21 Questions: PART I

"Tell me something. Of all possibilities, why divorce?

"Sometimes it's the only way to save the relationship."

/Present Day/

"For the last time, Olivia, I can't bring a case without evidence. I don't do lost causes. No, please, I have my next appointment soon." David's eyes gestured towards his door. "You're well past your thirty minutes."

"Excuse me?!"

"Look, Olivia, I want to help you," David relented. "But you have to bring me something other than your Spidey senses."

"It's the money, right" she said as she crossed her arms and began pacing in front of David's desk. "Pemberton has made sizable donations to both your DA campaigns. I know he has a gaggle of Congressmen and a Senator or two from Maryland and Virginia in his pocket. David, you are elected by the people to represent them. Three young men are dead. This isn't right, and you know it." Her voice was rising now and David did not want those in the District Attorney's waiting room overhearing their conversation.

David dropped his voice. "Olivia, come on. You know me better than that. What do you actually have that would compel a case? None of the police in the districts where the bodies have been found will touch this because they look like cut and dry overdose cases."

"That's because they're in Pemberton's pockets too. At least their chiefs of police are. And you know this. Pemberton has been linked to countless young, Black men, including the three who have overdosed under mysterious circumstances. We can link all three of them to Pemberton right before their disappearance. What more do you need?"

"That's circumstantial. I need irrefutable evidence. Find me something. Anything concrete." David tried to strike a cooperative tone. "Olivia, I will help you. I want justice as much as you do. But if I don't do this right, we risk Pemberton getting free reign to ruin more lives."

Arms remaining crossed over her ecru, double breasted coat, Olivia replied, "My team is already on this, so expect to get something next week."

Marcus sat in the corner, marveling at the volleys of their verbal tennis match. He had been shadowing Olivia, as she requested, observing and soaking up as much as he could learn from her. The questions he had, he stored up for when he thought best to lay them on her.

As they walked back to his car, Marcus reluctantly brought up the time. "Liv, it's 1:20 PM."

"Yes, I need lunch. All I've had all morning is tea."

"It's just that you asked me to remind you of your very important 1:30 meeting?"

With a flair for the dramatic, Olivia burst through the examination room, hoping to beat Dr. Wilson's arrival. When she did not immediately see anyone, Olivia began placing down her things and undressing. A voice in the back corner startled her slightly.

"Oh, the irony."

"You're here!" Olivia said with a smile, moving in to greet her husband with a quick kiss.

Fitz held up a piece of paper and read aloud from one of Olivia's tiny missives she regularly left him: "'Don't be late'. "I was here at 1:20. Maybe I should have been reminding you."

"I know, I know. I had that meeting with David, which went longer than I expected. I honestly forgot about the appointment, but only momentarily. Clearly, it was on my mind this morning when I left that note for you. I just went blank after that meeting. Strange."

"It's perfectly normal, my dear." Dr. Wilson's husky voice announced her presence. "Expecting mothers deal with this brain fog all the time, especially in the first trimester. Get changed and I'll be right with you."

…

Dr. Wilson squinted at the screen, her hand stilling the instrument on Olivia's abdomen. "And that… that little olive is your baby. Everything seems to be on track based on what I am seeing." The calm russet of Dr. Wilson's bespeckled face contrasted with the variations of grey and white in her short hair. Her voice made Olivia and Fitz feel comforted in their new journey.

"We're having a baby, Fitz" Olivia's eyes shone with unshed tears.

"We're having a baby," Fitz repeated in confirmation. His eyes scanned back and forth between the bean on screen and his wife's shining gaze upon their creation. The hypnotic waves of the fetal heartbeat filled with room.

"I know you've had some spotting during the last couple of months. But based on your last full period and the size of the embryo, we're putting you between nine and ten weeks in gestation," said Dr. Wilson.

Olivia and Fitz looked at each other, both tightening their grip of the other's hand. They were both relieved to finally have confirmation.

…

Later, when Olivia was dressed, she and Fitz sat in Dr. Wilson's office. A multitude of pamphlets and recommendations littered their laps, overwhelming them with all there was to know and about which to be vigilant.

"First-time parents-to-be are riddled with anxiety and questions. I promise you, it will seem less daunting soon."

Olivia's thumb pressed sympathetically into Fitz's thigh and he patted her hand in recognition.

"There's also the fact that you don't know what you don't know. The second appointment is usually the one where you'll have a scroll of question and new observations."

