Chapter 4


THEN

May, 2011
White House Executive Residence, Washington D.C.


"Cyrus. You're in my bedroom."

On a dime, Cyrus flipped from affronted to chastised. "…My apologies, sir, but we have a situation—"

Fitz waved him off. The scrap of filial piety he still held for Cyrus, despite it all, was all that was keeping Fitz from hauling his Chief of Staff out of his house by the neck; but that was sure to change the longer Cyrus remained gawking at the foot of his bed, oblivious to the danger he was in.

"Have we been bombed?"

"No, sir."

"Are Karen or Jerry hurt?"

"No, sir."

"Has their been an attempt on the Vice President's life?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Then, it seems I could very well have been briefed on this—apparently—dire situation via the proper channels, as opposed to you taking it upon yourself to breech White House security protocol and all respect to common decency to storm into the private quarters of President of the United States, sans prior authorization or invitation, as if this were the house you built. Wouldn't you agree, Cy?"

Inclining his head, Cyrus muttered, "Sir." Sufficiently chastised, he hastily added, "She's back early. She's back early, and she just found out you've moved her to the end of the hall and she's on a tear, threatening to go to the press and-"

"Get out," Fitz snapped. "Clear the hall and wait for me there. Don't say anything to anyone until I come find you. Don't even blink. Look at the floor, if you have to. What happens in the Residence, especially in my bedroom, is no one's concern but mine. Let this be the last time we have to have this conversation, Cyrus."

"Understood."

Olivia—who had been silent throughout that entire exchange—waited for the door to slam behind Cyrus before throwing back the covers and scrambling out of bed. She tore through the room like a tornado, collecting the pieces of her outfit left strewn about the floor the previous evening. Fitz watched her, unmoving, listening for any sounds coming from the hall outside. His brain was steadily catching up to the warning Cyrus had been trying to impart upon him before being thrown out.

"Shoot!"

On the edge of the bed, Olivia sat half-clothed. The wrap dress from the night before hung off her shoulders, open in the front. In her hand was the button that had likely been popped off in their excitement last night.

Reaching over to his nightstand, Fitz opened the top drawer and grabbed his travel sewing kit.

"Here, let me," he said, coming to kneel before Olivia.

She let him take the button but steadily turned away while he set about reattaching it. Her body clenched. Her breath quickened, in and out in rapid staccato every instance of the needle poking through the fabric.

"Hold still," Fitz teased. "You don't want me to stick you."

"Where did you learn to sew?"

"The navy."

"Hmm."

"I'm a man of many talents, Ms. Pope."

Finished, he locked eyes with her as he pulled the two overlapping pieces of her dress together, popping the repaired button through the hole. He smoothed his hands down the front, from her breasts to her perfect little belly.

"Good as new."

Suddenly bashful, Olivia grinned. "Thank you, Mr. President."

"Oh, I do love that."

He leaned up for a kiss. Olivia dodged him. "I have to go. There's-"

"I know. I understand. Livvie, I'm so sorry about this. Cyrus has never just burst in like that. I don't know what got into him. And if I find out he knew Mellie was coming back early and didn't-"

"He didn't know about us?" Olivia interrupted. She had a strange look in her eye, like a revelation.

Fitz was confused. "Of course not."

"You tell him everything."

"Not this," Fitz said vehemently. "It-you-are too important. I couldn't, can't, trust him."

Olivia frowned deeper. Solemnly, she nodded.

"I don't want you in his crosshairs at all," Fitz said emphatically. "Mellie's either."

Taking both her hands in his, he said. "Livvie, look at me. I heard you last night. We're not married, you're not First Lady, yet, but we're in this together. I know you can handle Cyrus, Mellie, and whoever else all on your own, but you don't have to. You shouldn't have to. You deserve to have the full might of the White House behind you, protecting you, and that includes enemies within and without. There's so little I can do for you right now, Livvie, and that'll soon change. But in the meantime, let me do this much."

Olivia was speechless. Glassy-eyed, she held his gaze steadily the entire time he was speaking. Her lips parted and closed wordlessly. Finally, she broke, crumpling down to him practically in slow-motion until their foreheads met.

Nose-to-nose, she whispered, "Okay."

"I love you," Fitz vowed.

Olivia brought their hands to her mouth and kissed the knuckles of their threaded fingers. Her lips lingered on the last, trembling.


Olivia decided she owed it to her team to lay all the cards on the table. She couldn't take them over this cliff with them completely in the dark.

On Monday, a young lawyer named Quinn Perkins would be starting at K-Street Associates. Fresh out of Dartmouth, having passed the bar in February, she had come to D.C. for a junior associate position at a firm that specialized in civil liberties. When the offer fell through, and Quinn heard through the grapevine that Olivia Pope's new firm was looking for a junior associate to help with case volume, she figured she'd shoot her shot.

That was Quinn Perkins' story and she was sticking to it. Only Olivia, Huck, and the former Lyndsey Dwyer knew the truth.

She and Huck had agreed, when they brought Quinn to D.C., that it was best for the others the less they knew. But that was then. The secrets Olivia was keeping from them, secrets that will impact them sooner than later, were piling up too high.

K-Street was coming up on their two-month anniversary. When they were workshopping a name, Olivia had wanted to call the firm Pope, Finch & Associates, but Stephen and everyone else argued it would be better branding to have Olivia's name on the door alone. Of them all, she had the least baggage associated with her name. As opposed to Harrison, who had three months left to go on probation; Stephen, whose reputation was still recovering from the very public nervous breakdown he had had in the middle of court; and Abby, who had never sat for the bar. In addition to the name recognition that came with having served as White House Press Secretary, Olivia Pope's record was blemish-free. If only they knew.

