Disclaimer: Shondaland/ABC owns these characters. But I've taken the Gladiator oath as a writer: #OLITZ4LIFE #JAMMMMmmmm
No Mellie or Joke: Public Service Announcement for any accidental non-Olitz readers
"The White House isn't talking about the Nuclear War that Never Happened, thanks to a sporting legend and the President's son. The official line is that a 'regrettable misunderstanding' was 'contained' after sustained diplomatic efforts by the US State Department, Chinese Authorities, British and Swedish consular staff. We have heard from White House sources, who did not want to be named, that the unorthodox approach to 'a delicate diplomatic situation' was not welcomed by senior officials in the Grant Administration. They were even less impressed that the initiative came from the President's fiancée, Ms Olivia Pope. Should the DC Fixer be let loose on International Relations? White House officials believe not..."
"The Tweet-heads are still talking about it: the tweets that saved us from nuclear annihilation. Who knew that Mr Asian Bad Guy, who by the way hates our guts, loves basketball and Michael Jordan? Yeah, and we have the President's son, Fitzgerald Grant the Fourth, to thank for that little insight. I've gotta say and it's not often that you're going to hear me say this, but praise God and Hallelujah for the trifecta of Basketball, Michael Jordan and Fitzgerald Grant the Fourth..."
"So everyone's talking about how we nearly got nuked. Nobody's talking about who prevented it. No, I'm not talking about the President's son, Fitzgerald Grant the Fourth or NBA Megastar Michael Jordan. I'm talking about Ms Olivia Pope, the DC fixer who fixed an international crisis. Correction: there are folks talking about it in Capitol Hill, the way you would talk about an escaped felon or how your uncle took his teeth out in front of your new boyfriend at Christmas dinner. Yeah, a lot of DC's top movers and shakers are unhappy they never got to move or shake their thang. Now I don't speak for each and everyone of you out there, or even this network, but as someone who is alive this morning to discuss the issue, I've gotta say 'thank you, Ms Pope!'..."
Hollis muted the TV on his private jet and grinned at Sally. "Well, now, it looks like Ms Olivia Pope has cooked your goose again, Sally. Didn't I tell you that gal is hard to beat."
"Oh, I don't mind losing a few battles when my focus is on winning the war."
"Now that wouldn't be the Nuclear war, now would it?"
"Ms Pope's connections aren't going to save her from every situation, Hollis."
"Oooh," Hollis chortled, "You've got me intrigued. What's next on the menu of your own personal cornucopia of hell?"
Sally raised a brow. "Really, Hollis, does your mind never stray far from your stomach?"
He gave a beatific smile. "Should I be worried about that judge-thee-as-ye-shall-not-me tone of yours; will you put a knife to my throat because I'm a glutton?"
"Do not mangle the Lord's word. And it is you who must put a knife to your throat if you are given to gluttony, not I."
"Then I've got nothing to worry about, for the only gotdamn thing I'll be putting my knife to is a Texas-sized steak, medium rare."
"Now onto the matter of Olivia's staff – she's going to need some," Cyrus said looking at Fitz helpfully. "How many people do you think she'll need to keep herself busy as the First Lady?"
Fitz frowned in consideration. "I don't know. We haven't discussed it."
"You need to discuss it, sir. The sooner the better. These things shouldn't be left to the last minute." He paused to take out a sheet of paper from the folder in his hands. "Let's see, I have taken the liberty of drawing up a list of people that she will need. This is merely a guide and a rough approximation, of course but we have a chief of staff, at least two deputy chiefs of staff, a communications direction, a deputy communications director, a press secretary, a director of policy and projects, a deputy director of policy and projects, a director of scheduling and advance, a deputy director for scheduling and events, a special assistant for scheduling and travel, legal counsel, and three social secretaries. Have I left anyone out..." Cyrus looked at his list. "Hmm, no I think that's it – 15 key staff, not counting ancillary staff and Olivia's full-time style team of a stylist, a personal shopper, a hair stylist, a make-up artist and a personal trainer."
