AN: I can't tell how much the kind words and insightful comments I've gotten have meant. This chapter took a little longer than I thought because I was trying to strike the right tone. Thanks so much, writing this story is my therapy. Scandal is...no more. The show everyone loved is gone. The show that could generate 700,000 tweets is gone. Unless this is some type of Dallas-esque dream-sequence, there can be no justification. To talk about the actual show is far too much of a mindfuck at the moment. I don't understand it. I don't entirely want to. All I can say is I don't think I'm watching it ever again. I mean, I haven't watched since 5x09 and from what I've heard over Twitter and YouTube, the show is has descended into absolute madness.
Apparently, Ms. Rhimes' goal with this entire season was to destroy everything that ever made the show a success. She has contradicted everything that ever made this show worth watching. She thinks that Scandal has the same sustainability as Grey's. And it doesn't. She could kill Derek, because the fans were invested in all the supporting characters as well. The majority of the Scandal fans were invested in Olivia and Fitz. I, for one, cannot count the ways I do not care about Jake's backstory. Why have we never gotten Fitz's?
I get it. SR loves SF. I get it. I got it. I know. But I'm not going to rant again. I'm just simply going to wonder how she expects us to root for anybody? Mellie as President? Really? Liv in desperate need of therapy and growing more and more powerless with every episode? The only person getting what they want is Rowan. Le Sigh. I hope season 6 is the last one. Not that I'm going to watch it, but I just want this madness to end.
I wouldn't be surprised if the show ended with everyone dead. That would make more sense that everything else that has happened in 5B.
Anyway, without further adieu, the second chapter (comments are greatly appreciated):
Two
"Clean hands. Whatever you do, make sure your hands are clean."-George R.R. Martin
Olivia dreamed that night. She hardly ever dreamed, at least not to her recollection. And when she did, it was always, always about work. Usually what would happen if she couldn't fix the scenario she was currently facing.
But this night was a peaceful, restful dream. She dreamed she was walking on a beach, sand in her toes, holding Fitz's hand, her head draped across his shoulder as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. They were happy, carefree and content. Life was good.
"Wake up!" a booming voice cut through Liv's dream like a katana.
She opened one eye, not wanting to believe the situation in front of her. In her bedroom for the second time of late was late was a red-faced, heavy-breathing, steam pouring from his ears Cyrus Rutherford Beene. It begins, she thought with a deep sigh.
"Cy? You're supposed to be in the hospital," she said even though she wasn't surprised that he had left early.
"Never mind that. There are bigger things going on."
She lay atop Fitz's chest, who was still sound asleep. She gently shook him, trying to wake him.
He stirred but didn't wake, they'd only gone to sleep an hour earlier. "Fitz," she tried again.
"Hmm?" he said half-awake.
"Cyrus is here."
"What?" he murmured.
"Cyrus. He's here."
Fitz opened his eyes slightly, and they widened as he saw Cyrus bathed in eerie moonlight clutching a pair of pants—his pants.
"Cy, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked reaching for the comforter to make sure Liv was properly covered.
"I could ask the same of you Mr. President. The two of you, get up. We've got things to discuss."
"You're supposed to be in the hospital," Fitz countered.
"And you, sir, are supposed to be in the Residence, with your full security team keeping you safe from all dangers. But here we both are, so let's get down to business, shall we?"
Even in the dim light of the moon, Fitz could make out Liv's rolling eyes. He didn't want to get up, not when Olivia's warm, undressed body was pressed up against him in the most hypnotizing way. Still, he knew there was no getting rid of Cyrus.
"Get dressed," Cyrus said flinging Fitz's pants at the bed. And with that, he exited back into Olivia's room.
"How the hell did he get in?" Olivia wondered aloud.
"I think Tom and Hal are afraid of him."
"Well, they're not wrong for that. He's Cyrus. And I told you. He wants you and Mellie back together."
"And I told you, I'll make him get on board." Fitz sounded completely self-assured. "Come on, let's get this over with. The sooner we do, the sooner we can go back to bed."
Liv wasn't so sure Cyrus would be so easy to deal with. But she relented, knowing he wasn't going anywhere.
Fitz pulled on his pants, and Olivia grabbed his dress shirt which was hanging off the edge of her dresser. She grabbed a pair of silk pajama pants.
They stepped out of her bedroom, Fitz clutching her waist.
Cyrus sat there in the chair by the window, clutching a glass of vodka. Liv didn't want to know how he knew where the vodka was. He gave them an once-over with their sexed hair and bright grins. They disgusted him.
"Cy," Fitz said sitting down on the couch, and pulling Liv next to him. "You wanna tell us why you're here when you should be in the hospital, recuperating?"
"Recuperating can wait," Cyrus said, swirling the liquor in his glass. "I need to talk to the two of you about how stupid you're being."
Two sets of eyes rolled at his words which only infuriated him further. "Sir," he said addressing Fitz. "Do you realize how potentially sticky this situation is? Do you comprehend the gravity of the situation? Your reelection depends on the American People trusting you, it depends upon the base still supporting you."
Fitz nodded somewhat dismissively. "Anything else, Cy?"
He didn't want to do this, but they were forcing his hand. "Sir, there are things that neither one of you know. Like the fact that B613 is aware of your relationship. Ever heard of them, Liv?"
Had she? Liv's eyes widened, but she didn't respond.
"A high-ranking official of B613 is after you, said he was coming to see you," Cyrus continued. "You can guess what that means."
"Cyrus," Liv said sharply. "It doesn't matter. I know who it is and I don't care. We're going to be together," she said taking Fitz's hand. Fitz looked concerned, but he was more bewildered by Olivia's lack of concern.