"Earlier, you were saying it's normal for me to be forgetful?" Olivia began. "It's very unlike me, but—along with the breast tenderness and nausea, which I expected, this fuzziness is recent. As are the naps. I haven't napped since kindergarten. Why would I be so tired and fuzzy?"

Dr. Wilson leaned over her desk, toward Olivia. "Most women, unless very in tune with themselves, don't begin to notice changes in their body until week five or six. You, Olivia, are at the start of what will be a time of significant change for your body. It has to make literal space and functional accommodations for an entire being it's creating. It's also tasked with supporting mommy's body as well. Your blood sugar and blood pressure levels have been all over the place. Of course you're tired. This process truly is miraculous, but often inconvenient and unglamorous, to put it mildly. Every pregnancy is different, even for the same woman over multiple pregnancies. It could be largely glorious, but I try to encourage realistic preparation. There will be pain."

Most of Olivia's fears were internal, not external. Where pregnancy fit on that scale, she had not yet considered. While Dr. Wilson's words were not traditionally reassuring, she appreciated a less candy-coated approach rather than the type that emphasized the mythos of pregnancy.

"I know that I have several weeks before my second trimester. What should I be focused on for now?" Olivia asked.

"Kathy will give you all your prenatals that you should be taking. Having your first child at age 37, Olivia, medically classifies you as elderly prima gravida." Seeing the look on Olivia's face, Dr. Wilson quickly followed, "All pregnant women over 35 are 'elderly', even as women are increasingly having their first child at or beyond that age. There's no to worry at this stage. So long as you stay active, eat frequent, small healthy meals and reduce stress, you'll be in a good place. If I see anything that is concerning, I will advise accordingly. Of course, you know things like smoke—second hand especially-, raw fish, soft cheeses, drugs—clearly—"

"Alcohol," Fitz interjected. Olivia looked at him in slight consternation.

"Yes, exactly," Dr. Wilson continued. You should avoid those things. There is an on-going medical debate about small amounts of red wine being consumed during pregnancy. I recommend my patients abstain all together by advising that they use this time to cultivate different habits. If you've imbibed prior to learning about your pregnancy, unless you've been binge drinking, there's nothing to worry about."

"Dr. Wilson," Fitz chimed in. "What about Olivia's recent diagnosis a couple weeks ago? The blood pressure increase, the return of her anemia? How should we be proceeding?" Fitz enquired.

"The good news is, Olivia, your blood pressure was fairly normal today. The upper end, but normal, and we will continue to monitor that. We have a neonatal nutritionist on staff that can work with you to manage the anemia." Dr. Wilson passed the contact details directly to Fitz, whose hand was already outstretched. "You can have Kathy set up that appointment and your next one with me at the same time."

…

"Can I ask you something?"

Buckling her seat belt, Olivia replied "You know how I love it when you ask me things," she smiled at him. Her fingers gentled the back of his neck. "What is it?"

"Back there, when Dr. Wilson called us 'parents-to-be'. I was thinking—"

"I know. Did that upset you? I know how you feel about Jerry."

"No, not upset." Fitz took a moment to recalibrate and clarify for himself the question forming inside him. "You know I don't believe being a parent has an ending, which is why I don't see it as a job. But when do you think it actually begins? Being a parent. Does it start from the moment we find out we're pregnant, or only after the baby is born?"

Olivia momentarily set aside her own question created by Fitz's query in order to give him her thoughts.

"For me, it was the moment Dr. Farooqi told me I was pregnant. Just knowing that the life we had been trying to create—for more than a year—finally existed inside me? It shifted my perspective from 'me' to 'we'," she snapped her fingers "like that. Suddenly, I felt endowed with this immense responsibility."

"You're not alone in that, Livvie."

"I know, but I'm the one who has to make sure this bun is cooked to perfection before it comes out of this oven," she said, wiggling in her seat.

One hand on the steering wheel, and the other bucking his seat belt, Fitz leaned over the console, compeled by Olivia's cuteness. His eyes lingered in gratitude a moment longer before locking his lips with hers.

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page about this. The parenting has already begun. I'm going to do everything in my power to protect and care for the both of you," he said, pulling out of the medical center's parking lot.

"Ok, my turn. When you said 'we' are pregnant, what do you mean by that?"

"We're preparing for our child's arrival. We're on this journey together, right? What do you mean?"

"I get that, and I can already see that I could not have a better partner. It's just…" Wanting to be both clear and careful, Olivia considered her next words. "You're right that we are expecting a child, but only I am pregnant. It is physically happening to me. Through me, and only me. Trust me, I would love to share some of this: the sudden naps, the vomiting, and the effort I now have to put into maintaining focus, I wish I could hand that off to you sometimes, but I can't."

