I'm not supposed to be here.
Her return to Washington was supposed to be temporary. Arrange the funeral and then disappear again. That was the plan. In and out is what she had agreed upon before leaving that blessed island. She hadn't intended to be thrown back into cleaning up people's messes. She hadn't intended to publicly declare war on a United States Senator, but that's exactly what happened after a young woman appeared on her doorstep armed with desperate wide eyes and a story of chaos. It was a siren song that she couldn't turn away from, much to the chagrin of her partner Jake Ballard.
They could return to the island after handling this business. It was only a matter of hopping back on the plane whenever ready. With her father's assistance, she and Jake would be standing on the warm white sands off the coast of Tanzania once more. She'd again be Julia Baker, a woman who spent her days luxuriating next to postcard blue waters, sipping on exclusively made red wine and exploiting the naked body of her handsome companion.
What she hadn't considered was the high probability of running into him. In her spur of the moment decision to stay, she had been focused only on how to reframe the narrative in favor of her new client. He hadn't come to mind. Even if he had, crossing paths with him wasn't enough of a deterrent. She wasn't going to pass up this chance to again don her gladiator armor just because he was around. Anything short of threatening the life of...
Olivia Pope reluctantly lifted her eyes to where he stood a short distance away. Butterflies. Shortness of breath. A stabbing pain in the proximity of her heart. This was her second time seeing him in the span of a few days and her reaction was still the same. Despite the two months spent alone in paradise with a different man, this one was still capable of rendering her senseless. It scared her, this inexplicable power that he had over her; that they had over each other.
Anything short of threatening the life of Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III would fail in chasing her out of Washington, DC. That was what she was thinking as her eyes met his and brought the thought to a halt. The jolt she felt was like the push of a reset button, leaving her mentally grasping for the fast fading hand of her alter ego Julia Baker.
"Can Ms. Pope and I have the room?"
His quiet demand had the effect of a whip crack in the noisy room, sending aides scrambling to do his bidding with an urgency before unseen by Olivia. It was jarring to watch as they nearly tripped over themselves on their way out of the room.
With the door clicking shut behind the last of the lot, Olivia's attention returned to Fitz, only to find that his focus was on the pages of the report that he clutched like a lifesaver. The news reports hadn't been exaggerating. There was a discernible change in him. A sharpened focus. A heightened determination. A seriousness that he wore like a shield of armor. He was presidential in a way that she was certain made Cyrus Beene's black heart thump with elation. It only made hers burn with sadness and regret.
"You seem well."
Olivia blinked when she realized that he was talking to her. "Much better than you, it would appear," she said in return.
He was now focused on her like a laser beam, causing the wings of the butterflies in her stomach to beat even faster. Had his voice always held this timber? She was starting to feel somewhat delirious.
She's nervous.
The thought drifted to him as he noted her finger tapping lightly against the side of her Prada Saffiano. Despite doing her best to affect an air of detachment, she was just as discombobulated as he. She'd have succeeded in convincing him otherwise if she hadn't broken eye contact and pursed her lips tighter than they already were.
Speaking again, he said, "Appearances can be deceiving."
This brought her attention back to him. She seemed to be at odds as to what to say to that, so she offered no reply.
He idly wondered how it was possible for her to had gotten more beautiful since the last time he saw her. Her skin was a shade or two deeper than he remembered, her hair streaked with sun-bleached strands. She'd been in the tropics, no doubt. Two months of basking in the sun with someone else while he fought his personal demons alone in hell.
"I didn't expect you to take this on," Fitz said as he tossed the report onto a nearby table and slid his hands into his pockets. "I appreciate you making the time. Mellie has been having a hard time of it. It may have been too much to expect the press to show some empathy for a woman who's still grieving her son."
Olivia took a moment to set her purse down in a nearby chair. This was not the conversation she expected. He was keeping it on business and she would follow suit. It was probably best that way.
"The tabloids aren't exactly known for their restraint, Mr. President," she replied while leaning up against the backside of the chair. "The situation with the First Lady does leave the White House open to questions about her mental state."
"It's none of their business," Fitz growled in an undertone. Feeling restless, he made his way over to the bar and poured himself a glass of water. "Given the circumstances, she's doing the best she can."