Cyrus paused, not believing what he was hearing. Were they both beyond all reason?
"I'm sorry, what? I just told that you the worst, most powerful spy agency is after you because you're sleeping with the President of the United States of America, and all you have to say is 'I know, it's all good'? Are you out of your mind? You know what these people did to Marilyn Monroe? The two of you are so stupid and romantic and 'we're meant to be together' dear diary nonsense that you won't save your own lives? I have lied for you, I have killed for you and I have—,"
"Cyrus," Fitz said sharply, sounding more and more Presidential. "That is enough. Whatever you have done is what you were supposed to do. You're the Chief of Staff. It's your job. The fact that you choose to cross so many lines and disregard morality and ethics is on you. On your head be it. We have a plan. It's going to work. What I told Mellie about being on the right side of history…it goes for you as well. This is happening, with or without you."
Cyrus looked stunned, almost hurt at Fitz's words. Fitz softened slightly. "Cy, look, we're family. I know what an asset you are. I know how hard you work. I know that everything you do is done for me. But let's be clear: I ask for none of it. Don't ever think that I don't appreciate it. I trust you. And if possible, I would like you to remain my Chief of Staff for the remainder of my Presidency. But understand one thing: Olivia is a part of that. Now, we're going to deal with this threat from B613 quickly and definitively. Right after we deal with Reston and Chambers."
Cyrus sighed. Fitz had his Olivia blinders on, apparently. All he could see was her. All he was focused on was her. And that damned hardheaded streak of his was going to be the death of them all.
"Olivia, might I ask why you seem so unconcerned about the minor fact that B613, only the deadliest spy faction the world has ever known, is after you. They're coming for you."
Olivia made no reply. She simply gave her infamous Liv-face and waited for Cyrus to continue.
Fitz sighed. This was getting old.
"Cyrus, why don't you tell us what exactly happened?"
"Rowan came to see me."
Fitz sucked in a sharp breath. Rowan. Everything always led back to Rowan. He should've figured. Rowan was after Olivia. He'd be damned if he let that master of shadows have any control over his life again.
"Like I said, Cyrus, I know who it is and I don't care," Olivia said with finality.
Cyrus stood up, indignant. "You don't care? You don't have any idea who that man is, what he is capable of, the level of depravity he is willing to sink to—,"
"You're wrong," she interjected sharply. "I do know. I know better than anyone."
She got up and stared Cyrus in the face. She should've known he wouldn't let her be. She should've known that he would always come for her. Always. She had honestly hoped that she would never have to explain to anyone this whole thing. Her hope, it seemed, had been in vain.
Fitz looked at her, searching for an answer in her eyes; an answer she was less than inclined to give.
She turned away from them both as she let out a deep sigh.
"He's my father."
~~PPD~~
Rowan Pope sighed intensely. This night had not gone according to plan. Ballard, his most trusted in a long line of trusted sons had failed him. Rowan crossed his legs and poured himself another glass of Cheval Blanc, 1947 as he listened to Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony, which he preferred over all others, despite some saying that it was much inferior to Brahms's Tragic Overture.
Considering the circumstances, however, the Overture might have been more appropriate. He did not want to accomplish the task that lay before him. He was fond of Ballard, he was a good son, truly. But he had disobeyed an order. That was not to be tolerated.
Ballard, of course, was unware of Rowan's true connection to Olivia Pope. Well, Rowan would explain that to him, as he watched the light leave his eyes. It was a difficult thing to deal with, your children disappointing you. His beloved only daughter was squandering away all her precious potential. It made his heart hurt.
He reopened his laptop, glutton for punishment, and turned on his feed of Olivia's apartment. He didn't go the live feed, instead he backtracked to hours earlier. He sat and watched his darling Olivia be repeatedly defiled by that…boy .
It was almost too much for him to take. He'd made it his life's work to mold Olivia into the person she was meant to be. And how did she repay him? She served at the pleasure of a President. Literally.
And not just any president. Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III: a strong political legacy, a shiny educational pedigree, a flyboy with a "decorated" military career. In short, a pompous, arrogant, spoiled little brat. He had worked for nothing, nothing, and somehow managed to have everything.
He appreciated nothing. Rowan rolled his eyes in disgust at the likes of Grant and his ilk. If he could, he'd rid the world of them all. Alas, that was next to impossible.
But he would not tolerate Grant or anyone else like him having anything to do with his daughter. She was his. He made her. She belonged to him. He would remind her of that fact in due course.
Presently, however, he had other matters to attend to.
He heard voices approaching his office. It was time to end this. A hard knock rang out. He silenced the music and steadied himself for what lay ahead.
"Come in," he said calmly and coolly. This was not the time to appear flustered.
Two B613 agents brought Ballard in. He swallowed at the sight of Rowan, at the sight of Command.
"That will be all, Roark, Dale," he said dismissing the two agents who were acting as Jake's escort. The two agents nodded dutifully and quickly scurried away. Neither wanted to be present for what was about to take place.
"Have a seat, Jake," Rowan said motioning to the chair opposite his. Jake, knowing this was not a polite suggestion, complied but his heart sank with every step he took towards the chair. Rowan didn't move as he watched Jake sit down across from him, his face stoic, but a slight twitch in his left forefinger giving away his unease.
Rowan slowly, purposefully sat down his glass. "I'd offer you a drink, but wines are sort of out your realm of understanding, are they not?"
"Sir," Jake began.
"Wine is a thing of beauty, a work of art. It has many components, like a grand ballet or a masterful symphony. Only those with refined, trained, elegant palettes can truly enjoy them. Not the kind of thing you come across in Bloomington, Indiana, one would presume."