"So only the inconvenient parts."

"I'm nine and a half weeks pregnant. A lot of what I can feel right now is unpleasant."

Fitz guffawed.

"Sharing the news with you last week, and receiving the confirmation today—those have been the best parts of this journey so far. You've already had the good parts. But you don't have to worry, I still need you-"

Not able to divert his gaze from the road, he reached over and placed his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. "Oooh, say that again."

"You are really the worst, you know that?"

"Oh! Now I'm the opposite of what you were moaning last night?"

Crimson swiftly and silently flooded her cheeks. Olivia lovingly pinched the skin on the hand resting on her thigh. "Can I finish my point?"

"Ow!"

"As I was saying… I need you, Fitz" she sang, batting her lashes in exaggeration. "In all seriousness, I need you to be there for me through all the changes taking place. You have been here before; I haven't."

Fitz swallowed the memory of Mellie's pregnancy, not wanting to let past tragedy paint this rosy present with its pallor.

"This is all new to me," Olivia continued, her voice growing softer. "And a little overwhelming to think about. When my face and body have ballooned, I'm waddling and can't see my feet, I'll need you to lie to me and tell me I'm sexy. That you want me to ride your face, even though you won't be able to see mine over my belly."

"Sweetheart," he stole a look away from the road. Raising her hand to his mouth, he kissed the tips of her fingers as he focused back on the road. "I won't be lying."

/6 Years Ago/

He had never been there before. Had not spent much time this side of Connecticut Avenue. Alvin, one of his Harvard Law classmates, with whom he stayed in touch, had risen to Dean of Howard's Law School. When Alvin had heard through the DC grapevine that not only was Fitz getting divorced, but that the balance between his corporate law practice and his guest lecturing was shifting, he saw an opportunity to bring the Grant name (and its network of resources) to Howard.

Alvin had known Fitz to be a caring guy who was cognizant of what his family's name—its whiteness and its wealth—afforded him. But he also knew Fitz, like most white people, did not consider too deeply the kaleidoscope of consequences, the lack of those same privileges forebode for others. He had not spent much quality time with Fitz in any environment that was not predominately well-heeled or white. Still, he had respect for him. This pre-meeting invite to Maroon Bay Lounge was Alvin's opportunity to gauge Fitz's interest in the position, and his suitability for Howard's hallowed halls.

"I just want to be clear you will have to apply. I know you're not used to that. I can't just give you the job. There would be a mutiny!" Alvin let out a raspy chuckle.

A server, skin the color of raw almonds, who had spotted Alvin's subtle request for two more single malt Macallans, set the drinks down between the two men. Her thousand watt smile, aimed firmly at Alvin—lingered a whisper longer than deemed merely polite. "Anything else I can get for you two gentlemen?"

"No. Thank you, Claudine," Alvin replied, slightly uncomfortable.

Picking up on the air of connection, Fitz asked "Do you… know her? She's beautiful."

"Let's just say she wants to know me. What I know is the game afoot. I'm not fucking up my life. Besides, I really like this place and don't need the drama."

"What game, exactly?"

"Oh come off it, Fitz," Alvin gently cajoled. "I saw you pull that shit a hundred times in a hundred Cambridge bars. Getting to know a girl? Asking all these meaningless questions when the answers don't really matter, so long as the goal is achieved. By the end of the night, you could tell me the colour and style of her panties, but not what she thinks about anything."

Fitz rubbed his chin at the memories, unable to deny anything Alvin said. "That guy sounds like a cad."

"A cad with impeccable, and surprisingly spicy, taste in women. I never heard that you were an asshole, or a racist, though, so maybe you weren't a cad-just a bit of a whore." Alvin leaned forward and the lamp hanging over the small table between them haloed over his dark, bald head. "But color me surprised when you said you were engaged to that DAR legacy doll. You seemed to put down roots for a time and I thought, woah, my man is settling down. What went wrong?"

"Alvin," Fitz began defensively, "the evening was going so well. Let's just leave Mel out of this." He sat up in the mesquite, leather wing back chair, swinging one leg over the other. "But if I'm speaking for myself… for too long I let my father's goals become my goals. And in return all I found was misery. When my firm partnered with UVA law, that began to change. It put me on a trajectory that led to my love for teaching and a confidence to pursue the life I truly wanted. Mellie… disagreed. Her dreams were still firmly aligned with those of my father's. I told her she should have married him instead."

