Disclaimer: Shondaland/ABC owns these characters. But I've taken the Gladiator oath as a writer: #OLITZ4LIFE #JAM #LateDelivery #TooMuchTrawling-KerryPics-GoldenGlobes-babybump!
Public Service Announcement for any accidental non-Olitz readers: No Mellie, No Joke
Olivia entered the welcome heat of her office building, and walked briskly towards the conference room, pulling off her scarf and gloves. Then stopped at the sight of James chatting with OPA; while Ella scribbled with a marker pen on sheets of paper, sitting on the table.
"James," She gave a quizzical look. "This is a lovely surprise."
He stood up grinning. "You have that look on your face."
"What look?"
"The look that says – 'Should I be worried that you are here with my god-daughter?' That look."
"Oh," Olivia finished removing her gloves. "Should I be?"
"Let's talk." James picked Ella off the table, when she was in the middle of a staring match with Huck.
"Okay..." Olivia glanced at her associates who either shrugged or shook their heads. "I guess you better step into my office."
"Nice place you have here."
"Thank you."
"It'll be tough change to go from career woman to a glorified house wife after you get married."
"Not that much is changing. I'm going to keep my business, even after I marry Fitz."
James peered at her from the top of his glasses, but he waited until he'd taken a seat on the couch in Olivia's office and settled Ella on his knee before saying, "How are you going to fit all the teas, lunches, dinners, committees and presentations you'll have to give with your normal business schedule?"
"That is a work-in-progress." Olivia smiled as she sat next to him and held out her hand for Ella to grab. "So tell me, what can you do for me?"
"You need help with your wedding."
"I do..? I mean, I don't. James." She gave a small laugh. "It's going to be private, small, no fuss."
"Olivia, you know it's a big deal. We've been waiting for this wedding since your case in North Carolina. It's a big deal. You can't turn up to the Registry in between client appointments. You need to give the people something more. You're on the world stage now, Olivia. You need to put on a show."
Olivia tilted her head. "That sounds reasonable. I'm just not sure why you would want to make a career change by helping me. I need to know why you're here."
"Because I want to give you and Fitz a wedding present?"
Olivia shook her head.
"Because I'm bored being a house husband and I need to have at least one adult conversation during the day?"
Olivia smiled. "Maybe, but that's not it."
James sighed. "Okay. I need a contact. Now that Mrs Loo— I mean Mrs Melody Grant is no longer around to keep dangling bait in terms of a story. I need an in."
"You've got Cyrus."
"He dangles shark bait. He's the shark, I'm the bait."
Olivia giggled. "So marriage is heavenly bliss for you both?"
"Peachy blossom bliss. So what do you say? Will you let me organise the best private wedding the White House has seen while I figure out my own little career crisis?"
"So you're not going into Wedding Planning as a business."
"That's what I've told Cyrus, and I'd like him to keep thinking that for as long as possible..." James paused. "Not that I'm bragging but I did a great job organising my own wedding and I do know a thing or two about the media game. I can help. As a friend."
"This is very kind of you but are you sure you want to do this? The pain might be greater than the gain."
James smiled. "Thank you for the warning, but I'm ready."
"So what did he want?" Abby asked the moment James had left with Ella.
"He wants to help plan my wedding."
"Huh," Abby tapped her fingers on her folded arms. "That guy wants to help you plan your wedding? Isn't he married to the guy who's been trying to keep you and Fitzgerald Grant apart?"
"Cyrus has accepted the inevitable. He's okay with us now."
"Yeah? When did that leopard change its spots?"
"Recently. Vermont."
"As recently as that? Now the husband wants to plan your wedding?" Abby shook her head at Olivia. "You need someone to watch those two."
"Abs, you can't volunteer. We have real clients to deal with. I can't have everyone working on my wedding – my small, private wedding."
"Am I invited?"
"Of course, you're invited."
"Then I'm involved."
"So that guy is helping Liv with her wedding plans."
The three other associates looked up from their laptops at Abby, then at each other, then back at Abby.
"Why is that a bad thing?" Harrison asked.
"The dude is married to Cyrus Beene, the White House chief of staff; the guy who has been trying to break up Olivia and the President."
"Not sure how I should feel about that, since you were the one who said Liv's PDAs made you nauseous..." Quinn muttered, turning her attention back to the computer.
"Listen, Lindsay!" Abby snapped, "I wasn't trying to sabotage their relationship! I didn't want Liv to get hurt."
Huck shook his head at that. "No, you were sad that David wasn't more like Fitz."
"Look, we're talking about Liv and this wedding planner dude! Not me and David!"
