Disclaimer: Shondaland/ABC may have created the characters but they have now been hijacked for perpetuity by fanfiction writers with more humane ambitions!
NO-Mellie and NO-Joke: Public Service Announcement for any accidental non-Olitz readers
The silence in the unmarked armoured car was heavy. Fitz and Olivia had their arms wrapped around each other as they were driven back to the White House. He was in mourning, but she knew he would never admit that.
When a heavy sigh escaped him, she lifted a hand to his cheek to turn his face towards her kiss, but his response was half-hearted at best.
Then feeling the baby move, Olivia guided his hand under her jacket and over her belly. As if guided by Olivia's silent plea, the baby moved again.
Fitz lifted his gaze to hers, a glimmer of a smile lighting its depths. "Baby G is restless. You're having too many late nights," he murmured, huskily, stroking her stomach, making her feel warm and fuzzy. Then he made her gasp as his hand slipped higher to graze her breast.
He gave a soft grunt of pleasure as she buried her face against his throat, her mouth hot and wet against his skin.
"Livvie…" he groaned. "Look at me."
When she drew back to face him, his kiss devoured her. Until she pushed back to remind him breathlessly,
"You need a chief of staff!"
"What?" He stared at her mouth.
"Chief of Staff, Fitz, you need someone to replace Cyrus."
The light died in his eyes, and he sat back, looking into the darkness outside the passenger window.
"Fitz…"
"I want someone different." He said abruptly, turning towards her again.
"O-kay.."
"Someone younger." He warmed to the theme, sliding his arms around her once again.
"But they need to have experience."
"Someone who has my back."
"But isn't afraid to stand up to you."
"Someone articulate and brilliant."
"With the stamina of a robot to keep up with your schedule," she teased, smiling.
"And pretty."
"Pretty?" The smile disappeared.
"Beautiful."
She drew back, frowning. "Have you got someone in mind?"
"You." He chuckled softly, laying his face against hers. "My strong, brilliant, articulate, beautiful, jealous wife."
"What if I don't want the job?" she murmured, sliding her hands over his shoulders and into his hair.
He rubbed the side of her nose with his. "You don't want to work with me?"
"I'd be working for you and you know you're a hard ass."
"I thought you were in love with my ass as much as I'm in love with yours." He gripped said ass and drew her closer for another kiss, but she drew away he could make her lose her mind.
"Fitz, I'm your wife—"
He cut her off with a hard little kiss. "Livvie, there's no rule that says my wife can't be Chief of Staff. I can appoint whoever I want. Or leave that position vacant. But I need someone; someone I can trust; someone who knows the deal, who is one step ahead of me, and yet manages to have my back. I need you, sweetheart."
He slipped his hand inside her jacket again to feather his thumb over her bare, sensitive breast. This time, she didn't hide her arousal as he whispered, his breath fanning her face, "I'll make it a part-time role, Livvie. You can have as many assistants as you want, and I'll schedule my meetings around your nap times, and I'll put your cravings on the menu for Cabinet Meeting nibbles."
Olivia chuckled closing her eyes as he began pressing soft kisses over her cheek.
"Say yes…"
"…No…"
"Livvie…"
"….No…"
"You're just delaying the inevitable."
"Yes…"
He snuffled a laugh, hugging her close.
She sighed blissfully, "So if I do Cyrus' job, who's going to do mine?"
"It feels like I should mark this occasion somehow. Carry you over the threshold." Fitz grinned, helping her out of the car after they reached the White House.
"Is that the custom for all Chiefs of Staff?" Olivia laughed.
"Only the really, really special ones."
"The weely, weely, special wuns?" she angled her head, backing away.
Fitz laughed giving chase but letting her get away as she turned to hurry inside through the private entrance to the Executive Residence. He caught her at the bottom of the stairs, hugging her from behind, placing his hands over her stomach as she climbed the steps, awkwardly, giggling and protesting as he snuck kisses on the back of her neck and side of her face.
On the stair-landing of the second floor, Olivia paused. "Did you hear that?"
"The sound of you wanting me?"