Giving into her friends' false esteem and allowing the firm to bear her name would have been tantamount to lying to their faces. Olivia couldn't abide that. Not when they'd thrown their lots in with her, given her their implicit trust and followed her off this cliff without looking back. Having learned through her recent experience with Fitz the devastation and pain one brings on oneself when repaying blind faith with deception, Olivia would have been a fool to repeat her worst mistake. And Olivia Pope was nobody's fool.

Fitz was serious about wanting to divorce Mellie so that they could get married. Regardless of whether that dream came true, the more pressing matter at hand for Olivia was the one most in her control: protecting her people from the fallout.

She and Quinn were very much alike when it came down to it. Olivia Pope: campaign adviser, former White House Press Secretary and current D.C. fixer was as carefully engineered persona as Quinn Perkins' fabricated life. Having no way of knowing when her house of cards would collapse, Olivia needed the team to know enough about Quinn to protect her as well as themselves when the time came.

Now that Cyrus knew about her and Fitz, and that Olivia had been lying to his face when he came to her last week, he was definitely on the warpath. Cyrus Beene's crosshairs was a dangerous place for anyone to be, friend and mentee or otherwise. And in her selfishness, Olivia had put her team up as collateral damage. Unforgivable.

Halting her pacing momentarily, she eyed the phone in her hand for probably the dozenth time in the past hour. Instantly coming to the same conclusion she had the last time, she put it down and resumed the elliptical-shaped hole she was wearing into the rug in front of her desk.

She and Fitz were in this together. He loved her. He wanted to be with her, wanted her to be his First Lady, wanted to have a life together after he left office, wanted to trust her again; maybe even was starting to. Olivia believed him. She also believed him when he told her not to worry about Cyrus, that he was handling him.

Could she tell him about Quinn?

He knew about the rest of her team; how she'd met them, how she'd helped them-vaguely, in Huck's case. But telling him about Quinn meant revealing what happened with Cytron, what Hollis had done, the laws and ethics violations Olivia had violated while still with the administration in order to fix it. How long did Fitz's forgiveness extend? Where was the endpoint?

Defiance changed everything for them, separately and together. Could Fitz still forgive her treason if he knew lives were lost because of it? Olivia could barely look at herself in the mirror knowing what it had cost. She could hardly blame Fitz if he, too, couldn't stand the sight of her.

But this was bigger than her. Being on the outside meant Cyrus' next moves would be harder to predict, but Olivia knew him well enough to know that Fitz breathing down his neck wouldn't be enough of a deterrent. Just as she knew him well enough to know that she, alone, couldn't shield her team from the line of fire. Cyrus would take aim from all sides. She needed a bigger gun. She needed Fitz.

Picking up her phone again, Olivia steeled herself as she unlocked the screen and prepared to make the call. She was stopped, once again, when the door to the outer office swung open, accompanied by the sound of swift, heavy footsteps storming down the short hallway leading to her office.

The interruption placed Olivia's senses on high alert. It was late. The others had all left for the evening. It was Wednesday, which meant Huck, who normally stays until Olivia locked up for the night, was at an AA meeting. He tasked Harrison with waiting with her, but Harrison had a date and Olivia promised to cover for him to Huck.

She recognized her visitor's walk right away, before they barged right through the half-closed door to her personal office. Still, his presence made Olivia wish she had guilted Harrison into staying. It would have made getting rid of Cyrus much less tedious.

"I come in peace," he greeted with a forced chuckle, his hands raised in mock-surrender.

Glaring at him, Olivia folded her arms across her chest, tucking her phone away, and waited.

"Ouch,' Cyrus smirked. "Shouldn't I be the one all sour and serious? I mean, you did lie to my face last week, when I came to you, desperate, down on my luck, on my knees, palms outstretched…"

He was trying to irritate her into breaking and demanding to know why he was there, thus giving him the floor to launch into his carefully rehearsed tirade. He'd trained her too well.

Seeing that she wasn't going to take the bait, Cyrus changed lanes.

"He's grounded us, you know-you probably do, now that I think about it." Olivia kept her face neutral. In fact, she did, but the less Cyrus knew about what Fitz did and didn't share with her, and she with him, the better Fitz was able to rein his Chief of Staff in.

Cyrus continued. "I'm not allowed anywhere near the Residence or the First Lady's office. Mellie is only allowed in the West Wing by appointment only. Security personnel have been informed that the president is to be notified any time FLOTUS and the Chief of Staff are seen in each other's company. It's all very salacious, not to mention mortifying. All my staff stop talking whenever I walk into a room…"

Olivia didn't respond. Cyrus' face darkened.

"There's still the same problem as before," he said lowly. "I'm out of the loop. He's pissed, and I know it has to be about more than just me walking in on his dirty little secret. There's more, and if you have any loyalty at all to this administration you'll tell me so that I can keep this ship afloat with something other than bottle corks and whale blubber!"

He scowled at Olivia's persistent silence and took a step closer. Then, another, until they were toe to toe.

"Tell me what you know," he said, the soft, almost pleading tone belying the implicit threat.

"How much worse do you think it'll be for you when he finds out you were here tonight?"

Cyrus stepped back. The momentary shock his conniving mask had slipped into just as quickly twisted into something close to glee.