"How much did you face hurt after that?" Alvin smiled knowingly.

Fitz adjusted his jaw. They both laughed. "The slap, the anger, and every penny and property drawn from my coffers have been worth getting my life back."

"Ain't no feeling like being free," Alvin affirmed.

Fitz's ring-less left hand clutched his raised crystal tumbler, as it clinked in celebration with Alvin's. "To freedom."

…

Alvin and Fitz enjoyed each other's company for a time, until the demands of Alvin's home life meant he had to leave.

"Fitz, I invited you. I'll settle this."

"You can't expense this on the Law school, and I don't want you footing the bill for my taste in Scotch."

Alvin took a patient breath. "Listen, I've got it. Tell you what, big shot, you can pay for dinner after the interview."

Fitz dropped the matter. "Deal. Ok, let me know when it's been scheduled. I'll have Lauren send through my availability."

The two men said their goodbyes, but only Alvin retrieved his coat to ward off the still frigid March air.

"This is a really nice spot you chose. I think I'm going to stick around to see what the post-Happy Hour crowd is like."

"Don't get into trouble," Alvin said as he patted Fitz's shoulder before departing.

Just then Fitz spotted a familiar face seated at the bar, deep in conversation with the bartender. He decided to approach.

"If it isn't Olivia Pope." He continued walking until arriving at the seat next to her. His drink in one hand, his pocket concealed the other. "Funny to find you here."

Olivia and Kenny paused their conversation, looked at each other before taking a languid, panoramic glance around the lounge. More and more people were flooding in for Lover's Rock Tuesday. "I'd say it was funny to find you here. You're a long ways from Charlottesville," Olivia deadpanned.

"A friend invited me for a meeting here, and I like the feel of the place. So, I decided to stay for a while. What about you?"

She skirted his question. "This is Kenny. He owns this lounge. You have him to thank for how you feel."

"You know him?" Kenny said, still slightly suspicious.

"Not really, but I recently got him to give my client half his wealth."

Unfazed, Fitz reached out his hand to Kenny. "Fitzgerald Grant. You've done a fantastic job with this place. It has a really persuasive energy."

"Wait, isn't that the name of that Senator from California? Well, former Senator?"

"That is…my father."

"Well, alright then, Junior-"

"No, no, Kenny. He's the Third," Olivia interrupted, half mockingly.

"Ok, then, Third, relax yourself and soak up the energy."

The kitchen doors swung open. Kenny's attention rerouted itself to one of his employees. "Darnel! Is what time yuh call dis?"

He walked closer so as not to yell and cause a scene. Olivia and Fitz awkwardly tried not to listen.

"Not only are you late, but you're dressed like you're going to the club, not like you work at one. Sleeves are required in the kitchen. I'm tired of telling you about exposed armpits. And ya titty meat's hanging all out in that mesh tank top. Just… go change. I'm not gone tell you again."

…

Olivia was right, she did not really know Fitz. She had learned facts about him through the discovery process of his divorce from Mellie. Though she had one-up on him with information gained through the divorce proceeding, she did not know him.

For Fitz's part he knew that Olivia had grown up in DC, knew she attended Georgetown Law, knew the gym attended and her preferred form of exercise. In other words, he knew nothing. Despite the coolness she affected, Fitz could see a woman hiding behind a veil that obscured her whilst allowing her to see everyone else clearly. He wanted to engage her with the unexpected, not cross examine facts out of her.

"What's something people think they understand, but don't really?" Fitz inquired.

"Am I on a game show? Did you survey a hundred people?"

"I could switch to something more boring, like what's your five year plan?"

"Fine. I… would say… politics. The process is a lot more complicated than most Americans have been led to believe. It's not their fault because it's designed to be opaque, unless you're inside it."

Fitz was nodding. "Growing up in a political family, I could not agree more. It's much dirtier than people think."

"The only trouble is" Olivia continued "most people's political opinions are as useless as an asshole on an elbow."

Fitz turn his head just in time for the spray of amber liquid to fizzle to the floor instead of Olivia's suit jacket.

Her sparkling laughter was music, and the napkin she handed to him, as sweet relief.

"What about you? What would you say most people don't understand?"

"I would say 'love'. And for the exact same reasons you already stated."

Olivia considered her own statement, deciding if it fit. Concluded that it did, she nodded in agreement.

Before he could overthink, another question flew out of his mouth. "What's the worst thing you've ever been called?"

"'Pleasant'."

