A/N: Sooo, it's definitely been a while since my last update. My profuse apologies! I went traveling right after posting the last chapter and ended up being away from computer access for about a week. (Meep.) I hope that the length of this update will make up for it though! I think it's almost double the previous one. Thank you to those who reviewed! My appreciation is boundless!
Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal.
Arc Two, Part Two. Mama, Don't Preach.
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"She knew…"
"Olivia –"
"How did she know?"
"Like she explained herself - she's my mother."
"…."
"You can look me in the eye for as long as you want, but for the sake of time, I'm just going to make it clear: I did not tell her."
They were standing alone in his parents' kitchen, separated by the girth of the center island. On his respective side, Fitz was comfortably leaned back against the edge of the stovetop. He had his arms crossed and an amused smile on his face, watching the spectacle that Olivia was making on her own side of the island.
She was pacing back and forth along the width of the countertop. The only times that she would break her stride were when she, apparently bored of arguing with herself, directed her questioning at Fitz - who, in turn, would humor her and then silently laugh to himself after she had turned away again. It was entertaining for him to see her this anxious, as it didn't happen too often.
"Olivia," he finally sighed. "I didn't bring you in here to discuss what my mother knows or doesn't know."
She froze and looked at him. "Then what? Why did you bring me in here?"
"Because…" Fitz shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly began to amble toward her. "I have something to say to you and I preferred to say it in private."
Olivia's dark brown orbs were fastened on him, watching his approach and trying to decipher from it his intentions. He could already see the gears in her mind grinding into motion; he could see her concocting a counterattack. Every step that Fitz took toward Olivia was slow and deliberate. He soon had her trapped, visibly unnerved, between the counter and his body.
"I want to ask you something," he stated softly.
"Yes?" She was stiff and her response was hurried, as if there was a threat of her stuttering had she said it any slower.
He paused. "Spend the afternoon with me."
"No."
"No?" he repeated, unbelieving. "Why not?"
She tried to duck around him, but Fitz immediately cut her off with one, definitive sidestep. She made to move around him again and he snatched up the waist of her heather gray sweater. Immediately, she turned around and flashed him an indignant look.
"Why not?" he repeated.
"Because we aren't together –"
"Olivia, I know that. When I ask you to spend the afternoon with me, I mean you and our daughter."
"What you're doing isn't asking, but commanding me."
"Well, what about what you're doing? Trying to avoid answering me," he countered.
They were at a mild stand-off, neither one of them saying anything. It was just his eyes barreling down on hers and his hand fastened to her waist; there was nothing else between them, nothing else connecting them.
Fitz released his grip on her sweater and sighed. Her eyes suddenly softened.
"Just come to me, Olivia," he breathed in exasperation. It was almost a plea.
"I can't," she admitted more meekly.
"Why not? I've already told you that my intentions are good."
"I know, but…." She paused. "Your mother wants to have a talk with me."
He looked through the kitchen's sliding glass doors and directly at said mother. She was still sitting at the breakfast table, now conversing with the smiling infant in her lap. Fitz was genuinely surprised by this sight and it was not because of how well she was getting along with her new granddaughter; it was because, when he looked up, he fully expected his mother to be gazing right back at him with a calculating smirk on her face.
Whether or not she was indeed smiling up at him made no difference. Eleanor Grant was up to something.
"What's wrong?" Olivia demanded.
Fitz didn't answer her. Instead, he gave her one last look before making a start for the back doors.
"Stay here," he left her with.
He had barely tossed the words over his shoulder before he was slamming the door shut behind him and bounding toward the conniving woman whom he was often disappointed in having to call his mother. Fitz reached the head of the table in impressive time and while he originally planned to yell and seethe and generally carry out a big production, he remembered McKenna. He didn't want to scare her.
The four-month-old was perched in her grandmother's lap, quietly looking on as her elder fussed with the bottom hem of her little dress. From what Fitz could see, there was nothing that needed to be tended to. Nevertheless, there was Eleanor, smoothing a pleat here and a button there. He knew his mother well enough though to recognize what she was truly doing.