Fitz who'd been looking at Cyrus with his chin propped in his hand, sat back in his chair. "Give me the list, I'll get Livvie to have a look."
"She would need to get this back to me pronto as I would need to start the selection process. I want to have everything ready for her to hit the ground running. I've also got staff into to clear out the last of Mellie's things from the East Wing. They will be put in storage along with the other files and folders we got from Blair House."
"I'd like Olivia to have an office in the West Wing."
Cyrus gaped. "In the West Wing?"
"Don't look so surprised. Hilary Clinton and Edith Roosevelt had their office in the West Wing."
"That may be, sir, but... there's no room for Olivia and all her staff in the West Wing."
"Her staff can use the East Wing. And Olivia can have Sally's office. Sally already has one office suite in the Eisenhower Building, which is only five minutes away. She doesn't need a second at the White House."
"Sally's office, you say?"
"Yes, do you have a problem with that?"
"No, no problem at all."
"So you're here to check up on us? See if we haven't torched the place?" Harrison asked, trailing behind Olivia as she walked along the corridor, carrying Teddy.
There were two agents waiting by the elevator, while two others were standing in the conference room, after having checked the offices, the kitchen and the restrooms.
"No! I was going to see James Novak, and thought I'd stop by on my way."
"Liv, when we heard James Novak was getting involved in your wedding plans, we checked the guy out, right down to where he lives and how many socks he has in his sock drawer."
"You checked him out?" Olivia paused, looking over her shoulder at Harrison.
"Yeah," He reached her side, reaching up to tickle Teddy's cheek. "We've got your back. You know that."
Olivia gave a faint smile, which widened when she came to her office. "It looks the same. I wondered if this space was being used for storage."
"Liv, you're still the boss. We plan on keeping this room exactly the way it is, to reassure our clients that we haven't gone rogue on you. Most people think we've got top level security clearance, now that you're in with the Prez. And so far that assumption has been working for us."
Olivia walked behind her desk, deftly avoiding the orchid that Teddy tried to grab. "I miss this," she admitted finally, facing Harrison. "I miss being in charge, being at the centre of an ongoing crisis. Now I'm on the outside looking in, and they don't want me looking in, at the White House."
"Liv, even from being on the outside, you're kicking their ass. You can do this. I know you can, you're good at taking charge; being the boss. You did that even when we were kids, but it was okay because you watched out for me too. Like you were my big sister. And you know you could have been, if my dad had married your mom, liked they planned."
"But then Rowan came along, with his fancy talk, naked ambition and polished shoes. I think my Mom would have been so much happier with your Dad," Olivia said softly, resting her cheek on Teddy's curly head.
"But you probably wouldn't have been the Olivia Pope, and my ass would still be in jail."
Olivia chuckled. "So you guys are managing okay?"
Harrison gave her a considering look, then said slowly, "I wouldn't say okay, but we're managing. We miss you, yeah. But we know you've got a lot on your plate, becoming the New Missus at the White House and all; handling dictators and nuclear wars."
Olivia smiled again. "Where's Huck?"
"He's checking your apartment." There was a pause, as neither made a move, then Harrison asked, "You want coffee? I can make coffee, and something else for the kid, unless you're happy to let him keep chewing on your hair?"
She laughed, distracting Teddy with the orchid so she could reclaim her hair. "The little man has milk, water and fruit juice in the bag, but yeah, I'd love a coffee and you can update me on what's been happening around here..."
Olivia didn't pick up the phone. Fitz knitted his brow in concern, and had disconnected the call, intending to call the Secret Service, when she called back.
"Bad time?" He asked.
"No, no," Olivia said breathlessly. "I was just in the middle of changing Teddy's diaper when you called."
"Oh. Nasty."
"You can say that again. Phew," Olivia groaned. "Even the agents are standing back on this one."
Fitz chuckled. "I told you to take one of the nurses with you."
"I want to do this. It's good training."