"No…!" Olivia tugged him towards the light streaming out of Jerry's room and the sound of Karen sobbing over the mumble of his voice.
They pushed through the half-open door, to Rex and Jerry sitting on the edge of the bed with Jerry's hair sticking out in all directions, looking as if he'd just woken up; and Karen in tears, holding a limp-looking shorkie in her arms.
When Fitz and Olivia entered his room, Jerry said with gruff relief. "We need to call the vet."
Breaking out in a fresh bout of tears, Karen said, "There's something wrong with Poppy. She hasn't been eating and she can't jump on my bed."
Twenty minutes later, a military veterinarian broke the news to the anxious family. "Well, the good news is that Poppy isn't dying," she assured Karen, who lifted her head from Fitz's shoulder and hiccuped a sigh of relief.
"What's wrong with her?" Olivia asked stroking the little dog.
"I'm not sure how you want to take this, ma'am, but Poppy is pregnant."
The family was silent all the way back to Karen's room.
After Karen was tucked into bed with Poppy at her side, Fitz said wearily, "I thought the shelter said they were all neutered."
"I guess they missed a couple," Olivia said, stroking Karen's hair.
"How long will she be pregnant?" Karen asked, all signs of tears gone. "As long as you, Mom?"
Olivia shared an amused glance with Fitz before saying, "The vet said nine weeks. In Poppy's case, she's got about 2 months to go."
"Wow, Poppy puppies in 2 months."
"We don't know that they'll look like Poppy." Olivia cautioned. "They might look like the daddy, whoever that is."
"One thing we can be sure is that they won't look like Daisy," muttered Fitz.
The next morning, when Olivia checked on Karen she found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at a sleeping Poppy.
"K? Why aren't you dressed for school?"
As Karen turned to face her with a tired smile, Olivia noticed the shadows under her eyes and realised the little girl had little, if any, sleep.
"How long have you been up?"
"I didn't want to sleep in case Poppy needed me."
Olivia sighed, sitting down on the bed beside Karen and drawing her daughter into the circle of her arms. "You can't do that – stay up all night; not when I'm going to need your help for a big girl job."
Karen looked at Olivia solemnly.
"Dad wants my help taking over Uncle Cy's job, and I was wondering how you'd feel about taking over mine?"
"You want me to be First Lady?" Karen's eyes widened.
"Presidents' sisters and daughters have done it before, and it would only be on a part-time basis because you'll be job-sharing with me."
"What do I have to do?" Karen asked worriedly.
"Baby, you're already a pro," Olivia smiled, stroking her hair. "Remember how you aced the First Daughter TV special and how you got the school to organise the project on 'kids who changed the world'? This will be more of the same. "
"What about Poppy?"
"I'll look after her; I've got a bit more experience being tired and cranky than she does."
Karen smiled, snuggling into Olivia's side. Then she drew back a little. "What about school? Do I have to skip that?"
"No way."
Karen smiled, looking relieved. "Okay. I'll be a part-time First Lady and job share with you, Mom."
Breaking News…
"…The White House today made the shock announcement that Chief of Staff Cyrus Beene resigned last night. Mr Beene was the President's longest serving Cabinet member and is widely acknowledged as his most trusted confidante. There is speculation that Mr Beene's departure spells trouble for President's Grant bid to win office for a second term…
"In related news, Mr Beene's husband and White House communications strategist, Mr James Novak, has taken a leave of absence. In a message posted on his official website, Mr Novak says he'll be taking a year off to show his [adopted] daughter Ella the motherland of 'all humanity'…
"It is understood Mr Novak was upset by the recent attacks in Manzania and Denya and hopes to assist with rebuilding efforts in both countries. Both departures surprised many in the Grant Administration…
"The White House is yet to announce Mr Beene's replacement but official sources have confirmed that First Lady Olivia Pope-Grant will step in as Interim chief of staff until a permanent replacement is found. Mrs Grant served as Communications Director for the President in his first year of office, and has worked closely with the President and Mr Beene in her official and unofficial capacity as a DC crisis manager… "
Olivia faced her staff and a newly acquired group of interns. "This is a temporary arrangement. The President needs my help and we need to pull together to make sure both West and East Wings function as normal. Lauren will be assisting my teams with that aim in mind."
