Chapter 9
Olivia doesn't know how long she's been staring at her phone, willing it to ring. It's nearing five in the morning and the office is silent. Harrison, Abby and Quinn went home long ago, at her insistence, but Huck stayed.
She puts her feet on her desk and looks around her office. It all seems so foreign now, like she doesn't belong here, yet it's the only place she does belong. It's been more of a home to her than her apartment, more of a place of comfort than any other place she's know.
She glances at one of the television screens and sees a picture of a "casual Fitz", dressed down for the occasion, a picture that was taken years ago on the campaign trail. She'd bought it for him. Saw it in a simple, local store and couldn't resist.
It is unexpectedly warm that day. Hot, actually. In the nineties and humid and everyone is miserable. The air is thick, almost suffocating.
They'd spent the night before together, in his hotel room. He is the first to awaken, which is usually the case, and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better view of her sleeping body. She is most beautiful to him when she is sleeping. There is a peacefulness about her, no stress, no worries. She looks so innocent.
He places a kiss on her temple, then her cheek, her nose, her lips. His fingers graze the side of her neck, then find their way traveling down the side of her body, until they find her hand. He slides his fingers between hers and squeezes.
She isn't asleep, but she lets him have these moments of calm with her. It is something he needs, they both need. She moves his hand to her stomach and it rests there. They're both thinking the same thing, if only things were different.
She looks over at the clock. Their day would start soon, another day of pretending, another day of avoiding. He feels her as she begins to pull away, and grips her midsection just a little tighter.
"Not yet," he says, placing a kiss on her shoulder.
She needs this as much as he. So she lays back down and relaxes as he drapes a heavy arm and leg over her body, locking her in place. She moves his hair back, and kisses his forehead.
"I know. I need a haircut."
"Don't you dare. I love it the way it is. Just a little wild, a little untamed," she says, kissing him again while continuing to play with his curls.
And that's one of the many things he loves about her, how she just lets him be himself. Not the presidential candidate who wears expensive suits and ties while trying to look regular. The guy who likes to wear Navy sweatshirts and comfortable pants. The guy who will let his hair grow and not care what anyone else thinks. She loves his imperfections and he loves hers.
The sun moves higher in the sky and with a groan, she moves away from him. They're already a little colder and the masks they wear outside, are already on. She takes her shower first, selecting a casual outfit for the day, something more suitable for all the outdoor events they would attend.
When she comes out of the bathroom, her hair a perfect mess of waves and curls, he's standing over his suitcase, searching for something to wear. He'd packed poorly. She smiles at him, reaching around and grabbing a blue shirt and a pair of khakis.
"You sure?"
"Just for now," she kisses him. She has that glint in her eyes, the one that tells him she's up to something.
God, he loves her, the way she always knows what to say or do, or how to touch him. He pulls her in for a kiss, this time deeper and more passionate, a kiss that threatens to lead them right back to bed.
She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him away. "Go shower."
As he turns and leaves the room, she sits on the bed. She could get used to this. Waking up every morning in his arms, feeling his lips on every part of her body, holding his hand throughout the night. She could get used to a life like this, a real relationship that's the strongest partnership she's ever known.
Before him, she had no clue what love was. It seemed like an abstract dream or wish, more than a possibility. Yet, what they have is perfect. It's in the way they move around each other. The way they finish each other's sentences. The way they both know each other.
By the time he finishes his shower, she's made the bed, a habit she'd formed in childhood and one that's never left. He smiles at her and shakes his head, not understanding her quirk.
Olivia starts putting on her shoes. "I'll meet you at the campaign stop."
"Where are you going?" His voice always has a hint of panic when she leaves him, like he think she's never coming back.
"Shopping." She gives him a peck on the lips and leaves before he can ask any more questions.
She remembers seeing a small shopping area on their way to the hotel. As she walks, she takes in the scenery around her. It's beautiful. Quiet. A typical small, middle class American town with flags hanging from every building, clean sidewalks, manicured lawns with a Main Street.
She ducks into the first store she sees. Immediately, she feels all eyes on her. The woman folding clothes near the front of the store suddenly stops folding. The conversation in the back, near the cash register, suddenly ceases.
She walks over to the men's section, touching the fabric of the shirts. Feeling the coolness between her fingers. Eyes are on her, she feels them, but she doesn't acknowledge them. She hears footsteps coming closer and stopping next to her.
A fake smile. A few moments of observation. "May I help you?" She looks the salesperson up and down, watching her shift uncomfortably.
"No, thank you," is her very measured response. A fake smile. A stare down.
"We have a sales rack in the back with some very nice things."
