Disclaimer: Shondaland/ABC owns these characters. But I've taken the Gladiator oath as a writer: #OLITZ4LIFE #JAMMmin' #Jammin' # Jammin' (as Bob Marley would say).
No Mellie, No Joke! That was a Public Service Announcement for any accidental non-Olitz readers
Olivia kissed her way up his chest, along his throat, biting his chin playfully before laughing against his mouth, as he tightened his arms around her and groaned, eyes still closed.
"Sleep," he commanded gently.
"Can't. Kids will be awake soon. We need to go."
He groaned again, but didn't open his eyes, although his mouth puckered for her kiss.
She hovered just out of reach, forcing him to crack open an eye but he closed it again after seeing her cheeky grin.
"Fitz," she protested, then shrieked when, without warning, he erupted into action, rolling her onto her back, tickling her as she tried to wriggle away.
"Fitz! Stop!"
"No."
"Fitz!"
"No." He raised his head to look at her, laughter fading as lust took its place.
"Good morning," he said huskily, smoothing the hair from her face. Then he slowly lowered his mouth to her lips.
She sighed wrapping her arms around his neck, as he sank into the kiss, coaxing her lips apart, teasing her with his tongue.
A sudden strident knocking, jerked them apart as an agent identified himself through the closed door, adding, "Ma'am, sir, we need you out here. We have a situation."
As Fitz and Olivia stared at each other, they heard an outraged female voice yell, "Get your slimy hands off me!"
Olivia looked at Fitz. "That's Abby. Let me handle this..."
His sigh of frustration feathered her cheek, as he stroked a thumb over her lips. "Make it quick."
She laughed, pushing his hand away and getting out of bed. "Fitz, we can't... you'll have to care of it yourself, or take a cold shower."
"Heartless," Fitz groaned, burying his face in a pillow as she quickly wrapped herself in a robe.
"Well...if you take a really long shower, I might join you." She smiled, stroking a hand over his curls, then chuckled when he caught her hand, placing a lingering kiss on her palm before letting her go.
When Olivia made her way to the living room she found Secret Service Agents surrounding Abby and Quinn carrying armfuls of clear wrapped white gowns.
The three women stared at each other in silence, then Olivia said, "Ladies, how are we this morning?"
"Oh we're good…really good… Are you okay?" Quinn gave a tentative smile.
But before Olivia could answer, Abby demanded, "Why are you naked under that robe?"
An agent cleared his throat, "Uh, ma'am, would you like to handle this in private?"
"Thank you." Olivia nodded, as the agents saw themselves out, closing the door behind them.
"Abby..."
"Olivia! Are you cheating on the President? Why? I mean I know the man is a Republican but this is a mistake! You 'll regret this in the morning!"
Quinn rolled her eyes. "This is the morning, Abigail, and the only person I see regretting anything is you. So I really think you should stop talking."
"No, Liv needs to hear this, from a friend. Olivia, I get that you have cold feet. I had cold feet too, remember – that night I got drunk and got picked up by that college jock. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't found me, paid my bar tab and told the kid you wouldn't report him for putting a roofie in my drink—"
"He put a roofie in your drink?" Quinn gaped.
"No, but he got out of there fast, so must have had something else on him that he didn't want to get caught with." Olivia shrugged.
"After he left, you took me to your apartment, cleaned me up and told me not to marry Charles. I know I should have listened to you, I would have saved myself a lot of hurt if I had, but you know sometimes you just don't see what's in front of your face."
"So what's in front of my face, Abby?" Olivia raised a brow.
"You love him, the President. You know you do. It's not a political marriage, like mine and Charles. And he doesn't fit the obvious Republican type of a vile, unconscionable, money-grubbing, crony-riddled creep."
"Abby, stop, please," Quinn groaned.
"Listen, Liv, I get that you hate turning into a Stepford wife. All that fake smiling, hand shaking, polite chit chat, never telling anyone what you really think – it'll drive you crazy, but you can handle it because you're strong, Liv. You're tough on the inside. And on the outside. I mean, I could never have taken that tyre iron to Charles the way you did –aargh!" Abby's pep talk ended on an unexpected shriek as she snapped her eyes shut, while Quinn looked as if she was caught between laughter and awe.
"Good morning, all." Fitz rumbled behind Olivia a second before his arms snaked around her waist.