"So that's how it is, then. You're really going to make me go to war with you over the president we made together. Have to say, I really hate to see it end this way, Liv."

"I love him, Cyrus."

He sneered. "You sure do, you poor girl. And he loves you. Saving you two from ruining each other will be no picnic."

They stared each other down. Cyrus, at last, wearing his true skin; impassive and coldly magnanimous, giving her one last out, one last chance to turn her ship around and remember whose team she was supposed to be on. Olivia, resolute and weighted, her decision long since made, before her mentor had even realized what was at stake.

The lines in the sand were drawn. With a sharp incline of his head, Cyrus broke their standoff.

"So I'll see you at the wedding rehearsal," he said, intentionally casual.

Two weekends from now he and James would be getting married at a Bed and Breakfast just outside Montpelier. The president and First Lady were slated to attend as guests as both long-time friends of Cyrus and as a political statement to reinforce the administration's support for gay marriage. Olivia would be there too. Months ago, Cyrus had asked her to be his 'Best Woman.' Since Saturday, she hadn't received any indication of a last-minute change to the wedding party or guest list. If anything, she chalked that up to being for James' benefit.

"Wouldn't miss it."

With a final nod, Cyrus turned on his heel and exited K-Street Associates as swiftly as he'd come.

Olivia called Fitz as soon as Cyrus was out the door.

"Hi."

"Hi. What's wrong? What did Cyrus say?"

Olivia couldn't help her surprise. She wondered whether Cyrus was aware of the extent to which Fitz had him under surveillance.

"The same as last time," she answered. "To prod me for hints as to why you have him in time out. He told me about the restrictions you placed on him and Mellie, but does he know you're having him followed?"

"He might, because he's Cyrus, but I haven't disclosed that for obvious reasons. Mellie has yet to bully her way past Lauren, and our paths haven't crossed in the Residence once since I moved her down the hall. Until now, I couldn't decide whether that was due to Cyrus running interference to make up for Saturday, her trying to prove a point, or the gruesome twosome still finding ways to plot behind my back. Signs are pointing to Door Number Three. I'll have to remedy that."

There was a lull in conversation as they both seemed to be debating what to bring up next. Olivia, debating with herself on whether now was still a good time to begin the conversation she had set out to before Cyrus' interruption. But Fitz broke with his hesitation first.

"Livvie, does Cyrus know that I know about Defiance?"

Olivia's breath hitched. It hadn't even occurred to her that that might be a concern of his…

"I didn't tell him. Or Mellie. Or Hollis. I don't know if any of them suspect you might. It wouldn't surprise me if Cyrus did."

"Because he's Cyrus."

"Because he's Cyrus," she echoed.

"Right."

They fell into another silence. Fitz, perhaps, waiting to see if she had anything to add. It was now or never. If Olivia didn't do it tonight, she didn't know when she'd muster up enough courage again.

"Fitz…" She trailed off. Chewing her lip, she choked down the lump in her throat and began again. "I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." She heard rustling from the other end and imagined him sitting up at full attention.

"Protect my people when we go public," she said. "I've told you a little about Abby and Huck and Stephen and Harrison. They've made mistakes but they're good people. They're all I have besides you. They're my family. Once the world finds out about me and you, K-Street is done. When I decided to start my own firm they signed on not because they had nothing going for them, but because they believed in me, believed that I wouldn't lead them astray or bring them down with my own scandals. So, please, when it's time, please protect them like you would me."

"Livvie…" he said, voice thick with emotion. "Of course I will. I'll protect your family the way you would. But why are you talking like you won't be here at all."

Olivia took a deep breath, then exhaled shakily. "There's something else," she said.

Silence on the other end while Fitz waited for her to continue.

"There's one more thing you don't know….about Defiance," she began, trembling. Still, Fitz said nothing. "Hollis, the people he used to-. They wanted more money than what he promised them. They were programmers for a tech company called Cytron based in California, and when they tried to blackmail Hollis into giving them more money, he had all seven of them killed in an explosion. This was months ago. Cyrus, Verna, Mellie, and I didn't find out until after Hollis did it."

She broke off, giving Fitz and herself time to digest what she'd revealed.

"There's more," she said. "He framed someone for the murders. The girlfriend of the programmer who was blackmailing him. Her name is-was-Lyndsey Dwyer. But before she could be arrested and charged, I had Huck kidnap her and bring her to D.C. and set her up with a new identity. She's living as Quinn Perkins.

"Lyndsey was a Stanford grad and had just passed the bar when her life was turned upside down. Quinn Perkins attended Dartmouth and got a job at Stern & Calder, in Logan Circle. But the firm just went through a round of lay-offs…"

Taking another deep breath, that didn't do enough to calm her, Olivia fired through the last part of her tale.

"I hired Quinn. I was going to do it anyway because she's brilliant, energetic, can think on her feet, and despite everything that's happened to her, she has so much drive to do good in the world-I've been watching her," she paused, realizing she was losing the plot in her boasting about Quinn. Tempering her excitement, she went on. "When you told me the other night when we had dinner, th-that you want to be with me, that you want to divorce Mellie so that we can get married, that you want me in the White House with you as your First Lady, Fitz that's-it's-it's everything."

She sniffled. "But...you have to know Mellie won't go quietly, that Cyrus won't let you go quietly. They'll fight you-us-every step of the way. You're the leader of the free world and I'm just your mistress, your black mistress. They don't need to hogtie me and throw me in a ravine, there are easier ways to ruin me, starting with the laws and ethics I've violated. Starting with the people closest to me-vulnerable people. People like Quinn. Right now, I can better protect her the closer she is to me. But when I can't anymore-"

"-If"

"What?" Olivia almost didn't hear the soft correction.