"You want to talk with Olivia?" he asked, feeling a bit more calm and controlled.
"Oh, Fitzgerald!" his mother jumped and cried out in – what was presumably feigned - surprise.
When McKenna heard his voice, she looked over at him and began squealing. He smiled back at her and immediately, her excitement grew louder. Fitz picked her up and supported her so that her head could rest against his shoulder. Once he was sure that she was comfortable, he returned his attention to his mother.
"What do want to talk to her about?"
"Private matters, Fitzgerald. Haven't I taught you better than to inquire about that which does not concern you?"
He was too frustrated with her antics to play into them.
"Mother, I am showing a lot of trust in you by even bringing them here. Don't –"
"Threatening me now, are you?" Eleanor scoffed. "You might be President, but know that there are people in this world to whom you will still pay mind."
"And know for yourself that getting to meet your granddaughter was a privilege. How today goes will determine whether or not you get to see her again in the future."
"Again with the threats, I see? If your father was here…"
Fitz felt a cold sweat sweep down his spine. He pressed his daughter a bit tighter to his chest for a reason that he wasn't quite sure of. All he knew was that he suddenly felt like she was in danger.
"But father's not here right now… which is why I am," he warned.
"You can't imagine, Fitzgerald, that he isn't going to find out about a half-black granddaughter soon enough?"
Hearing his mother's words struck a suspicion in him.
"You were going to warn her about him. That's why you wanted to talk to her."
"Well, someone must. I presume that you haven't discussed the matter with her. I might not know her as intimately as you do, but I know enough to say that the Great Olivia Pope would not be here today if she was fully aware of the danger that she was putting herself and her child in."
"If there is, in fact, danger in being here, then why did you encourage me to bring them?"
"What kind of grandparent wouldn't want to meet their newest grandchild?"
"The kind that your husband will be once he finds out about her. Which you already know. So why did you still want them to come out here?"
Eleanor Grant smiled, albeit painfully. "Selfishness, I suppose. Like I said, I wanted to meet her."
Now it was Fitz's turn to don the painful smile. "No mother, you're not selfish. There are a lot of things that I could say about you – that I have said about you – but you're not selfish. That's father. When it comes to your kids, you're selfless - annoyingly so - which in turn leads to you becoming too invested in their lives."
"You know your mother well, Fitzgerald. It warms this old heart of mine," she said and then chuckled.
"I know enough," he agreed, finally giving her the first genuine smile since his arrival.
Sometimes they were able to get down to this, after they had gotten all of the scheming, grudges, and under-handedness out of the way. They had their moments when they would briefly stop treating their relationship like a business deal and instead how a normal bond between mother and son should be.
"I'll send Olivia out," he said after the heartfelt moment had played itself out appropriately.
"Oh, you mean that I'm not forbidden from talking to her?"
"No, you're not," he answered. "Just don't talk to her about father. She doesn't need to know anything about him right now."
"I suppose that it's all as well… I had other things I wanted to discuss with her, anyway," Eleanor responded with a quick wink.
Fitz sighed in exasperation. This woman never stopped.
"Remember my warning to you. I mean what I said. Don't hurt her."
"Yes, yes," the older woman dismissed with a few waves of her hand.
"I'll be in my old room," he announced and then turned to leave with a babbling McKenna in tow.
He was stopped by his mother's sugary sweet tone.
"Oh! But I think that you'd rather be going to Anya's room, dear. That is, if you still desire to retrieve that 'item' from her that you needed?"
Fitz thought about responding, but then just as soon turned his back and walked away. With her head nestled in the pocket of his shoulder, McKenna mewled away. He turned and kissed her on the temple as an apology for subjecting her to the likes of the woman whom she would from now on recognize as 'grandmother'.