"Sir," Jake tried again.
"But do you know what is not outside of your realm of understanding, Agent Ballard?"
Jake swallowed, but made no reply.
"Following orders, son," Rowan said as if Jake was a petulant child who had difficulty comprehending basic instructions. "Following orders is decidedly not beyond you, and yet, here we are. I gave you a task, you did not complete it, and you have returned to my presence. Your task was simple: engage Ms. Pope, seduce Ms. Pope and destroy her relationship with the President of the United States of America. But it seems these objectives were not clear to you. I will not pretend to understand why they proved so difficult for you. They seem elementary to me. Then again, I am me. So you were tasked with another objective: bring Ms. Pope in. I cannot think of a simpler task. It's clear, concise and rather straightforward. A blind, deaf monkey could manage it," Rowan said with an edge of humor entering his voice. The edge turned sharp and deadly as he spoke again. "You, however, could not."
Jake again thought silence was the best option.
"I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself, Agent. You know as well as I do that such insubordination is not to be borne."
"Sir, I…I simply did not want any harm to come to Ms. Pope. And I…I did attempt to bring her in, however, she is currently in the company of—"
"The President of the United States, thank you, I am aware. That, however, is a direct result of you failing to complete your first assignment. I cannot begin to express my disappointment. However, I shall recover."
"I had another assignment, sir, that of keeping Ms. Pope safe and…."
"Agent Ballard, if this assignment has taught me one thing, it's that persuasion is not your strong suit, so please save your breath. I had no intention of harming Ms. Pope. In fact, I'll let you in on a secret: she's my daughter."
Ballard's eyes widened. He was not expecting that. "Your daughter?"
Rowan nodded as he picked up a Sig Sauer 443 revolver from the table beside him. He took a cloth and wiped down the barrel slowly, as if here were cleaning a rare jewel.
Jake shifted in his seat, but he didn't move. There was nowhere he could go.
"I entrust you with my most prized possession, and you can't even begin to follow orders," he continued as he put down the cloth and picked up a silencer. "I train you, give you a home, and all that I ask in return in that you, a solider, follow the orders of your commanding officer. I don't see that I asked for too much," clicking the silencer into place.
"Sir, wait, the mission is salvageable," Jake said, the wheels in his head turning. He had to think fast, he had to save his own skin.
Rowan paused. "I'm listening."
"I can get close to her, I can get in between them. I know I can. I know things about him. I know I can complete this mission. I'm sorry, sir, for failing you. I lost sight of the objective. But I swear, it will not happen again. Let me complete this mission."
Rowan thought for a moment. Perhaps he could. Ballard had intimate knowledge of the situation. It would be far easier than letting another person take over this fine mess. Still, Ballard had to be punished.
"Perhaps, Jake, perhaps. However, Olivia has no reason to trust you. But even those who she does not trust, she feels obligated to save. Forty-five days in the hole."
Jake's eyes widened. "Sir?"
"Forty-five days in the hole. That way, I'll be confident that you won't lose sight of the objective. And Olivia will feel obligated to protect you."
Rowan pushed a button connected to the table beside him and two agents entered immediately.
"You are to take Agent Ballard to the hole immediately. He is to stay there until otherwise notified."
Jake stood up, accepting his fate.
"Oh, and Jake," Rowan said in a voice designed to stop Jake in his tracks. "Once you're out, do not fail me again."
Jake nodded curtly. Failure was not an option. He nodded to the agents, signaling that he was ready to go. He knew he had a long road ahead of him. Command was not going to make this easy, he'd be tortured, physically and psychologically. Command was going to break him, and then fix him, and then break him again. But he would survive. He would survive and he would accomplish his mission.
~PPD~
Fitz was certain he'd heard wrong. Olivia couldn't have just said that Rowan, of all people, was her father. No, she couldn't have just said that. He was losing his hearing or his mind. But no, there was no way she wouldn't have told him that.
"Your father?" Cyrus echoed, stunned as he could be. "Care to elaborate, Liv?"
Liv looked back at them. Now they were both standing. Her eyes immediately turned to Fitz who looked stunned and shocked and slightly angry. That was the reaction she expected, still, it didn't make this conversation easy.
"Your father? Your father? Your father runs B613?" he finally asked, as if it had to be an impossibility.
She met his eyes, willing him to understand, or at least defer this particular conversation until they could be alone.
His eyes bored into her, oozing confusion and bewilderment. He wanted to demand why she had never told him. But it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in front of Cyrus.
"It's not a topic I discuss," Olivia started, mainly to Cyrus. "Ever."
Cyrus shook his head. "If he's your father, why is he sending agents after you?"
That got both Fitz and Olivia's attention. "What?"
Cyrus pulled out a file from his suit jacket and handed it to Fitz, who opened it quickly. Inside were several black and white photographs of Jake engrossed in several deep conversations with Rowan around the Mall.
"Ballard is B613?" he asked, genuinely surprised.
"He is, and Rowan assigned him to Liv. If you want further details on that, I suggest you ask her," his tone highly inflammatory.
Olivia leveled Cyrus with a dark glance. "Cyrus, Fitz knows about Jake. And I know about Verna, in case you decide you want to throw that in the ring too."
"Did you know Ballard was B613?" Cyrus demanded, losing his patience. Apparently, the two of them had had a heart to heart.
"I didn't," Olivia admitted, feeling ill. She had been his mission. Seducing her had been his mission. So, he wasn't an officer of the President who was overstepping his bounds. He was a double agent, working both sides…and she was his mark. Her father had sent him to…she stopped her trail of thought.
