AN: Hey guys. I feel sorry for the last update being literally weeks late so and I see you guys liked the last chapter, so
here ya go. This chapter is slightly longer and I plan to make the next one extremely long. Enjoy.
Olivia's POV
He looks scared. Even in the tinted window car, he looks terrified. I don't wanna further horrify him, but I'm not gonna lie to my oblivious client, hands folded in his lap.
"It's gonna be hard," I adjust my MK handbag on my own lap and look at him, his blue eyes widening at my words. His bruises have faded just a little bit but his cuts have turned a mix between deep purple and the daunting Crimson. "In the courtroom, it'll be hard and even and especially when you get outside. Microphones literally shoved in your face and reporters screaming so loud you'll see God. I want you to stay calm but I have to warn you. Don't let it get to you, Fitz."
He swallows and you can tell he's trying to be calm. To be somewhat okay with all of this. I can't blame him if he's not. I know this guy is a client and I'm usually amazing at keeping these relationship of the utmost profession, but I can't help but lean over the elite car and lay my hand on top of his. Fitz is just so alone and timid and I just feel so bad for him. I know he's innocent. I know it. He cringes and pulls it away, but immediately looks at me regretfully.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles. Fuck, I wish he'd stop saying that. "I'm real sorry, Ms. Pope. And don't you worry, I'll be fine. I'm used to mikes and reporters."
He throws me a wink, which I suppose was meant to be confident, but just appears nervous. Furthering my concerns. And can he stop calling me 'Ms. Pope'? It makes me feel like his fucking high school chemistry teacher.
We sit in anxious silence until we feel the driver pull into parking. I unbuckle my seatbelt and brace myself, then lean over Fitz's body and unbuckle his because handcuffs make that pretty damn hard.
I sit back in my seat, my fingers interlocked with the handles.
"You ready?" I ask him.
His eyes are closed. I'm an expert in these things and I can tell he's not.
"Fitz," I begin, inhaling. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay - you'll be fine. David is gonna meet us in the courtroom, we'll ask for bail and that's that. Everything will be alright. And that is a promise."
"I know," he shakes his head, frustrated, as if I'm not understanding. "I know that, Ms. Pope. I trust you...I don't have a choice but to trust you. It's just that...the last time I was in the California Superior Court was to take promotional campaign pictures with the superior court justice three months ago. So you can see the painful irony. The tables have turned so far, you have to struggle to see where they were last time. It's not just hard - it's damn near impossible. So I get that I have to leave the safety of this car eventually. I get it, I do. But if I could just have a minute...just a minute where microphones aren't being pushed literally into my face and reporters aren't screaming so loud that I see God, I would really appreciate that. So can I have that? Just a minute?"
I stare at him. He's so brave. I know he doesn't think he is, but I know he is. And that has to be enough.
"Fine. Just a minute."
I say this firmly but right now I would be willing to give him all the time in the world if that's what he wanted. I haven't seen a client in the much distress - ever. It hurts. I never thought it would hurt, but it does. It hurts like hell.
I lean back in my seat and look at him while he looks at his feet. He looks so displaced in that bright, dirty orange outfit and with those giant injuries a bit too big for his body. He looks so lost.
I need to win this case. I thought I needed to win it for the media, for the press but I was wrong.
I need to win this case so this man can get his life back.
And maybe not look so lost.
Fitz keeps his eyes fixed on his glass while the judge reads the charges, as if water is the most fascinating thing on this earth. His expression makes him look guilty - literally and figuratively. But I don't interfere with his staring contest against his glass of water to tell him.
When the judge finishes, I stand up, trying to look confident enough for the both of us.
"Your Honor, my client is requesting bail."
"On what grounds, Mrs. Pope?"
"With all due respect your honor," I gesture towards Fitz's pretty bent up but still stunningly handsome face. "Look at the man. The prison obviously harbors an unsafe environment for my client."
"I understand that, Ms. Pope, I do..." Judge Deborah says wearily. Oh no. Why is she saying it like that? The jury murmurs. They feel it too. "But however, I cannot, in good conscience, allow a potential child murderer on the streets."
"The state of Mr. Grant's children is critical, but stable," I argue, not even having the courage to look at Fitz right now.
