This story is inspired by Season 1 Scandal, Vermont and the Olitz actors – Kerry Washington and Tony Goldwyn
NO-Mellie and NO-Joke: Public Service Announcement for any accidental non-Olitz readers
"Bad dream?" Fitz mumbled, trailing a hand over her hip as Olivia slipped out of his arms.
"Bub's restless," she murmured. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to watch some TV."
Fitz rolled away to turn on the bedside lamp, watching as Olivia pulled on a robe. He smiled when she admonished him to go back to sleep, and watched as she padded out of the room, waiting until the door closed to turn off the light and bury his face back in the pillow.
A minute later he flopped on his back. Several minutes after that, he lay staring at the ceiling, with the realisation that sleep had slipped from his grasp and wasn't returning any time soon.
Sighing, he turned on the light again and pushed back the covers. Quietly making his way into the living room, he saw Olivia was stretched on the couch, flicking through channels with the remote in one hand, while rubbing her stomach soothingly with the other.
Fitz hunkered down behind the arm rest of the couch, and kissed her cheek.
Olivia gasped, then scolded, "You scared me."
He leaned over and gave her a deeper kiss on the mouth.
"Having fun out here?" he asked huskily when her lashes fluttered open.
"Heaps."
He grinned. "Come back to bed, I can't sleep either. We can talk."
"Talk?" she asked as he helped her off the couch.
"Talk." He nodded, sliding his arm around her waist. "Or I can sing."
"Sing?"
"I thought you liked my singing."
"You sing at the top of your voice when you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk," Fitz said, looking pained. "And I was going to sing a lullaby."
"A lullaby?" Olivia smiled, delighted.
"Yes," he confirmed solemnly, as he untied her robe and slipped it off her shoulders before helping her into bed. "Unless you don't want to hear it."
She laughed softly, lifting her arms until he bent low enough for her to place her hands to his face and give him a kiss. "I want to hear your lullaby."
He waited until she was comfortable, before settling down next to her. Resting his head on her shoulder, he placed his hand on her stomach, murmuring, "This is one of my mother's favourite lullabies. She'd sing it to me when I was sick or upset as a kid."
Olivia smiled, combing her fingers lightly through his curls, as he began to sing 'All the Pretty Little Horses', not realising that she had stilled beside him.
She waited until he finished, letting a small silence develop before saying softly, "That's a slave song about a woman who was unable to take of her own child."
Fitz drew back slowly.
"It's true," Olivia insisted. "A slave is singing this to the master's child, knowing her own child is out in the fields getting his eyes pecked out by buzzards, and she can't do anything to save him."
"This song had butterflies not buzzards."
"Buzzards were in the original version."
"I won't sing it again." He shifted to his side of the bed, bunching the pillows behind his head.
"I didn't say you shouldn't sing it again." Olivia looked at Fitz but he avoided her gaze. "You sang it beautifully."
He grunted, turning his back on her.
Olivia stared at his rigid back, then lumbered across the bed to get as close to him as she could, sliding her arm around his middle and kissing his ear. "I mean it, Fitz, you sang it beautifully. And it was nice with the butterflies."
"Olivia, I need to be able to sing a lullaby without getting a history lesson in return."
There was a silence, then Olivia straightened, removing his hand from around him. "These history lessons are inconvenient for you? Is that what you're saying? My ancestors were enslaved, brutalised, murdered. They were sold like cattle and shot like vermin. And it's still happening today. But you don't want to hear it because it makes you uncomfortable? Fine, I got it. The President of the United States only wants to talk about Pearl Harbour, Vietnam and 9/11, slavery is off the table." Olivia spared him one last glare before scrambling off the bed, and marching out of the room, shutting the door with a firm click behind her.
Fitz flopped on the pillows, counted to ten, then gave a soft curse and swept the covers aside to go after Olivia. She was stretched out on the couch again, this time without the pretence of watching TV.
He sat on the coffee table. She ignored him. He reached out to touch her cheek and was promptly swatted away.
"Olivia."
"Go away."
He sighed. "I'm sure my mother didn't know the real meaning of that lullaby when she sang it to me."
"I didn't say she did. I was letting you know that the lullaby you were singing to our child has a painful subtext. At least it was painful for me, it was just inconvenient for you."
"Livvie, must it always be this complicated between us?"
"If you wanted simple, you should have had an affair with a woman Big Jerry would have liked."