"You're not going to ask how I know about your little 'item'?" he could hear Eleanor call after him.
"To be surprised by you knowing about my dealings with Anya would only amount to insulting myself. But to answer your question, no. I don't have the energy to attempt to pry the answer out of you, mother."
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With Olivia and McKenna left to Eleanor's devices – only by earnest request did he leave the infant with her mother and grandmother - Fitz was meandering down one of the upstairs halls of his childhood home. He had the easiest of strolls going, trying to familiarize himself once again with his old surroundings, when suddenly happening upon a slightly ajar door to one of the guest bedrooms. He immediately stopped and he pushed on the stark white wood. The door gave way without a sound, revealing a remarkably picturesque scene.
He had been inside of this room quite a few times when he was younger. The custard walls and the varying brown accents were all familiar to him; however, the room still managed to have an unfamiliar air about it. It could have had something to do with the fact that he hadn't visited this home for months, this room for even longer. The sprawling drapes for the lone bay window were meticulously pinned back and Fitz noted how the sunlight bathed the interior in a white, almost heavenly light. It made the room calm, pristine.
"Mr. President, sir! Please, come sit!"
Fitz sidled up to the bedroom's only occupant – other than himself of course. Anya was seated in a rocking chair in the back corner of the room, gently swaying back and forth and frowning down at her needlework in concentration. Folded on the foot of the meticulously made bed was what appeared to be a freshly finished work of hers. He took the liberty of sitting right beside it.
"You don't have to call me by my title, you know," he began with a smile.
"I do know, but I call you by it anyway. I am very proud of you… Besides, you don't let me call you Mr. Fitzgerald. What choice have I?"
Even after more than four decades of living in the United States, Anya somehow managed to retain her thick Russian accent. She utilized the same diction that she had when Fitz was a child and he found it endearing.
"What if, as the President of the United States, I ordered you to call me Fitz?"
"You won't do that, Mr. President. If you same sweet boy I look over since little baby, then I know you won't do that…"
"You're right," he agreed and smiled softly at her. He fingered the edges of the folded up parcel beside him, then peered over at Anya. She was already lost again in her work. "May I look?" he asked.
The older woman's hands dropped in her lap. She delivered Fitz a stern, reprimanding look. "What you suppose?"
"You know I have to ask first. It's how you and my mother raised me."
"Oh," she scoffed, "Now of course you can look at it! Is part yours, no?"
"It used to be…" he murmured to himself as he unfolded the sprawling material.
The older woman looked on over the top rim of her glasses as her old ward inspected her work. She was able to discern a bit of a pensive grin warming his face as he moved down the abysmal fabric. The further down that his eyes traveled, the wider his smile would get.
"To your liking, Mr. President?"
Anya figured that his reason for not answering was because he was so absorbed in her latest work.
"That beautiful little girl at breakfast… It for her, no? I make it for her because she is yours?"
Fitz tore his eyes away from the creation that he was holding up and gaped at his old caretaker. He almost caught himself giving her the routine answer – a lie – because he had been so programmed to keep his little girl a secret. But staring into Anya's warm, maternal eyes reminded him that she was one person of whom he did not need to be wary. It was refreshing.
"So you mean that my mother is the only woman with the uncanny ability to declare a child's paternity upon first glance? Good to know," he joked easily. Then he finally answered with a great deal more seriousness, "She's mine... I'm a lucky man."
"I know all along, Mr. President," the older woman assured in her blocky English. "But as you say, 'I raised to ask first'."
Fitz chuckled.
"She look just like you as baby, but also look a lot like mother… More her shape, but more your color."
"I mostly see her mother when I look at her, which is exactly how I've always dreamed she'd look."
"You definitely get dream come true, Mr. President….," the older woman agreed. She suddenly stopped her rocking. "But tell me – the mother – is she yours too? In different way?"
Fitz smiled smugly. "She is… even though, if you asked her, she'd probably say differently."
"She just not know yet?" Anya offered.