"I was his mark," she whispered, mostly to herself.
Fitz sighed. "Where is Ballard now?" he asked Cyrus.
"I haven't the faintest idea where Ballard is, and frankly, I do not care. The point is B613…"
"I'll handle it," Olivia said. "My father. I will handle him. He's not going to do anything drastic."
Fitz ran a hand through his hair. The complications were already building. "How does he even know about us?"
Liv shrugged. "He's the head of B613, he makes it his business to know everything."
"Why did you never tell me about him?" He sounded almost hurt.
"I don't discuss my father," she said quickly and dismissively. Livvie had left the building and Olivia Pope was standing in her place.
"Not even with me?"
"Not with anyone!" she said sharply.
His eyes hardened at her words. He stood up a little straighter and sighed deeply. Gone was the hopelessly romantic Fitz and the leader of the free world had returned. "You'll handle it?" he asked, in a way that let her know that this conversation wasn't over.
"I'll handle it," she said again. "Consider it handled. We don't have to worry about it. I will take care of it."
Cyrus looked unconvinced, but before he had time to respond, Olivia's cell phone rang. "Harrison?" she answered.
"Liv…we have a situation."
"What is it?"
"Billy Chambers doesn't have the card. David Rosen does."
Olivia sighed. As if this night needed another complication. "I'll be right over." She hung up forwarded the new information.
"Get Hollis, get Mellie," she ordered Cyrus. "We have to meet right away. Once we handle this, we're going to need to set up a separate meeting just with Mellie."
"For what?" Cyrus asked.
Olivia paused. "Well, the answer to that depends on your status, Cyrus. You've got a decision to make. I've made mine. The President has made his. So you're either going to work with us…or not. You can either stand with the leader of the free world and get to make this presidency actually mean something…or you can look for work elsewhere. It's up to you."
"I serve at the pleasure of the President," Cyrus boomed, ire rising. "Everything I do is done in his service, for his protection, for his sake. And I am telling you that this plan you two have is…"
"We know what the plan is. I made the plan. And it's going to work. I know what I am doing. I am not some amateur trying to reinvent the wheel. I ran through every scenario and it will work," Olivia yelled at him, tired of him questioning her.
"You two are out of your minds! You think that the feelings you have for each other justify the damage control, the political capital, the spins, the lies, the—,"
Fitz had heard enough. "Cyrus!" he yelled, rising from his seat and standing directly in front of Cyrus, who had begun to foam at the mouth. "That is enough. For the love of God, Cy, get on board!" He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to get through to Cyrus. "When you told me about James, what did I ask you?"
Cyrus and sighed and shook his head. "That is a completely different—,"
"What. Did. I. Ask. You?" Fitz interjected, near the end of his rope.
"You asked me if I was in love," Cyrus said with the greatest reluctance.
Fitz nodded, his eyes willing his trusted advisor to understand. "And when you told me you were, what did I say then?"
Cyrus sighed, clearly not wanting to concede. "That that was all that mattered," he finally relented.
Fitz nodded. "I love her, Cyrus. I am in love with her. That is all that matters. That's the only thing that matters."
"What's it gonna be, Cyrus?" Liv asked.
Cyrus looked at them, at how they were standing together, as if they turned over a new leaf, as if they didn't give a damn that they were opening up Pandora's Box. They seemed to be a team. It scared him.
He thought for a second. If Liv was in the White House, Fitz would listen to whatever she said. Then again, if Liv was in the White House, she'd be First Lady.
She would be First Lady, and he would still be Chief of Staff.
Cyrus would never be disloyal to Fitz, he loved him too much. He loved Olivia, too, despite how foolhardy he thought they both were being. But they were his family. And he would keep things in order by drastic measures, if necessary.
He looked at the floor for a moment, the air filled the weight of the decision in front of him, in front of them all.
He took a deep breath and met their eyes. "I serve at the pleasure of the President. The honor is mine…and the grief. I have every intention of making this presidency mean something. The question is do you?"
Fitz smiled. "Thank you, Cyrus…for understanding."
Liv smiled too, but she stayed silent. She loved Fitz's idealism. It was cute and endearing. And her never-ending pragmatism was the perfect counterbalance. She wanted to believe Cyrus. She did. And Fitz had him with the James thing. But this was Cyrus they were dealing with, cautious was the only way to proceed.
Cyrus matched their grins, and for a moment, the band was back together. "Now, this meeting with Mellie?" he prodded.
Olivia nodded. "We'll get to that. Right now, we've got to meet her and Hollis at the White House, fix this David Rosen mess."
Cyrus shrugged. "I say we let Hollis handle it."
"No more blood," Fitz repeated. "We're not killing anyone."
"Mr. President, would you just put a shirt on, and leave the grunt work to those with the stomach for it?"
~PPD~
It had worked out even better than Liv could have possibly imagined. David Rosen handed Defiance and Billy Chambers over on a silver platter. Everything was falling into place. Hollis was appeased. Defiance was dead. Billy Chambers was going to jail. Reston had no proof to back up anything. All her ducks were lining up in an almost too perfect row.
Soon, they would be in the clear, home free. Of course, there was the matter of her father to attend to, but she was going to handle that.
She honestly couldn't believe the levels of depravity of which he was willing to sink too. She should've figured that he knew. She should've figured that he would've done something.
For him just to stay out of her life was apparently asking far, far too much. Her brain did a backflip as she thought of his ridiculous sermons, his omnipresent superciliousness, and villainous carriage. The man was a walking theatre troupe in and of himself.
