Olivia sat silently in the corner, a slight ringing sound preventing any real thoughts from forming in her mind. She glanced down at her shaking hands as CNN continued to report exit polls. Though she heard the crisp, definitive voice of the reporter announcing which states had gone to Reston and which to Grant, she couldn't organize them into a thought. She had no strategy, no plan, no anything. Olivia Pope finally encountered something she couldn't handle, a scandal that couldn't be solved. When she'd voted no to Defiance, when she'd said no to election rigging, she'd lost Fitz the election. The numbers didn't lie; Fitzgerald Grant the Third would not be the President of the United States. She'd made her decision, and it cost Fitz the election. While she could not form any coherent thoughts in regard to the election, she had no issues recalling the night she'd lost Fitz the election.
She'd stormed out of the room, waiting until the door slammed behind her before she let out the sob that had her chest in a vice grip. Pressing her back against the cold wall, Olivia could feel her legs go numb, her stomach churning. As she began slipping down the wall, the slam of the door and Cyrus's distinctive footsteps brought her back to reality. Her eyes trained at the floor, Olivia willed her tears to disappear as Cyrus stopped in front of her, his fingers grabbing roughly at her shoulder. His low, menacing voice sent chills though her body, more tears welling in her eyes as she slowly looked to him.
"Let's not play innocent here," Cyrus spat. "Fitz is clean. Fitz walks on water. Fitz makes the fishes and the loaves, and people like Hollis, me, and you...don't roll your eyes. You are one of us Olivia. We march behind him, we sing his happy tune. And then we pick up our hatchets and we chop the Judases into bloody little pieces and dance around the corpses because that's our job. That is what we do. We take care of Fitz. And we don't do it because we are believers, which we are. We don't do it for the rush or the high or the power, which we are most certainly junkies for. We do it because Fitz can't. He can't do it. If he could do it, we wouldn't worship at his altar. People like Fitz, they go down in history. People like us, we create the history. We run this world so he can lead it."
"In order to lead it, the people have to elect him Cyrus, the people have to find him worthy," her voice quivered.
"That's what I'm telling you," he leaned in closer, his warm breath surrounding her face, "The way this world works, the people is you and me and Hollis and Mellie and Verna. We're the people."
Her legs once again felt numb, her head spinning. Sinking to the floor, she wished she could sink lower, into the ground. Her thoughts were running a marathon, every memory of the campaign moving at one hundred miles an hour. The mathematician's predictions, Cyrus's plea, Mellie's knowing glare all circled around in her mind. She thought of Fitz at his father's funeral, and how deep his insecurities ran. She thought of Vermont and babies and jam.
"Cy, No" she whispered.
Cyrus's knees cracked as he crouched beside her, indicative of his old age. "It comes down to two questions Olivia," he breathed. "Does he deserve to be president? And if you believe he does, do you think he can win it on his own? If you can say, "yes" to both, then we'll never discuss election rigging ever again," with that he got up and walked away slowly.
She couldn't contain the sobs any longer as they overtook her body. Of course she wanted Fitz to become President, but enough to rig an election? She knew getting involved with him had clouded her judgment; she just had no idea it was to this extent. After the funeral Fitz had seemed so determined to win, determined to prove his worth. Losing would kill him. Olivia was in love with him, hopelessly in love. She wanted him to have everything, including the Presidency. Throwing her phone towards the wall, she felt a strange satisfaction as it shattered into pieces. It was the night before the election; her decision would determine the rest of Fitz's political career, and life. How could she live with herself knowing she kept the love of her life from becoming President? Yet how could she live with herself knowing she'd fixed an election, soiled the political process and stolen the power from the American people? No amount of love could eclipse the hate and resentment Olivia would harbor towards herself is she decided to rig the election.