"Ma'am if you're the chief of staff? Who will be First Lady?" An Intern called out.
"She'll still be First Lady, doofus," Another voice muttered audibly.
Olivia held up her hand. "If you're asking who'll do the First Lady's job, my daughter Karen has agreed to be my 'ambassador'. She'll be assisted by Felicia Adams. Jerry and my Dad whenever they can, along with the Vice President's husband, Mr Oscar Zidambe."
There were glances around the room, then one of her staff said, "Ma'am, these organisations invite you for publicity. If you don't turn up, neither would the media."
Another staffer disagreed. "They will, if Jerry or Professor Pope went. Preferably both at the same time and place. Even the world press would turn up for that."
There was a ripple of laughter, through which the first intern said, "Ma'am, have you thought about starting an official First Lady Ambassador programme – you have a lot of fans among the famous, especially famous women. You could get Rihanna, Ellen, Eva Longoria and Mindy Kaling to represent you?"
Tongue-in-cheek, Olivia asked, "Would you like to ask them how they'd feel about that?"
"I'd love to!"
There was more laughter, until Olivia said kindly to the blushing intern. "I'm happy to go with any creative solutions you can find."
After the meeting ended, Olivia glanced down at her feet, where Poppy was resting her face.
"Are you bored yet?"
The shorkie wagged her tail.
"I'll take that as a 'no'." Olivia sighed as her OPA cell phone rang. "How's it going?"
"The weather here in California is great," Quinn said brightly.
In the background Olivia heard a snort from Abby before she came on the phone. "Operation Gotcha is on track. Huck says the target has left for the airport right on schedule. Zeke's says his men are ready for Showtime, the Sequel."
Back in DC, Hollis Doyle stepped out of the car with his phone stuck to his ear. "Well, hell, don't you worry, Doug. I'll soon have them Chinese eating out of my hand before you can say Kung Pow Chow. Yeah, I'll keep you posted."
He shut the phone and turned to greet the pilot and co-pilot waiting at the foot of the steps to his private jet.
"How are you doing, Gary and Steve? Lovely day for flyin' ain't it?"
"We're Ben and Pete, sir."
Hollis smiled, "Well, now Ben and Jerry, you got all my bags?"
"Yes, sir. They're all on board, except…" One of the men looked over Hollis' shoulder to where Trixie was peering into the boot of Hollis' executive sedan with the chauffeur.
Hollis made an exasperated sound. "Trixie, what the gotdamn hell are you doing back there? Give the men your bags so we can get outta of here on time."
"Hollis, I've can't find my leopard print roller case. I need that case. It's got my swimsuit in it."
"Now, Trixie, this here is a working holiday. You won't be needing your swimsuit because we'll be working more than we'll be on holiday. Besides we're going to China not the Caribbean."
"The Hotel has a heated pool, Hollis, and I aim to go swimming when you're out boozing with your new buddies. I need my case." Trixie put her hands on hips, looking like she wouldn't budge on that point.
Hollis released another exasperated sigh. "Trixie, I'll buy you a gotdamn swimsuit at the Hotel. Hell, I'll just buy you a hundred swimsuits if you'll just get on the gotdamn plane!"
"I ain't buying no hotel swimsuit made in China."
"Jesus H Christ!"
"I just need that case, Hollis. I probably left it back at the apartment. It won't take long."
"Well, I ain't waiting for you and I won't be sending the jet back to collect you. You'll have to fly commercial. You'll be stuck in an itty bitty seats eating your food from a tray wrapped in plastic."
"Okay." Trixie happily trotted off to get back in the car while Hollis shook his head, muttering under his breath about 'women!'.