There was a pause, then he said huskily. "Are you saying what I think you're saying."
"Fitz, I'm not pregnant," she mumbled into the phone, adding quickly, "But we could be... some day...in the very near future."
"So when do we start trying? Tonight?"
"I was thinking Valentine's Day, so it doesn't feel like a shotgun wedding."
He grinned. "Hmm..."
She started to laugh. "Stop, you're making me blush! And I have to go. Or we'll be late, and James won't be happy."
"But you left hours ago."
"I, um, took a detour, you know just to check on my guys see how they're doing. Nothing serious."
There was a long tense silence. Then he said abruptly, "I'm kicking Sally out of her office."
"What? Why?"
"So you can move in. I don't want you half a world away in the East Wing."
"Fitz, I can walk from the East Wing. It's not a big deal. You shouldn't kick her out."
"She's always had her sights on moving into the Oval office. Now she's getting impatient. I don't like it."
"I know, but you can't cut all your strategic alliances. Fitz, you need her."
"You don't think I have the numbers to make it on my own? You think another backroom deal will have to be done to get me back in office?"
"Fitz, I'm not saying that. All I'm saying is that in the past you would have been less...I don't know... alpha male about all this."
"You mean you prefer me as the guy who felt crushed under Big Jerry's thumb. The one who let you set the agenda on our relationship, the guy I was before I got shot?
"No! I'm not saying that! I love you! The old you, the new you, all of you!" She took an audible breath. "But you can't banish all the bad guys, not yet. It's too early in the game."
He smiled at that. "Are we playing chess?"
"Only if the chess pieces come with knives already stuck in their backs."
He smiled. "I love you."
"Ditto."
He laughed. "I'm tempted to say something else, now that I know you've got an audience."
She snuffled a laugh. "Do you have to work late again tonight?"
"Why?"
"I want to go on a date. Just the two of us."
He sat up. "Yeah? Let me organise it."
"No, I'm organising it."
"Okay, Boss."
"Oh, I like hearing you say that," she teased.
Minutes after he'd ended his call with Olivia, the phone on his desk rang.
"Fitzgerald! I will not be evicted from my office in The White House! I cannot believe you have taken it on yourself to be so presumptuous! That is my office, Fitzgerald! Mine! I will not vacate my presence so you can indulge in your shenanigans with your little—!" Sally's paused abruptly, and Fitz immediately pictured the words crowding against pursed lip, ready to burst from her cheeks.
"My little what...?" He prompted.
"Your fiancée! I am the Vice President, I was elected Vice President! Olivia Pope was not!"
"You still have that title, Sally. No one is taking that away from you."
"I am not talking about my title! I am talking about my office! The outrage of having my staff questioned by none other than Cyrus Beene as to why it is necessary for me to have two offices! I will not have my necessities questioned by that man!
"Because he is a homosexual?"
"Do not be facetious, Fitzgerald! Are you saying that presumptuous question was not made at your directive?"
"Now Sally, much as you'd like to see Cyrus as Satan's right hand man, do I need to remind you that Cyrus is the Chief of Staff? And since he has raised the question, I am curious as to why you do need two offices. Most of your team works in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, which is just across the road. Wouldn't it make sense for you to be closer to them?"
"Sense?! This has nothing to do with sense and everything to do with pettiness! But I will not be brought to heel by it!"
"Sally, I am not running a puppy school, and I wouldn't demean your status in the Grant Administration by bringing you to heel. Now if we're done discussing your hypothetical move out of the White House—"
"Hypothetical?" Sally cut in, icily.
"Yes, Sally, because Olivia will have her office in the East Wing. You really should stop vicious rumours from ruffling your feathers."
Olivia did a last minute check of her apartment. The lights were low, the candles were lit, the food was warming in the kitchen and Frank Sinatra was playing on the music system. Pleased, she opened the door and drank in the sight of Fitz in a dark coat, open to reveal a charcoal sweater and black jeans.