Well, if he wanted to play games, he had another thing coming. She was not about to listen to him, let him get inside her head. She was going to inform him that she, like him, was not to be trifled with. If he didn't like it, she couldn't care less. But all that was to take place at a future time.
Now, there was just one little matter to clear up: The First Lady.
Deposed queens were not an uncommon thing in the heyday of royalty. The Crown was not often held by the same man for any lengthy duration. A country might have as least eight queens in a decade if there was a particularly nasty political debacle raging. There was also always the possibility that the King would dispose of the Queen himself.
However, the 21st Century presented different challenges. The age of memoirs, tell-all interviews, public relations, approval ratings, optics, etcetera, etcetera. In short, divorces of high profile people were impossible to keep quiet, and nearly impossible to keep from disintegrating into all-out fiascoes.
To top it all off, they were dealing with Melody Grant: calculating and brilliant, but cold and driven by wanton ambition and scorned pride. She could be a political asset, if appeased. If not, there were no limits to how far she would go for revenge. Her decisions would be rash, and unreasonable, ultimately leading to a trail of political carnage and mutually assured destruction.
Olivia knew she had to be handled with care. Fitz's promise to back her would only go so far. Moving forward, Fitz couldn't be the villain, but neither could Mellie.
She stood in the bunker, leaning up against a corner wall, waiting. She'd only been there once before when Fitz had showed it to her one late night when they were the only two working late. She remembered the days of working with him in the White House fondly. She knew it wouldn't be long before they were back to that.
Fitz sat in a chair, looking at her intently. She insisted upon standing, she thought better when she could move around. Even though she stood, he could see her mentally pacing: she was thinking and thinking hard, figuring out all the angles, spinning all the stories.
They had to discuss so many different things. It was 3:55 in the morning. The Press Corps would be there soon. He'd have to announce Rosen as DC's state attorney. And then they would have to get to work on Olivia's plan, and of course, they'd have to talk about her father.
She hadn't told him; she was excellent at playing things close to the vest. He knew that progress with Olivia, like progress in life, did not proceed in a straight line. The woman did not trust easily. She did not open up easily. She did not stand down easily. Nothing with her was ever easy. It was part and parcel of her allure and his frustration.
They'd have to talk about full disclosure. There were things they were going to have to deal with, but he wanted to deal with them. He didn't expect it to be easy. It was probably going to be complicated more often than not. But he wanted that, because he wanted her. He wanted all of her forever.
Cyrus sat opposite Fitz, watching Fitz watch Liv who was watching the door. Olivia had said nothing of what she was planning, nothing of what was going on in that brain of hers.
Olivia had never had a bad plan. She was far too brilliant. Cyrus had once believed he knew her rather well. But there she stood, the daughter of the most dangerous man he'd ever met, and it occurred to him how much of her was shrouded in mystery.
But he didn't have time to ponder on that notion at the moment. Mellie walked in, head held up high in her Nancy Regan red. "Oh, good. You're all here," she said breezily. "We've got to get a handle on this situation. Now, we need to strategize on how we're going to build on this before the re-election. I was thinking that the story about Fitz and the pastor was great. But we need to get some joint public appearances if we're going to—,"
"Mellie," Fitz said, his tone stony and firm. "We are not doing any of that. We are divorcing amicably. You are moving on with your own political career. That is what is happening. So stop with whatever you're conjuring up."
Mellie's eyes turned hard and icy. "What makes you think that I will ever agree to that? And even if I did, how would you explain it? You stand accused, Fitz. And there going to want answers and details. What are you going to tell them, that you had an affair with Olivia Pope that lasted a year? And then ended and then started again and then ended. You think they'll reelect you if I tell them how you couldn't keep your hands off her on the campaign trail, how when she worked here the two of you snuck off to the Rose Garden every chance you got, how the Secret Service drives you to her apartment against security protocol, how when you got shot the name that you called out was Olivia? Do your really think that the American public will elect a man who consistently, wantonly and nonchalantly disregarded and degraded his marriage?"
Mellie looked almost triumphant as she glowered at Fitz, who had yet to bat an eye. He sat back in his seat and crossed his legs. "Well, that would be a nightmare," he admitted coolly. "But you're not going to do that. Because if you did that, I would be forced to reveal to the entire world just what a sham the so-called 'Second Coming of Camelot' really is. I would be forced to reveal that this whole thing was a contrived farce brought on for political reasons. How cold and…frigid you are. How you induced Teddy's labor. It would be political suicide, mutually assured destruction. You want to bury me alive? You can't do that without burying yourself. The only way out of this is if we work together. And I'm going to be more than fair to you, Mellie. But this is over."
"We are not ending our marriage," she stated stubbornly.
Fitz stood then, approaching her. Cyrus and Olivia watched them like a game of tennis. "What marriage?" he asked, filled with venom. "What about this hypocrisy is a marriage? Tell me something, did you go on TV because something I was doing broke your heart or because you were trying to manipulate me? Issue me an ultimatum in hopes that you could still influence me? Those days are over. Camelot has burned to the ground. Your flag will fly, Mellie. But not next to mine."
Mellie folded her arms. "And how, pray tell, do you suggest we go about it?" she asked condescendingly. Clearly, she didn't believe that their plan would work.
Fitz just smiled and nodded to Olivia.
"For this to work," she began. "Neither one of you can be the villain. There can't have been an affair, no infidelity…there had to have been a mistake. You, Mellie, had to have made a mistake."
Mellie looked aghast. "What? Why do I have to take the hit?"
Olivia looked her dead in the eye. "Because you're the one who had the idea to fire a cannon at your own ship." Olivia reached into her bag and handed Mellie a black folder. Back folders were never good. Mellie stared at Olivia, eyes flashing with hatred, but she finally took it.