Don't fuck this up! They'll kill him if he goes back to prison. You know they will. Then you'll have an innocent, dead client on your hands. Pull it together. Do not fuck this up.
"I'm sorry," she replies, and I can tell she's genuine, but that does not make it okay. "The court is just not comfortable with it -"
"By the court, you mean you!" I gape at Fitz practically yelling at the judge and I'm so bewildered that I almost fall back. Fitz, shut the fuck up. Do you want to die? Is that what you want?! But I can't say anything about it, because I'm so dumbfounded and I've practically already lost us the whole damn case.
"You want me to be killed so I don't the chance to prove all of you that I'm innocent!" Fitz goes on. I want to stop him, but he's telling the truth and I don't see what we have left to lose. "I went to law school, I know your tactics and I know my constitutional right to a fair and just trial. So far, I've yet to see either. And I know very well I'm not in a big position to talk right now, but I'll say it again - I did not try to kill anybody, let alone my own kids!"
"Mrs. Pope, control your client! I'm calling a recess, be back in ten minutes. And if you pull anything like that in this courtroom again, Mr. Grant, I'll make this easier on all us and just sentence you to life."
I want to hit him. I want to slap his face and I can't. He's already too damaged and I don't need smacking a disabled man on my conscience too.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" I demand in between my violent sips of water. "If we had a fraction of a chance before, it's over now. You're such an idiot!"
"I don't care," Fitz replies blankly. Wow. Does this fool know he's signing his own death sentence by sending himself back to prison? I wonder if he cares about that. But no, he's all leaned back and relaxed in his chair, picking a hole in the fabric on his thigh casually. "By the way, the California justice system is complete bullcrap."
"And now you'll never get a chance to change it," I snap bitterly and immediately regret it. I'm angry - and I have a right to be so. But it's not like me to say something that mean. I'm not a cruel person by nature. So you know how much this case means to me. "I'm sorry, Fitz. But how could you do that? Throw your own case away?"
"I don't know. I don't care."
I want him to. I want him to want to. I want so many things for Fitz but if he doesn't put in the work, we can never get anywhere.
"What is wrong with you?"
But before he can answer, the gavel bangs and our attention is turned back to Judge Deborah.
"I'll keep this short," she begins, throwing a curt nod at us. I fold my hands and stare at my own glass of water, accepting slowly how big of a failure I have become. In one of my last cases. Fuck this whole two days. Judge Deborah clears her throat and goes on. I just want her to be over it. "The way you lashed out at me here today was both inappropriate and bluntly disrespectful. I want to reprimand you greatly for that but I can't. Simply put, you were right. I wasn't interested in hearing you make a case for yourself, but you yourself did today. You have my apologies and I shall approve bail at two hundred thousand dollars."
What?
He did it! He actually did it. It's a shitload of money but we actually got bail. Holy crap.
The room explodes in commentary, but I couldn't care less. I lean over and unorthodoxly wrap my arms around Fitz's warm body while he just shrugs with a smug grin on his face.
"I hate you so much," I whisper into his ear, not denying my own smirk.
"Nah, you love me," Fitz chuckles knowingly and tries as much as he can in handcuffs to squeeze the small of my back. I raise my eyebrow and slip out his grasp. I make it a rule not to hug clients, especially ones as high profile as himself, but it's hard to resist hugging Fitzgerald Grant. It's hard to resist plopping on his lap in front of the entire courtroom too but somehow I manage.
"Is that so?" I laugh, collecting my notes.
"You hug all your clients?" Fitz asks quietly, his own eyebrow raised. Before I can reply, he goes on. "Or just the ones you try to desperately to defend and get bail on? Because let's admit it, Ms. Pope, you were pretty pissed off when you thought I blew it for myself."
"I was concerned," I correct him, buckling up my briefcase and collecting my handbag. "I'm always concerned for my clients. Especially when they screw things up for themselves. Now let's figure out how the hell we're gonna get you that money."
"Here's your Dr. Pepper," I balance the cardboard tray of drinks on my lap, trying not to get it on my silk dress pants and wiggle one of the white cups of McDonalds soda and hand it to him. With my other hand, i hand him the food bag.
He collects the food.
"Thank you, Ms. Pope," he reaches into the bag and starts on his fries. I can tell he hasn't eaten for a while. "I mean it. You didn't have to buy me food."