His gaze swept over her cream cashmere sweater, satin lounge pants and bare feet.
"I hoped you'd be naked," he said huskily.
She shook her head with a smile, and reached for his hand to tug him inside. Then she glanced at the agents waiting, "Are those chairs, Okay?" she waved towards the chairs she'd placed in the foyer.
"Yes, ma'am, but we'll be standing."
"Fine," she smiled, "Your regular take-out place will be delivering your meals in about ten minutes. You'll know the delivery guy."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"What did you order for us?" Fitz asked, sliding his arms around her waist, once the door closed behind them.
"I didn't order for us."
"You cooked?" He drew back frowning.
"No!" She swiped his chest. "I had food specially delivered from the White House."
"The White House?" He raised a brow
"Yep. The Secret Service wouldn't approve a delivery of any other kind at such short notice. They want to make sure that only agent-approved junk goes into your fancy Presidential stomach."
He laughed, sliding a hand under her sweater, only to pause when he touched bare skin. Then his eyes grew smoky as he caressed the smooth expanse of her back.
"Let's forget about food," he whispered, drawing her impossibly close, so she couldn't mistake his meaning.
She feathered kisses along his roughening jaw, and whispered, "We can't forget about food, I've been given strict instructions on when and how to serve it."
He smoothed his palm low over her hip, pressing her to him. She moaned biting his neck gently, "Fitz... I've got Chanterelle Mushroom Soup with goat's cheese fritters for entree."
He groaned. "They sent you my favourites, didn't they?"
"Yes." She smiled.
He helped her plate up in the kitchen. They took their time, making a mess and licking each other's fingers, which frequently led to kissing and caressing and lots of soft laughter.
Some dishes, made it out of the kitchen, others didn't. They fed each other, sometimes with her sitting on his lap at the dining table, other times with her on the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands caressing her bare thighs.
The food was orgasmic, and so was she lying spread out on the table, letting him feast on her.
They danced whenever the mood took them, with Fitz singing softly in her ear, as she smoothed her hands over him, revelling in the freedom of touch and his warm skin, rough chest and solid muscles.
"You're so handsome," she whispered. "It's a good thing you have so many other faults, to balance it out."
"Ah, a dagger straight to the heart."
She snuffled a laugh, laying her head on his chest. "You know I could never leave you."
He stilled against her, for a moment it felt as if he'd stopped breathing but his heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek. She drew back to look at him, and found his gaze solemn and sad. "You did leave me, Livvie. More than once."
"I left because I loved you. And you were always there with me, with my every step, my every breath; making it impossible for me to move on and forget you, forget us."
"It's worse knowing that you can leave, and that it would be for the best of intentions."
"Fitz." She lifted her hands to cup his face. "You're everything I never dreamed. But now that I have experienced the reality, you've ruined me. I'm ruined for anyone else but you," She smiled.
He lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "Just as I've been ruined by an Olivia-shaped takeover of my heart."
"Wow, sounds bad," she teased, sliding her arms around his waist. "We need to find a cure for that."
"I don't want a cure," he muttered, lowering his mouth to her lips, kissing her softly at first, tenderly, then with abandon that had them collapsing onto the nearest couch.
They danced again, completely naked finishing off the last of the wine, then had their dessert of chocolate soufflés in the bath.
"I like the idea of this place being our little love nest," he murmured, when they were snuggled up in bed.
"I'm thinking of renting it out."
"What can I do to change your mind?" He whispered, nuzzling her ear.
"I'm renting, not selling."
"Cold feet, but not running away," he kissed her shoulder.
"I'm not running away," she said softly, looking at him steadily.
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Tonight's been the best date night I've had. We should do this again. On a regular basis."
"Once a month when you're not dealing with dictators?"
He laughed softly. "We should eat out at some of the local establishments, as a couple and as a family. But we need to give them two to three weeks notice, so the Secret Service can check out the staff, secure the restaurant and watch the cooks while the meals are being prepared."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Okay, I get it, I'll keep this place. Just for us."