She opened it, her eyes skimmed over it briefly. "If I agree to this," she stated slowly. "I would need confirmation—,"
"You'll get all the confirmation you need," Olivia assured her. "And you will agree. You have no other option."
Mellie sighed. "I will have some demands of my own."
"We will cross all those bridges when we come to them," Cyrus said, dying to know the plan.
Mellie handed the folder back to Olivia. "You'll be hearing from me."
"I don't doubt it."
Mellie shot Fitz another dark glance before she turned on her heels and left the bunker in a dramatic huff. Olivia watched her go. She knew that if they kept her appeased, all would be well. Besides, Olivia was going to cage her with a thousand and one nondisclosure agreements, so all would be well.
She turned to face Fitz and Cyrus, a smile tugging at her lips. Cyrus stared at her with overt curiosity. Fitz stared at her with burgeoning lust. She smiled broadly at them, but didn't say a word. "You gonna tell us what's going on, Liv? Cyrus asked.
Her smile grew wider. "You'll see soon enough."
Fitz's jaw tightened and his eyes glazed over at Olivia's words. "Cyrus," he said, his voice catching slightly. "We need the room." Fitz's words brooked no objection or reply. Cyrus sighed but knew better than to argue. He needed to rest anyway.
He left them to their own devices. Olivia turned to face Fitz, who stared at her with an intensity that she didn't immediately register. "We need to talk," he said slowly.
She sighed and turned away to pack her purse. "We can talk later," she said, figuring he wanted to talk about her father. She wasn't in the mood to discuss it. Fitz's eyes roved over her form greedily. He longed for the days when she wore dresses to the White House. That had just been…convenient. He remembered with great affinity the long nights they had spent in the West Wing, plotting world domination and a return to the America of the Revolution. How during meetings he would glance at her and one look was more than enough to inflame his already insatiable desire for her. Their eyes would lock and he would dismiss everyone else, claiming that he and his Communications Director needed to discuss something top-secret and needed the room. Everyone assumed the room in question was the Oval. They had no idea that as soon as the door closed, Fitz would ensconce Liv into a secret room right to the north of the Oval. It was smallish. Only three chairs, a coffee table and a couch. There were no cameras in that room…and thank God for it. If the Secret Service could've seen the things they did to each other in there.
He hardened as he reminisced. The discussion about her father could wait. He'd spent the last several hours making love to her, worshipping her, lavishing her in his love and celebrating the start of the journey they were on. But now, now he wanted to fuck her. He was going to fuck her until she screamed, wailed, moaned, passed out.
"Livvie," he half-whispered, but she didn't look up.
In a quiet flash, he was out of his seat and standing directly behind her, trapping her between the edge of the table and himself. She braced herself for an argument, thinking he was going to force the issue. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
She hissed softly as he pressed his hardened length against her leg. "Fitz," she let out in a breathy protest. "We can't."
Fitz was decidedly determined to ignore her. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck and planted a delicate, soft, tempting kiss to the side of her neck. She shuddered as his warm breath met her skin.
"You've been bad, Livy," he whispered huskily in her ear. His arms dropped from her shoulder to the belt of her white trench, which he undid with one quick maneuver of fingers. He pressed his lips to her neck again while he undid the buttons on her coat. "Not telling me about your father," he pulled the coat from her body and placed it on a nearby chair. His hands ran along the length of her arms and shoulder blades as she felt her knees go weak. Her breath deepened as he planted a kiss behind the shell of ear. "Letting another man touch you," he continued as his hands dropped to her waist and then under her sleeveless blouse. "What am I going to do with you?" he whispered as his hands reached her breasts and clutched them possessively.
She gasped and her head fell back against his chest. His kneaded her breasts through her bra and she could feel herself growing wet under his ministrations. His lips continued to pepper her neck with kisses as he felt her breath growing shallow and her nipples hardening under his touch.
Her hand reached back to grip his hair, she tugged on his curls, pulling his lips away from her neck. Their eyes met, glossy and glazed before their lips met in a devouring kiss. Their tongues met, melding together and Fitz greedily sucked on her bottom lip, never once stop his attentions to her now near-pained breasts. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and listened to her moan into their kiss.
Liv felt her core clench with every touch. Her nerves were on edge, begging for friction. Fitz, ever aware of her and her needs, released one of her nipples from his relentless assault. His hand teasingly slithered down her body, squeezing her thigh and inching closer and closer to where she wanted it most.
Fitz ever so slowly pulled down the zipper of her slacks. Her breath caught as her pants dropped to her ankles and Fitz held her gently while she stepped out of them. He yanked down her panties with a low growl. The scent of her arousal filled the room and Fitz knew it was only a matter of time before he lost control.
His first instinct was to turn her around, sit on the desk, spread those legs of hers and go down on her until she couldn't breathe. So that was exactly what he did. Setting her ankles on his shoulders, he dropped to his knees and planted a soft kiss on her pulsing, clenching heat. Liv's head rolled back as he proceeded to eat her most greedily. His teeth scraped across her clit, and she tried to silence her moans, knowing that there were Secret Service right outside the door. He lapped at her juices, swirled his tongue around her button and listened in glee as his name fell from her lips in quick, pleasured, constant cessation.
It was Liv's general belief that woman who died without receiving cunnilingus from Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III would die unfulfilled. However, that meant the majority of the women were going to be unfulfilled because he was hers.
She could feel her core throbbing and pulsing with every touch. Her hands gripped around his wavy hair, driving him in deeper and deeper. Heaven was closer than she thought, apparently. She was drowning in the sensations and she didn't care if the Secret Service heard her. Her orgasm hit her, quickly and unexpectedly, causing a sharp shriek to escape her lips as Fitz ravenously lapped up her essence.
