Disclaimer: Terry chemistry and American Politics inspired this story.

Quote: "If the political parties are sincerely concerned about increasing women's representation, they can start with democratising their internal platforms to include women. We also need a more progressive political culture where everyone is ready to listen to women's ideas. If election violence and unlimited campaign financing can be stopped, more women, and saner men, will enter politics." Dr. Harini Amarasuriya, gender activist and Senior Lecturer in Social Studies, Open University of Sri Lanka, in Local Government: Will Women Shatter the Glass Ceiling, Front Page Lanka.

Fitz snuggled close to the warm body beside him. Then frowned, still half asleep.

Something wasn't right - Olivia's cheek was decidedly… rough.

Fitz opened an eye, to stare straight at Huck.

There was a long silence, broken only when Huck said, "Olivia didn't leave room on her side."

Fitz flipped on his back and turned his head.

Olivia was fast asleep.

He prodded her awake. "Is this a nightmare?" he asked.

"Wha—?" Olivia blinked as Huck raised his head over Fitz's shoulder. "Huck?" She sat up. "Huck!"

At which point, Gracie woke and started crying, prompting Huck to shake his head. "You've woken Bubby."

"Her name is Gracie," Fitz muttered.

Olivia rubbed her eyes, watching Huck make his way to the cot. Then she yawned, as Fitz whispered, "Our discussion on boundaries should have included Huck."

"Abby and Quinn are downstairs." Huck said solemnly, patting Gracie's back as she subsided into a contended silence.

"Huck," Olivia said patiently, "What are you doing here?"

"You do realize we could have been…" Fitz blurted, then stopped, his ears reddening as both Olivia and Huck turned to stare.

"What?" Hucked frowned.

"Never mind. Answer Livvie's question, what made you break into our bedroom?"

"The door wasn't locked. I didn't break in, I told Tom I had to speak to Liv."

"Couldn't it wait until a decent hour?" Fitz asked.

"What's a decent hour?

"When most people are awake."

"What did you want to tell me?" Olivia yawned.

The bedroom door swung open with barely a knock to reveal Abby and Quinn.

"We gave you one job," Abby glared at Huck.

"Ooh, the baby, she's grown so much!" Quinn cooed. "Can I hold her?"

"Boundaries." Fitz muttered again, then a bit more loudly. "Look I don't mean to sound inhospitable but it's the middle of the night."

"We'd have been here earlier if Quinn hadn't wanted to pack the kitchen sink."

"Hey, I was a Girl Scout. I like to be prepared."

"They've rigged the election so Edison wins," Huck announced.

There was instant silence, as Fitz and Olivia stared at Huck, then at each other, before flopping back onto the bed.

"Wait!," Quinn stepped forward, her voice rising, " Did you hear what Huck said? They've rigged the election!"

"So Edison wins," Fitz finished, his eyes closed.

"Look this isn't Defiance. This is Edison. The man who tried to kill Olivia and you," Abby glared at them from a distance, hands on hips.

"And Gracie," Huck muttered, patting the baby's back.

Fitz sat up, Olivia stopped feigning sleep and opened her eyes.

"You don't know the half of it," Quinn made herself comfortable on the end of the bed. "They're not just going to hand over the election to Edison. They've got a better plan."

"They're going to make the initial count look like Sally Langston won," Huck said grimly.

"They've even got an electoral map divided up in the red states and blue states." Abby took a piece of paper from her jacket pocket, unfolded it and handed it over to Fitz. "That's what it's going to look like when the 'final'," Abby made rabbit-ear quotation marks. "The 'final' votes are in."

"This map looks familiar," Fitz frowned at the paper.

"It's a match to the electoral map on that Simpsons episode in 2000 when Donald Trump became our fictional President," Quinn said.

"Trump; President!" Abby cackled. "That's ridiculous! He could never become President of the United Sates!"

"Horrifying." Quinn rolled her eyes, then smiled brilliantly at a concerned looking Gracie. "Don't you worry, baby doll, the mad bad Mr Trump isn't going to be President."