"No, I think she does. She just isn't ready to accept it yet. She's a fighter... One of her employees even refers to her as a gladiator." He laughed.
"A gladiator!" Anya marveled, taking up rocking again and smiling down at her work.
"Yes, a gladiator," Fitz answered more to himself than to his company.
"You really like her, this Ms. Gladiator; I can tell by way you talk about her."
"I make it that obvious, huh?"
Anya only chuckled to herself.
"What new Ms. Grant name?" the older woman asked after a pregnant pause, her tone casually inquisitive.
Fitz felt his heart leap.
"McKenna," he answered. He didn't have the heart to correct Anya on her surname, more out of respect for his own feelings than those of the unknowing maid.
"Ms. Muh-kennuh…," Anya was trying on her tongue, but Fitz wasn't really hearing her.
His mind was already being transported back to a different day, a different time that this exact moment reminded him of…
…..
It was newly dusk in Washington D.C. and Fitz was tucked away inside the nursery in Olivia's apartment. The fixer herself was taking a bath in preparation for bed and, since they had mutually agreed to put an end to any romantic involvement between them, Fitz was not joining her but rather visiting with their still very much awake daughter. They were sitting together on the room's wooden rocking chair with only the moon to light them. McKenna's cashew-hued skin was still moist from her post-bath ritual and as the starlight danced across her tiny features, Fitz found himself mesmerized.
Olivia had dressed their daughter in a soft gray onesie - not the pajamas but the cotton basic. The fabric was completely clean and, exactly like everything else that Olivia Pope owned, it was simple. There were no designs on it, except for the red, white and blue logo stamped onto the front. The words "Grant: For the People" were emblazoned in white across his daughter's chest along with the silhouette of an elephant painted in the background. It was a small gesture on Olivia's part, one to which he knew that she had probably not given too much thought, but it pleased him all the same.
It had been decided long before McKenna was even born that she would not have his last name. People would know, were Olivia's exact words, to which he had quickly retorted, Why shouldn't they? Even as he asked that question all that time ago, he knew its answer. It was obvious why a child fathered by a man as powerful as himself, the product of what the world would only ever see as a cheap affair, could not bear his name. Though, it didn't mean that the situation weighed any less on his heart.
Upon the first sign of consent from Olivia, he would do it. He would give his little girl his name. He would always be waiting for the moment that Olivia would finally say that she was ready, or the day that McKenna could say it for herself – whichever came first. Until then, they had to do what would only protect her.
"Whenever you're ready, pretty girl," he whispered to her.
He kissed the top of her damp head and immediately, the smell of powder flooded his nostrils. It was also accompanied by another scent, one that Fitz had only ever been able to describe as "Olivia". He leaned down and made a show of sniffing her hair again.
"You smell like your mother," he marveled.
His words elicited a soft coo from the baby in his lap. He took it to mean: "Do you really think so?"
"Don't worry, sweetness. That's a good thing," he assured her with a smile and wink.
McKenna maintained eye contact with him and began what soon became a series of sighs and babbles. Fitz was convinced from her differences in intonation that she was introducing a new topic of conversation. From the length of her speech, he figured that she was relaying some kind of lengthy information to him – perhaps how her day was.
"Oh really?" he occasionally added in.
Every so often, a squeal would happen to follow right after - which, in his mind, meant: "Yes, daddy! Really!"
Fitz didn't realize that the conversation had ventured away from the events of her day until he noticed how her round eyes were no longer looking into his own. They were instead fastened on a part of his anatomy that was a little ways south of his shoulder. He watched as McKenna's eyes took on a glazed-over, captivated expression. Then, she was suddenly stretching her little arms out.
Fitz looked toward where she might have been reaching and remembered the flag pin that he frequently wore on his lapel. He also noticed the hint of intrigue in the infant's eyes.
"You like my pin?"
Fitz was answered with a prolonged stare.
"And here I thought that you actually liked me for me… I'm wounded."