"If Liv is okay with the arrangement, we don't need to get involved," Harrison shrugged.
"We do need to get involved!"
"We've got three clients to deal with right now."
"We don't have to deal with them 24/7. We can do this in our spare time."
"Do what?" Huck frowned.
"Wedding need hobbies. This would be a good start."
"Wedding planning as a hobby?"
"Yeah."
Olivia had just picked up her 'Fitz' phone when it rang. Smiling, she answered, "I was just about to call you…what's up?"
"Haven't changed your mind? Still marrying me?"
"Fitz!" she chuckled. "Yes, I'm still marrying you. And we've got a wedding planner."
"Wow. Okay…who is she?"
"He is James Novak."
"James Novak as in James Novak who's married to Cyrus – that James?"
"Yep."
"Interesting... Interesting that Cyrus didn't mention anything."
"Are you okay about James planning our wedding?"
"Haven't you already decided?"
"Yes. But I want to know if you're okay with it."
"Wait, so this isn't a discussion, this is a debriefing?"
Olivia paused, then said with mock sternness. "Listen, mister, it's not the same."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it's not."
"If it quacks like a duck, it's a duck."
"Goodbye, Mr President."
"I love you, Livvie."
He waited.
She waited.
"Livvie..."
She relented, and sighed. "I love you, too, Fitz."
"Come over."
"What? No! I'm meeting with a client."
"When?"
"Later."
"Stop by on your way."
"No."
"Olivia Pope. This is a providential coincidence. I hear congratulations are in order and I have been meaning to give them to you in person. So congratulations, my dear, on your engagement to Fitzgerald Grant."
Olivia smiled at Sally Langston as they stood in the corridor leading to the Oval Office. "Thank you. That's very kind, but we haven't issued an official announcement yet."
"I should hope not, in light of the fact that the first Mrs Grant is barely cold in her grave. Good taste would dictate that you wait a decent amount of time before making an announcement about her replacement. I would have expected Fitzgerald to wait at least a year before presenting the world with a new wife."
Olivia let the smile fade from her face. "We're getting married on Valentine's Day."
"So that rumour is true?"
"Yes, it is. Now if you will excuse me, I'm on my way to see Fitz."
"Actually," Sally put a hand on Olivia's arm. "There is a business matter that I need to discuss. In private. If you can spare a few minutes, it won't take long…"
Olivia turned the corner, exiting out of Sally's West Wing office, and walked straight into a solid male chest.
"Hi," she mumbled into the light blue shirt and navy tie that her face was plastered against.
"Hi." A chuckle gusted over the top of her head.
She drew back. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here as your personal tour guide." He lifted his hands to cup her face. "Since it's apparent you need directions to my office."
"Ha, ha, funny." She scrunched her nose at him, earning herself a kiss.
He smiled against her mouth. "We need to continue this conversation somewhere more private."
"Private, that would be nice," Olivia drew back, waving a greeting at his Secret Service agents, and a few other White House aides walking past.
He grinned, dropping his hands from her face to reach out and take one of hers. "So just to be clear – this is the West Wing."
"I know."
"We have a lot of offices here. It's easy to get lost"
"I didn't get lost."
"You are close, but just a little way off from the Oval Office."
"I know where the Oval Office is."
"I'm just trying to make sure you don't get lost."
"Fitz!"
He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You really are cute when you get mad."
Olivia maintained a dignified silence until they reached the Oval Office. Then she just had time to say hello to Lauren before she was taken inside and backed against the closed door to be kissed with enough heat to scorch the walls.
"Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?" Fitz demanded, when he released her mouth to begin feathering kisses over her face. "And you kept me waiting…"
"Sally Langston wanted to talk…" She muttered huskily, between kisses.
"What did she want?"
"I can't tell you. It's business. My business."
He drew back. "You've got dirt on Sally and you're not telling me?"
"Fitz, it's not Sally and no, I'm not going to tell you."
"Livvie, I'm going to be your husband. We shouldn't have secrets."
She raised a brow and gave him a long silent stare.
"What?" He grinned at her.
"You said we would make the Chinese Wall work between your job and mine. This is not making it work."
He studied her, then let his gaze wander to her lips. "You're so beautiful…"
"I'm not telling you."
"What if I kiss you just here…?" He bent low to suckle her neck.
She gasped, but managed to mutter, "…N-no…"
Later that evening, Olivia found herself facing the client that Sally had referred, in the home of a mutual acquaintance. The man sat across from her at the kitchen table, his pugnacious brow scrunched in worry.