"If," Fitz repeated. "I get making plans should the worst come to worst, but don't doom yourself, Livvie. Should the day come where-for whatever reason-you can't protect your people anymore you won't have to worry. With you, without you, so long as it's within my power, they're safe."

"Thank you," Olivia breathed, the knot of anxiety that had been clogging up her throat only then beginning to unbind itself. "I'm so sorry…"

"For what?"

"This. Everything. It's all my fault."

"Not all," Fitz said firmly. "You were involved, of course. You share the blame. But you were the only one to care enough not to let anymore blood be shed. You saved that girl's life, her future. Don't you dare apologize for that."

"I would've kept this from you," Olivia confessed in a small voice. "Plausible deniability. I never wanted you to get your hands dirty, getting swept up in all this."

"I'm glad you didn't. My hands are already dirty for reasons that have nothing to do with you."

"I just...I hate it every time this comes up. I know that's childish, I just-I hate being reminded of how I let you down. How I've disappointed you. I'll spend the rest of my life righting this wrong, Fitz."

Until I'm good enough, she said to him in her head. Tell me there's a way. Give me a sign.

"Livvie," he said. "I love you. There's nothing-not a thing-you could ever do that I wouldn't forgive."

Tears once again pricking the corners of her eyes, Olivia nodded.

"You love me."

"I love you."

"You want to be with me.'

"I want to be with you."

You're not angry with me?

She couldn't ask that while she knowing full well that he still was. He should be. He'd more than owed the right to be.

From her place on the floor in front of her desk, she looked around at her darkened office. She knew Fitz was waiting for her to say something. She mouthed it once, twice, a third time then the words came out on the fourth attempt.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

Olivia could hear him smiling on the other end, the soft, goofy smile he gave whenever she surprised him.

"It's late," he said. "Huck's there with you, right?"

"...No," she admitted reluctantly.

"Livvie."

"I'll be fine."

"And you'll call me when you get back to your apartment?"

"I will."

"You didn't take the metro in today, right? You drove?"

Olivia groaned. "Fitz, this is my city. I was a latchkey kid, remember?"

"And you had to deal with lowlifes harassing you even then!"

She rolled her eyes. She knew she'd pay for telling him stories of people-herself included-having their earrings ripped off for standing too close to the doors of the train. At the time, it had been worth it to see his reaction.

"Nobody does that anymore, Fitz."

"That's not the point. I'm sending Tom and Hal."

"You are not," Olivia said, leaving no room for argument. "I'm leaving now. I'll call you as soon as I get home."

"You better, or I'll have you court-martialed."

She chuckled. "You and what army, mister?"

"You're on the clock, Livvie."

"Yeah, yeah. Bye."

"Bye."


Bidding farewell to the French president and the prime ministers of Great Britain and Israel, Fitz ended the call and set the phone back onto its cradle. He massaged his temples and willed the muscles of his jaw to relax. A headache had been brewing just outside his office for the past five minutes. He picked the phone back up and waited for Lauren to answer.

"I can take it from here, Lauren. Tell her she has exactly three-and-a-half minutes before I have to debrief with the Joint Chiefs."

"Of course, Mr. President."

"Thank you. And Lauren?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I apologize for you having to be caught in the middle of this."

"…I'll be sure to deliver your instructions to the First Lady before sending her in, sir."

"Thank you."

Fitz hung up, released the remaining facial tension through a light, extended exhale, slouched against the back of his chair, and waited.

Seconds later, the door to the Oval flew open, Mellie bowling over poor, harangued Lauren like a storm wind. She glided into the room, coming to roost atop the presidential seal, leveling Fitz's bored expression with a heated, expectant glare. Meekly, Lauren shut the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone.

Silence.

Were it not for years of practice at this game of Who Will Break First, Fitz would have pointedly reminded Mellie that she was wasting the 210 seconds she had been allotted to air her grievances. Besides the fact that breaking first would mean actually having to listen to her.

He leaned back further, easing to one side on the armrest and resting his cheek on his fist. He smirked inwardly at the almost imperceptible twitch in his wife's brow as the tired creak of the springs at the base of his chair speak for him.

Exasperation won out over stubbornness for Mellie, as the realization that Fitz had every incentive to simply wait out the clock in silence, and therefore the upper hand, sank in.

She threw down her hands at her sides. "So this is what I have to look forward to for the next four years? Being sequestered to one room at the far end of my home, your valets and staff going out of their way to manipulate our schedules so that we're never in the same place at the same time, leaving me no choice but to have to browbeat your poor secretary into scrounging up three minutes of your precious time? THIS is what I get, my thanks, after sacrificing my career and twenty years of my life to put you here-?!"

"Clock's ticking, Mel," Fitz drawled, chin still resting in the palm of his hand. "Not exactly the best time for one of your monologues."

She gaped at him, stunned and scandalized into another brief silence before pivoting and landing, catlike, on her feet.

"Does she sleep here? Do you have her brought here every night?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"The Hell you do!" she roared. "I am your wife. I am the mother of your children, goddamn it! You don't have to like me. You don't have to love me. But after everything, I'm owed at least a shred of courtesy, just a bit of dignity, if you have it to spare, Fitzgerald."