Breaking News…
"We interrupt this special report on celebrity naked butts, with news of a massive explosion over the Pacific. Onlookers on an industrial fishing boat have sent camera phone images of a massive fireball in the sky. Both North Korean and Russian authorities have denied responsibility for a possible missile attack…"
Update…
"..Civil aviation authorities believe the fireball over the pacific is a private jet. Preliminary findings appear to indicate the aircraft belongs to Texas oil tycoon and industry lobbyist Hollis Doyle. Mr Doyle's Gulfstream departed from DC this morning and stopped for refuelling at Los Angeles but never reached Beijing, China as scheduled. Aviation authorities are not ruling out the possibility of a bomb on board…"
Further Update…
"..Search and Rescue teams were forced to abandon the search for missing Texas tycoon Hollis Doyle and the two pilots on his private jet due to bad weather. SAR experts say the Great Pacific Garbage Patch has hampered rescue efforts but that it is unlikely anyone would have survived the explosion. Local fisherman who joined the rescue effort say it's unlikely the remains of the Gulfstream and its 3 occupants will ever be found, as investigators have yet to locate the missing Boeing 777 MH370 flight and its 239 passengers, which disappeared without a trace after leaving Kuala Lumpur for Being on March 8…"
In her campaign office, Sally Langston ended her call with the Cosh brothers, looking shaken.
"Ma'am, are you all right?" her campaign advisor looked at her.
"No… I need a moment… I have just heard about the loss of a very dear friend."
"Is there anything I can get you?"
"No," Sally shook her head. "Just… please, close the door on your way out."
On a campaign bus somewhere in the midwest, Governor Reston shook his head in disbelief. "Dead? Hollis Doyle is dead?"
"Yes," said his campaign analyst.
"That's certainly put a spanner in the works."
"You can say that again. Unless he's left us a legacy in his will, we've just lost one of our biggest donors."
"Yes…" Samuel Reston agreed absently. Then he looked at his analyst apologetically, "This news has really thrown me. I need a minute to take it all in."
"Of course, Sam. Let me know if you need anything."
Samuel Reston waited until the door had closed before he put a call through on his private line.
"You heard?"
"Yes. May God rest his soul."
"There is no rest for the wicked, Sally. So Hollis will be busier than most."
"I too fear that his soul is eternally damned."
There was a pause. "About the plan—"
"We will continue as planned," Sally cut in smoothly, "We still have enough players to finish this game."
In the Oval Office, Fitz drew his new Interim Chief of Staff into a tight hug.
She nestled into his embrace. "I'm going to miss him."
He kissed the top of her head, remaining silent.
"DC won't be the same without him," she sighed.
"Without Doyle's Machiavellian interference?" Fitz said dryly. "Or his rigging of elections?"
"Both," Olivia smiled sadly.
"I hope he enjoys his stay in Hell."
In a RV, 29 miles west of Blythe on Interstate 10, in an area still known as Hell in the state of California, Hollis woke up strapped to a hospital bed.
He could see drips on either side of the bed, but beyond being able to turn his head, he couldn't move; his arms and legs were strapped to the bed.
"Mr Hollis Doyle, you're awake!"
The voice out of nowhere, startled Hollis and he turned his head this way and that trying to see the speaker until the voice, which had a robotic quality, said, "Look up, Mr Doyle, we don't want you getting a crick in your neck."
On the ceiling of the vehicle, was a flat screen television currently showing a Guy Fawkes mask, which asked with exaggerated concern, "How do you feel?"
Hollis struggled against his restraints, going red in the face trying to express his anger through the tape across his mouth.
"I see you're not happy. I fear you will be even more upset to hear what I have to say next…" There was a pause. "…Mr Doyle, it is with great sadness that I must inform you of your own passing… Yes, Mr Doyle, it is my duty to inform you that you have died."
Hollis stared at the screen, then redoubled his efforts to free himself, his fury muffed by the tape.
The mask waited for calm. "I can see you are outraged by that lie because you feel very much alive. In fact, you are alive!"
As Hollis stared wide-eyed, the voice continued, "Sadly, Mr Doyle, you know you're alive and I know you're alive but to everyone else who knows you, you are dead, and right at this very moment, you are in Hell."
"James is shocked that Hollis is dead," Olivia murmured, reading the private email on her phone.
Fitz's only response was a grunt, as he steered her with an arm around her waist, along the West Colonnade towards the Oval Office.