"Hmm. That's surprising."

"Why 'surprising'?"

"It sounds like a charmed life, if that's the worst thing you've been called. Didn't take you for the type."

"The type of what?" Olivia began to tense.

"Woman who'd had a charmed upbringing."

"Oh, I see." She felt a tinge of disappointment. Her eyes began searching for an out, another place to which she could retreat away from Fitz and his assumptions. "You've imagined some kind of struggle narrative. Is that it? Why are you even thinking about me and what kind of life I've had-charmed or not?"

His brow knitted slightly, but Fitz wasn't rankled by her defensiveness. Pitched as a softball question, his aim had hit an unintended target. He chose honesty as diffusion. "I meant that you are clearly a rigorous person. In my experience, people like that have had childhoods with their nose to the grindstone."

Olivia relaxed a little, deciding not to take the issue further, and instead focus on keeping it easy-breezy with her former client's now ex-husband. Where was the harm?

"As a Black woman, I have been called all manner of truly vile things. But 'pleasant' is the worst thing I have been called because it is bland and meaningless. It has no real identity. Clearly, I don't enjoy being called a 'bitch', but I know what it means. 'Pleasant?' I don't know how to feel about that."

"But 'unpleasant' is another kettle of fish" Fitz returned, wanting to keep the good vibe going, after an unsteady start.

"Right. Now that's a word! Much more descriptive than 'pleasant'."

"Touché. If you say something is 'unpleasant,' there's no confusion about that. It's something you want to avoid."

Their eyes met in a simultaneous twinkle. He looked down into his cup for another question that might keep her talking. He liked sharing her air.

"Your favorite curse word? Come on… I know you have one."

"'Fuck' is my favorite," said Olivia.

Her enunciation was deliberate and forceful. He liked that word coming out of her mouth, and wanted to hear it again and again, in any context.

"For me? Let's see…'son of a bitch'. I don't know why, but it makes me laugh."

"That's because old guys who drink scotch like to say it," Olivia playfully ribbed.

His questions were short, at first. Innocuous. Fun. The more relaxed she became, the more probing the question. This pattern of theirs went on over weeks and weeks. And in between the wet of spring dissipated into the promise of summer, just before DC turned into the swamp it truly was.

/Present Day/

Olivia's back was suctioned to the shower's wall, her thighs fanned out in her husband's strong arms. Jet sprays from the right and the left warmly coated their joined bodies, obscured by steam.

"Fuuuuuuck, Fitz."

His unrelenting strides had made it rain inside her. On his shoulders, Olivia's head collapsed in mewling satisfaction. Moments later when she was done pulsing around him, and his cobra began its retreat, he refused to let her down, tightening her legs around his waist and resting his hands on the increased plumpness of her ass.

"You are the best feeling in the world," Fitz said into her neck.

"I know."

"That's it, you're going down!"

She squealed as she felt her feet hit the floor and the pulsing jet of the shower head hit her face. "Ok! Ok! I love you."

"Now see, was that so hard?" Fitz questioned.

Olivia fixed her mouth like an 'O' and released all the water in her mouth, right at Fitz's chest.

"I was going to pick up a Rioja and some dessert for to take to your father's tomorrow night, but I guess you don't need me."

Olivia relented, placing her hands around Fitz's waist, squeezing him close. "He specifically said 'no dessert.' I think he may be on some kind of health kick."

"How about a nice floral centerpiece?" Fitz reconsidered as he cleansed Olivia's back.

/6 Years Ago/

"Five nights. Ten days. Never the same night." Kenny was focused on his clipboard, checking liquor stocks whilst taking stock of Fitz's increased presence at his lounge.

"Are you talking to me?" Fitz asked after looking to my left and right.

"I know what you're doing. But do you know what you're doing?"

It is hard to stop a speeding train, or an impeding lecture. Elbows planted on the stainless steel counter top, Macallan nestled between his palms, he readied himself for the inevitable.

"Last week it was Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. This week it's Wednesday and Friday. You've tried every possible day we could be open. But you still haven't found what you're looking for. Or should I say who you're looking for. I've seen you with your little friend, Alvin, a couple times but that ain't it. He's not why you're here."

"Look, Ken. I'm not a stalker. I like this place. It relaxes me. And I like talking to Olivia. That's all."