Rationally, Fitz knew she had a point. Where it concerned fairness, and respect, and common decency, he owed Mellie more than what he'd given her, after everything. But the reverse could also be said. Their marriage was a revolving door of tit for tat and turnabout. Even during a thaw, or when one tried to extend an olive branch it was always at precisely the wrong time, and met with a cold shoulder or a knife in the back. They were twenty years of take and take and take, and repayment in the form of snide remarks and betrayals both petty and crushing.

Fitz, exhausted with playing the part of doting husband for the public and their private war of wills, needed to retire one of the personas in the interim before the time came when he could do away with both. For the sake of his sanity, something had to give. If Mellie couldn't see the gift of their distance from one another due to her own pride and whatever scheme she and Cyrus were concocting, that was on her. He had a country to run.

Whatever Cyrus and Mellie were up to would reveal itself in no time at all, and Fitz had a feeling when it did, in assessing the wreckage, he would have to lay his cards on the table. The fallout from that would make the mini-meltdown Mellie was having presently look like a parade.

Fitz checked his watch.

"You're right," he said. "But I don't know what you expect me to do. We are where we are. "

He got up from his chair and moved over to the door, opening it out to the receptionist's waiting area. Mellie was still standing where he left her, just on the presidential seal. He beckoned her over.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs I need to prepare for."

Face flush with indignation and disbelief, she marched quietly, head held high, out of the Oval. Fitz shut the door as soon as she was through.


"The ole Scorned Wife routine was a bust, huh?"

"Shut up."

Cyrus tutted. Downing his shot of hooch like a regular Yankee, he handed the nearly full mason jar back to her. Slamming the shot glass in his other hand against the end table to his right, he struggled to clear his throat.

"That stuff is gasoline," he wheezed. "How do you still have an esophagus?"

"Genetics," Mellie answered glibly between gulps. She set the jar down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her, ignoring Cyrus' marveling at her with horrified awe.

"I tried to warn you," he said, taking them back to the problem at hand. "Liv was a brick wall when I went to see her. She's in deep, which means he's in deeper. Your sensitivities are worth less than horse manure to him."

"Mmm, don't forget you're still in the doghouse after that little stunt you pulled on Saturday," Mellie said. "Assuming they're in as deep as you say, you can bet your ass Fitz knows about your late-night visit to her office. If not for optics that stunt would've cost you a groomsman. Hell, then there's Olivia. I'm shocked you aren't on the hunt for a new Best Woman. With only two weeks to go until the big day, I'm sure this is more to spare James' nerves than anything. But imagine if she shows up without a date."

Cyrus refilled his shot glass. He scowled. Mellie would bet money that Olivia's plus-one card had been returned unmarked.

She scoffed. "I hope you weren't depending on me to play prom night chaperone."

Ignoring the dig, Cyrus sat up and straightened his back. He slid casually into his resolve, brisk and reflexive, a snake breaking in fresh skin.

"You were right." The prickled, beleaguered urgency that shrouded Cyrus like a camouflaged exoskeleton pulled taught. He said, "We're going to have to rally if there's any hope of saving those two from themselves before this gets any more out of hand."

Mellie smirked. Picking up her jar of hooch, she raised it in the air. Cyrus clinked his shot glass against it, and they each took a long sip.


None of them saw Huck slip Liv's other phone into his pocket.

The agents in gray suits who came and took her away wouldn't allow her to bring her purse. They let Huck inspect their badges to confirm that the men were who they said they were: Secret Service.

They weren't troubled when Huck followed them down to the parking garage. They let him take pictures of their faces and the armored truck they loaded Liv-handcuffed-into the back of. He made sure they fastened her seatbelt.

The only instructions Liv gave him before the doors to the back of the truck slammed shut were to not tell the others what had happened. She would be back in the morning, she promised. But if she wasn't, don't tell them where she went. And don't do anything drastic. She made Huck swear.

She didn't know he had her phone. The special one, that only receives calls from one, restricted number. The one that made her eyes go soft and young and hopeful anytime it rang. The one with the man with the deep voice on the end.

As Huck watched the black truck pull off into the night, he reached into his pocket, entered the passcode to Liv's phone, and dialed the restricted number.

The line picked up after two rings. Huck rushed to speak, before the man with the deep voice could say anything.

"Two of your guys took her away in a blacked-out van. They were headed north. They put her in handcuffs."

The president said, "...Is this… Huck?"

"Yes. I have her phone. They didn't let her take her purse. I checked their badges and took pictures of them and the truck they took her in. It was government-issued. I thought about shooting out the tires but she told me not to do anything drastic."

"You said you saw their badges?" the president asked.

"Yes," Huck said. "Special Agent Kyle Wells, white, 6'1, brown hair, brown eyes, and Special Agent Mason Prezelewski, white, 6'3, brown hair, brown eyes. "

"And you're sure they were Secret Service?"

"Yes."

"Did they say why they were bringing her in? Did they say where they were taking her?

"No."

The president absorbed the information Huck gave him in silence. Finally, he said.

"Huck, I'm nearly positive I know who and what is behind this. If I'm right, this will be taken care of tonight and Liv will be home before morning rush hour. If I'm wrong, there's a chance it could take me a little longer. Stay by the phone, I'll be in touch."

The call ended. Huck pocketed the phone again and began making his way back up to K-Street.

The interrogation room Agents Wells and Prezelewski led her to was unlike any Olivia had seen outside of cable network crime dramas. Bare and windowless, like the armored truck that had transported them here. It was boxed in by four concrete-bricked walls. There was no observation window, no cameras, no clock on the wall. The table to which they bound her handcuffed hands had only one chair, which was bolted to the floor.