He was stunned into silence.
She spared him a glance, then said firmly, "Not sorry," before turning away from him.
He left the coffee table to scooch in beside her on the couch, gathering her stiff, noncompliant figure in his arms.
"You fight dirty," he murmured.
She didn't respond.
"How do we get here? All I did was sing a lullaby."
"I'll help you find another Mellie in the morning."
Fitz almost laughed, but thought better of it from her tone. Instead he tightened his arms around her, his hands sliding over her stomach, as he pressed the side of his face against her cheek. "I've got another lullaby."
"I don't want to hear it."
"I'll sing it for Bub, I'm sure she'd like to hear it."
"…She?"
"She. I'm joining the general consensus. You, Carlita and my executive powers of deduction."
Seeing a reluctant smile tug at her lips, he leaned over and kissed her softly. Then raised his head in surprise to glance down at her belly, after they both felt the hefty kick against her side. "Feisty little thing, isn't she? I just know she's going to be a handful just like her mother."
"I don't know what you mean," Olivia murmured.
Fitz husked a laugh, planting another soft kiss on her cheek. "Ready?"
"No."
"Good." And he started singing, 'Somewhere over the Rainbow'.
Because he was watching her face, he saw the glistening of tears on her lashes and stopped. "Livvie… he groaned, pressing his lips to her cheek.
"I'm okay," she muttered, sniffling. "And Bub likes it too, she's settled down." She sniffed again.
He got off the couch, reaching for the tissue box on the lamp table, grabbing several tissues. "Better?" he asked, crouched down in front of her, his hands resting on her knees, as she blew her nose loudly.
She nodded, then with her face buried in tissue, she mumbled, "I don't deserve you."
"That's true." At her sharp look, he grinned. "But then I don't deserve you either, so we're perfect for each other."
Weather report in DC…
"It's another beautiful morning in DC – the sun's out, there's not a cloud in the sky and so far no kids have carried guns to school today…."
"Kids! Get moving! We have a schedule to keep!"
Felicia and Rowan had planned an educational tour for Karen and Jerry during the 'hiatus' from school. They'd organised for the kids to stay at an Indian Reservation, a Slave plantation and make a stop at Ellis Island on their way home.
There'd been a few snags along the way.
Karen: "Why can't I take Poppy with me? The guys at the Carpenters shop downstairs made me a papoose-carrier for her puppies."
Felicia: "Do you really want Poppy to take the chance of losing one of her puppies on this trip? It'll be a job making sure we've got all our bags with us. Besides you don't want to offend anyone with a cultural appropriation of a papoose-carrier which is meant for babies, not puppies"
Jerry: "Jeez, why can't I take my iPad and laptop with me on this trip? You said it was educational, what's more educational than connecting to the web?"
Rowan: "Listen up, young man, you cannot take your iPad, jPad, zPad all of it on this trip because you're going to get a real education. We're going to have real conversations and you're going to use proper words in their logical context, instead of resorting to abbreviated nonsense."
Jerry: "LOL, old man."
Once the Marine chopper cleared the South Lawn and became a distant dot in the blue sky, Fitz with his arm around Olivia and the other carrying Teddy, murmured, "Do you hear that noise?"
"What noise?"
"Exactly," Fitz said wryly, prompting a gurgle of laughter from Olivia which made Teddy chortle in delight.
On a private jet flying to Los Angeles, Sam Reston's contemplation of passing clouds was interrupted by his campaign manager holding out a cell phone, letting him know that Sally Langston was on the line.
"Sally, how is life on the campaign trail this morning?"
"Oh, I can assure you that life is mighty fine out here. I am feeling love, nothing but love from the Bible Belt of America. How are you doing with your aim of winning the homeless vote on Skid Row?"
Reston laughed. "I'll let you know after tonight."
Sally cut to the chase. "Samuel, about that photograph..."
"Sally, I will not be releasing it to the press."
"Surely you cannot agree with the immoral standards set by the President with regard to his own son."
"I will not involve a child in whatever disagreements I have with his father."
On her campaign bus, Sally Langston closed her eyes in a prayer for patience, then clicked the phone shut and handed it to her campaign manager. "You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink." When her manager looked confused, Sally said impatiently, "Samuel Reston will not be releasing the photograph of the President's underage son drinking a beer. You can never trust a liberal to do the right thing."
