Author´s note: First of all my apologies for being late. I know I used to update at a quicker rate but work has me back and I can´t. However, I hope you´ll still keep reading and enjoying. Thanks for all of you that read and some that reviewed since last time. :)

Cleo: Hehe, so much anger. :D Evil me for doing that, but it tells me you are enjoying it in some wicked way, hopefully. Thanks for the review. :)

LoreneMichelle41: I agree it´s a good thing she is trying to get her life back on track, we´ll see where it leads her, it´s not going to be ease. Well, we´ll have to deal with Jake in the hole at some point in time…

Jennkyle: Thanks. Sorry for letting you wait so long for another update, but here you go.

Sdia75: Well, we´re going to get there eventually and see how things turn out that way, I am still working on figuring that out myself. All I know so far is that it is going to be a blast to write.

Clio1792: Thanks. :) Well, it will definitely stir up some things for her, but first she has to find out…

Shawnied777: Aw thank you so much. It´s always awesome to see reviews like this because if you read several chapters in a row that´s a huge compliment. :)

Chapter 20 – Something´s not quite right

It was the little things. Hell be damned, always the little things, the subtle details he prided himself being good at reading that told him beyond the shadow of a doubt that trouble was afoot. That things weren´t going as he liked them to go (which was things being under safe and secure control). Looking at his boss sitting behind the Resolute Desk, Cyrus Beene knew it was one of those days, hoping it wouldn´t be another that would end in him having to pick up the pieces.

Fitz was wearing the flag pin he´d not worn for a while and Cy knew where it came from. On top of that his boss was wearing a smug, bossy self confidence along with it that Cyrus didn´t like. It meant no good, because that too meant a loss of control for the chief of staff. Well, he clearly wasn't the president of the two but goddammit, he had been the one holding things together so this man child and his overdramatic wife didn´t tear apart what he had helped building so whenever Fitzgerald Grant III wore that kind of smug confidence there were two things that clicked in Cy´s mind: 1) he had to be careful for the possible opposite, the sudden backlash and falling back into a bad mood which, because the guy was the freaking president meant it did endanger not only his mood but the wellbeing of the country and 2) that Olivia Pope was in the saddle again, having her charming, bossy, snarky influence on the man he, Cyrus Beene, had made president. He liked neither.

As the Chief of Staff was standing near the door at the main exit of the Oval Office, the one leading into the outer Oval Office where the man´s personal secretary was seated, there were three people closer to the president´s desk. One of them was the Secretary of State, wearing his usual not too fashionable dark grey suit that, as Cy thought in childish disdain at everyone and the world, the man was wearing most days. The other two was a woman in her late fourties, one of Fitz´ personal aides, the third was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"The call is scheduled for 1300 sharp, Sir. The line will be established, our translator is due to arrive at any moment and they will have theirs at the ready as well."

"Good." The president checked his watch which, as Cy knew since he had been watching both the president and the grandfather clock with a mix of tension and annoyance for the last minutes showed 10 minutes before that time. He flexed his shoulders, not even gracing Cy with as much as a glance.

"The Chief of Staff of the Air force as well as the Chief of Naval Operations are waiting in the Outer Oval, Mr President."

Mr President, Cy mocked in his head. The last time these two men had been in the same room, the older one had degraded the younger one with an address bereft of title. Sir. The spiteful part of himself almost liked that better now.

"Let´s get them in and get this started then." he pressed his intercom. "Marianne, send them in." And once more the office got a little more crowded, more than half a dozen now because the translator, a red headed woman around 40 years old had arrived with them and the small group settled on the sofas while the president remained behind the desk. He had been in this room the longest, Cy thought, seething inside, and the president had not even looked at him once, trying to ignore his presence as good as he could. But he wouldn´t have it.

"Has there been any comment from the Iraqis because the original call was cancelled?" A question coming from hurt pride, maybe a little inappropriate, but he could mask it as relevant of course. He had hoped to elict a reaction from Fitz but it was short and calm. "Postponed, Cy." he said, disarming his chief of Staff´s indirect public scolding of childish antics only two days earlier. "The Iraqis understand a changing of plans if it means gathering more support yet especially seeing that the additional time helped us verify the footage we saw two days ago. Nobody here wants to make any rash decisions on an issue as delicate and explosive such as this. Now I see we are ready, thank you for joining us, Mrs Ryan." The president´s tone stayed the same calm neutral tone, quickly talking through what was not an apology but sounded more like pointing out the obvious to a child before directly shifting his attention to the translator who had stepped forward with a broad smile, shaking his hand. "My pleasure, Mr President."

Fitz straightened up behind his desk, the image of professionalism that he had lacked for the last couple of weeks yet that coming out right now made Cy angry almost. Maybe because he knew that this attitude was built on his own humiliation. Maybe because he, Cyrus Beene, had had no part in creating it?

"All right then, lady and gentleman," Fitz said. "the connection will be made in two minutes, so I would like to ask Mr Jayden," he indicated towards the young aide of the Secretary of State, "and you, Cy, to please leave the room."