Later that night she gave her final decision of no before exiling herself to the back of the plane. After they landed she spent the entire ride to the ranch in silence, going straight to the guest room without a goodnight. Curled tightly into a ball, Olivia stared straight at the wall, the weight of the decision paralyzing her. A light knock on the door surprised her, but had no effect on her position. She continued staring at the wall until the knocking stopped, replaced by the creaking of the door being opened. Fitz slipped inside, wearing his favorite Navy sweatshirt and signature smirk. Settling onto the edge of the bed, Fitz shed his slippers and moved into the middle of the California king bed, pulling Olivia into his arms. Noticing her rigid position, Fitz held Olivia tighter until she relaxed, turning to bury her face in his chest. Knowing he would lose tomorrow, Olivia contemplated the status of their relationship. The campaign would be over, and Fitz would remain in California. He would maintain the ranch, stay involved in local politics then eventually support Mellie's political career. Olivia would fly back to DC and work for some other candidate, beginning the whole process over again. Tonight would be their last night together, their last time alone before his world, and by extension her world would be shattered.
"Fitz?" Olivia whispered, turning her head so she could look into his eyes. Fitz smiled, his lips gracing the top of her head, humming recognition of her question. "Are you nervous at all, about tomorrow?" she asked; entwining her fingers with his, bring them close to her chest. He chuckled softly, kissing her head again. "No, of course not," he breathed. Sitting up to face him directly, Olivia stared at him. "Not even a little?" she questioned, her arched brow an indication of her skepticism. "Not even a little," he murmured, his feather-light touch brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Do you know why?" he asked, noticing the confusion in her eyes. "Mhm," she shook her head, falling back onto the bed. He pulled her back into his arms, tucking his chin atop her shoulder. "Because tomorrow I will either becoming the President of the United States, or the luckiest man in the world because I'll be marrying you" he smiled before kissing her temple once again. It was her turn to laugh, "you're not serious" she shook her head before scoffing once more.
"Livvie, if I lose tomorrow, I will be the luckiest many alive. We'll live in Vermont. I'll be the mayor and you can make jam. Our children will run around the house and we will finally be happy. How could that ever compare to being President?" he whispered. Shaking her head, she buried her face into his chest to hide the tears welling in her eyes. She savored this moment, knowing this would be their last. Once he found out that she kept him from winning the election, Vermont and jam would be a distant memory.
The feeling of Mellie's cold, hard stare broke Olivia out of her reverie. In her mind, Olivia had stolen everything. She'd taken her husband, her white house, and her dream. Next to her stood Fitz, his eyes glued to the television, his shoulders slumping with defeat. Although he started the day hopeful for a miracle, he had since realized the reality of the numbers. His concession speech already written, Fitz prepared to deliver it within the hour. Suddenly unable to breathe, Olivia gathered her belongings and rushed out of the room. She felt suffocated by the chaos and disappointment she inherently felt responsible for. Finding her way out the back door, Olivia sat down on the stump on which she had stood on mere weeks before, holding together a broken Fitz. It was now her who needed to be held together, and Fitz was nowhere to be found. After what felt like hours, a warm pair of arms encircled her, pulling her towards Fitz's chest.
"I lost," he stated, his chin resting on her shoulder. "I know," she sighed, her fingers curling around his arm. "We can leave for Vermont tomorrow," he smiled, leaning over to steal a kiss. Shaking her head, she pushed herself out of his arms and off the stump. "Fitz be serious," she scoffed, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. "Olivia Carolyn Pope, I could not be any more serious. I am not going to be President. We can finally be together. Give me one reason we can't run off to Vermont," Fitz questioned, moving to stand directly in front of Olivia.
Her lip quivered, her voice cracking as she whispered "We can't go to Vermont because I'm the reason you're not going to be President. I ruined your chance to be President, and ruined our chance at happiness." She proceeded to admit everything to Fitz, tears slipping down her cheeks as she explained Defiance and Hollis's plan for election rigging. Returning to the stump, Olivia fought to collect herself as she finished the story, preparing for her imminent heartbreak. To her surprise, Fitz kneeled before her, reaching to wipe the tears from her face.
"Thank you," he whispered. "There is nothing you could do that would keep me from loving you. Nothing. You saved me from a Presidency of lies. You saved me from 4 years of suffering and heartbreak. You went up against everyone to fight for me. Olivia you saved our future," he smiled, leaning over to kiss her.
Reaching out, Olivia wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Let's go to Vermont," she whispered into his ear.
"Let's go to Vermont," he agreed.