They let her keep her watch. The tick, tick, tick of each passing second reverberated louder than the cacophonic slam of the steel door behind Agent Wells.

She was alone.

A bottle of water Olivia was nowhere near stupid enough to touch had been left behind on the table within reach. A small courtesy, perhaps something to put her at ease since they repeatedly refused to respond to her demands for a lawyer, to be told what she was being charged with, and finally-at minimum-the name of the location to which she had been brought.

This was bad. Though Olivia wasn't yet all the way positive it was worse than she suspected it was when she told Huck not to do anything. She was, first and foremost, Olivia Pope. She couldn't be hauled off to a black site and disappeared without it raising eyebrows; and if this were a case of 'put a bullet in her and dump her in the Potomac' there were simpler, more expedient ways of executing such a task.

Someone needed information, the kind of sensitive, potentially damning information that couldn't be brought to light under the standard purview of Miranda Rights and the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Amendments.

Defiance was her first, most natural assumption; but that road, of Olivia herself being the one they all put up on the chopping block to take the fall, forked into two separate possibilities, one of them, that Fitz knew they were going to do this and hadn't-

-was too destabilizing for Olivia to afford right now. She sealed off that route and found another.

Perhaps it was related to Defiance. The explosion at Cyrton. Hollis had found out Lyndsey Dwyer hadn't been killed but had escaped to D.C. and, wanting that loose end tied up had pointed federal investigators in Olivia's direction. It made sense, certainly fit Hollis. Financial records would involve the investigative wing of the Secret Service….

What if it looped back around to the election? What if, in wanting to follow through on his plan to frame Lyndsey Dwyer, Hollis shot himself-and the rest of them by association-in the foot and inadvertently got the feds to take another look at the Cytron explosion?

Olivia chewed her lip. The chains binding her to the table rattled as she unconsciously tried to stand up, needing to move, needing to think.

You pace in circles when something's wrong…

NO.

She couldn't go there. She couldn't, wouldn't, because he wouldn't. He would never.


Combat training was a part of muscle memory for every veteran. No matter the length of service or how far removed, war recalibrated and hard-coded the soldier's mind and body in a manner that could only be shut off, never reset.

Fitz ended the call with Huck and surveyed the battlefield.

There were only six Secret Service agents on POTUS detail that evening, Fitz ordered Daniel, the Sergeant-at-arms to call up two more. He had them sent to K-Street to secure and confiscate the security footage from the parking garage.

He sent a senior agent to contact the director of the investigation branch of the USSS for confirmation of the existence of an Agent Kyle Wells and an Agent Mason Prezelewski, and to follow that up with a request from their president to contact his security detail, who were to verify that these were the agents who had taken Olivia Pope into custody and where she was being held.

He sent two agents to the Chief of Staff's office: one to send his aides home, the other to keep Cyrus in his office until further notice. His cell, office phone, and desktop were to be confiscated.

He sent two agents to do a sweep of the First Lady's office and new accommodations, with orders to confiscate all communication devices, personal and work-related, and to relay to the First Lady's detail that she and they were to await further instruction from the president before taking any action whatsoever.

The orders flow down the chains of command with the expected level of speed and urgency. Within an hour, Fitz has what he needs and he and his agents are en-route to a soon-to-be decommissioned USSS office just outside Fredricksburg. Per his instruction, the First Lady and Chief of Staff were bringing up the rear, in two separate vehicles, neither having been informed of their destination.

Mission complete, the wartime autopilot switched off. Now, the edges of Fit's vision blurred as though adjusting to the other side of a long, pitch-black tunnel. Blood rushed to his head, pounding ad-infinitum against his inner-ear. They have her. She's unharmed. They offered her water. Unharmed. Water. Have her. They have her. They have her. They have her. Theyhaveher.

Calling the Hyattsville regional office rundown would be generous. Even by government standards the place was a dump. A crumbling, gray building comprised of mammoth concrete slabs haplessly stacked into a basic, one-story tower reminiscent of a toddler's building blocks. The paved walkway leading to the entrance was cracked and uneven, large chipped-away sections ready to slip out of place if tread upon at the wrong angle. What was once a pristine lawn was half-dead and patchy, weeds poking out in the cracks of the pavement. Clearly, no room in the budget for landscaping or exterior repairs.

Inside was no better. The floors were covered in a threadbare off-blue/gray carpet discolored in the same sections as the stained popcorn ceiling. Paint from the pale yellow walls was faded and visibly peeling. There were framed, black-and-white portraits of Presidents Harding, Cleveland, and Eisenhower along the walls of the atrium, beneath which sat two cushioned chairs, bits of sickly yellow stuffing leaking from the back and armrests of both.

Going by appearance alone, one couldn't be faulted for assuming the building dated all the way back to the McKinley administration. The briefing Fitz's agents had relayed to him stated that the Hyattsville and Norfolk regional offices were to be consolidated into one location in Bethesda; he wondered if a guarantee to have the administration speed along the process was the promise Cyrus had made to rope the Secret Service into this scheme.

Wells and Prezelewski informed them that Olivia had been taken straight to the main interrogation room located two floors below the main level. The elevators were out of order, so the two led the way to the poorly-lit emergency stairwell; Fitz hot on the heels of the both of them, silently urging them to pick up speed with his team of agents bringing up the rear.

It was less an interrogation room that they'd left Olivia to rot inside than it was a prison cell. Another remnant of the last century: tomblike,, windowless, enclosed behind a solid steel door, draconian, even for the time in which it was constructed. It even lacked an observation window from which to supervise interrogations that might take place on the other side.