"Someone worse will," Huck said, which made Gracie smile.

Olivia sat up. "I thought the plan would be for Edison to win."

"It still is." Quinn made a face, this time at Olivia.

"The Democrats are going to demand a re-count."

"Like that time Al Gore lost to George Bush."

"Only this time, the Supreme Court won't need to step in to stop the recount. And in a stunning turnaround, there'll be a surprise reveal, giving Edison a win."

"And the whole drama around the re-count will make everyone forget just what Edison got up to before the nomination." Olivia grimaced.

"Yes."

"This could have waited," Olivia mumbled, falling back against the pillows, and closing her eyes.

There was a moment of silence as all eyes turned to her

"Olivia! You need to fix this!" Quinn shook Olivia's foot.

"For once, I agree with Quinn." Fitz touched Olivia's shoulder. "We have to do something."

"All we are going to do is go back to sleep." Olivia mumbled, then raised her head for a brief second. "You all need to find other beds."

Meanwhile at the White House...

Zeke remained silent a long time after Oscar told him what was going down.

Oscar finally broke the silence. "Makes Defiance look lame."

Zeke grunted.

"We need Liv in Fixer mode for this one," Oscar continued, keeping his eyes on the cards he was laying on the Resolute Desk, in a game of Solitaire.

That roused Zeke from his thoughtful stupor, and he straightened from his slouching position on the couch. "Liv's going to drag her heels on this."

"You're not wrong. She's against the idea of becoming President."

"More than that… there's a chance that a black man will be elected—"

"By vote-rigging."

"By the rigged game we call American democracy."

"She knows Edison is dangerous."

"No more dangerous than the white men who've been Masta of this house."

"That brother plays by his own rules, and he's got the crown within his sights."

Zeke stood up. "Not if I can help it. I'm going to call Cyrus."

Oscar's hand paused over the cards, briefly, then he continued with a shake of his head.

Cyrus answered on the first ring.

"Can't sleep?" Zeke chuckled.

"I'm having nightmares that Sally Langston will be President." Cyrus retorted.

"Oh, you've heard."

"Heard what?"

"About the Langston woman being our next President."

"What?!"

Zeke relayed the happenings of the past few hours.

There was a long silence after Zeke finished.

"Hey, old man, you asleep?"

"I'm thinking!" Cyrus snapped.

"This going to take all night?"

"It's almost morning."

"Yeah, well at this pace, we'll be seeing noon."

"We need to involve Sally in a solution."

Zeke snorted. "Man, are you crazy? You'll be lighting a dynamite stick and hoping it won't explode!"

"Think about it – we have a two-party system. The race is between Edison and Sally Langston. If they want Edison to win, we have to stack the deck to make Langston the more realistic winner."

There was a pause, before Zeke said slowly, "And she would be if Liv was on the ticket as her deputy."

This time it was Cyrus who took a long pause before replying. "Glad you're not just a pretty face."

"Hey, I could send you to Gitmo for that comment."

There was a bark of laughter, then the call ended.

As Zeke replaced the receiver, Oscar muttered, "What's the plan."

"We need to call Sally Langston."

That brought Oscar's eyes flying from his cards to stare at Zeke as if he'd lost his mind.

Still half asleep, Fitz reached for the phone which had begun buzzing on the night-table. He grunted a greeting, then sat up when he heard the caller's voice.

Glancing over to make sure Liv was still asleep, he whispered, "It's late."

"You heard about the Plan to elect President Edison Davis."

"Yep."

"I think I have a solution."

"Yeah?"

"I'm thinking of endorsing Sally Langston."

That got Fitz out of bed, out the door, down the stairs, and into the main living room before he snapped, "What?!"

"Hear me out. Edison is going to be blessed with the Get Outta Jail Free Card."

"With the Presidency as a cherry on top."

"That's saying something – when the establishment wants a black man in the White House."

"You want to throw a spanner in the works. Or rather let a loose cannon loose."

"I want to endorse Langston, on the condition she puts Liv on her ticket. Liv has the numbers."

"In the opinion polls. Opinions can change."