Shifting a hasty hand behind her back, Olivia was relieved to feel a towel covering his firm buttocks. Then blushed when he chuckled softly into her ear, teasing her lobe.
"How much longer?" he whispered loudly.
"Not much longer," she promised huskily, feeling her cheeks heat.
"Okay." He pressed a lingering kiss to her neck and sauntered off, while Olivia and Quinn openly watched his every move. Then Olivia turned to catch Abby doing the same with one sneaky eye.
Immediately, she snapped both eyes open and said defiantly, "He wasn't shy about giving us a show."
"How does he look so good for his age?" Quinn murmured. "And those abs…phew!"
"Hey!" Olivia returned.
"Sorry," Quinn grinned unabashed. "And uh, Abigail…you were saying."
Abby gave a martyred look, "I didn't know you were with him."
"yes, you did! You said the guys outside couldn't be gangsters because their suits were bought on the government pay-scale."
"That didn't mean I knew he was here! Harrison said that Olivia had started travelling with a posse. I thought they belonged to her!" Abby glared at Quinn, then turned her glare on Olivia, "What are you doing here with him anyway?"
"More to the point what are you doing in my apartment, carrying all those wedding dresses?" Olivia countered.
"So they are helping James?"
"Yeah," Olivia smiled as he dried her off after their shared shower. "And I think Abby approves of you."
"For a vile, unconscionable, money-grubbing, crony-riddled creep?"
"Yes," she giggled, kissing his chin, and taking the towel out of his hands to wipe him down.
He watched her face, smiling as her hands teased him, then groaned in disappointment when she stopped before things could get really interesting.
"Hey." He tried to hold onto her, then quickly sidestepped a flick from the towel in her hands.
"Playtime is over for you," she said firmly.
"You know now that we're talking about the wedding, there's something else we need to talk about." He said, watching her hips as she walked to the bathroom counter and took out the moisturising lotion from her overnight kit.
"What's that?" She glanced, over her shoulder.
"Have you told your father we're getting married on Valentine's Day?"
She instantly turned away, her shoulders stiffening. "No."
"Livvie, he has to walk you down the aisle."
"We're not marrying in a Church. There's no aisle."
"Livvie, you need family there."
She watched him in the mirror, smoothing her hands over her belly in circles before sliding them up to her breasts.
In a flash he was behind her, his hands taking the place of hers as she leaned against him.
"You're seducing me," he chuckled huskily.
"Yes…" she murmured, one arm reaching up to snake behind his neck.
"Your dad needs to be there, Livvie."
"No, he doesn't."
"Yes, he does."
She suddenly dropped her arm and pushed away from him. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Liv." He caught her hand. "He's your only living relative. Not having him there will just cause unnecessary speculation."
"Would you have asked Big Gerry to the wedding, if he was still here?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
"I would have told him, Livvie, because he would have come anyway."
"Rowan won't be able to do that, if you tell Morris he can't be let past the gate."
"Livvie..."
She stood on tiptoe, to give him a hard, brief kiss. "No."
"Sally, now why would you give a man like Orson Wurdle of Global Unity for Families a hundred thousand dollars?" Daniel Douglas Langston, looked across the breakfast table at his wife.
Sally paused in the middle of spooning honey onto her oatmeal, frowning. "Do not be ridiculous, Daniel. Why would I donate one red cent to that cause, knowing you would be against it?"
"I must doubt the conviction in your tone when I recall that this would not be the first time you have lied to me," Daniel said grimly.
"I would encourage you to let sleeping dogs lie, Daniel. My soul wearies of these tired old arguments. I am, however, surprised to see that you have concerned yourself with our finances when it was understood that division of labour would fall on me. May I ask what has brought on your sudden interest?"
"My 'sudden' interest as you call it has been awakened by this news story that you are one of the biggest donors to that wretched organisation."
"What?!" Sally left her chair to snatch the IPad off the table. "What is this? I can barely read this! Why can't you read a newspaper like a normal human being?"
"I am a normal human being who has embraced modern technology, Sally. And what you are reading has not yet been picked up by the major news outlets, though I have no doubt it will. What you are looking at there is a blog."
"A blog? Why do you insist on reading such nonsense written up as fact?" she said impatiently. "It is unfortunate for this particular writer that his lies have been brought to my attention. I will have shut this little gossip site down in my suit of defamation!"
"I doubt that you will succeed, Sally. They have included a copy of the emails that our attorneys wrote directly to the accountants confirming the anonymous donations over the last two years."