She fell back slightly as Fitz rose from his knees, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Liv pulled him by his tie and captured his lips in a hungry, desperate kiss. He pulled her in, locking her ankles around his waist. His lips moved frantically from hers down her neck and to the swells of her breasts, causing her to shudder and moan as she felt his hardness up against her bare thigh. It was true that when it came to matters political and professional, Fitz usually deferred to Olivia's brilliance.
When it came to all matters coitus, on the other hand, Olivia, was usually completely at Fitz's mercy. One kiss from him could take her breath away. Hell, it didn't take that much. The second he pulled her into his arms, her lungs started malfunctioning. The second she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his breath, she got flustered. By the time their lips touched, she was already putty in his hands.
"Fuck," she muttered as Fitz rolled one of hardened, peaked nipples between his fingers. "Fitz, please," she said reaching for his belt buckle
He stopped her hand in its tracks. "You're mine, Livvie," he growled softly into her ear. "Say you're mine," he thrust into her, teasing her, but keeping her from what she wanted most.
"Fitz," she moaned, not wanting to relent. But he was going to let her get off that easily.
"Say you're mine," he said as he squeezed her breast and kissed the shell of her ear.
"I'm yours," she whispered, desperate for him to take her.
He chuckled as he let go of her hand and kissed her lips. Her hands reached for his belt buckle and undid his pants, freeing his more than ready erection from its confines. Their eyes met, as he pushed into her slowly, deliberately, inch by inch, and making her moan every time he moved deeper inside her until there was he was buried to the hilt. Her eyes rolled back as he stretched her walls, and then stilled inside her, sending delicious friction through her most sensitive nerve endings.
He smiled possessively at the pleasured look on her face, pleasure that only he could give her. He fought to main control as her inner muscles clenched around him as he began to move. He pulled nearly out and then surged back in, while she clung to him for dear life. One hand held her steady while the other kneaded her breasts, all the while fucking her with wild abandon, relishing in the moans that fell from her lips, the sighs that she breathed
He knew her body too well, he knew just what to do to make her lose control. He jackhammered into her, knowing by the way she met him thrust for thrust that she was close to release. He wasn't going to come until she did. That was his rule for every time they were together. He wasn't going to find his own release until he made her reach hers. His lips fell to her collarbone and he covered with necks with lingering kisses and nibbles. Her fingers gripped his back, nearing tearing through his dress shirt as she felt her climax wash over her, building slowly and then hitting all at once, sending pure pleasure through every inch of her. She let out his name in a breathy sigh as her walls clenched around him, bringing him in deeper as her body nearly went limp against him. He stilled his movements, still hardened and listened to her breathing. He gently kissed her forehead.
"Livvie," he moaned into her hair. "I love you."
She smiled into his chest. "I love you, too."
His heart skipped a beat, as it did every time she told him she loved him. She had just caught her breath when he started to move within her.
"Fitz," she hissed as she the heat flooded to her sensitive core. Part of her wanted to protest, but in his arms, there was nothing she could do, not that she really wanted to.
It was in these moments, caught up in frenzied passion, it was the only time she ever relented control. He moved slowly at first, watching her rise and fall as he claimed her over and over again. Their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss and out of nowhere, another orgasm coursed through her: softer than the first, but longer, stretching out through her entire body and only escalated by Fitz's own release rolling into her. She felt him shudder as he released deep inside her. She tightened around him as their lips met again.
They stood there, pressed up against the table for what seemed an eternity, neither wanting to depart from each other's warmth. But necessity encroached upon them.
"We need to go…before the Press Corps gets here," Liv said somewhat reluctantly.
Fitz sighed, but agreed. He removed himself from her. "The plan is going to work," he said as he re did his pants.
"Of course it is," she said running her fingers through her hair. She found her soaked underwear and dropped it in her purse.
Once they were composed, they turned to look at each other, trying to figure out if they looked like they had just fucked against a table.
Fitz pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently. She let his lips linger for a few seconds, then she pulled away. "We've got to go," she said. "Things to do."
He sighed, but he nodded. "I'll see you tonight?"
She smiled and nodded. He planted one last kiss to her lips before they both exited the bunker. The SSA agents did their best to act like they had no idea what had transpired between them. Tom shook his head. Command was not going to be pleased about this.
"Hal," Fitz said. "Would you please escort Ms. Pope to her car?"
Hal did his best to hide his distaste and nodded curtly. "Of course, sir."
The lovers shared one last longing glance and then Olivia went her way to handle their business.
Fitz watched her go, knowing it wouldn't be long before she was in his arms again. But before he did, there were matters to attend to. He pulled out his cell phone and called Ballard's line. There was no answer. He then tried Cyrus.
"Yes, sir?" Cyrus answered.
"Ballard…do you have a 20 on him?"
"Yes sir, but he's seen to have gone off the grid."
"Find him and have him brought in immediately. And tell Mitch I'd like to see him in my office before breakfast." Mitchell was Mitchell Graff, the head of Naval Intelligence and Ballard's immediate superior. If Naval Intelligence was being infiltrated by B613, he wanted to know how and why. He wanted Ballard dealt with. Then he would turn his attention to Rowan.
~PPD~
Liv arrived home with a smile on her face. Lately, she couldn't stop smiling. It was like she'd slept with a hanger in her mouth. It was nearly 5:30. She had to shower and get dressed because she had a very important meeting at her office.
Mellie had only talked of agreeing, but Olivia was going to force her hand. Mellie would fall in line and the rest of the chips would fall where she told them to land.