"So we're going with Plan B?"
Sally sighed. "We're going with Plan B. But aim for maximum impact if you can."
"I'll take one last question," the Press Secretary told the White House Press.
"Is it true that President Fitzgerald Grant will be lowering the drinking age under pressure from the Amethyst Initiative and campaigns on ?"
Heads turned to see the face of the impudent questioner who hadn't waited to be called by the Press Secretary.
"You must be on a day pass."
"Yes, sir."
"Not trying to win any friends in the Administration either, right?"
There was uncomfortable laughter in pockets until one of the veterans in the front row said gruffly, "Quit giving the kid a hard time and answer the damned question."
"Larry, man, what did you have in your coffee this morning?" The Press Secretary said with a shake of his head, to more laughter in the room. "President Grant has no intention of lowering the drinking age, not now, not ever."
"Then how would you explain the President's son having a beer at the Veteran's Benefit a few nights ago?" Mr Day Pass piped up.
"It must be a really slow news day for you all…"
"I wish you didn't have to go, but I know that your kids need you more than I do."
Carlita laughed hugging Olivia on the steps of the North Portico. "Yes, they have sent me their pictures so that I will recognise them at the airport. I told them I have only been gone two days! Familia loca but I love them and they love you. They want to know when the baby will be arriving. They want to see the baby."
"Tell them I want to see the baby too – I think she's had it being stuck inside me. She wants out. Now," Olivia grinned, rubbing a hand over her baby bump;
Carlita laughed again. "Reminds me of someone else I know, who doesn't like to be confined by walls or opinions."
"Do I know this 'someone'?"
"Oh no, it is someone totally unknown to you," Carlita chuckled, giving Olivia another hug. "Now I must go, or I will miss my plane and my children will send more sad pictures." She paused to pat Darth and Daisy sitting patiently at Olivia's side, before running down the steps to the waiting White House car.
Olivia waved, watching until the car exited the White House gates, before she slowly made her way up the steps, smiling as the dogs stayed close, their warm bodies brushing her legs.
As she reached the top of the stairs, an Intern came running towards her. "Ma'am, the Press Secretary just got ambushed by a question about Jerry having a beer at the Veteran's Benefit two nights ago."
"I had a feeling about this," Olivia muttered. "Tell me what happened."
Media Panel Discussion on Trash TV Show
"Remember when the words President of the United States meant something?"
"Usually involved burning effigies and the American flag in a lot of places around the world."
"A lot of places outside the US of A. Now we've got lunatics burning our flag on our soil just because a cop was doing his job in Faraway County. That's a crime – it's treason!"
"Now, wait! Before someone starts burning a flag in this studio, let's get back to the President"—
"I blame the wife."
"The wife? Isn't that sexist to always blame the woman?"
"Hey, you want credit when we men do something but you wash your hands of us when we do something bad."
"Mrs Grant didn't attend the Veterans' Benefit."
"No, but who knows what kind of upbringing that kid is getting at home now…"
Fitz was finishing his meeting with Zeke, the attorney general and his security advisors when Olivia walked into the Oval Office with the two dogs still at her side. Teddy was scribbling vigorously on a piece of paper on the coffee table.
"They've arrested the cop in Faraway County." Fitz sat on the edge of the couch, keeping a steadying hand on Teddy's back. "The Grand Jury returned indictments against the officer."
"That was quick." Olivia sat down beside him, while Darth jumped up next to her, and Daisy stretched out on the rug at her feet. "Didn't the DoJ Civil Rights Division just appoint a special prosecutor to supervise the case?"
"Yes, Hailey Longfeather has a reputation for not wasting time and she's dealt with the police before," said the Attorney-General, sitting in one of the upholstered armchairs. "But she didn't meet with much resistance from the local authorities. It seems the current mutual admiration society between law enforcement and the White House has lulled Faraway County law enforcement into believing the kid will escape harsher punishment."
"The kid?"
The Attorney-General paused, then added heavily, "The cop is in his early 20s."
Olivia caught Zeke's look in passing as she glanced down at the mugshot in the file that the Attorney-General handed her – a bland face with a sour expression, nothing that would make it stand out in a crowd. Then after placing her hands over Teddy's ears, she said softly, "This cop shot an unarmed boy on his knees."