"If the donations were made anonymously, I fail to see the link to my good name."
"The emails were copied to you. I can show you the trail of documented evidence, if you care to see it."
"I do not care to see it!" Sally snapped. "It's a lie! It's all lies!"
At Daniel's wry look, Sally gritted her teeth, holding back the expletives that could not be uttered. She took a deep breath and went back to her seat. "This is just a very obvious attempt by that…that… presumptuous deviant to discredit me and my office. I can think of no other reason for this travesty, sullying my good name."
"And mine," Daniel Douglas Langston muttered.
"So what can you tell me about this story going around that Sally has been donating big time to that anti-gay lobby group?" James asked, spooning mashed banana into Ella's mouth.
The Wall Street Journal hit the table in flurry of pages as Cyrus stared owlishly. "What?"
"Oh, so you don't know about it? It's not in your bible?" James gestured to the newspaper on the breakfast table.
"James," Cyrus said with barely contained patience, "What were you saying about Sally?"
"There's a LGBT blogger who's printed a list of Republican politicians have been secretly donating to Global Unity for Families. Sally Langston is on that list, among the top five contributors."
"I knew it!" Cyrus thumped the table, startling Ella. "I knew she was giving those bigots more than a sympathetic ear up on Capitol Hill!"
"Could you not abuse the furniture. Ella doesn't like it," James scolded, keeping his tone light as he tickled Ella's chin, distracting her. "And the inside voice that you want to hear from Daddy Cyrus for today is soft and gentle, isn't that right, Ella my sweet?"
Cyrus gave a wide smile for Ella's benefit, and hissed through gritted teeth, "Wait, you said these were secret donations. Have they got proof?"
"They've got links to emails, electronic receipts. Even the relationship to third party donors, who've including a family pet who shares the same surname as the two-legged members of its household. I would say somebody failed Common Sense 101."
Cyrus remained focused on his arch nemesis. "And Sally's name is there for all to see?"
"Well, there are emails sent by a legal firm to an accountant, confirming the anonymous donations, and they've noted at the bottom, copy to Mrs Sally Langston with a client reference number. The client reference is a match on another letter by the same firm, addressed to Mrs Sally Langston at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue."
Cyrus gave a genuine smile. "I do like it when all the dots line up to make an easy connection."
"Well, you may not like the next line of dots I have to share. News of her donation is being well received in certain sections of this great nation of ours. You know the herds we like to call hate groups."
The smile on Cyrus' face vanished. "Don't tell me they've already jumped on this, those bread-and-butter Republican voters who believe that Gays and Lesbians are to blame for Hurricane Sandy and all other natural disasters afflicting this earth?"
"Not only have they jumped on it, there are blog posts and tweets going around praising Sally for putting her money where her mouth is. Those nutjobs in the TMG Party have started promoting her as their poster child; they are asking her to step up and challenge Fitzgerald Grant at the next election."
A/N: So the idea for this chapter came from How To Stay Anonymous When You Give To Charity by Deborah L. Jacobs published in Forbes on 9/19/2012 and Stupid Mistakes that Lawyers Make with Technology By Sharon Nelson and John Simek , published Mar.17.11 on the Attorney at Work website. Yes, little things can keep me entertained for days …;))).
Of course, I had to use my lazy-writer opt-out, by making the accountants and lawyers silly enough to include the client reference number in the email and a conveniently found letter… I couldn't think of another way to link Sally to Global Unity (I blame it on Dog panting in my face to let me know it's hot – 'tho the breeze was nice, even if it did come with remnants of canine lunch).
Now since I started with Bob Marley, I will leave you (until next time!) with my favourite line in his Redemption Song: 'Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds'. And while we mourn Macklemore's win at the Grammys, just a note to say that a Bob Marley song or album never actually won a Grammy. (After his death, Bob Marley did receive a posthumous Lifetime Achievement Grammy in 2001).
Regardless, Bob Marley was also the guy who gave the song-writing credit for 'No Woman, No Cry' to his friend Vincent Ford, who ran a soup kitchen in Kingston, Jamaica. Bob Marley wrote the song but gave away the credit so the royalties would fund the soup kitchen indefinitely. You can read about this in About Dot Com - Bob Marley Trivia and Wikipedia 'No Woman No Cry' #How-To-Win-At-Life-Without-A-Gold-SippyCup.