The plan would take time, but that didn't matter. It was going to work. She turned her key in her door and smiled again. For once, things were going well.
She wasn't entirely happy about willfully deceiving the American people….again. But this was American democracy. Willful deception was the common currency. Besides, they had a job to do. Fitz had to be the President he was meant to be. And to do that, he had to have the people's trust.
People didn't trust philandering cads, especially if they didn't know the particulars. Olivia was sure that if the truth of the Grant marriage was revealed to the American public, Mellie would be ran out of town on a rail. However, it wouldn't look good for Fitz either. They had to spin this situation, they had to make it right. They had to have clean hands.
That was the only way a Presidential divorce would work and not be a PR nightmare. It had to be the most amicable divorce in history. And it had to break Fitz's way. Mellie wouldn't be the villain, but if Olivia had anything to say about it, Fitz would be cast in the best light possible. After all, that was the plan. This plan was her magnum opus.
She looked around at her apartment. Nothing could ever move her to give it up, but she knew she was going to spend less and less time there. Perhaps even less time at OPA. Balancing her career with being the First Lady was going to be a challenge.
Everyone expected the First Lady to do nothing but stand by her man…literally. Well, Olivia was going to change that. She was going to keep her career, she was going to have her man.
She was going to have it all.
That was the plan. And it was going to work.
She showered, had a quick breakfast of fruit and Earl Gray, and headed into the office.
Harrison was waiting for her at the elevator.
"Is she here?" Olivia asked.
"She's here," Harrison knew better than to ask Olivia questions, but his face said everything. Olivia turned to head for the conference room. Harrison grabbed her arm.
"You sure you know what you're doing?"
She looked him dead in the face. "I always am."
She strode into the conference room, stilettos clacking, and opened the door, facing the uncertain young woman in front of her.
"Jeanine, thanks for coming in."
Jeanine Locke nodded as she pensively bit her lips.
"Have you had a chance to read the brief?" Olivia asked in her most businesslike tone.
"I have, and I still don't see why…"
"Jeanine, you don't need to know why. All you need to do is say yes or no. You're going to be greatly provided for if you cooperate. Eleven million dollars: three up front, eight over a five year period. Accommodations for you in a foreign country where you will live the life of a high-powered, if eccentric, socialite. Of course, you will never be able to speak about it to anyone, which will only shroud you in mystery. Men will want you, women will want to be you. You will have to ride out a storm of controversy, but you'll be doing in from a palazzo on the French Riviera. You'll have more influence than you could ever hope to get in Washington."
Olivia took one look at the girl and she knew she had her. "Do we have a deal?" she prodded, extending the bright-eyed young girl a pen.
Jeanine hesitated for a brief second, then she grabbed the pen and scrawled her name on the contract and the extensive nondisclosure agreements.
"We do."
~PPD~
Three Weeks Later
CNN: Well, it has been a whirlwind pass few weeks for the Grant Administration. First, we had the First Lady's bombshell accusation President's Grant infidelity. That was followed up by White House Aide Jeanine Locke alleging that she was the President's mistress. Well, a flurry of rumors and conspiracy theories ensued which was answered by absolute silence from the White House itself. Then just last week, the tapes came out. Tapes from nearly sixth months ago revealing Jeanine's elaborate plot to get rid of the First Lady. This girl takes obsession to a whole new level. Apparently, she fabricated White House logs, and stole garments from the Residence to make the First Lady believe that she was carrying on an affair with the President. Apparently, this was an attempt to get rid of the First Lady so Ms. Locke could attempt to seduce President Grant.
In a recent interview with Kimberly Mitchell, Locke stated that the First Lady was the only obstacle standing in the way of her and the President. Of course, she's been completely discredited. CNN has obtained copies of the logs she is said to have shown Mellie Grant and on some of the days, President Grant was not even in the White House. The President himself has yet to comment on all this. However he did call in the big guns: Olivia Pope. She's said to have been handling the crisis since it broke. Apparently, he and the First Lady are going to sit down with Noah Baker tonight. Our DVRs are set.
BNC: Who is this girl? On the surface, she seems totally normal. Raised in a suburban conservative town, graduated with honors from Oberlin, spent a few years interning at different political offices before joining as a volunteer for Grant's campaign. Apparently, that's when it all hit the fan. There are tapes of Ms. Locke outright lusting over the Commander in Chief, who has wisely stayed silent on the matter. Unofficial word from the White House is that crisis manager Olivia Pope is handling the situation and has advised him not to say anything until his interview with Noah Baker. We're counting the hours.
TMZ:Does anyone blame her for wanting Grant in the sheets? As far as Presidents go, the guy is totally yummy. Have you seen his eyes? But seriously, who's running the HR department at 1600 Penn? Because first there was that whole Billy Chambers debacle. Seriously, that dude thought he was going to fabricate an affair with the President and some unstable White House aide? And he was so desperate to get it done that he planted a recorder in the President's bedroom. Psycho much? And now this Locke chick, she's on video talking about how much she wants him and how hot he is. Which we concur, but still, could the highly qualified White House staffers vet these people a little more before they get a Hard Pass? But the real question is why the First Lady was so willing to believe some bimbo over her husband? Guess we'll find out tonight with Noah Baker and the rest of America….
There you have it! Now for those that are wondering, Rowan and Jake are not going to be around forever. They have a very limited shelf life in my universe. I'm only keeping them because I have wanted to decimate them in grand fashion for a while now. Same with Mellie. Tell me what you think? I'm eager to hear.
Next up: more Olitz (of course) interviews and reactions, reelections, and Rowan and much much more.