Cy could feel his blood run cold, his mouth drop open. He was kicking him out? Cutting him out of his inner circle of confidants in this incredibly blatant manner? He could barely speak. "Mr. President…"

"Cy," the man´s voice was matter of fact yet slightly bemused. "this is a delicate matter that will stay in a very small circle for now. Don´t worry, I won´t start a war right away. I need Congressional approval for that anyway." In other words: none of your business Cy, you do not run this place his eyes said in that brief moment, the only moment since he had stepped in here, that he actually made eye contact. Someone, out of amusement at the Chief of Staff´s stuation or in dutiful reaction to the president´s joke, chuckled drily, making the situation even worse and more awkward. Fitz didn´t let it settle, his eyes going from the aide to Cy. "Gentlemen, if you would, please…"

"Of course, Mr President," the young aide said, turning, leaving, leaving Cyrus Beene to the incredibly humiliating moment of all eyes remaining in the room resting on him for a moment, waiting whether he would decide to be crazy enough to openly contradict the Commander in Chief. It wasn´t unheard of for chiefs of staff to be excluded from this kind of phonecall. But Fitz had never done this before. Doing it now, without the decency of telling him to not bother coming in at all, was a public shaming and Cy decided, gritting his teeth and biting his tongue that it was not worth the political suicide. "Sir." he just said curtly before turning on his heel and leaving with whatever dignity the president of the United States had left for him to pick up.

OOOOOOOOOO

She had been to this place so many times before, but never before had it ever appeared so creepy and alien to her. The mahogany table in the conference room, the stained glass windows that had served as pinboards for information regarding their cases, the smaller office rooms where they had spent many nights trying to fix things that others would have regarded beyond fixing; it all was familiar and yet it wasn´t. Because without the footfall created by high heels, without the sound of fingers tapping away on keyboards or the noise of Abby arguing against a decision she had made this place seemed merely like an empty stage – a place that, bereft of its players, became mere coulisse once more. The sign still read Olivia Pope Associates, but the heart of it seemed gone, the halls and rooms empty.

Olivia hadn´t called out when she had stepped out of the elevator. She had never done that to announce her presence anyways but for a moment she had felt tempted to. Just to see whether anyone was even there. A few moments later and a little tour through the rooms had told her that she was alone. Her steps echoing in the hallways, the coffee machine clean and unused, the window panels empty. It was disheartening.

But there was no time to wail in self pity, she had had enough of that, had spent the last weeks running from things she had believed it was best to run from but now, faced with the remains of what she had left, she was entirely unsure whether that had been a good idea. Coming back, she knew, would not be easy, but she had never really been someone to shy away from her responsibilities and that had not ended when she had left DC. Doing that had been the only right thing and even now there were two sides warring inside her, tossing things this way and that, pondering whether staying in Vienna wouldn't have been the better choice, but through it all, through all the doubts, through all the feelings of strangeness that filled these halls and to all the things she knew she would have to face, there was something that kept her anchored: Sweet baby…

She shook her head, not to shake off that thought, the soft rumble of his voice that went with it, the feeling of his arms holding her safe and close, but because there were other things to fix than just herself. Each of the people working for her were like family, better than family in many ways because they were handpicked, loyal to the bone because they had each gone through situations that had put them in need of a fixer and after getting out each one of these good souls, they had vowed their allegiance to her. They were her gladiators and whereas the rooms might be deserted right now, Olivia Pope knew they would always be that. Leaving them alone and walking away must have seemed like betrayal to them becazse walking out on them did not mean that it was right to do that. It did not absolve her from the responsibility of looking out for them whoever twisted this might be because if she was the scandal how was she to fix it if not by walking away from all of this? But maybe her gut had fooled her again, because it ended when things turned the way they had now. Becauce if one went missing she could not just put that off as a personal decision of that gladiator. Because she knew their every possible motive to go missing and if they went missing she would know why and if she didn´t know it meant they needed fixing. It meant they needed her.

The first thing she did, and there was just a very faint feeling of doing something some people might disapprove of without feeling she was doing something that was wrong, she went through Harrison´s office. Not without a pair of gloves of course, something she had done several times before, making sure to leave no fingerprints. If anything had happened to him, there might be clues. She started the computer and found it password protected, switched it off again. If there were any clues to that, she could be sure Huck had already found them, cracked the password at ease. There was nothing on this comuter because if it had been, she would have been told. Grudges were one thing, but Abby and her had started off on good terms the other night and if there had been any trails on Harrison, she would have told her.

She looked through the other things in his office carefully, moved things to place them back exactly where she had found them, went through binders of recent cases to see if anything was missing that she could tell, if anything seemed odd of out of place. Nothing.

A while back Huck had shown her a few things. One, and that was very useful after what she had found out about Jack was how to tell whether your phone was bugged. It turned out Harrison´s phone was not bugged but she found a small inscription under it. A number code. She first thought it went with the save that was on the wall in this very office but that would have been far too simple. Plus it had letters along with the numbers. USL-228. Next to it, two short words. "lowest drawer." It had taken her a moment to figure it out. She had found the key, not in Harrison´s lowest drawer but in hers. The rest once more was taking chanced. When she had made her way to Union Station she had not been sure. USL – Union Station Locker number 228. A guess, but a lucky one as it turned out.

The station was crowded at this time of the day but she made her way through easily enough. The key matched, it clicked and the locker opened. First she thought it was empty. But it wasn´t. there was a single piece of paper in it, folded twice. She opened it and read it with a bad feeling in her gut. It was a message, written in Harrison´s fine, neat handwriting. The message in itself was short:

Liv

We have to talk. It´s about M. I am going to see your father, him or me will fill you in. If you don´t hear from me, something went wrong.

Harrison