Bang! Bang! {Part XII}
Six months prior to re-election
Leo Bergen dressed in his standard black suit and tie exits the executive town car and enters the California Governor's mansion. Every Republican middle weight politician foolish enough to challenge the sitting President of the United States wanted the best political operative in the business. Since Olivia Pope was spoken for he was the next best thing. He knew the data placed the chance of winning against Grant outside the realm of possible but he could get rich while the delusional tried. The only candidate with a needle eye realistic path was Sally Langston and she was a long shot. I will enjoy the courtship and spoils of war.
"Mr. Bergen, please follow me to the study," the staff member greets and gestures toward the hallway.
Leo enters the room and does little to hide his shock. Governor Andrew Nichols sits next to the former First Lady of the United States. Both wear the GOP uniform…blue suit for him and red dress with pearls for her. Nichols rises and extends his hand, "Leo, thank you for making the time."
Leo ignores the handshake his eyes move quickly back and forth assessing them together and individually before he speaks. Instead of words he burst into laughter. "I am being punked…who put you up to this?"
"Uh…I am not sure what you mean. Why don't you have a seat and we can talk," Andrew directs.
"I do not need to sit…whatever you have concocted will never work," he shakes his head.
Mellie pushes forward to sit on the edge of the couch, "Here us out…I am not the character the media or the White House has tried to create. Under your skilled political hand we can mount a winning campaign," she implores.
He laughs harder, "Let me guess…you think a three-way race can create a narrow path to victory. Langston's fundamental orthodoxy forces her to mount a primary challenge taking the majority of the Christian right. Grant's moderate to progressive legislative record will leave the hardcore conservatives without a home. And you two believe the Southern strategy will work in your favor."
"I spent this past year championing their ideology in 'true blue' California. The hard right is paying attention," Andrew challenges.
Mellie piles on, "I stayed in the shadows but there is a sizable constituency that wants to avenge the way I have been treated…they want their country back and a traditional First Family."
Leo finally sits. "Get me a drink," he commands. After a few sips he picks up where he left off. "You can waste your money and someone will be willing to take it but you are going to lose and make a fool of yourself while you go down in flames. Do you want to know why?" They both stare in offense. "You are Grant negative 2.0…not as good looking…not as charming…basically a knock off…kind of the Canal Street version of the real thing. You are the sequel and rarely is the re-boot better than the original. Millicent you continue to be cold, calculating, and frigid. No one believes you are getting screwed but more importantly that you want to get screwed. The voters do believe you are ambitious and crave power. Power you have not earned and do not deserve."
Andrew leaps to his feet, "Watch how you speak to her," he huffs. Mellie pushes back against the couch in defeat.
"What? The American people receive an onslaught of the authentic, new and improved First Family regularly. The kids play on the South Lawn…after school activities, parent-teacher conferences, and movie nights all relatable attributes delivered effortless. Even if you could counter that narrative there is no amount of spin to combat Olitz. You can feel the chemistry through the television…once in a lifetime love…they make love…screw…fuck-consistently, constantly and the shit is good. More importantly they are a real team, champions of the people…fighting for the Republic."
"We could provide the same optics," Mellie offers weakly.
"You could…but no one wants to see it. In fact, you would probably make people physically ill…kind of like food poisoning. I am a hard no…I do not want your specific loser stench on me in any way. I do appreciate the free trip to sunny California. I will enjoy the sights before I head back to gritty D.C." he throws back to the rest of drink and leaves the pair to wallow in despair.
They sit in silence. Mellie refuses to give up. "He was never a good choice," she offers, "We need someone desperate and ruthless for center stage. I know who to call," she stands and exits the room in search of her phone.
The President and his Chief of Staff remain in the Situation Room absorbing the stark intelligence. American soldiers captured in a distant land subjected to torture marked for death by beheading are counting on their country for salvation. "We are blind…neither the FBI nor the CIA have any useful intelligence," he states the obvious.
The adrenaline accelerating her heart rate has never been higher. OPA played high stakes poker before. Hell, she rescued a baby with half the ransom requested but this is different. Olivia Pope serviced people with means: power, access and money. These soldiers have nothing but the flag on their uniform. They placed themselves in harm's way to uphold an ideal…a set of values based on faith alone; belief in the country to have their back. "We are doing this. Each of those soldiers is coming home to their families and a grateful nation," she stands abruptly.