Nevertheless, he removed the gold adornment and quickly fastened the sharp inserter away before offering it to the awe-inspired infant in his lap. McKenna froze at the start, ogling the pin as if asking herself "Is this really happening?" before finally attempting the grab. It took her a few tries, but with a little concentration, she finally secured it in her tiny fist. She was also rewarded for her troubles with a kiss on the temple from her father.
She gave a short little cry after observing her new treasure. "What is this?"
"It's the American flag, sweetness. It's very meaningful, but I know that you probably can't understand just how much right now."
Her mineral gray eyes glowed with fascination and performed what were tiny, nearly indiscernible darts from side to side as she acquainted herself with what her father had told her was the American flag. Fitz watched as the determined infant, at only three-months-old, tried to derive her own meaning from the symbol in her hand. He decided to help her.
"Hey, pretty girl…," he called softly.
She remained staring at the pin.
"Do you want to keep it? You can do daddy a favor by taking care of it for him."
McKenna began cooing to herself. Fitz took it as her consent and kissed her on the roundest part of her rosy cheek.
He knew that Olivia would enlist one - of what he was sure were many - of her ex-con friends to kill him if he gave McKenna something that she could possibly choke on or prick herself with, so he thought of a safe way for her to keep her new trinket. Fitz lifted the infant off his lap, stood, and hugged her to his chest. Together, they walked to her crib.
"Which one's your favorite?" he asked her, panning over the small group of stuffed animals on top of her sheets.
He picked up the little brown bear that he had seen her with a few times before. He was only ever allowed to visit her at night and, between his presidential duties and her sleep schedule, the time he spent with her was often brief – definitely not enough for him to learn her favorite toy. His hope was that whichever animal he bestowed his pin upon would become her favorite anyway, because it would remind her of her father.
"How about this one?" he suggested to her. "He seems worthy enough to wear it for me."
The three-month-old gave an affirmative squeal.
Fitz set her down in her crib so that he could fasten the adornment to the bear's chest. He handed the toy to her once it was ready and her tiny fingers immediately stroked at the gold surface.
She gave another squeal of delight.
"You're welcome," he answered her. "I know it's not much of a gift though..."
He suddenly looked at the aloof baby with a seriousness that Fitz knew probably only confused her. He just really wanted the importance of his next words to resonate with her – or as much as they possibly could with a three-month-old infant. He adopted a hushed tone when he began speaking to her.
"I've convinced your mother to bring you to Santa Barbara next month. There, you can finally have your real present.
He watched as she just stared up at him, her tiny pink mouth popped open in a perfect "o".
"It's something that, as a Grant, I hope you'll be able to appreciate someday."
...
Fitz looked down once again at the intricate masterpiece in his lap. Then he looked at Anya.
"Do you think she'll like it?"
The older maid didn't even bother looking up from her work. The answer was simple.
"I haven't met a Grant that hasn't, Mr. President."
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A/N: Alright, I know that I already left a note before the story, but I just really wanted to clarify a few things. First off, I should warn all of you that this story will only get increasingly dramatic, like non-stop CRAZINESS is headed you readers' way! So don't take these events too seriously. I just really have fun with surreal plots. Second, I've gotten a few questions – though not as many as I initially anticipated - regarding how the characters ended up at present time and how the Olivia/Fitz relationship stands. All I can say for now is to be patient with this lowly writer. The answers will come bit by bit. (Because I'm dramatic like that, yes!) Okay and last thing before this note gets to an even more obscene length, you all might have noticed the lack of Olivia POV in this chapter. You'll be getting more of her inner thoughts/workings as the story goes on. It's just so tempting to write Fitz! Haha!
Anywho! This thing is getting nearly as long as the story part of this update so I'm peacing out! If you have any questions please feel free ask. Should next chapter works out the way I intend, then it will be ALL Fitz/Olivia/McKenna. So something to look forward to I hope! Okay, I'm really done this time. :)