"Not this time. And they'll have a hard time arguing with the exit polls. If they want a re-count, we'll give them one, live on C-Span."

"After she gets the Presidency, and power goes to her head, good ole Sal could turn on Liv."

"We're not going to let that happen."

"Langston already has a Veep candidate."

"Operation John Edwards." Huck muttered from a huddled lump on the sofa.

Fitz turned, looking over his shoulder, with a raised eyebrow. "Weren't you supposed to find a bed?"

"I did."

"Who you talking to?" Zeke wanted to know.

"Huck."

"What's he been saying?"

"Operation John Edwards."

"Man, either Oscar been telling Huck what's up or they're on some scary telepathy shit."

"Are we talking about John Edwards, nominated for Democrat Vice Presidential candidate in 2004, the guy who lied about his affair?"

"Yep," said Huck from the sofa, and Zeke over the phone.

Still frowning, Fitz murmured, "Should I state the obvious - John Edwards isn't a candidate in this election."

"It's not the Edwards guy that you should be focusing on. It's the affair…." Zeke replied.

Dawn was breaking when Zeke made the call to Sally.

At the end of that conversation, Sally sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring blindly at oil painting of cotton pickers in Georgia by Thomas Hart Benton. Then she reached for the phone and made another call.

"I had a call from the President," She told her campaign manager.

"Oh," he said, sliding his sleep mask up his forehead.

"He has an idea that I will be winning the election."

The manager nearly bounced to a seated position. "What?"

"Don't get excited. I'll win, then they'll have a recount and Edison will get the seat in the White House."

"How many Supreme Court judges do you know?"

"Edison has this election in the bag."

"Did the President provide a list of Wall Street executives who'll be on Edison's Administration, as evidence? I wouldn't worry - America will never vote for a black man."

"Who said anything about voting?"

"You can't accuse Edison of rigging an election, unless the guy is friends with Vladimir Putin." There was a pause, then he continued, "Maybe we should consider that option?"

Sally ignored that. "We don't have to involve the Russians, when we've got Olivia Pope."

"What are you talking about?"

"The fact of the matter is that America is seriously considering voting for a black woman. We've both seen the opinion polls, she'd win the next election if we didn't have the Electoral College."

"But we have the Electoral College and Olivia Pope will never be President."

"Now don't be too hasty, I believe she has the potential to make a very fine Vice President."

There was a long pause. "Is that what Lucas Zeke wanted?"

"He wants me to announce Olivia as my Vice Presidential candidate."

"You already have a Veep."

"President Zeke knows about the affair."

"Adultery isn't the career-killer it used to be. Not since the Grants made it look respectable."

"The Bible belt still has its moral compass firmly turned away from Happily Married Family Men having affairs with Other Men."

After Zeke's call, Fitz slipped into the bedroom. He switched off his phone before placing it on the nightstand. Then slid into bed, all the way up close to Olivia, placing his head on the same pillow, facing her, their noses almost touching.

"What did Zeke want?" Olivia sighed, her eyes still closed.

Not surprised, Fitz didn't even pause before he told her.

After he finished, Olivia sat up, glared at him with a frown, then began to climb over him.

"Where are you going?" He tried to hold on to her, but Olivia was already off the bed.

"I need to think. Alone."

Fitz watched her walk out, closing the door softly behind her.

On the landing Olivia met Abby.

Olivia glared at Abby, "Were you listening at the door?"

"Yes, but I couldn't hear what Fitz was saying. I caught him talking to Zeke but the conversation was one-sided, I didn't get a lot of details."

"Zeke wants to endorse Sally Langston, by getting her to put me on the ticket as Veep."

"That's sure to ruin someone's Plan B."

"What are you talking about?"

"Liv, you don't fool me with the bub brain act; you know they picked the Family-Values guy in the hope he'd take over as President when Sally was bumped off."

"That's not the plan."