"Of course, justice will be done," the AG said quickly, as Olivia dropped a kiss on Teddy's confused face before closing the file and giving it back. "But this could turn ugly. Uglier than it already is. We've got reports that Molotov cocktails and bricks have been thrown through the windows of black homes and business. Burning crosses have started appearing in their front yards too." He paused again before adding, "The family of the dead boy is not out for the cop's blood. They say they are willing to go public with this sentiment."
Olivia frowned. "Any sign of forgiveness on the family's part will impact the judicial process. A judge will be obliged to consider that public acknowledgment for a more lenient sentence."
"Forgiveness is not a bad thing."
Olivia smiled. "It's admirable that the family wants to forgive the cop who killed their only son. For no other reason that he was born black."
"I believe that's a matter of conjecture, ma'am."
Fitz lifted Teddy onto his lap, and slid his slid his arm around Olivia's waist. "We should let justice take its course."
"And hope the verdict doesn't turn out to be another slap in the face for a forgiving family," Zeke muttered.
When Marta appeared to take Teddy for his bath, Zeke, the Attorney General and security advisors took it as their cue to leave the room. Olivia waited until the door closed after them before angling a look at Fitz, now perched on the edge of his desk.
The first words out of his mouth were: "Why is Darth hanging around Daisy?"
At the mention of their names, Darth's ears perked up and Daisy thumped her tail but neither moved from their snooze positions beyond that.
"Really? Darth and Daisy that's what you want to talk about?" She crossed her arms over her breasts.
Fitz stood up slowly. Coming towards her, he reached for one of her hands, tugging it away from her body, then did the same with her other hand in order to draw her close. "I've got the FBI looking into the racial attacks. And Tom's already increasing security around here."
"You're worried," Olivia said softly, sliding her arms around his waist.
"I don't know if the fallout will be worth it, Livvie. What are we going to achieve with this one cop?"
"That you can't get away with murder."
"Unless you're the Leader of the Free World."
Ignoring that, Olivia said firmly, "We're talking about a hate crime. We've hit so many roadblocks trying to expose the endemic nature of police brutality in this country that the only way forward is a public trial."
"This one cop will not be the magic bullet to cure the problems of race in this country."
"No, but we have to start somewhere." After a long silence that Fitz made no attempt to break, Olivia sighed. "How is Cyrus?"
"Not dead."
"Fitz."
"He's being flown back to the US for treatment. James insisted on paying for the Air Ambulance and I wasn't going to argue." He paused. "I don't want you to visit Cyrus when he gets back in town."
"Okay."
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Do you mean it?"
"Fitz."
"If you see Cyrus, we're through." At Olivia's raised brow, Fitz went red. "Maybe not through exactly."
"Then what exactly?"
"I'll be mad. Really, really mad."
"Really, really?"
"Yeah," he muttered.
"Will you slam the door on the way out?"
"I'm pretty sure it's treasonous to laugh at your husband when he's President."
"I'm pretty sure it's not, especially when he threatens to stop being my husband."
Fitz tried to kiss her but she turned away. Unfazed he pressed his lips to her temple. "Do you know how long I waited to make you mine?"
"I'm not yours."
"You know what I mean."
"No."
He chuckled softly. "In this pretend fight, how soon do we get to the making up part?"
"Who said this is a pretend fight?"
Media Panel Discussion on Political Talk Show
"We just heard that the mother of Evan Wilson received a $325,000 letter of demand from DC Police this morning. As you may recall, Evan Wilson is the boy who took the President's daughter and her classmates hostage in a six-hour siege a few days ago. DC Police now want the mother to pay for the costs of the rescue mission, mainly for equipment deployment and travel costs for specialist teams. This is not something you hear every day, is it?"
"It's not unheard for some States to charge lost hikers for rescue missions. Edward Bacon is still appealing the 10,000 dollars he was charged after being rescued from White Mountain National Forest."
"Yeah, and a couple of years ago there was talk about whether Search and Rescue subjects should pay up after it cost taxpayers $660,000 to rescue Californians Charlotte and Eric Kaufman from the high seas. The US Navy, Coast Guard and Air National Guard put together a joint task force after one of the Kaufman kids fell sick on their round-the-world sailing adventure."
"But this isn't an emergency rescue, we're talking about a police safety operation which is part of their job description. It's what they get paid to do. It's what our taxes are paying them to do. I don't think it's a good sign of things to come when DC Police invoice their operational costs to the mother of a crazy kid who failed to get a girl to like him."
