'd found out that she'd been spending time with her ex, Edison Davis, he'd gone absolutely ballistic. That hadn't gone so well. He'd unapologetically kicked Davis off the Senate Intel Committee, filed an injunction against OPA and summoned Liv to a private forest for a nice little session of "Scream and Make Out and Scream Some More".
The wheels in his head turned slowly. Part of him was already aiming a hypothetical punch at whoever was stupid enough to put their hands on his girl. The other was trying to be calm and rational.
He took a page from Liv's book and took a swallow of Scotch. "I see," he said finally. He cleared his throat. "Okay. You saw someone," he said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. "For how long?"
She shrugged. "A couple of weeks. It was nothing. It was just me…trying to hate you."
"How'd that go?" he asked with a grin.
"Not so hot," she grinned back. "It wasn't serious. It just…was."
Fitz nodded, and finally he shrugged. "It's okay. Like you said, we were apart. And I wasn't on my best behavior, to put it mildly. We're starting over."
"We're starting over." She was about to place her head back on his shoulder when he asked the question she'd been dreading.
"Who was it?"
She stiffened. Goddamn it. She should've known. "That doesn't matter," she dodged.
"It does matter," his counter quickly followed. "Who was it?"
"Fitz, I really don't think—,"
"Is there a reason you don't want to tell me? What, is it somebody I know?"
A pensive bite of her lip was Olivia's silent confirmation.
"What you and Edison—?" The look of complete dismissal and disdain on Olivia's face silenced that. "Ok, not Edison. Then who? I'm not going to let it go until you tell me. Honest, even when it hurts, right?"
He had her there. She sighed. She was going to have to face the music sooner or later. She wished it was later, but it she knew it had to be sooner.
"Fine," she relented. "It was Jake."
Fitz blinked rapidly for a few moments. Jake? Jake Ballard? Jake Ballard, his old Navy buddy and the man he had entrusted with Olivia's protection? That Jake? What the fuck? How is that even possible?
Olivia hazarded a glance at Fitz. His knuckles had turned white around his glass. That wasn't a good sign. She'd told him it was nothing. Whether he took it as such was another story.
"Um, what?" he finally managed. "Jake? You and Jake?" Olivia didn't meet his eyes. For a few seconds, Fitz looked as if someone was trying to explain quantum physics to him. "How is that even possible? He was just supposed to keep an eye on you. Under no circumstances, was he supposed to engage."
Olivia shrugged. "That's what you get," she said good-naturedly, but Fitz only shot her a dark glance in return. Then his eyes softened.
"I'm not mad…at you," he amended. "I'm just confused. You and Jake?"
She rolled her eyes. "Fitz, all that happened was—,"
"Liv, I neither require nor desire the details," he stopped her in her tracks. That was his presidential tone: clear, authoritative, bordering on dismissive. He went quiet for a moment, and stared into the swirling amber liquid in his glass. When he looked up at her, the storm in his eyes had passed and they were back to their regular oceanic blue.
"Okay," he said finally. He wasn't happy about it—nowhere close to it, but he wasn't going to be jealous and possessive….much. What he was going to do was find out exactly why Ballard had overstepped his orders. And he was going to deal with it.
His hand reached for hers. "It doesn't matter," his voice clear and earnest. "I don't care. It's…it's a nonissue. We were apart. And I'm not turning cartwheels, but I'm not about to go nuclear." Not on you, he added silently to himself. Ballard was another matter.
They held each other's gaze for a long moment, then they kissed briefly, gently. Liv let out a relieved sigh as they pulled apart.
"I'm glad I told you," she said, before finishing her wine. "I'm glad it's in the open and not hovering over us like a raincloud. I don't want any dirty little secrets between us. Dirty little secrets always come out." She settled her head back on his shoulder and smiled. "I'm so glad the air is clear between us."
Fitz only nodded in response. She didn't notice that he'd stopped drinking or that his eyes had gone stormy again. He knew she was right. Dirty little secrets did always come out. He wanted the air to be clear between them. He wanted them to have a shot, a real shot.
But he also knew that was never going to happen as long as he was holding things back from her.