"It'll be someone's plan. I'll bet they've even got a fall guy, primed with a smoking gun - a veteran who hates taking orders from women or a gay rights activist who wants to stop Sally's evil plan to create Gay Gulags. It'll be someone that fits into an anti-Sally stereotype – a dead man walking, on whom they can pin the crime of taking out America's first woman President."

Making her way downstairs, Olivia stressed, "That is not part of the plan."

Abby smiled. "On the bright side, I like the idea of Zeke trying to kibosh their plans, so we can take care of Sally and make you President."

"We," Olivia stopped suddenly, "Are not going to take care of Sally. Not that way."

Quinn looked over the bannisters. "Are you having a fight?"

"Yes," Olivia snapped.

"No," Abby insisted.

"Oh, this should be good," Quinn hurried down to join them. "What's going on?"

"Zeke wants to endorse Sally Langston."

"No!"

"There's more. He wants Sally to put Liv on the ticket for VPotus."

"No!"

"Yes, then we get rid of Sally."

"Impeachment?" Quinn looked at Olivia who hadn't said a word. "What do we have on her?"

"Impeachment is a waste of time and money. Assassination would be quicker and more effective."

"Abby!" Quinn looked shocked, as Olivia made off downstairs.

"What's everyone getting so upset about?"

"Abby!" Quinn hissed loudly. "You're talking about killing a Presidential candidate!"

"I'm not talking about killing a candidate; I'm talking about killing a President."

Olivia glared at Abby over her shoulder. "Can we not talk about killing people. There are kids in this house."

"We can talk outside," Abby suggested.

"Assassination is not on the table." Olivia hissed.

"Why not? We've killed Presidents before – JFK, Abraham Lincoln."

Quinn turned from Abby to look at Olivia. "Abby's right. The list includes James Garfield and William McKinley. "

"That's not counting the nearly 20 attempts to dispatch 12 other Presidents. Thirteen, if you include Mellie's attempt on Fitz."

"Okay stop," Olivia held up her hand. "This is not how democracy works."

"Get real, it's how American democracy works. If you don't like the guy, shoot him!"

"Besides, if we're honest," Quinn said diffidently, "We don't have a democracy. It's an oligarchy."

Olivia let out a deep, noisy sigh. "This is not a conversation I want to be having right now. I need to think." She stomped downstairs, then turned to the women following her. "Alone!"

Olivia was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her arms folded across her chest, undecided whether to raid the pantry, fridge or make herself a pot of tea when she felt herself being watched.

Rowan was standing in the doorway. "I heard a noise."

"You heard a noise?" Olivia raised a brow.

"I saw your associates sneak into the house."

"You saw? Were you spying?"

"I was reading in the Den."

"This late? Is this the new normal?"

"You tell me."

"I needed to think. Alone."

"Olivia, you can't fix this election by yourself," Rowan made straight for the electric kettle.

"I'm not trying to fix the election."

"That's the problem."

"Dad, I don't want to be President."

"That's obvious."

"I'd make a terrible President."

Rowan paused in the act of filling the kettle at the sink. "A terrible President?" Rowan turned his attention back to the sink. "Let me tell you about a terrible President. On May 4, 1970, twenty-nine Ohio guardsmen shot 67 rounds of ammunition into a crowd of unarmed students. They were shot because they were protesting. Do you know what they were protesting?"

"The war."

"Yes, they were shot for protesting Nixon's bombing campaign in Cambodia. Four students died that day at Kent State University. Four white students shot dead by national guardsmen, on the orders of a white governor, for protesting white Richard Nixon's war in a brown country we couldn't even find on a map. And we don't even know that America was involved in the Cambodian genocide that killed nearly three million people."

Rowan turned off the tap. "People think Watergate is Nixon's worst crime, but in his mind, Bums and Blacks – were Richard Milhous Nixon's 'greatest enemies'. Not communists, but anti-war protesting bums and people born black."

Olivia pulled out a chair and sat down.