He cupped her face, smiling as he kissed her.
"Dammit! He told me he wanted her out! Now she thinks it was all my idea!" Cyrus raged as he paced in front of the gas fire.
"Did you try and talk him out of it?" James asked patiently, checking the menu options that the White House executive chef had emailed, for the wedding reception.
"No, I did not because I want that woman out! She's a smarmy, conniving, judgemental harpy! I want the scourge of her gone forever from the White House, but nooooo, she's more firmly entrenched than ever, and it's all her fault!"
"Whose fault?" James looked up from his laptop, confused.
"Olivia's! If she keeps playing nice we'll never be rid of that dragon in our dungeon!"
"The humiliation of it all! Involving me in their petty, juvenile games! I told him I would not be involved in such nonsense! To think he's resorting to these flippant acts of self-indulgence at a time when our country's future is being threatened on so many fronts!" Sally rubbed night cream on her face with vigorous hands, then turned from her reflection in the mirror to glare at her husband.
"Daniel Douglas, are you even listening to me?"
Daniel Douglas Langston looked up from his E-reader. "Of course, my dear, 'the country's future is being threatened on many fronts'," he repeated glibly, with a faint smile.
Sally turned back to the mirror, swiping up tissues from the box on her dresser, to clean the excess cream from her hands. "I will not be mocked in my own house. And I will not be mocked in the White House either by that vengeful cockroach, Cyrus, who crawls on either side of the fence."
Sally walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers. "Fitz is a fool for keeping him on staff. It is well past time that man was seen off with a golden handshake to write his memoirs, and I would have had a better chance of convincing Fitz of that had she not come along!" Sally snapped the covers up to her chin.
"Who came along?" Daniel looked up from his E-reader.
"Olivia Pope! She insists on befriending that old goat who must be cast into the everlasting fires of hell!" Sally snapped, and switched off the lamp on the night table between their twin beds.
A/N: So I was going to send them off on a date to Per Se on Marine One (after reading an interview with Tony Goldwyn on the New Potato published Oct 3, 2013, see excerpt:
If there were certain New York or Los Angeles restaurants President Fitzgerald Grant would be sure to be found in, what would they be?
In LA, Fitz would close down The Tower Bar [at the Sunset Tower Hotel] to have an intimate dinner with Olivia. In New York? He'd book a private room at Per Se.) Then I read this unfortunate article (unfortunate because it forced me to realise reality occasionally has to be distant acquaintance of mine) : The President Ate Here: What Happens When Barack Obama Dines Out? Posted by Jessica Sidman on Oct. 24, 2012 on the Washington City Paper website which details that the President can't just 'drop in' to an eatery – the Secret Service needs to check the place out ( including staff checks via social security numbers, blocking off streets, checking out the premises with sniffer dogs and watching chefs prepare the meals). So, um, figured it was a lot easier to send them off to Olivia's apartment where Fitz has already been dropping by like the guy who lives across the road.
And yes, #DanielisNotDead in this story. Hmm…. And the bit about the goat and fires of hell was filched from an article called Osas congregation allows the unsaved sinners to be damned on the Osas challenge website. Missed a specific date on the post.
Also I felt bad about the Secret Service standing outside Olivia's apartment all night, so they get chairs and a meal - the meal was after reading about The Bodyguards: All About the Female Secret Service Agentst (yes that extra 't' on the end of Agents was an Elle typo!) written by Laura Blumenfeld in Elle on Feb 10, 2013, where they barely had time to eat on assignment in Egypt. Not sure how it works in real Secret Service Land... but this is Scandal (ha, ha).
Oh yes and I have no idea what Fitz would like to eat, but I came across these reviews for a book titled Dining at the White House: From the President's Table to Yours by John Moeller (an ex-White House chef) – and some of the reviewers on Amazon had described the dishes – specifically the mushroom soup. The chocolate soufflé idea came from the New Potato article … ;)))))