Note: This fiction was written as an experiment. Scandal, and all the characters within it, remain the property of whoever owns the rights.
This fic was inspired by a song: "So much to Say" by Dave Matthews Band.
The man and woman walked out into the dark night. The air was heavy with the mist of a confused late-winter night. They both wore coats: one white and the other a grey dark enough to be black.
"So, have you been seeing anyone lately?" He asked.
"You've never had to ask," the woman replied, "what's the matter, Dad? Is your information chain beginning to slacken?"
"Can't a man ask his daughter about her life without being accused of spying on her?"
"I think we'd both agree, the man in question and his daughter are not ordinary enough for that question to be rhetorical."
"Touche, Olivia. Touche. But you still owe me an answer."
"No, I'm not seeing anyone. Are you selecting a candidate to change that, like you did before?"
"Well, to be fair..."
"I'd really like to hear your explanation this time."
"You're my daughter, Olivia. A second heart that beats outside of my chest. And I would like to see that spare organ taken care of. Now, I'm not a medical doctor, but I know there's two simple ways to do that."
Olivia braced herself for a speech.
"The first," the man began to lecture, "is good nutrition. And by the way you devoured your dinner tonight I can tell you haven't been eating well. As usual."
The woman rolled her eyes.
"The second, and we'd both agree is undisputed the world over," the man continued, "is to get proper and regular EXERCISE."
"How crude of you, Father."
"I have candidates, Olivia. Strong, healthy, attractive young men who have the equivalent of PHDs in you. Everything you like. Everything you dislike. They can predict a change in mood. Know your menstrual schedule, and have all had reversable vasectomies, just in case you take a fancy to one.":
"DAD!"
He didn't look like he was joking. "You're family. I'm the one person in this world who will never disappoint you. Who will always reciprocate any affection you show me-"
"As long as I do what you tell me to."
"We're past that now, Olivia," the man sighed, "it's taken a while, but you're at the point where I can trust you to do the right thing. The clever thing. The ultimate thing. The best thing. You don't need regular lessons and homework assignments from your father. Or an instructional listicle on How to Play Washington."
"Despite what you think," she challenged, "not everyone wants power for power's sake."
"But they want power nonetheless. To wield it. To feel it. To watch how people change when they enter a room. The level of respect power brings cannot be paralleled while you have it. And you want it, Olivia. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel the desire for it leaving your body through the follicles of your hair and charging the air around you. And. It. Makes. Me. So. Proud."
Olivia began to worry. If a man like her father, who had so often driven her insane with his shadowy life and twisted ulterior motives, was proud of her...
She stopped walking. So did he.
"Name one thing," she challenged him, "that I've done which makes you proud. Really, truly proud. One thing, that, if I were in B613 you would hesitate to kill me over."
"You've always done what's best for your clients. Betrayed your closest friends, your country...your father. But you've always done the right thing for them, despite the cost to yourself. You might not get a medal. Your name will be listed in big, bold, blood-colored letters on a massive pillar of eternal infamy. But you will be a true hero. One whom the simple-minded multitude are too under-evolved to understand. And it doesn't bother you."
"Was I wrong to pick a companion for you?" The man asked after a pause. "Will you do as I wish and get back with the man who lives there?"
He raised his cheek at the illuminated white building several yards away. They were too far away to see if the balcony lights were on. To see if Fitz was seated there: grabbing a drink before he went back to pestering Abby.
His work-wife.
"I thought you didn't like the idea of my being First Lady."
"That was then," he explained, "when you were nothing but 'The Mistress'. The witless young woman kept by a man with control of all the Armed Forces. A pet that picked out place settings and kept his loins warm. But you're not the same person you were then. You put your foot down. You left him: left a position of un-paralled power and renown to run your own business which you built without his help. He respects you now. He fears you now. He can't be anything but mediocre when you aren't around him. You have him, Olivia. All you have to do is make it formal."
Olivia let the words linger in the night air until the mist from his last sentence had disappeared. And then she pulled out her phone.
"Who're you calling?"
"A greengrocer's," she replied with full honesty. "I need to eat healthy."