Rowan walked back to the bench to plug in the kettle. "The two major policies of nearly every President in the past forty years, is war and drugs. They use drugs to terrorize and imprison blacks at home, they use war to terrorize and murder brown people in countries we don't know exist. Ronnie Reagan smuggled cocaine into Los Angeles to start a crack epidemic, then he sent SWAT teams with bazookas to arrest addicts to make good on his own War on Drugs. And you know, the CIA smuggled those drugs into the country on the same planes they smuggled weapons to the Contras in South America."

"I know, Dad."

"I know you know, Olivia. Which is why I don't understand why you think you'd make a terrible President. Could you be any worse than our 'first black President' Bill Clinton, who introduced the 1994 Crime Bill with minimum mandatory sentences and the three strikes rule targeting black people trapped in poverty. I know you know that two weeks after signing the Crime Bill, he signed Riegle-Neal interstate banking bill,, freeing bankers from the oppressive Glass-Steagall Act."

"Dad…"

"Olivia, if you really want to talk about a terrible President, let's talk about semi-literate George W. Bush who made torture okay, ignored the victims of Hurricane Katrina while he vacationed in Texas and told us 9/11 was a knee-jerk reaction to foreigners hating our freedom, instead of our foreign policies?"

"Dad, I work better behind the scenes. And I don't have any experience holding public office."

Rowan gave her a look that was a mix between disappointment and frustration. Then he sighed, finished making coffee for himself, and tea for Olivia before approaching the table. "Olivia, have you seen the movie, Trick Baby?"

Olivia shook her head as she reached for her mug of tea.

"But you have heard of the Trojan Horse?"

At Olivia's nod, Rowan smiled bleakly. "It's the same principle."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you ever wonder why they murdered Dr Martin Luther King, el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz, Medgar Evers, Fred Hampton? Why them and men like them?"

"Is this going to be a lecture? I didn't come down here for a lecture, Dad."

"They killed the men who dared to lead us out of mental slavery, Olivia. They murdered black leaders for having a vision of equality, prosperity and peace. They killed the men whose dreams refuse to die; the dreams of our right to vote, for our right to education, for equal opportunity, and our right to a seat at the lunch counter."

"I know that."

"You also know that Edison is not the dream. He will integrate and assimilate into systems of oppression. Edison is only interested in gaming the system, in the pursuit of power."

Olivia placed the mug on the table. "I can't fix that."

"I'm not talking about fixing Edison. I'm talking about fixing the system."

"That's impossible."

"A great man once said, 'It always seems impossible, until it's done.'"

"Nelson Mandela," Olivia gave a faint smile, then sighed. "I can't fix the system."

Rowan leaned forward. "You can try. As a Trojan Horse."

"What are you talking about, Dad?"

"Be the person who walks the corridors of power while remaining true to herself." Rowan paused as Olivia dropped her gaze to her hands, wrapped around the mug.

He stared at her for several long moments, then continued softly, "Do you know that Trick Baby is based on a book by Iceberg Slim, a real-life pimp?"

"A pimp, Dad?" Olivia started to smile.

"A pimp who exploited hundreds of women, black and white. He changed his name to Robert Beck after his release from prison and became a best-selling author. I read his books, purely for educational purposes, you understand."

Olivia's smile widened.

Ignoring that, Rowan continued, "The main character in 'Trick Baby' is a conman called White Folks, a black man with blond hair and blue eyes, who takes criminal advantage of white people who think he's one of them."

"Edison is not white, Dad."

"There's a scene in the movie, when Trick Baby is invited to a formal dinner with conservative and liberal elites. A white Liberal talks of helping intelligent blacks out of the ghetto and assimilating them in white society, to become in his words 'one of us, except for the colour of his skin'. They talked of wanting to neutralize future leaders so they become harmless to the establishment. They talked about putting a black face on white supremacy."

Olivia stared at her father.

Rowan held her gaze. "Edison would be that man, he would excel at being that man."

"We can't be sure of that."

"What we can be sure of, Olivia, is that Edison would make a great President, in the tradition of America's other great Presidents; while you, Olivia, would make a terrible President."

"That's what I've been saying."

"What you need to understand, is that this country - the United States of America - needs a terrible President."

A.N: Sorry for the long absence, and thank you for your patience, to those who have waited... :)