"Ms Pope, I've gotta say you were highly recommended, very highly indeed, but there's this rumour you're marrying the President."
"It's not a rumour."
The admission seemed to stump the man. "So how does this work? Because you and I aren't here right now."
"I promised you confidentiality, and you will get confidentiality."
"No pillow talk?"
Olivia raised a brow, but answered calmly, "No pillow talk."
"How can I be sure of that?"
"Would you like me to give you that assurance in writing?"
"No, no!" The man's chins shook in vehemence. "Nothing in writing! That's how we got in this mess in the first place." But his suspicious expression remained. "The President isn't one of my biggest fans."
"He could say the same of you. You endorsed Sally Langston at the last election."
"You know that? And you still want to help?"
"This is a business transaction. If you want my help, you've got it. But no one's forcing your hand to accept."
"Desperation is forcing my hand, Ms Pope. I'm in the running for the next Presidential election, but this bridge fiasco has put a roadblock in my plans."
"You may need to delay those plans."
"Is that your objective opinion, because I'm running against your husband?"
"We're not married yet, and I am confident that Fitz will win a second term. Confident enough to give you an objective opinion."
"And in your 'objective' opinion, what should I do?"
"Admit the truth."
"If that's your solution then we can stop wasting each others time right." The man stood, Olivia remained seated.
"We're done here." The man said.
"I haven't finished my coffee," Olivia raised her mug.
Again the man looked at her as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with her. "Look, I'm not playing games here, Ms Pope. My whole career is about to hit the crapper. I need solid advice."
"And I'm giving it to you. Take it or leave it. But what I'm telling you to do is the exact opposite of what you've been doing - and let's take a minute to review how well that is going for you - you've got bloggers hacking into your work emails; you've got your peers calling you a liar; you've got the public calling for your resignation; and potential lawsuits from the residents in two boroughs. Have I left anything out?"
"No," the man collapsed back on the chair. "You've covered everything. For now."
"There's more?"
"Let's just deal with what we've got. What do you recommend?"
"You need to take responsibility."
"I have. I've fired the staff involved."
"That's not taking responsibility, that's shifting blame. This happened under your watch, you take it on the chin. You call the Mayor and you apologise, publicly. You may have to extend a substantive measure of support - funding for a project or an endorsement - which should be negotiated in private. Call a press conference, answer the questions that are put to you, directly, humbly, apologetically. Meet with the residents, especially the residents threatening legal action, talk to them, apologise in person, that will help any settlement you reach out of court. And you need to let everyone know what you are doing, and how things are changing so they can trust this won't happen again... under your watch."
"That's what you recommend?"
"That's what I recommend."
The man looked at her thoughtfully. "You need more coffee?"
Olivia sighed in relief as she got into the car and put on her seat belt.
"Sorry, that took longer than I expected," She looked over at Huck as he started the car.
"It's okay. I didn't have anything else to do."
She glanced at the burger wrappers and drink containers littering the centre console and asked, "Still hungry? I can take you back to my place and cook dinner?"
"The White House?"
"No, my apartment."
"You don't have anything in your apartment except for green cheese, popcorn kernels and red wine. I'm good," he said. Then added after they turned at the corner. "You're being followed."
"What?" She turned to stared out the rear window, unable to see a vehicle. "Who is following us?"
"The Secret Service."
A/N: So I have to say: I'm struggling a bit with this story. It's not flowing as easily as the other one. I don't know what the problem is... too much sleep, fibre, research... not enough story, chocolate, cool air... VERMONT!
(Psst: I've been spending too much time on fashion sites trying to figure out the wedding dress that Olivia should wear – need words to describe the picture in my head!)
So to get over these not-exactly-writer's-block-but-definitely-writer's-blues, I went out in 40-Celsius weather today and fried my scalp to find clarity in the fog of confusion that is my brain right now (Early dementia? Late puberty?).
Anyway thank you to the readers who are keeping the faith (seriously, I need you to tell me whatever it is you are taking - I need it!).
And my Author's Notes should carry a disclaimer - please disregard everything I say after each chapter as I'm likely to change my mind in the next chapter (aiyo, apoiy, aney as they say in my language!)
Aaand, I need to use the Law and Order disclaimer: inspired by true events but this story is entirely fictional and does not depict an actual person or event (even though I've been reading up on Crisis Management Advice for Chris Christie by Abby D Phillip, Jan 9, 2014 on abcnew website and Stephen Harper should take crisis management lessons from NJ Gov. Chris Christie on Canadian yahoo news by Andy Radia on Jan 9, 2014 – that is a mere coincidence!)