Swing, the ball is back on her side of the court. There are so many things Olivia could say, none of which would be suitable for evening news. All of which would hurt the candidate. So, she smiles even more sweetly and says, "I'm fine right here. Thank you." Dismissed.
The salesperson disappears from view, but her eyes are still watching Olivia carefully. She's sure one of the women near the register in the back has her hand on the button to call the police, just in case.
Olivia weigh the pros and cons of staying in this store and giving them her dollars, versus leaving. The optics of it all. She makes the decision, turns and leaves with her head held high.
She could almost hear the collective exhale, the finger leaving the button, everything returning to normal. She's used to it. It's almost comical at this point.
She chooses another store and this one, this one friendlier. A nod of acknowledgement when she enters. A smile.
"Welcome. Is there anything I can help you with today?"
"No, thank you." Olivia browses freely. She smiles at another customer who's discreetly watching her from the corner of her eye. Olivia isn't uncomfortable under the woman's watchful eye. Her smile, in fact, seems to embolden the woman.
"Excuse me," the woman says as she approaches, "aren't you Olivia Pope? Governor Grant's campaign manager?"
"Yes, I am."
"My daughter is going to be so upset, she's a big fan. She said she wants to be the next Olivia Pope."
"Really?"
"She loves politics, I don't know why, it's kind of dirty, but she's seen a few interviews with you and all she talks about is being the next Olivia Pope."
"I don't know what to say. Please, tell her thank you."
"Are you buying something for Governor Grant? He probably didn't pack right. Men never do." Olivia smiles at the woman and nods. "My husband is the same way." She almost hesitates to ask the next question, but asks anyway. "Is he as handsome in person?"
"Governor Grant?"
"Yes."
"More." If she only knew, Olivia thinks. Suddenly the experience from the store before, which left a bad taste in her mouth for the entire town, is washed away.
"Figures. Well, I'll let you get back to your shopping. Good luck. We're rooting for him."
"Thank you." The woman is gone and Olivia turns, her eyes landing on the perfect shirt, a shade of blue that will bring out the color in his eyes. The fabric cool. She looks at the tag. Even better, it's American made. This will make a great story.
Later, she sees Fitz talking to a group of people at a barbecue. She catches his eye and motions for him to follow her. Within minutes, they're standing on the empty campaign bus.
"Hi."
"Here," she thrusts the bag toward him, ignoring his "hi" because she knows how quickly it can go from a word to actions they can't control. "Put this on."
He lays the bag on a seat and moves closer to her. "Fitz."
He keeps moving closer, ignoring her plea. He takes her face between his hands, stroking her cheeks, placing little pecks on her lips. "I love you."
She kisses him, and pulls him in for a hug. It's what she needs from him now, just to feel safe. To feel good. To feel protected. He holds her a little tighter, kissing her neck.
They stay that way for as long as they can, hearing bits of sentences from people walking by the bus. These are the moments that mean the most to both of them. The sex is beyond great, but it's the moments of quiet, when there's no one else around that the can just "be" with each other, that mean the most.
"I have to change."
"You do."
"Olivia, after what we've had, what we have, there's no way I can go back to how it was before you."
She hears him, but doesn't acknowledge his words. He knows she doesn't believe him, but he doesn't push. He knows her too well. She reaches around him and takes the bag, pulling the shirt out. She drapes it across one of the seats, and unbuttons the shirt he's wearing.
Her eyes never leave his, and his never leave hers. She unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, then slides the shirt off his shoulders. She kisses his chest and he closes his eyes when her lips make contact with his skin. She takes the other shirt and puts it on him, leaving the first two buttons undone.
"Thank you," he whispers.
She nods. He takes her hand as he starts to leave, but notices she's not coming with him. He faces her and she says, "You go ahead. I've got work to do." He kisses her hand, then leaves her alone.
Olivia shakes herself from her memory. There is no time for sentimentality in the present. She grabs her laptop and starts working on the plan which she titles, "Kimberly Mitchell Offensive." Her next moves could determine the fate of his presidency.
She can't think about their life together because then she'll make mistakes. Letting emotion in was her first mistake when it came to him and each and every time she acts on emotion, it ended badly for them. So this time, she turns off her brain and thinks like an independent fixer, someone whose only interest is in saving the client.
While she is OPA's client, he is hers. So she starts typing, beginning with her plan to convince Fitz and ending with the pre-approved questions she'll submit to Kimberly before their interview. When she's finished another day has come and gone. Meals have been eaten. Notes have been read.
She's nearly asleep when her cell rings. It's Cyrus.