Downfall
Chapter Two: From A Table Away
"Is this Olivia?" Fitz stood with his heart pounding in his chest and looked at the bright, green numbers displayed on the microwave above the stove. 12:15. He let off a string of silent curses at the time. She probably thought he was inconsiderate and a slew of other adjectives for calling so late.
"Fitzgerald Grant." Her breathy voice made him smile and he let go the breath he had been holding in as he leaned back against the counter.
"Is this a good time?" He asked, crossing his legs.
"No. I would say that midnight is as good a time as ever." Her chuckle eased the tension from his shoulders and caused a laugh to escape him as well.
"I couldn't sleep," He admitted.
"So you call a stranger?"
"Not a complete stranger."
"Fair enough."
"Can I take you upon that coffee?" He took the plunge, suddenly feeling the need to see her again. It was impulsive and crazy, but he had felt some sense of calm the hour or so he had spent with her earlier.
"Now?" She didn't bother to hide her disapproving tone and it didn't shock him. Calling her at midnight with that request was probably starting to sound like a random booty call.
"Not now. Later today. Noon?"
"That sounds better than now." She laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh.
"Are there even any coffee places open at this time?" He asked, moving to the island and sitting in a stool.
"Probably, but not the kind that politicians or normal citizens go to."
"You looked me up."
"It wasn't hard, Representative Grant," Olivia drawled, a smirk betraying itself in the tone of her voice.
"I was kind of hoping that wouldn't make its way into whatever this is." He rested his elbow on the counter, cradling his head in the palm of his hand and massaging his forehead.
"And what is this?" She probed.
"A frustrated guy looking for a friend?"
"That sounds more like a question than a statement."
"You are a bit of a hard ass, aren't you?" The statement came out without a second thought from its speaker. Something about the woman on the other end of the phone made him feel comfortable, as if they had been friends all their lives.
"Law school does that to people."
"So you're a lawyer?"
"No. I'm in law school."
"You never mentioned that before."
"You never mentioned your job title either." He grinned, a large, goofy grin. Banter with her was easy and natural.
"I guess there will be plenty to talk about tomorrow…"
"Later today." She cut him off and he shook his head, amused at her playfulness. He pushed himself away from the counter and walked toward the bay window, staring out at the dark night sky.
"Later today," He conceded, a yawn escaping involuntarily.
"Isn't it your bedtime?" She teased, yawning herself.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I'm not the one yawning."
"Really? Do you want to be the pot or the kettle?"
"I'll see you tomorrow, Representative Grant."
"Coming from you, that doesn't sound that bad."
"Goodnight," She laughed.
"Goodnight." He couldn't wipe the smile from his face once he ended the phone call and slid the phone into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. His conversation with Olivia had been fun, relaxing.
He sighed and headed back to the room he shared with Mellie. He barely made it to the top stair before his feet froze on the hard wood. He threw one glance at his shut bedroom door and headed in the opposite direction to the den. He wasn't going to spoil a good night by crawling in bed next to his wife.
"You came." He sounded relived, but tried to cover it by quickly sipping his coffee only to spit the searing liquid out seconds later, leaving a wet patch on his shirt that would surely stain later. He glanced down in dismay and cursed himself. That wasn't the smoothest move he could make.
"Fitz, it is eleven fifty nine." She slid into the chair opposite his, nursing a caramel cappuccino.
"Fast watch," He tried to play it off; tried not to sound so eager.
"Uh huh," She grinned, sipping her drink.
"Sorry about waking you last night," He offered at last, trying to start a conversation.
"You didn't wake me. I was reading. Mid-term is coming up."
"Right. Law school. How many years do you have left?"
"Two. What about you?"
"What about me?" He watched her face, taking in the way her eyes shone – bright and fierce.
"Your career. Do you think you're going to win?"
"Is this some interview?" He tried avoiding the question, watching as she barely glanced down. He could tell that she wasn't one to back down and liked that about her.
"Not an interview. Friend to friend."
"So we're friends now?"
"Friendly-acquaintances. I don't let just any acquaintance call me at midnight," She winked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her long, stocking glad legs.
"Friends is fine by me," He laughed, sipping his coffee and, just when she thought he was finished speaking, said: "I don't know. I have a good team and they'll probably pull it off."
"You aren't sure if you want this."
"What are you? A mind reader too?" He watched as a small blush covered her cheeks.
"No, but I recognize when someone isn't sure of themselves."
"Experience?" He probed, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair and taking an open stance toward her.
"I wasn't sure that I wanted to be an attorney at first. My dad pushed me toward it and I refused to let myself give it a chance because I had been forced into it. When I stopped being so stubborn, I found that I liked it." He raised a brow at her, his eyes widening at her confession. How was it possible that he found it easier to relate to someone he barely knew than his own wife?
"My dad forced me into this. I guess I've never had the chance to decide if this is something that I would choose for myself…even if I do like it sometimes," He confided, shrugging and reaching for his coffee cup.
"Sometimes, you have to focus less on what others see of you and more on what you see of yourself."
He brought his bottom lip under his teeth and began chewing – a nervous habit he had picked up when he was younger. She had a valid point and she had given him better advice than Cyrus or Mellie ever had. She was open and willing to talk, unlike those two.
"Don't you think this is strange?" He asked, causing her gaze to snap up to meet his, her eyes narrowing.
"Strange?"
"I barely know you, yet I feel like I know you better than anyone else in my life," He elaborated.
"Because I listen?" She offered as an explanation.
"Probably." They let the silence take over from there, content to sit and sip their coffee without offering any more words. When they were finished, the walked together toward the large trash bin that sat by the door and threw their cups away. Fitz held the door open for Olivia and they stepped into the warm afternoon sunlight.
"Where are you parked?" Fitz asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks.
"This way." She motioned to her left and began walking, Fitz falling into step beside her. They strolled down the sidewalk, making small talk and staring at the shop windows. It didn't take them long to cover the short distance to Olivia's Challenger.
Once she had unlocked the door, Fitz held it open while she slid into the driver's seat. She slid her keys into the ignition and looked up at him.
"Thanks for the coffee," She said, "Even though it was supposed to be my treat."
"Maybe next time," He stated, hoping that he hadn't overstepped his boundaries.
"There's going to be a next time?" She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face.
"Probably," He smirked, shutting her door and walking away. Olivia shook her head, snatched her sunglasses from the passenger seat, and took off down the road.
"You're late," Cyrus greeted the minute Fitz walked through the door, adjusting the sleeves of his blood red shirt.
"I had a thing," He offered somewhat vaguely as he moved past the older man to the glass doors that led to the conference room
"Your interview was supposed to have started thirty minutes ago." Cyrus wasn't letting up. Sometimes he could be as bad as Mellie.
"Cyrus, it's a taped interview. Not live. No harm in being late," Fitz shrugged it off, moving his hand to the silver handle.
"Which means we have thirty minutes less to review it before it airs," Cyrus complained, glowering at his boss.
"Thirty less minutes for you and Mellie to have your hands on my interview? Suddenly, I feel a lot better," He grinned and used his free hand to pat Cyrus on the shoulder before throwing the door open and moving to greet the journalist in the room.
Cyrus watched after him, a dumbfounded look on his face.