He had just finished a Press briefing in the Rose Garden about the FBI's inconclusive findings on the Embassy bombings. He'd been forced to add the agencies would continue to look for the Warriors of Mass Destruction, a terror group that probably didn't exist.
"Cyrus hasn't said a word about it to James. In fact he hasn't said much of anything. He's spends most of his time reading Dr Seuss to Ella."
Fitz ignored the reference to Cyrus completely, only speaking when Poppy sneaked out from under Lauren's desk and came towards Olivia, wagging her tail. "That dog is becoming way too attached to you."
'She's a first-time mom and she needs reassurance that everything is going to be okay," Olivia smiled, as Poppy followed them into the office.
Fitz closed the door and gathered Olivia into his arms, kissing her gently. "Everything's going to be all right."
"I'm not projecting," Olivia scrunched her nose, earning herself a kiss there as well, before Fitz released her and headed off to look at the briefs on his desk. Opening the first folder, he glanced towards Olivia sitting on the couch with Poppy snuggling next to her.
"How do you suppose Hollis is enjoying death?"
Hollis woke with a start. His face itched but he couldn't scratch. He didn't know how long it had been since the first time he'd been awake, but it felt like a long time had passed since then.
Right on cue, the television screen above his head flashed on, and the Guy Fawkes mask appeared. "Mr Hollis Doyle, welcome to the land of the living! Although I have to admit, it feels weird saying that after witnessing your memorial service. You should have been there, Mr Doyle. You had a very impressive turnout at the Washington National Cathedral; even the President and First Lady were among the mourners."
The mask was replaced by scenes from the memorial service, with the visuals fast forwarded to resemble a Keystone Cops movie. A raft of speakers went past in in a blur, then the picture paused on the image of Hollis' only daughter, Maybelle.
"I have to say your daughter, the one with the prosthetic ear, gave the most heart-felt speech of the service. Have a listen, Mr Hollis, I'm sure she wouldn't want you to miss a word." The recording resumed at normal speed with the audio of Maybelle's voice coming through clearly.
"I'm sorry my Dad is dead. I'm sorry I never got to tell him how I felt about the way he treated me. You see, I was a huge disappointment to my dad. But guess what, he didn't win any prizes as the World's Best Dad either. Frankly he sucked." The camera panned to Hollis' seven sons snickering, then refocused on Maybelle.
"All my father ever gave us, his children, was money. Then he got mad when we wanted more. Funny about that, considering that's all he wanted himself: more money, more power, more influence. He wanted it all, and he despised us for wanting exactly what he wanted. He cut me out of his life for demanding more of the only thing he gave me. Not only did he cut me out off his life, he cut me off from the rest of my family.
"So I am here today, at my father's memorial service, to see my family. To let them know that the lonely screwed up kid they knew, has become a lonely screwed up adult. But I'm rich – in the only thing Hollis Doyle valued – money. And I wanted to say 'thanks Dad. Thanks for the money and the bitter memories. Wherever you are, I hope you know your money is being well spent. I hope that, more than anything else, will make you turn in your watery grave or some shark's stomach."
As she walked away from the microphone, the camera panned to Hollis' sons clapping and whistling much to the horror of the people seated around them, including their mothers; Hollis' five ex-wives who hid their faces behind handkerchiefs in mortification.
"Do you think we give our children enough love?" Fitz swung around in his chair to face Olivia as she walked into the Oval Office.
At the question, Olivia paused in the doorway, then closed it slowly and set her bag down on the couch, so Poppy could jump out and settle among the cushions.
"I think our children get a lot of love," Olivia said, approaching Fitz and settling herself in his lap. "Because we're not giving them any money."
He grunted a laugh as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then frowned when she added, "Congress has delayed the misconduct hearing again and …" She paused, lifting a hand to his cheek. "It looks like the Republicans are drafting a bill to extend the parameters of qualified immunity for police officers. They are proposing to give cops absolute immunity which is a Constitutional right of Presidents, Congress and State legislators."
"That's ridiculous. Elected official face elections, there are provisions to make us accountable to the public. Are the Republicans planning to include community elections every four years if the police get the same free pass on prosecutions that a President has?"