He watches the conviction to save the young men and women in harm's way strengthen her spine. "We are calling in the Gladiators?" he offers as a statement more than a question.
"OPA can enhance the intelligence…Huck probably has a back channel…but if push comes to shove; and the lives of those soldiers will necessitate a trade," she fixes her eyes to the wall above his head.
Fitz's breath catches, "Olivia, no. We will find a way. We have military options…limited but they could work given the circumstances."
"I call BS…if military action was an option you would have authorized the operation already. I love you and I love you trying to protect me but in the end justice for our armed forces is a greater need than my fiancé keeping my mother alive to protect the hurt little girl trapped inside this grown woman's body," she swallows the poison pill.
He stands and takes a quiet step before gathering her in his arms. She is putting on a brave face. "For right now…for one minute…just be my Livvie and tell me what you need," he squeezes her tighter.
"I am fine…I'm fine," she repeats before falling apart. She weeps with her face pressed against his broad unwavering chest and her arms and hands gripping his broad shoulders.
"I know and I am going to love you all the way through the worst of the interrogation and the possible surrender of Marie Wallace to one of our greatest adversaries if that is the ultimate outcome," he reassures.
She nods and sniffles, "I have always wondered how she could live that duality with a child she carried in her womb, birthed and somewhat nurtured for twelve years; but now," she trails off. He waits for her to finish. Liv looks up, "The thought…that my actions could cause those two knuckleheads upstairs to doubt their existence or cause them pain; I cannot even fathom forgiving myself for orchestrating Baby Teddy's conception," she offers as a jumbled explanation.
He uses the back of his hand to brush the tears from her face, "Baby Teddy's life is greater despite its origins and the knuckleheads have never had it better because Olivia Pope claimed them as her own and God help anyone who comes for what is hers."
Liv smiles weakly, "You would know Fitz Vader," she quips.
"What did you just call me?" he asks incredulously.
"Fitz Vader is what we call your inner Hulk. He appears when interns or young Marines on duty in the West Wing check out your daughter. Fitz Vader banished Edison Davis to the great beyond of Congressional Hill. The man can barely get a call returned," she teases.
He scoffs, "Exaggeration and lies against my character…have you no shame," he pushes back.
She laughs softly, "When it comes to you…none at all."
He kisses the tip of her nose and she blushes, "Let's gather the Gladiators and save our soldiers," he directs.
"Yes Sir, Commander-in-Chief," she replies with a kernel of hope.
"Are you insane?" James screams entering the dark study. The only light is the desk lamp casting a glow against the dark wood and scattered papers.
"No more than usual. What is vexing you this evening my darling husband," Cyrus rolls his eyes.
"I know who was on the phone and while I still cannot believe I married a Republican…or that you stole an election…what you are contemplating at this moment is beyond the standard definition of stupid."
"I have absolutely no idea what you are yammering about at this point. Please make your point so I can return to my work," he dismisses leaning back in his chair.
"Fine…here is my point-prison. Olivia Pope and the Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III promised you prison if you stepped out of line. In what universe do you believe you can serve as the shadow campaign manager for a rogue primary challenge to a sitting president by a back bench politician like Governor Nichols of California? And to make matters worse he is shackled to a tired, re-tread, ice bitch named Mellie Vaughn. She doesn't even poll anymore," he rants derisively.
"You lack vision…I am a king maker and you are a glorified stenographer. I took an obscure moderate-progressive Republican from California and made him POTUS against all the odds and I have the money to prove it," he snaps.
"No, you stole an election and the Oval Office only to lose it to said candidate. How many times do you need to have your ass kicked? I doubt the campaign will survive Iowa. The visual of the incredible First Family is a no win for you. They are the living embodiment of a more perfect Union…E pluribus Unum. The first inter-racial couple in the White House raising the children she all but abandoned. You might as well call your ticket: the X-Factor," James shakes his head.
"Fitz has never engaged in a dirty, back alley brawl in his life and Olivia needs that damn white hat too much. They are unwilling to go to the depths of hell and make a deal with the devil. I am," he states with confidence and pride.
"You are a total jack ass…you fail to recognize the truth. They do not have to," he shakes his head exiting the room. We are so getting a divorce.