"You don't even go here! You live in Virginia!" Kenny clapped together his hands after each word for emphasis. This guy was largely harmless, if only slightly clueless. Kenny did not know him very well, but knew Olivia like she was a sister. Knew the pressures she was under, and that she did not need uninvited complications being added to her plate. "Listen to what I'm telling you, Third. This is not Cheers, where everybody knows your name, and is glad you came. Olivia doesn't have set days of the week when she comes here. Or a signature cocktail and a reserved seat. When that girl shows up here, it's because she needs something. She's not always sure what it is when she walks in, but I never let her leave here worse for wear. And I'm not gone let you fuck that up. Capiche?"

Kenny's protectiveness stared directly into the earnest grit washing over Fitz's face. His eyes filled with a determination that was fueled by an instinct, on its way to becoming conviction. He was not in Cambridge anymore, and he was done with silly Cambridge things.

Undeterred, Fitz simply responded, "Understood."

Kenny straightened himself up behind the bar. "You're a pretty mothafucka. Not my taste, but I can see it."

The soft crinkles, by Fitz's eyes, were outdone only by the perfection of his boyish smile.

…

Her creaking bones announced her presence. Olivia walked into Maroon desperately in need of a reprieve between the intensity of her work life and the growing expectations in her domestic life. Her two year relationship with Edison Davis was manageable, good even. Until his senatorial campaign began gaining traction. Super Tuesday's results had cemented Edison's viability as the Democratic nominee to challenge Florida's incumbent Republican, Caleb Mathews. Edison's trajectory was going up, and she had helped to get him on that path. He began spending more time in his native Florida, for the campaign, and he wanted her there, too. But she did not want to be trotted out as his girlfriend for the sake of political points, or any points. He was a good man; on paper, everything about him was ideal. His campaign and their relationship was drowning her in the confusing mess of its comings and goings. Being here, at Maroon Bay, was for her.

"You look like you need this," a honeyed baritone said as its owner slid a generous glass of mulberry liquid Olivia's way. She was in such a haze, it took her a minute to open her mouth.

"Why are you here?" she finally said.

"The last time I saw you here—the only time—I think this is what you were drinking."

Unhurriedly she sipped, languidly savoring the pleasurable notes dancing on her tongue, and the warm descent of the liquid in her body. Flashing through her mind: the effervescent lift Fitz had unexpectedly brought her the last time she saw him.

"Close enough," she said, opening her eyes.

"What did I miss? What were you drinking the last time?"

"It's almost always a Cabernet Sauvignon. But that delivery is late, so I poured her an Argentinian Cabernet. Same shit, "said Kenny.

A flash of something pipped in Fitz's chest. Jealousy? Envy? Not for Kenny and Olivia's friendship, but because he wanted to know what she drank for every mood. The things that irritated her. What made her laugh, or shut down. Whatever there was to know, he wanted it. Wanted to be inside that knowing, studying to a level of expertise its details.

…

They had been going back and forth for hours that evening. At first in the shallow end, where things were clear and their feet remained grounded.

"What's a clichéd place you've been that's actually amazing?"

She didn't have to think about this one. It flashed before her eyes as he spoke. "The Taj Mahal. You can see it on a thousand documentaries and posters, but nothing prepares you for being there. Its majesty was unexpectedly emotional for me."

"You make me want to go."

"You should."

"Let's see for me, it's Paris," Fitz decided. "The public parks and gardens? Impeccably cared for." Exclaiming his point, he kissed the quorum of his fingertips.

"More, more," Olivia said, easing out of the weariness she carried earlier into the Lounge.

"Ok, tell me something everyone believes is sexy, but you secretly detest?"

"Sex in the shower. It's uncomfortable, there are no good surfaces..." she trailed off.

"What?! That's one of the most convenient spots. You can get dirty and clean at the same time. Plus, you're already naked. Win-win."

"Nope. I have yet to be convinced", Olivia maintained. "Your turn."

"Sex on the beach. Sand. Not a good idea."

"Cannot argue with you there. I don't even like the drink."

"Ok, then, on that note tell me about an unexpected place where the sex turned out to be good?"

Olivia clammed up a little bit, unsure if this was getting a little inappropriate.

Seeing the uncertainty in her body language, Fitz spoke first. He was determined to keep things fun for her. "Behind a snow bluff, during a ski trip in Colorado."

"That's so white," she unexpectedly snorted, just barely saving herself from sputtering wine all over the bar.

"The skiing part?"

No, I've lived in Switzerland. I love skiing. I mean the sex in the snow part of it. Absolutely never. How were you even able to… perform in all that cold?

Fitz went to open his mouth.