"Rumour has it the directive came from the White House."
"Guess the President's still mad his kid got held hostage."
"But if we're talking about hefty fines for bad parenting - just this morning it was revealed that the President's son was caught drinking at the Veteran's Benefit last weekend. The kid is only 14 years old and you know the legal drinking age in this country is 21. It would have been all right if the kid drank in front of his dad in the state of Washington, but underage drinking is banned in the District of Columbia."
"But why is our legal drinking age still 21, when a kid can enlist and vote at 18?'
"Jerry Grant is not 18. And it's a bit rich for the President to turn round and blame the Wilsons for not keeping a better eye on their kid."
"We're talking apples and oranges – one kid terrorised a bunch of pre-teens in school; the other had a beer. Not the same degree of relevance…"
Olivia broke off mid-kiss to say, "I forgot to tell you something…"
"You love me." He smiled, rubbing the tip of her nose with his.
"Jerry's beer at the Veteran's Benefit… The press gallery wants to know if you're going to lower the drinking age."
"No." He nibbled on her bottom lip but she drew back.
"Fitz, this could turn into something serious."
"I hope so."
"I meant with Jerry and the beer."
He lifted his head to look at her solemnly. "Livvie, I promise I'll see he doesn't have another drop of alcohol until he's 21, not even apple cider. Or cough syrup. Okay?"
She stared at him silently, then her lashes fluttered closed as he nudged closer for another kiss.
Media Panel Discussion News Network
"Let's look at the figures objectively, alcohol kills more people every year than guns."
"That's the argument they use for legalising marijuana."
"Facts are facts, the latest figures from the CDC, say 88,000 people died due to excessive drinking between 2006 and 2010. If you want to know how that impacts productivity in this country, that's 1 in 10 adults between 20 and 64 years of age."
"I don't know where you got your facts to say alcohol kills more people than guns. Because if my maths is correct, the figures you gave amount to 22,000 people dying a year, over 4 years. The CDC figures for gun deaths came to 32,251 in 2011 which is the most recent figures we have. They estimate that gun deaths will overtake the number of car crash fatalities this year. Both categories outstrip alcohol."
"You're taking the figures for one year out of context and guesstimating the next."
"Whereas your argument is that we need to give out more guns, so gun deaths can rise on par with drink-related deaths?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying if the President wants to make a big deal about kids with guns, he needs to pay even more attention to kids with alcohol. And he can't do that if he's getting his own kid drunk…"
"I gotta say, Texas, winning the lottery is easier than getting a break on Skid Row," Mack said as he and Hollis sat on the kerb watching cars go by.
They'd tried everything to get a ticket to the charity dinner that night where the rich and famous were to dine side by side with the poor and homeless. A decent meal was not something Mack would turn down, but he knew that having a word with Presidential wannabe Samuel Reston, the guest of honour, was Hollis' current obsession and only reason for wanting a ticket to the event.
"We tried everything, Texas. The charity ran out of tickets while we still waiting in line. We tried bribery, intimidation, even theft but we still got no tickets to that damned dinner. It's not meant to be, man, it's just not meant to be."
Hollis was silent for a long moment, then he turned abruptly to face Mack. "You done any acting?"
Mack did a double take, then slapped Hollis' arm. "Have I done any acting the man asks? Have I done any acting? Let me tell you somethin', you know who's helped more TV shows and movies fill their diversity quotas than you can count – yeah, that's right: me. I've been the token black dude on street corners, at the back of the court, in front of a yelling pack of media hounds, you name it. I was even an extra on the original Star Wars Movie, the third guy from the left in the desert scene."
"Wasn't that shot in Tunisia?"
"Yeah, same place that's been taken over by this new ISIS gang of whack jobs. Nothing is sacred, man, not even a movie set."
Hollis slapped Mack on the back, with a widening grin. "Mack, you're gonna need to dust off your acting skills for the Oscar-winnin' performance of your life."
"Yeah?" Mack looked skeptical.
"Yeah, this gig will be a mighty fine vehicle for your creativity – you get to write, act and direct your own part in a reality show."
"Reality show?"
"It's going to be as real as it can get, don't you worry about that."
Olivia left the Oval Office in a thoughtful mood. At the end of the corridor, she saw Zeke in conversation with a group of staffers. When she passed the group with a nod and a smile, Zeke excused himself and hurried after her.