"I know."
Fitz stood in place for a moment, head slightly bowed. He had the glass in his hand, but had yet to lift it to his lips. He appeared to be mulling something over. Olivia couldn't be sure, but she was certain that he was running on empty. Sheer force of will was keeping him upright. She itched to close the distance between them, but chose instead remain where she was.
"How are you?"
Her question succeeded in bringing him back from wherever his mind had drifted, and he finally took a drink of the water.
Stealing a glance in her direction, he acknowledged her effort with a small smile as he said, "Better."
There was no imagining the intimacy that laced that one word. It was palpable in the space between them. Olivia knew that tone and she understood it. It carried with it a promise of pleasure and danger, of the forbidden. The emotion reflected in his eyes had her contemplating falling headlong over the cliff.
Breaking eye contact, Olivia paced some distance away from him. The intensity of that flame was too hot.
"We have to change the narrative," she spoke, steering the conversation back to business. "Shift the focus off of Mellie by putting the spotlight on the papers. Paint them as opportunistic vultures who are willing to exploit even the First Lady of the United States during a time of great tragedy. Personalize it. Drive home the point that people deal with grief in different ways."
Fitz watched her pace back and forth while she rapidly fired off their attack plan. He had almost forgotten how much he loved watching her strategize, how quickly she could spot a weakness in the opposition and exploit it to her advantage. She was fluent in reputation destruction as well as its rehabilitation. Olivia Pope on her own was a weapon in ways he cared not to acknowledge at the moment.
"Meanwhile, we'll need to get Mellie to a professional. The both of you."
This last bit brought him back to the conversation. "No. No, we're fine."
"Mr. President-"
"No. She's been through enough."
He was giving her a look that brokered no argument, but he knew better than to believe that Olivia was going to back off. She was as tenacious as he was stubborn.
"Fitz..."
His name slipped from her lips like a forbidden word whispered only in the darkest of corners. She hadn't meant to deviate from her previous form of address, but she saw his wall going up and had to keep him from disappearing behind it.
"She needs more than you can give her," Olivia continued. "And you need more than you're allowing for yourself. I can have a list of trusted doctors available for your assessment within the hour if the White House appointed one isn't to your liking." She took a moment to allow him to absorb what she had just said before adding, "See somebody. Please."
Fitz was quiet for a moment and then he asked, "Have you seen anyone?"
"We're not talking about me," she said. "We're talking about you and Mellie and the fact that the newspapers have taken to calling her Madam First Crazy. We're talking about how your family is being painted as being on the brink of disaster. We're talking about shifting attention away from that narrative. We are not talking about me."
Fitz pushed away from the bar and quickly closed the distance between them. He had expected her to retreat, but she held her ground and stared defiantly up at him. There was nothing nervous about her now. He desperately wanted to touch her, taste her. He wanted to drown himself in her and never come up for air.
"You could have given me a head's up."
The shift in subject didn't surprise her and she didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "Why? So you could've stopped me?"
"So I could've understood your headspace," he answered. "I don't think I'd have succeeded in stopping you anyway."
"Fitz…"
"We promised to be honest with each other, Liv."
"I had to leave-"
"With Jake?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you." Olivia attempted to breeze past him, but he blocked her path, causing her to take a few steps back.
"You don't think you owe me an explanation?"
This was the conversation she expected when he cleared the room, and now that it was here, she wanted no part of it.
"I don't answer to you. What I choose to do, where I choose to go and who I choose to go with, is none of your business. It requires no clearance from you. I am not your wife," she spat and then finally proceeded past him to grab her purse.
"Liv."
She stopped short of the door, refusing to turn towards him.
"I'm sorry," he quietly apologized. "You're right. It's none of my business, but I'm hoping that someday you'll be willing to explain it to me." When she remained turned away from him, he continued. "I'd like to take a look at that list of doctors you mentioned...if the offer is still on the table. And if you're still on the job."
"The list will be in your possession within the hour."
With that, Olivia opened the door and sashayed out of the room.
Let me know what you think: good or bad. I'm open to constructive criticism. Thank you for reading! :)