"I once did a paper in college on prison food," I take a sip of my own peach iced tea and cross my legs. The driver starts up again. "I kinda did have to buy you food. And by the way, enough with calling me 'Ms. Pope'."
"Oh," Fitz's eyes linger on my ring. I subconsciously shove my hand into my pants pocket. "I see it's 'Mrs. Pope'."
"Yes," I begin. "But that's not what I meant. Call me Olivia."
"Okay," he unwraps his double cheeseburger and takes a bite. He hasn't eaten fast food in a while. I can tell because I haven't either. "Why didn't you anything to eat?"
"Please - I have lunch plans with David at some place a teensy bit more high end that McDonalds, no offense."
"So David," Fitz noisily slurps his soda. "That's your man?"
"No!" I quickly put in. "God, no. Jake, my fiancé, is back in DC, where I live. David is just a friend. But what we really need to be talking about is how we're gonna get you two hundred grand in twenty four hours."
Fitz waves his hand like its nothing to him - and based off how much money he has, it probably isn't. I can shamelessly admit I hopped on my laptop last night with a glass of wine and an hour to kill. I searched up almost everything there was to know about Fitzgerald Grant and boy, was i educated. His life is pretty complicated but he has no bad records and he comes from a good family. No scratch that - fucking rich family.
His father 'Big Gerry' was governor of Nevada fifteen years ago and before that, he worked in the military, like Fitz. Fitz got an honorary discharge And two Purple Hearts. Not to mention a ridiculous amount of hazard pay. It's hard to calculate exactly but I guess Fitz's family has around two billion dollars at their disposal. But not Fitz. He barely has any money at all - his campaign budget is brought to him by his father, who apparently lives in Bel Air.
"It's not a problem," he assures me, not to my surprise. "I already talked to David and he's wiring the money to the court account. So just drop me off home and we'll be good to go until the trial starts."
"Wow," I scoff under my breath. "I overestimated how smart you really were. You can't go back to your home, which just so happens to be a crime scene as well. And you can't go to my hotel either. You made quite a scene back in the courthouse and the media is gonna be all over it. So what we'll do is get you a nice, low-key motel for the duration of the trial. What are some okay, low profile ones nearby?"
Fitz considers this for a moment, sipping his sugary caffeinated drink.
"I wouldn't know." Fitz finally admits. "I've never stayed in one. Not just here, in general."
I raise my eyebrows. Even though I was born into somewhat wealth, I even stayed in a motel once or twice. But Fitz has money, and not just money like my dad, I mean money. So I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised.
The crazy thing about Fitz is that he's not cocky. He's confident around me which is strange considering how shy and depressed he was when I first met him. Now we're closer and cracking jokes. I think the bail makes it easier on the both of us. But even though he's open around me, he's humble and he doesn't brag. Not about his money, his house or anything. I guess his position makes it harder to do so. Either way, he's modest in a light hearted way and you really don't see that a lot these days. It makes you appreciate it when you do.
"Speak for yourself." I tease him. "It's okay. We'll find you a motel and then we've got a lot of talking to do."
"Sounds great." Fitz replies causally, his focus on his crappy burger.
We sit in silence as the driver helps us make our way to Sunset Boulevard. But it's not an awkward silence. It's more of a comfortable one, where we're just sitting quietly, enjoying each other's company.
Have I ever told you that I have great intuition? It's almost a sixth sense. When I know, I know. And I know that Fitz is innocent. And I know that it's a cliche but I can feel it in my bones. I'm almost never wrong when it comes to these things. I wouldn't be treating an accused attempted murderer so gently if I didn't. He's a good guy, he really is. Even though he and I both know he can never get his political career back, he can maybe, possibly have some chance at a normal life if I do my job right.
And I always do my job right.
I glance at Fitz. He's looking into his sandwich as if it's the most important thing in the world. It's really adorable. I know this is a serious situation and I shouldn't be calling him adorable, but he is in his own little ways. It's strange, the way I act and feel towards him. Maybe it's because I didn't expect to take this case? Or maybe because he's so different from any client I've ever had? I have no idea, and at this point, it doesn't matter. I just need to prove him innocent. I need to keep him motivated and prove him innocent. And I can do that. My phones buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I look down.
David: Liv, we have a problem. I'm in the hospital. It's Gerry. He's dead.