"Got a minute?"
"For you, anytime," she smiled, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm.
Zeke chuckled. "Hon, that kind of sweet talkin' is going to turn me straight and then Fitz had better watch out."
Olivia laughed. "I know for a fact that Oscar has nothing to worry about. Are we going to your place or mine?"
"Mine. One of the staffers got me a box of sticky buns that I'm man enough to share with you," Zeke grinned, as Olivia shook her head at him and preceded him into the room.
"So I hear Cyrus is returning," Zeke sauntered over to the desk to pick up a bakery box as Olivia sank into a firm-cushioned armchair. Catching Olivia's nod, he added, "Are you going to see him?"
"I promised Fitz I wouldn't."
"You gonna keep that promise?"
"I think so."
Zeke laughed, holding the open box out to her.
"These look heavenly."
"They taste just as good, you'll see." Zeke sat down in the chair opposite. "So is it just me or is our Prez trying to go easy on the killer cop issue?"
"He's worried about starting a race war."
"That war started when they decided to pit us black folk against poor whites with the Virginia Slave Codes of the 17th Century. Our ancestors went from being indentured servants to slaves with no hope of freedom."
"The Virginians created definitions of race to divide the workers, because they needed free labour to make a certain class of men rich; but they didn't want the labourers to join forces and create their very own Haitian revolution. This race war is actually a class war, Zeke."
"Hell yes! They institutionalised racism in this country so the majority of people wouldn't come together to overthrow a minority that still exists today – the rich. Racism in this country is man-made, Liv. If men can build it up, men can take it down."
"Or women. We've had women like Harriet Tubman trying to free us from the institutions of slavery before the American Civil War."
Zeke grinned. "Did you just wipe the floor with my ass?"
"Yep," Olivia nodded. "I did."
Zeke laughed. "Can I offer you a second sticky bun as an apology?"
"You sure can," Olivia chuckled, polishing off the first.
"Can I see your ticket, sir?"
Mack patted his 'borrowed' suit theatrically. "It's here somewhere."
The security guard's face changed from polite enquiry to clear distaste. "Step aside."
"I got my ticket. I just need to find it."
"I said 'step aside'."
"He said step aside," said the man behind Mack.
"I ain't steppin' aside! You step aside!" Mack turned and gave the man a shove.
"Hey! What the fuck is your problem?!" The other man shoved back.
"Hey! Get your paws of my new suit!"
"You pushed me, asshole!"
"You watch your mouth!"
"Make me!"
As a scuffle broke out, security and police rushed in, trying to break them apart, then the waiting media swarmed in, attracted by Mack's yells of "Police brutality! Help! HELP!"
In the background, Hollis Doyle slipped past the cordon and was making his way to the outdoor dining area when someone yelled, "Security! SECURITY! That guy sneaked in without a ticket! He didn't have no ticket!"
Hollis went into high gear, sprinting down the cordoned passage with security guards chasing after him. He toppled tables and chairs as he hot-footed into the hotel, trying to spot Sam Reston among the random suits watching him go past with fascinated interest. He'd just entered the elevator lobby when he was grabbed from behind and tackled to the floor.
"Gotdammit!" he swore, then started yelling at the top of his lungs, "Sam Reston, can you hear me?! It's Hollis Doyle! HOLLIS DOYLE!"
"Quit hollering and stick your hands up where I can see them!" A security guard thundered in Hollis' ear, as he lay weighted down by the bodies on top of him.
"Try not to get blood on the carpet, I don't want our guests to think they're in downtown LA."
Out of the corner of his eye, Hollis saw a pair of polished designer shoes. "Hey!" He mumbled from the side of his face, not smushed against the floor. "Do you know where Samuel Reston is?"
"Is this vagrant talking to me?" The shoes took a step back.
"Yes! I'm gotdamn talking to you!" Hollis shouted as he was hauled to his feet. He glared down at the suit wearing a hotel badge. "You tell Sam Reston that Hollis Doyle ain't dead! You tell him the guy who told him about Defiance ain't DEAD!"
The suit snatched a crisply-folded handkerchief from this jacket pocket and wiped a drop of Hollis spittle off his expensive jacket sleeve before saying in disgust, "Get this lunatic out of here before he does any more damage!"