He finished his drink. He longed for another, but decided against it. Of late, Scotch had become his crutch. He didn't want to be that guy; that guy was his father. And he would be damned to all seven circles of hell if he let himself become his father. Mellie's words, like everything else about her, had been cold and calculated—but not necessarily untrue.
In truth, he wanted nothing more than to leave it on this high, happy note, and cart Olivia off to bed and not come up for air for a very, very long time, but he knew he couldn't. A moment was upon them. A chance. A chance he knew he couldn't afford not to take. He had to put all the cards on the table, even if it meant risking her walking away.
He cleared his throat, attempted to clear his head. He would offer no explanations, no justifications or qualifiers. He would just tell her the truth and hope that her love could survive his honesty.
"Liv, while we're in the business of clearing the air…there's something I need to tell you, too."
Something is his tone made her start. She pulled herself up to look at him, seeing the agitation and the apprehension in his eyes.
"What is it?" Alarm and concern filled her voice.
He opened his mouth and then closed it. He looked away and looked at her again, at war with himself. Without warning, he leaned in and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss. Her hands flew around his neck as she returned his kiss, but questions were flooding her mind. What did he need to tell her?
When they broke apart, she leveled him with a serious glance. "What was that for?"
He smiled without merriment. "I wanted to do that before I tell you what I need to tell you. Just in case you never let me again."
Okay, now she was worried. "Fitz, what is it?"
He took a breath. But he looked away. He didn't want to see the look in her eyes.
"I never told you how I found out about Defiance. Verna told me. She called me to her hospital bed, asked me to visit her. Said I needed to come, it was urgent. I hadn't known she was ill. And when I realized how sick she was, I was so worried, cleared my schedule and rushed to James Madison."
His eyes darkened and Olivia was wanted to take his hand, but she didn't dare. Something told her that this wasn't going to end well.
"I went in to see her, and she had never seemed so frail, so helpless. It rattled me. I was sick of hospitals, and I had known too much of helplessness and frailty of late. I took her hand and apologized for not coming sooner." He paused, a shadow crossing his face. Clearly, whatever was happening was not good. He placed his fingers to his lips, the way he did when was either deep in thought, nervous or agitated. It seemed like in this case, he was all three. Olivia didn't look away from him, even though his eyes were out of focus, as if they were looking at something that wasn't there, as if he wasn't there.
He continued, his voice low and even, but deep breaths pouring through his chest. "She asked me if I knew why she'd asked me to come. I didn't. She laid there and didn't bat an eye when she told me that she was the one who tried to assassinate me. At first, I thought she was joking. Or that her lack of oxygen was making her loopy. But no, she was lucid, clear as day when she told me that I wasn't the President. That Hollis had rigged the voting machines. That everyone knew…everyone had covered it up. I couldn't believe what she was telling me. I asked why she hadn't just gone public. Why did she have to shoot me, kill Britta? But I realized it was about her legacy. She told me she was going to a federal prosecutor after I left. But she wanted me to know…because she owed it to my father."
Olivia grimaced. Verna. She wanted to kill that bitch, but she was already dead. How could she have done that to him? "I'm sorry you found out like that—," she began.
"Liv," he stopped her again, his voice heavy and quiet. "I…I killed her."
Olivia's eyes widened. She looked for him to smile, to add an ounce of dry humor. But he didn't. He just stared out into space, not at her.
"What?" she finally uttered, part shock, part disbelief, part wishing it was a joke.
"I wish I could say that I didn't mean to do it, that I was out of mind, maybe I was. I wish I could say anything."
He finally hazarded a glance at her. The color that had drained from her face, her lower lip trembled and her eyes were wide and watery. All she could hear was Cyrus' words ringing in her ears: He wouldn't survive knowing. It would change him. It would break him.
She got up from the loveseat. He said her name, but she didn't respond. She just walked over to the window. She wrapped her arms around herself. Fitz could hear her breathing. He stared at intently at her back, the tension evident in her stance.
She looked out at the night sky, trying to process what he had told her. He had killed someone. He had killed Verna. Defiance had dragged him into a black hole. Defiance had nearly destroyed him Defiance was her fault. Defiance. Defiance. Defiance. But Defiance was over. And they were about to nail the last pin in the coffin.