"You know what, don't tell me. I don't need to know." Olivia began shaking her head emphatically, as if she were trying to rid herself of the image.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Ok, what about you? Answer the question, Ms. Evasive."

"The back row of the movie theater. I don't even remember the film."

"You were having too good a time, obviously."

"Obviously. It was a sparsely attended, 'twilight' hour screenings."

"The ones attended by the elderly?" Fitz laughed.

"Actually, I do remember an elderly group of friends 10 rows down from me and my boyfriend."

Eventually, their banter waded into deeper waters, evolving into philosophical, sometimes, emotional solicitations, with Fitz driving most of the questions.

"Tell me something I would be surprised to know about you?"

"I did a gap year in India, before I came back here for law school," said Olivia.

"Ah. Taj Mahal. Were you studying? Traveling?"

"Both. I studied yogic forms and Sanskrit. I had been mostly on my own since I was a teenager, but I wanted a chance to feel truly independent. The thought of India was both scary and intriguing—my favorite combination. It turned out to be the best experience of my life."

Fitz made a note to solicit more stories from that time in her life.

"What about you, Mister?"

"I am an expert at picking out the right flower arrangement for any occasion, any sentiment. My mom loved gardening. It was how she expressed herself creatively, and the garden was a kind of retreat for her. But she shared her knowledge with me. She ended up turning her love of gardening into an empire."

Fitz thought for a moment about the next question he wanted to pose, wondering if it was too left-field for the mood. "I have something sort of philosophical I've been thinking about, and I'd love to hear what you have to say. Would you rather want or need something?"

"Hmm," she considered. "'Need' speaks to the weakness in us. We need food, water, shelter, health-as humans-to survive. Then again, the desire, or want for those same things can bring out great qualities like determination."

"What about wanting or needing a person? Is it still weakness to need them, and a show of strength to want, but refrain from having them?" Fitz pushed.

"When you need someone, there's no choice present. When choice is absent, there's no power there. So, if I choose you, without the obligation of need for my own survival, what's stronger than that?"

"Wait. You're saying that by nature we are weak and can only be made strong through the choices we make based on desire?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

"What about babies? They need us in order to grow strong. If we don't cater to them, they'll never be in a positon to make choices for themselves."

"Fitz," Olivia put her hand on his knee and looked him in the eye. "That's why nobody likes babies. Self-centred much?"

He never asked her a boring question, and she wanted her answers to be as worthy as the questions he shaped for her. But better than his questions was his openness to knowing. Wanting to be known, to be understood was something for which she had yearned most of her life. But she was doing so with the wrong man. Still, she could not stop the pull of wanting to be near him.

Olivia decided to ask Fitz a question this time. "What is a favorite childhood memory of yours?"

"This is going to sound ridiculously simple," Fitz started. "But these days, being on my own again, I find myself thinking a lot about the times when both my parents sat down at the dinner table and ate with me. Not for a political event, photo opportunity, or a major holiday. Just dinner. It was surprisingly rare for that to happen. My favorite were the times my father and mother were calm with each other, smiled and occasionally held hands. When I watched TV, I used to see families sitting down to dinner all the time, which is how I learned that's how it was supposed to be. Most times it was me and my mom, which I loved." He said as his hand instinctively went to his chest to add emphasis. "More often, though, it was me and Olga, the main housekeeper. She didn't sit with me, but she made sure I wanted for nothing. After…" He fiddled with the napkin under his drink. "I was already in boarding school, in New York, when mom died, but we had dinner together in the City about a week before she passed. I was 16, and I'll always treasure that."

"Fitz, I'm so sorry."

He wiped an unintentional tear. "It was a long time ago. I just… I miss her."

"How did she…"

"Ovarian cancer."

Olivia reached out, instinctively, to still his fiddling fingers on that napkin. "Tell me her name."

"Isabel."

"That's a beautiful name. I bet she was an amazing woman," Olivia said with a sympathetic smile.

"The best." Fitz did not want her to remove her hand, so he moved to fill the lull before she became self-conscious. "I'm sorry to turn an innocent question into sentimentality. What about you? What's your favorite childhood memory?"

"Oh…" She looked down to think about the question, removing her hand from atop his and forming a fist in her lap.

"Only once did I have the chance to go to Jamaica with my mom. She was born and raised there until her father sent for the family to join him in London. My grandparents eventually retired back to Jamaica, where they built themselves a little compound. Anyway, I got to meet so many cousins and play on multiple rooftop verandas. My mom used to love the Pointer Sisters. So, for her birthday, I convinced some of my cousins to put on a little concert on my grandparent's rooftop. We tied towels to our hair, so we could have long, flowing locks…"

Fitz was listening intently, his face open and his jaw never tired to show how fond he was of her every word.