Ethics and tactical practicality warred for control of Fitz's instinct: the former, close to overwhelming him with a thousand different what-if scenarios on the chance that the report of Olivia being brought here unharmed wasn't entirely truthful. The other, cooling his red-tinged vision, forcing him to acknowledge that the building's arcane facilities would be to their advantage once the architects of this unsanctioned op were brought in.

With a nod to Wells and Prezelewski, Fitz signaled to his agents to stay behind as Wells moved to unlock the door to the interrogation room open and Prezelewski handed him a ring of small keys. The heavy door swung open and Fitz went through alone.

Olivia was seated at a small metal table in the center of the sparsely-lit room, the table and chair both bolted to the filthy cement floor. She raised her head when he entered the space but her eyes, blank and unfocused, remained trained on the door, unconcerned with tracking the movements of her cell's new occupant.

Fitz crossed the room in a few, short strides. Crouched down at her side, he freed her hands from the handcuffs and brought her delicate wrists to his lips. Pulling back some, he turned them over, scanning for marks or bruises. Finding none, he peppered another set of soft kisses on each wrist and on the palms of her hands in silent gratitude. A subtle shift in pressure told him that Olivia was coming back to herself. Sure enough, when Fitz pulled back to look at her there was a light of recognition, and something resembling disbelief, shining in her eyes.

Taking both wrists in one hand, Fitz cupped her chin in the other, gently, so as not to startle her. "Livvie, did they hurt you?"

She shook her head. Then, tugging her wrists free, she shifted and flung herself down into Fitz's arms, burying her face in his neck, clinging to him.

"It's alright," Fitz said, carding his fingers through her hair. "It's alright now. Your friend Huck swiped your phone and called me as soon as they took you."

He felt her nod against him, her whole body trembling with harsh, uneven breaths. Smoothing a hand down her back, Fitz pulled away just enough for them to be face-to-face for what he said next.

"Livvie, listen," he said carefully. "It was Cyrus who did this. And Mellie, too, I suspect. I don't know why, but I've got a few guesses and I'm sure you do as well. When I found out where the order to have you arrested came from, I had them both transported here, too, so that we could confront them together. They're a few minutes behind me."

Olivia nodded again, deadly clarity now present in her eyes. Taking both her hands in his, Fitz stood and raised her up with him.

From the other side of the door there was a knock, then another, followed by one more. Three light raps in short succession to signify the arrival of the two they were waiting on. When no reply came from Fitz, the door opened. Cyrus and Mellie filed in, the door slamming behind them.

Fitz leveled the two with a calm but cold pressure, Olivia at his side with a resolve that matched his own.

Knowing the two standing opposite them as he did, Fitz gave them no time to set the stage. "You have twenty minutes."

Mellie—who, in all the calamity of having her rooms swept, her agents debriefed, and being bundled into an unfamiliar vehicle and brought to an undisclosed location, all in the span of a few hours, had had no time or wherewithal to catch her breath and slip back into her placid, politician's wife facade—balked silently at this latest set of terms. Cyrus, ever-used to bobbing and weaving through the hurdles of Capital Hill, recovered faster.

"Enough beating around the bush then, Mr. President," he said. Thrusting out a hand, he gestured at Fitz and Olivia, the unit. "This has to stop. The two of you are a powder keg poised to blow your first term, your political career, and your shot at re-election sky high if you don't come to your senses!"

"Who said I was seeking re-election?"

Time and space bent in an arc. The walls of the room at once appeared to bulge and contract. Fitz saw it all in slow-motion. Mellie's mouth hung open before clamping shut and twisting into a scowl. Cyrus looked to be choking. Olivia reached out and snatched Fitz's hand, squeezing it, whether in warning or demanding an explanation Fitz was unable to discern.

"What the—WHAT—The hell…What are you talking about?" Cyrus half-snarled, half-sputtered, face heating up three different shades of pink.

Olivia squeezed his hand again. This time, her meaning was clear.

Tread carefully.

Fitz squeezed back.

I've got this.

Staring down both Cyrus and Mellie, he said simply, "Defiance County, Ohio."

The air in the room thinned. Olivia sent him another squeeze, lighter this time, a plea and an apology. Fitz noticed Mellie was no longer looking at him. The scowl on her face had hardened and was aimed downward at his and Olivia's joined hands. Cyrus blew out a long gust of air in exasperation and relief in equal measure.

"That's what's had your presidential panties in a twist for the last month?" he exclaimed. He threw an accusatory look Olivia's way. "You told him."

"Verna confessed on her deathbed," Fitz corrected him. "When I went to see her the day of the State of the Union address. She was the one who hired the gunman, by the way, in case the attempt on my life was still of any concern to the two of you."

Ignoring the second bombshell, Cyrus circled back to Olivia. "He came to you after he found out."

"Yes," said Olivia.

"You knew he knew this entire time."

"Yes."

"Just like you knew he wasn't intending to seek re-election, I'm guessing."

"Yes."

"And kept all that to yourself."

"It wasn't my place to share."

"The hell it wasn't!" Cyrus roared, chest heaving.

"Enough," Fitz snapped, stepping forward just slightly so as to halfway shield Olivia behind him. "I told you, Cy, when Liv resigned that she was no longer privy to any information regarding my administration, and to leave her be. What I told her, I told her in confidence, as Fitz, the man not the president. You need only be concerned with the president. When the time came to discuss my intention to seek re-election you would have been informed of my decision."