Verna. There was no way to justify it. He hadn't even tried. There was no way to justify rigging a national election, either. The seconds passed like hours, the minutes, days.
She didn't know how long she stood, staring out into space. He hadn't spoken a word. He was waiting on her. Everything hinged on what she would say and do next. She sighed and then she turned to face him. Their eyes met and she could her own anguish mirrored in his eyes.
"All that we have done, all that has happened…it doesn't matter anymore," she said, her voice shaky. "We're leaving the past behind. Let it go. Let Verna go. Let your father go. Let Defiance go. We can get back from this. You're clean, you're golden. You always have been. We'll get back from this."
He sighed. "I did a terrible thing."
She looked him dead in the face. "We all do terrible things. The difference with you is that it affects you. Cyrus can chop someone to pieces and sleep like a baby at night. I'm guessing you haven't slept in months?"
He shook his head. "No."
"That's why we did it. Well, at least that's why I did it. Defiance."
"I've been wanting to know," he admitted, a sharp edge entering his tone. "I knew why the rest of them did. They wanted power. But why did you?" He looked at her long and hard, searching. Searching for forgiveness, searching for honesty
They were throwing down the gauntlet—again. This was real and raw and scary and necessary. They were hashing things out. If they didn't do it now, they never would. She'd forgiven him, he'd forgiven her. But the air wasn't clear. And this was their chance to rectify, to redeem, to recover. They could only go so far, hiding from their truth.
"Because I believe in you. Because I believe in that ability you have to stay above the fray. To be the best. To be the President you were meant to be. Because I believe that you could make history."
He stood and walked towards her. "If you believed all that…why would you—?"
"Because it was my fault. I was the fixer. It was my job to fix what was wrong with your campaign. But I didn't do that. I couldn't see what was wrong with your campaign because I'd fallen in love with the candidate. I couldn't see what was wrong. All I could see was you. All I could see was you and us and…it made me not think so well. So it was my fault you weren't winning. And you deserved to win. You deserve to be in your office. You deserve to be the President. You are the President. It's yours. You own it. It might've been handed to you. But the reason we did is because you deserve it. The reason I did it was because you deserve it."
He sighed and gave her a faint smile. "Olivia, when something is wrong, like really wrong, you don't hide it from me. You don't try to handle it behind my back. You let me in. What happens to you happens to me. So you don't hide or conspire or try to handle it on the sly. You give it to me and we work something out together. You trust that I can handle it, even if I won't like it. What I will like is that you're trusting me. The only way this ever works, is if we're in this together." He paused and stepped towards her again, this time until their faces were inches apart. "Are we?"
She stared up into his eyes; the man she loved was asking her to go all in. something that had never been easy for her. She liked control. She liked to be able to get up and walk away from the table whenever it suited her. The thing was, no matter how many times she walked away, she came back. Something drew her back in. Something wouldn't let her stay away from him.
Truth be told, she didn't want to. There were times when she wanted the possibility; when she wished she was capable of staying away. But it was along the lines of wishing she could fly: it would be nice, but it was impossible.
A smile tugged on her lips. "We're in this together."
"I'm sorry…about Verna. I…I don't know…"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhh. We all do terrible things. We can't let those things define us; that's when we've lost. It doesn't define us. We can choose to hide in the shadows, or we can walk in the light. I'm glad you told me. That couldn't have been easy."
"No," he admitted pulling her close. "But it couldn't have been easy telling me about Jake. I don't want us to lie to each other anymore. Honest, even when it hurts. No more lying."
She smiled. "No more lying."
They stood there, bathed in the warm light of the lamp, souls bared. They were no longer indulging in the fantasy of the other's perfection. The flaws ran deep in them both. But that was what made it beautiful. Loving someone meant loving them not just in spite of their flaws, but because of them. Loving someone meant trusting someone enough to show your flaws; to be all of yourself and asking that person you loved to love you anyway.
Their love was strong, all-consuming, occasionally devastating, but always extraordinary. And in spite and because of their flaws, they loved. It was almost as if they didn't have a choice. Loving each other was like breathing: subconscious and necessary.
It had changed both of their lives in ways they didn't know was possible.