"Well, I had them rehearsing in the backyard for hours-"

"So you were the Beyoncé of the group."

Olivia's waist bent to one side of her stool, as she tittered from his unexpected comment. Fitz reached out, quickly, to grab the back of the stool, ensuring her safety. She wasn't drunk, just suspended in the gaiety of letting herself open up for a moment. She did not think of this story as violating her resolve to not talk about her personal life.

"Technically, I was the June of the Pointer Sisters, but yes, I was very exacting about the choreography."

Fitz could not get enough of her. In turn, his laughter, energy and expressions spurred her on. Where she had lumbered across Maroon's threshold earlier, she now felt electric.

"And how was the performance?"

"It was a perfect night. Our post-dinner, three-song concert was going really well. Until the fire."

"What?! Oh…no…," Fitz commiserated.

"Apparently, it was my fault? We switched from towels to bed sheets at the last minute—better hair. But I left the towels in the backyard, on the ground. Bad enough, but, turns out I had flicked my uncle's discarded cigarette over to that pile. It was a slow burn, until it wasn't. No one let me forget it the entire trip."

"You little bad ass. All your hard work ended in tragedy. Why's that your favorite memory?"

She pulled out that story without thinking too much about it, until now, as she dug up the 'why' of it all. "I will never forget the delight on mom's face, and everyone else's, during that performance. I didn't get to see them all again. It was a big change of pace being around so much family. It was usually just the three of us, in DC. Then there were two. And for a long time just me."

"I'm so sorry." Fitz gently grabbed her forearm, and she looked up into his compassionate face. "You lost both your parents?"

"No, just my mom, when I was 12. But my dad's grief… He couldn't handle it and a teenage daughter. He thought more structure and fewer distractions were best for me. Boarding school in Switzerland it was."

"That's a real shame about your mom. And for you. 12 is a hard age to lose someone. What about your dad? Were you reunited with him again?"

"Oh, he still lives over in Kalorama. Since coming back for law school, there have been plenty of opportunities to see him," she said, glancing at her wrist.

Fitz noticed the clever mechanics of her wordplay, its passive, distancing brevity. He changed his line of questioning to spare her…pain? Irritation? Anger? Whatever unpleasantness, Fitz took her elsewhere with his next question.

I have one last question I have been dying to ask since I walked into that boardroom, only to discover you, of all people, were Mellie's attorney.

"Are we not done with the twenty questions?" Fitz detected the edge of fatigue in her voice, and slight impatience.

"Let's make it twenty-one."

"I have a 7 AM meeting."

"It's Friday night."

She did not owe him an explanation. Neither did she feel like expounding on the upside-downess of her life at the moment. Turning toward him, her eyes told him to proceed.

"Of all possibilities, why divorce?"

This was an easy one, she thought. "Sometimes it's the only way to save the relationship."

"We hold different expertise in this area. As someone who just went through a divorce, it didn't exactly feel like 'saving' anything."

"Oh, but it did. No good marriage ends in divorce. A marriage is only one way to have a relationship with someone. People who are married and have children, after divorce, form a co-parenting relationship. Some become friends. Some become distant, barely making contact unless necessary. The point is, they form a different kind of relationship to each other. Sometimes to preserve those two individuals, you have to change their relationship to each other. And that begins by changing the relationship with yourself. By ending your marriage you're now free to pursue another type of relationship with Mellie … or anyone. If you wanted."

Fitz's mouth drew to a line. He raised his brows and drink to the wise points she made, but not wanting to think too much about any of it in this moment.

"I've had enough relationship-building with Mellie, in any form. I'm moving on."

His eyes landed on hers. Olivia watched them, the tenor of his words rousing a need to know more about this moving on. She shouldn't' care. She didn't. And yet.

Suddenly, it occurred to Fitz that, again, she had given him an answer that sounded great, but devoid of anything personal. He smirked at how good she was at projecting what she wanted him to believe about her.

"Is it the 'saving' part that appeals to you?" Fitz asked.

"What?"

"Saving people from their bad marriages. Is that why you, Olivia Pope, chose divorce as your legal metier?"

She knocked back the last of her Cabernet. "I really do have to go."

TBC...

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! New year, new update (eeowww). Seriously, I hope you enjoyed Part I of this episode. The second part will be with you in a few hours (!). But you don't have to wait in order to comment ;).