"Are you asking me if the Republicans have thought this through? You really want me to answer that?"
Fitz chuckled, leaning into her hand. "Want to escape to Vermont for the weekend?"
Olivia shook her head, getting to her feet. "We can't. There's too much work to do."
"You're such a hard ass."
"I know from a very reliable source that you love my ass."
Hollis felt strangely peaceful, being forced to lie still without speaking with nothing to do…
"Mr Hollis Doyle, you are a free man!" The quiet shattered to the shout of the mask on the screen above. "Free of all your worldly goods that you can't take it with you when you're gone! I gotta say, Mr Doyle, you have been a very generous man to the family who despises you. Here they are, all of your five wives and eight children at the reading of your will, looking even happier than they were to hear you were dead."
The voice paused, then added with a small laugh. "They even got an early Christmas bonus you're your undeclared earnings in the offshore accounts. Don't worry Mr Doyle, thanks to your lawyer and your ex-wife Deborah Clarke, all that money you had hidden away has been declared to the IRS. There ain't no point trying to live it up in prison."
Hollis closed his eyes, trying to regain his earlier sense of calm.
"Hey now, don't you go to sleep on me. 'Coz I forgot to tell you what a great help Trixie was in our little operation. Your assistant was no pushover, Mr Doyle, but she got tired waiting for that diamond ring and honeymoon in Monaco. Yeah, she was real tired but you know what, she lurvs the deed to the Manhattan condo you told her was on lease for your dirty weekends. What's a diamond ring compared to your very own piece of New York real estate?"
Fitz walked the halls looking for his Chief of Staff. Even the Secret Service was having a hard time keeping up with her, and he was seriously considering a homing device.
"Have you seen Olivia?" he asked Rowan and Felicia who were dressed up to go out.
"She's in Karen's room, on a very important mission," Rowan said, tapping his nose. Felicia chuckled, adding. "It's a mother-daughter thing."
Peeking around Karen's half-open door, Fitz found Olivia seated on the bed talking on the phone, with Teddy on her lap, the dogs at her feet, and Karen holding up several dresses for approval.
As Fitz watched, Olivia shook her head at Karen's choice of a red dress, then a blue one, but nodded at a yellow dress with white daisies, all the while talking on the phone about the numbers in Congress for the Police Immunity Bill.
Gusting a laugh, Fitz picked his way over the dogs to lift Teddy out of Olivia's arms and sit down next to her. "What's the dress rehearsal for – are you going on a date?" He asked Karen.
Karen nodded. "I've got a date to appear on Sesame Street and Mom's helping choose the dress."
Olivia covered the mouthpiece and whispered "K can't wear red, it's too Republican or blue because that's Democrat. She needs something non-partisan that says Independent."
"Pumpkin's going to campaign for me on Sesame Street?"
"No, silly Daddy, I'm going to talk about how we can look different but still be family. Ella and James were going to come too, but now they can't, so it's just me and Grandpa Pope."
"The daisy dress," Olivia said, shutting the phone and getting up to give Karen a kiss just as Marta appeared to take Teddy for his bath. "Give Daddy a goodnight kiss, K, because he has to work late again tonight."
Then Olivia reached for Fitz's hand and led him out of the room. "You're meeting with the United Nations Secretary General."
"I know that's why I came to find you," Fitz said, dragging his feet to slow her progress. At her quizzical look, he murmured, "I could stop you doing 20 things at once, but it looks like you're having fun."
"It's great to be in charge without worrying about stepping on people's toes."
"Livvie, you need to slow down." He bent low to kiss her neck.
"Don't do that," she breathed.
"Why?" he mumbled against her skin.
"You make me forget… things… like… what I'm meant to be doing. Umm… what was I meant to be doing?"
Fitz lifted his head with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You were going to sneak into the closet with me for a private twenty-minute briefing."
"Lies!" Olivia laughed, grabbing his hand. "We were going to see the UN chief."
Fitz rumbled a groan, letting her drag him downstairs.
A White House aide was waiting in Lauren's office with a folder of briefing notes for Olivia, which she gave Fitz to read while she tidied his clothes and brushed back an errant curl.