Sometimes, sometimes Olivia wished they had never met. As did Fitz. Sometimes they wished the incredible quandary wasn't before them. Olivia knew that her life would've been a lot, lot easier if they had never met. She would've never fallen out-of-her-head in love. She would've never known that she'd be willing to risk everything she worked for her entire life for what usually amounted to an hour in the shadows with him.
Fitz knew her feelings very well. He'd told her as much, that unforgettable night in the rose garden, that he didn't love her because it was easy, or honorable…or perhaps even right in the eyes of the world. But he loved her because he could not help it, because he couldn't breathe without her; sleep without her, exist without her.
Simply, she was Olivia. He was Fitz. They loved by definition.
They stared long and hard at each other. Their eyes were saying everything. The pain, the sadness, the anger, the shock, it was all there. But it was nothing compared to the love and affinity that held strong.
The changes were evident, but the one that hadn't changed was the love.
At their angriest, they loved.
At their most bitter, they loved.
At their most tempestuous, they loved.
At their most acrimonious, pettiest, volatile, and superfluous, they loved.
Their eyes bored into each other, apologizing, pleading, reconciling, forgiving, relenting, loving, loving, loving, loving.
They had reached that moment when words run dry. Everything that had happened, they were leaving it on the floor of Olivia's apartment.
And that wasn't the only thing they left on the floor.
Wordlessly, Fitz's deft fingers found the knot that held Olivia's short cream robe together and pulled it apart. It slipped off her shoulders to the ground, baring her shoulders.
She sighed as the cool air hit her flushed skin. Her hands flew up to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them quickly, revealing his taut well-muscled chest. She yanked the shirt from his pants, pulling it off his broad shoulders. She reveled in the feel of his soft, firm skin. His strong arms encircling her. She ran a hand over his well-defined chest and across his back, causing a deep, rumbling moan escaping from his lips.
Never one to stop touching her, he quickly removed her sleeveless silk nightshirt, pulling it over her head and exposing her bare front to his eyes. They stood there, chests bare, hands roving, but eyes fixed on each other. Her arms around his neck, her hands weaving their way through his silky curls.
Their lips met in a soft kiss. It was brief, both breathing sighs of relief before kissing again, slower, more deeply. Olivia's hand cupped the back of Fitz's neck as he gently sucked on her bottom lip, as his tongue gently pushed up against her own. His hands gripped around her lower waist, pulling their bottoms closer. They kissed feverishly, desperately, wantonly as Fitz slowly backed them towards the wall.
He had a plan. He was going to claim her on every hard and soft surface of this apartment. After this night, she'd never dream of letting another man anywhere near her. She never dream of another man, period.
Once Olivia's back met the wall with a slight thump, Fitz put his plan in motion. He kissed the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. She shuddered and moaned under his relentless assault. He sucked on her breast while gripping the other in his hands, his nimble fingers twisting and pulling on her stiff nipple.
"Fitz," she breathed heavily. Every one of his touches sent a jolt of heat to her throbbing core. She ground into him, desperate for friction. She wanted urgently to reach for his belt buckle, but he had her pinned up against the wall where it was out of her reach. "Please," she murmured as she planted a series of frenzied kisses along his ear and collarbone.
He grinned as he planted a hard kiss on her lips. He loved it when she begged. He wanted to taunt her, tease her, but he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
"Please," she murmured again. No other man could make her lose control the way he could, no other man could make her weak-kneed and short of breath.
His lips found hers again and they kissed, their mouths devouring each other wildly. Fitz grabbed Olivia by her bottom and hoisted her around him, causing some delightful and much needed friction between their lower halves. Olivia moaned into their heady kiss as she felt his steely member press up against him. It had been too long. Granted, it had been seven hours. But that was too long.
Olivia found herself thrusting against him, desperate for his touch which he seemed eager to deny. She was getting ready to verbalize her desire again when, practically instantaneously, he tugged at her pajama bottoms. He pulled her around him and led her over to the piano and placed her gently atop it, holding her body in place with his own.
He pulled away to smile at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She wanted to roll her eyes in reply. He could be such a fucking tease: making her beg and plead, because he knew he could and that no one else could.
"What do you want, Livvie?" he asked, pressing his hardness against her throbbing lace-covered center. She moaned against him, he had her trapped between his hard body and the smooth piano, and she loved it.