Further along the corridor, one of Reston's assistants, hurrying towards the elevators, carrying plastic-wrapped drycleaning in her hands, stared after the man being dragged away. She recalled that Samuel Reston had given a eulogy at Hollis Doyle's funeral. Only the guy apparently wasn't dead.
She took out her phone to call her boss, then stared in exasperation at a text message to get the kitchen to send more ice. Muttering under her breath, she banished Hollis Doyle from her thoughts as she hurried off to resolve this new task, after handing the dry-cleaning to a porter to take up to the Presidential suite.
Out in the parking lot, Mack refused to get into the back of the police van.
"I ain't getting in there! That's a death machine! Black men who get thrown in alive and fall out dead – you heard of Freddie Grey?"
Seeing a flashbulb go off, the police officers turned to see a lone photographer, and started yelling for him to scram or get arrested.
"I ain't going nowhere." The photographer kept snapping away. "If this guy turns up dead, I've got an exclusive."
"Damned media vultures." Mack shook his head.
"You shut your mouth and get in the back of the van!" an officer yelled at Mack.
"No! You can shoot me right here in front of witnesses, but I ain't getting into that damned thing so I end up with a broken neck!"
Minutes later, Mack found himself being shoved as roughly as possible into the backseat of a cop car, with his hands cuffed behind his back. Barely had Mack got his breath back than Hollis landed on top of him.
"Both of you get to spend the night in lockup!" They were advised before the door slammed shut.
Mack turned to Hollis and said conversationally, "You see what these MoFos have done to my nice new suit. They've ripped it to shreds, man. Ripped it to shreds. Now how am I gonna be able to return it to the guy at the gym who doesn't know I took it?"
Hollis lay in his corner, silent and brooding.
"Texas man, you okay? Look on the bright side, we ain't dead... Yet."
After consulting with the charity organisers, the assistant manager let the hotel manager know the dinner party could go ahead.
The hotel manager slipped in among the designer-suited and –gowned guests in the Presidential suite, to let the hotel owner know.
The hotel owner in turn, rested a hand on Reston's shoulder and murmured the message in the candidate's ear.
Reston nodded and announced that his guests should start making their way downstairs. "Our dining companions are getting impatient and we shouldn't keep them waiting, who knows how long it's been since they had a proper meal!"
After her daily wrap-up with her aides and chief of staff in the East Wing, Olivia was trying to make a dent in piles of paperwork on her desk when the door opened and Fitz walked in.
"I'm just finishing up." Olivia muttered, scribbling her signature across a document.
Fitz sat on the edge of the desk, watching her make notes on another sheet. "Is that my schedule for next month?" At Olivia's nod, he asked, "Why is my Medal of Freedom presentation to comedian Phil Mosby cancelled?"
"Because you can't take it back once you give it out. There's going to be media fallout – there's going to be accusations – one's he can't bury and you can't excuse. His people approached Abby for help, but she declined because she won't stand for any man taking advantage of a woman."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"I loved his shows."
"He was one of my heroes. I wanted him to be my dad." Olivia shook her head at the memory and drew another pile of paperwork towards her, saying "Almost done."
Fitz reached over and took the pen from her hand. "You're done." He placed the pen on the desk, and got to his feet, before turning her swivel chair to face him. Then as she opened her mouth to argue, he kissed her softly and whispered, "We're going on a date."
"But it's a school night." The protest was half-hearted at best.
"Our kids have a leave of absence from school."
"Until we make other arrangements."
"Don't distract me," Fitz lifted Olivia up off the chair and onto her feet. "We'll talk about the school situation in the morning. Right now, we're going to talk about our date."
"We're just talking about it?" Olivia murmured as Fitz steered her out of the office. "I'm not wearing my shoes."
"You don't need shoes." Fitz slipped his arm around her waist as they headed down the corridor.
"So we're having an in-house date?"
"We're going to the movies."
"Oh! It's been ages since I've been to the movies."
"At least 48 hours. Yes, I know."
Olivia giggled at his dry tone. He leaned down and kissed her. "Mmm, you taste like sticky bun glaze."
"Zeke told you." She sighed, as his lips brushed her mouth again. "I was going to bring you one, but they tasted so good, it kinda of disappeared in my mouth on my way to your office."
He chuckled softly. "You can make it up to me if you want to; Zeke's put in an order to have the bakery make a delivery at least once a week to you."