"The Secretary General is on his way," Lauren murmured, handing Olivia a notepad and pen.
"Thanks, Lauren," Olivia smiled.
"Thanks, Lauren," Fitz echoed, taking Olivia's hand and tugging her into the Oval office. "I need a word with you." He said solemnly, closing the door.
"What's wrong? What did I forget?"
His eyes soft, Fitz lowered his mouth towards her, only to be blocked by her fingertips a hair's breadth from her lips.
"Fitz," she admonished, "The Secretary General is on his way."
Fitz sighed. "Strike two."
She laughed backing away as his advisors entered the room, ahead of their official guests.
Much later, after the pleasantries and the usual agenda items regarding the Middle East, NATO, and the US funding programme had been discussed, conversation progressed to the sensitive subject of the latest 'disturbance' in Africa.
"The Lushan President is calling you a war criminal, Mr President," the UN Secretary General said mildly.
"Yes, that has been brought to my attention."
"I'm not sure if you have heard, as it is a mere rumour at present, but my sources tell me the Lushan President intends to ask the United Nations Security Council to issue a resolution to refer you to the International Criminal Court."
Fitz felt Olivia tense even though she was clear across the room, sitting among his other advisors. "That would be a first – trying a western leader for such a crime. As I recall all arrest warrants issued by the ICC have been for leaders in Africa."
"Yes, Mr President," The UN Secretary General nodded. "And it will be difficult for Lushan to gain support from the Security Council when most of its members have legislated local laws and international treaties preventing their own countrymen from being brought to justice. So it would seem, Mr President, that you are safe."
When Hollis woke this time, he felt disoriented. His surrounding were… bright. Instead of the usual flat screen television on the inside of the RV's ceiling, he was staring up at a cloudless blue sky. Blue Sky?!
He sat up, almost knocking over the shopping trolley next to him.
"Whoa, there son, don't be in such a hurry!" A voice cackled. "You ain't got nowhere to go!"
Hollis turned to stare at an old man with a gappy smile and a dirty grey beard leaning against the brick wall next to him. "The names Cornelius but you can call me Mack. Most everyone around here does. I was looking after your belongings while you slept. You didn't look like you was from around here and you know it's dangerous on this here streets for a newbie."
Hollis stared at the man, then at the shopping cart which had a raggedy blanket and a plastic sheet. His clothes, which smelt of garbage, were dirty and torn.
"You travellin' mighty light even for a newbie. You from outta town? Or your missus kick you out because off your gambling? Whatever it is, I'm hoping it ain't because you were honourably discharged from the military to live out here on the streets. I'm only asking because I ain't got enough booze for your nightmares as well as mine right now. If you need some bad, we're gonna have to steal some off Mary after she goes dumpster divin'."
"Where am I?" Hollis croaked.
"You're on Skid Row, Los Angeles, son. The Homeless Capital of the United States."
"Something's wrong." Olivia said, coming into the Oval Office as Fitz was finishing up for the day. "Suddenly I can't get hold of any of our 'friends'", she emphasised the quotation mark with rabbit ear gestures, "in Congress. They aren't answering their phones."
Fitz took her phone and switched it off. "It's time to clock off, Liv. Like the guys on Capitol Hill, we need downtime with our families." He grabbed his jacket off the chair and slid his other arm around Olivia. "I'd like to have an early night tonight."
"Nine isn't early."
"It's earlier than midnight." He kissed her forehead.
"All right," she teased, "I'll give you time off for good behaviour."
Fitz was laughing at that, when a Secret Service agent knocked on the door with the US Attorney General at his side.
"Sir, Ma'am, glad you're still here. We have a problem," the Attorney General said.
Fitz sighed. "What is it?"
"Sally Langston and Samuel Reston have issued a joint submission to the International Criminal Court to have you investigated for Crimes against Peace and Crimes against Humanity. It's a political stunt, sir. They are gunning for you as an Independent and we don't have the power base of an established party machine to weather the coming storm."