"Don't be a brat," Cyrus said. "You know a dichotomy like that is unsustainable long-term even if we're only talking about a single term."

"Then I suppose you need to figure out whether you're someone who can be trusted on both fronts."

Cyrus shut his mouth. Rocking back on his heels a bit, he seemingly let the implication of Fitz's warning stew for a moment before speaking up again.

"Liv should come back to the White House."

Fitz couldn't hide his shock. That hadn't been where he'd expected Cyrus to land at all. Before he could respond, Olivia answered.

"I like working for myself."

"And what do you expect to happen down the road," demanded Cyrus, addressing them both. "Even in the event the two of you don't go public until he leaves office, it won't take long for anyone with half a brain to put the pieces together. No one on the Hill is gonna hire a crisis manager who can't keep her own scandal from the headlines."

"We've already got that covered," Fitz bluffed. Their hands still clasped, he and Olivia threaded their fingers together and held tighter.

"Unbelievable!" Cyrus threw up his hands and shot Mellie an impatient look. "You don't have anything to add?"

Fitz had been wondering the same. It was dangerously unlike his wife to be quiet and diffident in the heat of such high-stakes conversations.

With all eyes on her, the calcified grimace on her face didn't let up. When she finally spoke up, her voice dripped with prim and proper disdain.

"Aside from a ring…" It hit Fitz, then, why she had zeroed in on his and Olivia's joined hands. He felt Olivia try to pull away and held firm. He wouldn't allow her to be shamed by anyone, that included Mellie.

"What else is a whore worth to you?"

He felt Olivia flinch, she tugged her hand away. Anger swelled within him. "Don't insult her!"

"That's not an answer."

Fitz sighed. "What do you want, Mel?"

Quirking her brow sarcastically, she said, "Oh, is it about me? Finally? Well, let's see, I gave up my career for you, had children for you, campaigned for you, fought for you, endured indignity after indignity—"

"—Alright, you've made your point!"

"—for you!" she continued, as if he hadn't interrupted. "So that you could have what you needed to be here! And you appreciate none of it! All I've done is work to get you to where you've always wanted to be, and this is what you give me in return. You insult me. You shame me. You look down on me and make me beg for scraps of you, of your time, your respect. You banish me from our bedroom and have the staff inform me. You…"

Voice rising, growing heavy with emotion, Mellie trailed off. Composing herself, she turned her heated gaze onto both him and Olivia.

"I want a senate seat."

Well, hell, if that was all…

"I want a divorce," Fitz replied. "My plan was to have the papers drawn up at the end of this year."

A horrified, disgusted sound emanated from Cyrus. They all ignored him.

"The only way I'm signing is if I get my seat." Mellie thrust a finger at Olivia. "She is going to get me there."

"Done." Olivia's answer came so quickly, so abruptly, Fitz almost didn't register it. He turned to look at her, trying to gauge where her head was. Her gaze remained dead ahead. She and Mellie silently coming to terms.

"We can start right away," Olivia said briskly. "The senator from Virginia is about to announce his retirement. You'll have to establish residency, ingratiate yourself into local politics…"

"Apart from the White House."

"Exactly."

Cyrus cleared his throat loudly. "So this is how it's going to be?" he said, mostly directing the question at Fitz.

"This is how it is," Fitz said. "Either get with the program or jump ship, Cy."

Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. "As if that's even a real choice."

"A position we can both understand," Fitz said, with pointed faux amicability. "It's not a choice between Liv and the presidency. If either of you…" He paused, looking directly at both Cyrus and Mellie. "Pull a stunt like this again, I'm walking. End of discussion. You either leave Olivia be, or I'll burn everything down. Mutual assured destruction. Are we clear?"

Cyrus and Mellie exchanged a bored, put-upon glance before they each nodded their ascent.

As if on cue, the door to the interrogation room opened, flooding the small space with light. Fitz took Olivia by the hand and led her around the other two, and out into the corridor where his agents were waiting to escort them home.


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Author's Note:

Conceit: (n.) an organizing theme or concept

With that term in mind, think of this story as a subtweet directed at every comment of "Why didn't Olivia just" with regard to her relationship with Fitz. In my opinion, too many fans overlook the precarious situation Olivia was in as a black woman, a black woman professional, a black woman professional at the beginning of her career, and a black woman professional at the beginning of her career surrounded by powerful white people, and, in particular, powerful white men.

Speaking of, as one of those powerful white men, there was so much more Fitz could have done to be with Olivia. It's true that he let her set the pace and parameters of their relationship, but he also let her take a lot of the hits.

We may dislike her, but Mellie sums Fitz up quite well in one conversation she has with Marcus in s7. To paraphrase: Fitz is everything he was raised to be: pampered, spoiled, and unmotivated, ESPECIALLY in the early seasons. You love him, I love him, Olivia loves him, but facts are facts, America.

All that is to say, the conceit of this story is 'What if Olivia had been more easy-going, and what if Fitz had wielded some of his power to remove (or attempt to remove…) some of the obstacles preventing him and Olivia from being together?

Questions:

I always wondered whether Mellie knew about where Olivia's ring came from. What did you guys think of her reaction?

How do you feel about Fitz's treatment of Mellie and Cyrus?

Thoughts on Fitz not seeking re-election? Do you think it's the right call? Do you think he'll regret it? Do you think it's a missed opportunity, story-wise?

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Reviews are like crack to the tired writer. Please let me know what you think!