"Fitz," she moaned again as he pressed a kiss in the valley between her breasts.
She wanted him, she wanted him taking her, rough and possessively, kissing her so hard she couldn't breathe, she wanted him biting her shoulder, grasping her breasts and taking her every which way he could think of.
And damn him, he was going to make her say it.
Her eyes glazed over as pressed a gentle kiss to the underside of her breast, the warmth of his breath sending shivers up her spine as it cooled her tender flesh.
"You," she breathed finally, not being able to take it anymore. "I want you. NOW."
Fitz smiled as he slithered back up her body to meet her face to face.
He kissed her gently, slowly, sensually, easing his tongue inside her mouth, caressing her jaw his with lower lips, making love to her lips, teasing her for what was to come.
Olivia returned his heady kiss with equal fervor, one of her hands reaching down in between them for his belt buckle. By now, she was an expert at removing his custom-made Brooks Brothers belts and made all too quick work of it, his slacks sliding off his muscular things, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.
They both knew the time for teasing was over.
They discarded the last remnants of their clothing. Fitz placed Olivia gently atop the piano, just enough to secure her as he stood between her legs. They looked at each other for a long moment before their lips met in another searing kiss, their tongues sliding together as their bodies melded together.
A soft giggle escaped from Olivia as Fitz positioned himself and thrusted inside her in a swift, but gentle stroke. She gasped slightly at way he filled her so completely. This is the truth, she thought, just as she thought the first time they made love.
And that was the last coherent thought she had for a while.
~~~PPD~~~
Meanwhile, outside Olivia's apartment door stood SSA Agents Tom Larson and Harold "Hal" Rimbeau. It was a scenario they were used to by now, but by no means did they comprehend.
Hal's hypothesis was that the President, albeit a great man and politician, was personally conflicted and needed guidance and counseling to see the errors of his way and return to his wife.
Tom, on the other hand, could tell that there was no love lost between the President and First Lady, but he was plagued with relentless curiosity about Ms. Pope. Clearly, she was the President's Achilles Heel. She held so much power over him and Tom longed to know why.
What was it about that woman that made that man need to breathe her air? What was it about her that made him do all the reckless things he did? Here he was, the leader of the free world, in his mistress's apartment, defying rationale, reason, protocol and order.
And then there was Ms. Pope, a figured largely shrouded in mystery. She was a dynamic, successful woman, no question. And she came from high places. Her father, well Tom wondered if the President knew the truth about her father, a truth he had just discovered recently.
Tom was no ordinary Secret Service Agent. He was the official B613 Liaison to the White House, meaning he was Command's eyes and ears inside 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
His mission when President Grant was inaugurated was to discover a situation and use it to gain the President's trust.
The situation presented it more quickly than he anticipated. The morning after the Inaugural Ball, it had been Tom's job to review the security footage. He hadn't expected to see much. Usually, the White House was virtually deserted after an Inaugural Ball. The President and the First Lady were usually in bed before the last of the Press Corps left the building.
But that wasn't a usual night, and as Tom would soon learn, this wasn't a usual President.
He'd barely digested his morning coffee and wheat bagel before the footage of the Oval Office almost had him out of his seat.
He wasn't a newbie. He'd joined the military when he was eighteen, been recruited by the Secret Service when he was 26 and now at 41, he had served three presidents.
But never in his almost 20 years on POTUS detail had he ever seen the Commander-in-Chief in flagrante delicto with his Communications Director.
That wasn't in his training manual.
Of course, he wasn't aware of the identity of the said Communication Director, but he would that out as well. Olivia Pope, he heard her reputation: revered, feared, and brilliant. She was apparently a wunderkind lawyer who had been the savior of the fledging Grant campaign.
Tom had known that it was his duty to report this incident to Command, which he did.
Command had reacted calmly to the footage, though Tom would find out, he was the farthest thing from calm.
Apparently Olivia Pope was Command's daughter. There were lots of irony that wasn't lost on Tom, but he hadn't had a moment to ponder it.
Command was Olivia Pope's father and Command had sent his favorite "son", Jake Ballard, to destroy the relationship between Ms. Pope and the POTUS. A mission Jake had apparently failed because now Tom had the extremely unpleasant task of informing Command just where the President currently was.