"Once a week?! I'll have to increase my yoga sessions or you'll need a crane to lift me out of my chair."
"All the more reason to share," Fitz laughed softly, brushing another lingering kiss on her mouth.
So what are we watching?" Olivia gave a coy look that made Fitz laugh.
"It's not what you think, naughty girl."
"What am I thinking?"
"You know what you're thinking."
"No, I don't."
"We're going to see A Birth of a Nation."
Fitz had taken a couple of steps before he realised that Oliva was no longer with him.
"What's wrong?"
"Did you say A Birth of a Nation?"
"Yeah. Is there a problem? Hey!" He called out when Olivia turned on her heel and started walking away. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to call my lawyer, we're getting a divorce!"
Fitz jogged up behind her, catching hold of her arm. "Before you do that, could you just sit through this movie with me?"
"No." She snatched her arm away.
"Sweetheart—"
"Don't call me that."
"Olivia. Just do this for me. It's all I ask."
She gave him a suspicious frown. "Is it really A Birth of a Nation?"
"Come see for yourself." He held out his hand.
She glared at him, then his hand, before stepping pointedly around him and walking away. Fitz fell into step beside her, sneaking the occasional glance at her set face as she maintained a chilly distance between them. They made their way to the Family Theatre in silence. Olivia even made it a point to sit in the farthest armchair from him.
"This is going to make passing the popcorn a bit awkward."
"You can have all the popcorn." Olivia muttered, plonking her feet on the foot stool.
The lights dimmed and the movie started on the big screen. It was a full five minutes later when Olivia said, "This is our wedding video."
"Yep, it's the Pope-Grant remake of A Birth of Nation."
There was a creak of furniture, followed by a rustling sound, then Fitz found himself with an armful of Olivia on his lap.
"Hi," he grinned, "Is the divorce off?"
"You are such a meanie," she complained, laying her head on his shoulder.
"Can I call you sweetheart?"
"I hate you," she muttered in return.
He laughed, tightening his arms around her.
Sam was smiling as he shook hands with the wait staff. He knew they'd be voting in the upcoming elections but he genuinely wanted to thank them for what had turned out to be an exceptional evening – his campaign coffers had received a much needed boost, and he'd received several official endorsements. As a bonus, the charity was happy with the caliber and generosity of the paying guests.
He was making his way to the elevators, with the intention of heading up to his suite, surrounded by his staff and hotel management, when a pesky photojournalist yelled across the foyer, "Governor Reston, have you got a comment to make about Hollis Doyle's resurrection?"
A/N: Thank you for your wishes for my exams – it got me through another semester! Only one more to go!
LOL, I promise I haven't found my 'Fitz'. No, as usual after weeks of not writing, I just lost the plot. Again. Next time I write a long, meandering beast of a story, I'll have to chart a plot on paper, instead of relying on memory!
Also for the compliment on my 'smut writing' (KikiNickMc) - *blush*
And it's true I have been rejected by Mills & Boon (UK version of Harlequin). To be fair to them, I didn't write according to their 'standard best-selling formula'. It's more freeing to be able to write the way you want without worrying about 'what sells'.
Hey, Ultratee from Nigeria - Ndewo and dalunu for reading (Did I get that right? I used Google Translate!). I know I have readers from other countries but I try to stay US-centric for this story (emphasis on 'try' as I often misunderstand US politics, law etc and take you guys into an unintended state of fantasy) - ;)
To everyone reading, thank you for your patience as always, and for loving my favourite characters which are really all of them. And I will attack my inbox shortly (Clio1972)
So with the return of my references (I'm trying not to make this list longer than the actual story), here's a few:
'This Is How We Lost to the White Man' - The audacity of Bill Cosby's black conservatism - Ta-Nehisi Coates (Atlantic)
Bill Cosby Awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom (2002) - Audie Murphy American Legend (Youtube)
THE CULTURE OF WHITE SUPREMACY - by Sharon Martinas and the Challenging White Supremacy Workshop [whgbetc DOT com]
Origins of White Supremacy - thoughtsandmemory DOT wordpress DOT com
Hollywood's diversity sham: How TV and movies save face by casting minority extras - RH Greene (Salon)
The Hidden Factor in Hollywood's Racial Diversity Problem - Lily Rothman (Time)
Hollywood 'race casting': what the industry is getting wrong about diversity - Britt Julious (The Guardian)