A/N: Thank you for the lovely feedback! I'm so glad you are enjoying the politics – seriously it's no hardship. Writing this story has been the best therapy. It's stopped me ranting at candidates for local council who come door-knocking for votes! ;D
Some of you thought Cyrus got off easy. But I couldn't do anything too awful because I still like his character and I've stopped watching the show so I haven't acquired the virulent hatred for Cyrus that I had for Mellie. (Guess I still need therapy for hating fictional characters!)
Some of you were already way ahead of me in guessing where this chapter was going as far as Hollis' Achilles heel was concerned. And yes, I have again ventured into the land of far-fetched theories and doubtful probabilities.
Maybe not too far-fetched considering the GOP is suing President Obama for his executive orders on Affordable Healthcare and Immigration. Apparently this is a first in US history to have a bunch of rednecks on tax-payers' payroll waste more taxpayer funds suing a President trying to deal with social reforms that have been in the too-hard basket for most of his predecessors. [BTW, that's the most I'll fangirl for him, because similar to James Baldwin cheering John Wayne killing Indians until he realised he was the Indians – I've realised in President Obama's case, everything East of Europe is okay for a drone strike and war. We're all little brown dots on a video game landscape. Nothing more, maybe even less. Although I'm not sure if Pakistan has been targeted because so many Indians campaigned for Obama, but that's another conspiracy for another day.]
On that wild note, let me say that seeing New York shut down after the Eric Garner killer cop's verdict was the best thing I've seen since watching Nelson Mandela walk free. Even Human Rights Watch which only seems to watch Asia and Africa, got upset enough to make a couple of Tumblr posts about chokeholds being illegal and Eric Garner being unarmed. So glad I lived to see these days.
OK, since this is already a really loooong note, I wanted to share a personal story. [Note: I can't remember if I've shared this before – the problem with taking a year to finish a story instead of a month is that I forget stuff – notes, plots, characters names…]
Anyway, as you know I've been exploring what it's like to run a country with your family around you. I have to say I don't know what that's really like [running a country].
What I've been drawing on is my miniscule experience with my own family. When I was still working as a reporter in Dubai, I used to take my newly-retired father with me on my 'beats' because I didn't want him staying home, getting depressed.
The most memorable experience was at a press conference to announce Dubai entering a mega bucks military contract with Britain. After the formal presentation, I was interviewing a British official about the specifics of the deal, when my Dad calls out from behind (in the middle of my interview), that I needed to hurry up because the other reporters were finishing the Tiger Prawns on the refreshment table.
Maybe he saw the smoke coming out of my ears at that point, because five minutes later my dad taps me on the shoulder (while I'm still interviewing) to say that I could take my time because he'd put together a plate for me.
By that time, the Brit was giving me the look that white people give brown people for spitting in public – the one of polite disgust mixed with inherent superiority.
But a week later, after I'd got over the embarrassment (99.9%), I realised I was lucky to have a dad who cared enough to see I got my share of Tiger Prawns (which were too expensive to be on the regular diet of a poor reporter); and love of family is more important than trying to impress people who DO NOT matter (and who I hopefully will never meet again). Fortunately, my father has given me many instances to learn this lesson well, and the Olitz family has been fashioned around that concept. ;)
Here are my references:
Top 10 People Who Faked Their Deaths
10 Insane Stories of People Who Faked Their Own Deaths
How to Fake Your Own Death
Bogus death for big bucks: 7 dumbest mistakes
What if Someone Dies Owning an Undeclared Financial Account? What Should The Heirs Do?
How to Find a Deceased's Offshore Account
FAQs - Opening an Offshore Account and Managing an Offshore Current Account
Inheritance scams
Heirs Left With Unpaid Bills May Inherit More Grief Than Gold
Declared death in absentia
Former captain debunks all 'MH370 theories' by saying aircraft too automated to drift from course and crash
Great Pacific Garbage Patch
Hollis Doyle
The Rules of Polite Behavior in the Air: Private Jet Etiquette
White House Chief of Staff
Pregnant Dog Symptoms
Where Is The Homeless Capital of America?
Hell, California
Immunity - The Free Dictionary (see subheading: Official Immunity)