"Hal, we're going to be here for a while," he said with a glib smile. "I'm going to grab a coffee."
Hal nodded and sighed. He was a SSA, and here he was guarding the President on a…rendezvous, for lack of a better term. This was not what he had signed up for.
Tom stepped into the elevator and pulled out his phone. Command answered immediately.
"What is it?" he asked in usual curt tone.
"Sir, the President is at Ms. Pope's apartment," Tom chose his words very carefully.
Command was silent for a moment. "Any sign of Ballard?"
"None, sir."
"Well, get back to your post. Let me know the minute the President leaves Ms. Pope's residence."
"Of course, sir."
The elevator opened up to the ground level and Tom came face to face with Jake Ballard.
The two agents surveyed each other, both wondering what the other knew or didn't know.
"You're in for it," Tom said with very little mirth. "You disobeyed an order."
Jake shook his head. "My orders were to bring Ms. Pope in. Considering the fact that you're standing here I assume you know why this proved to be an impossibility."
"You're past that, and you know it. You've been slacking on this mission for the longest. Now I don't know what's happened to you. What I do know is that he's not going to stand for it. So if I were you, I think about getting out of here…soon."
Jake knew Tom was right. He also knew Tom was wrong. There was nowhere he could go that Command wouldn't find him. He'd sealed his fate. But Larsen didn't need to know that.
"Goodnight, Tom," Jake said turning on his heels and heading for the door.
"Godspeed, Ballard," was Tom's reply. He doubted he would ever see Jacob Ballard again.
Jake exited Olivia's apartment quickly. He knew it was imperative that he get as far as he could as fast as he could.
He almost made it.
~PPD~
Cyrus Beene threw himself out of his car in a flurried rush that was far from advisable for a man who was recovering from a heart attack. Still there were pressing matters at hand, and they couldn't wait for him to catch his breath.
He was far too anxious to wait for the elevator, so he dashed up the stairs.
He was met with the sight of Tom and Hal.
He rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked though he knew the answer full well.
Both of them glanced at each other, glanced at him and deigned to reply.
"Is the President in there?" Cyrus asked, though he the answer to that too.
"He is, sir," Hal said, oozing "Duh".
"Open the door," Cyrus ordered.
"Sir, I'm afraid we cannot do that," Tom said patiently.
"Tom, we've been through this already. Don't make me get ugly. I'm not in the mood. I've been eating green Jell-O for twelve hours. I've been poked and prodded by countless doctors and I just had a tete-a-tete with a man who makes me look like Santa Claus. Open the damn door!"
Tom sighed. It was four in the morning. Things had been quiet, so Tom felt safe in assuming that the President and Ms. Pope were sleeping. Of course, with the two of them, one could never be certain.
Still, he knew there was no reasoning with Cyrus.
So he obliged and got the hell out of the Antichrist's way.
Cyrus paraded into Olivia's apartment as if he owned it. He sighed as he noticed Fitz's coat and jacket tossed onto a chair. He sighed even deeper as he noticed the half empty glasses and the miscellaneous articles of clothing tossed haphazardly around the room. He picked up Fitz's slacks and advanced further into the apartment.
He rolled his eyes. These two were going to be the death of him. They didn't even know the danger they were in. He didn't know if they would take the necessary action once they were aware. Well, he had a couple of coup de graces up his sleeve in case of that.
They were his friends. They were in love. And that was sweet, fine, and good. But ridiculous, unrealistic, unsettling and disturbing it was too.
And he had enough. He'd had more than enough. It was time to end this. He knocked loudly on the door to wake them up. Something was going to have to be done.
So what did you think. Is it worth continuing? Some minor elements of season three will factor into this story, Fitz's relection for one. Now there will be some angst because that's life and as much as happy Olitz makes me smile with the brightness of a thousand suns, there has to be a little drama, minute thought it might be. Up next...a long-brewing confrontation with Cyrus, damage control, Rosen Rising, Mellie Marketing and The Spin of all Spins.
P.S. If there are any Sherlock fans, check out my story "A Distracting Factor." Should be posting chapter 2 for that one soon.-Peace out