All In Love is Fair

Part IV

'Do You Know Where You're Going To?'

One week after the election

Olivia was passing. Not of the Nella Larsen sort, but perhaps not far off. The king and queen-making daughter of a boot-strapper father, who came from nothing only to become the overlord of the dark belly of American politics (its core), Olivia now passed for the embodiment of the American dream. A stiletto-strutting, wild dream her ancestors could never deigned to imagine because such accomplishments were meant to eclipse her sort. But here Olivia was passing for free. Passing for independent. Passing for a vision of power not entirely conceived by her. But in passing for these things, Olivia had glided over choices far less celebrated in the circles in which she ran. For passing, in every form, is ultimately not about what one acquires but about the loss of what one leaves behind. But no one, including Olivia, would mistake her as passing for happy. Or for a bowler.

"What are you hoping for? Do you even know?"

Angela's voice startled Olivia from her concentration, as she stared down the glossy, raw almond color of the planks of wood leading to ten neatly arranged white pins. She had yet to score a strike. That's what she was hoping for. Olivia adjusted her shoulders and stepped forward carefully, edging towards the line. Her left hand swung behind her, the weight of the marbled orange ball pulling at the lean muscles in her arm. Crouching, she carefully swung it forward, aiming down the center. The thud of the smooth, spinning orb meeting the firm plank of the lane was satisfying to her.

"Come on come on come one" she repeated below her breath, out of Angela's earshot, praying for a different outcome this time.

"Not again! Imma start calling you the queen of splits," Angela announced as Olivia observed, not for the first time, the gap between two stubborn pins. How much more would she have to give to get them to capitulate like the rest?

Olivia sat down, foregoing a look at the screen, which would only confirm what she already knew. The same score nine times in a row. Split after split after split. Tedious.

"I can't blame you. If choosing were up to me, I would have picked something I was excellent at, too."

"You're not so bad," Angela said, turning around before the strike announced itself with a very particular sound that only comes from the force of the heaviest ball overwhelming all ten hollow pins. Their conversation was barely audible above the thumping top ten Billboard hits cycling out of the overhead speakers.

Galaxy Lanes was the least grubby bowling alley Olivia had been in. Well, since law school. The place where she had met Angela's acquaintance, for they were never friends. Not the kind who would go bowling together, an activity far down the list of things Olivia considered to be a fun time. In this place she did not have to fear gooey substances meeting the back pockets of her designer jeans when she sat down. Yet it was not sophisticated enough to have a wine list, she settled on the vodka soda now perched at her lips. But before imbibing, Olivia threw some questions at Angela.

"What made you reach out after all this time? Whatever you needed to ask me couldn't it have been done in a more…" Olivia glanced at her surroundings. The squeals of delight. The playful groans of disappointment danced around the venue, punctuating the blasting music and the conversations that tried to outdo its volume. The loud crush of balls emerging from the depths of the tubes beneath the lanes, pins being reset. "err…less clamorous?"

"More glamorous," you mean. "You were always so bourgie." Angela snickered.

Olivia ignored that, finding it pointless to defend her tastes. They were hers to mind. "No, I meant someplace where I can hear you."

"Oh, I didn't bring you here to talk."

"But…you said you had something to ask of me."

"It's not an 'ask'," Angela said. Not exactly. More like a topical probing. A reconnaissance mission before she acted. "I found myself thinking of you the other day and thought I'd reach out. Washington can be so lonely when you're in these upper echelons of politics. You know, especially for us."

"Hmmph" Olivia uttered, agreeably, in return. Her squint belied a skepticism she held close. It was true that her circle of confidants had gotten smaller and smaller over the years. Whiter and whiter the farther she climbed. She kept herself too busy to think about women like Angela—the ones whom she used to call friends before they fell away simple because Olivia had let them. Their faces dotted photographs that were now in storage. Her fun, raucous times locked away, and exchanged for a narrow path toward an ultimate, world-impacting goal. Was that her only goal? She thought as she handed back the disgusting rented shoes, grabbing her aubergine, pony leather boots in exchange.

Before she could go too far down a cerebral road, Angela spoke again.

"Color me stunned that you made the time amid all that you have going on. Congratulations by the way. What an accomplishment!"

At this Olivia smiled. "Thank you." She beat back her slight disappointment that this win had, once again, come down to a few hundred votes in a single county. At least for this win she had kept her dignity. She had pulled off the impossible by winning a state that gave her far more electoral votes than Defiance, Ohio ensured. Not since the 1980s had California fallen for a Republican presidential candidate. Given that her Democratic opponent is a Latino man, nabbing the state of California for Mellie was even more impressive. Frankie Vargas was…is a good man. One Olivia wished she did not have to trounce, for he represented so many of her personal values. But this was business. And Olivia was determined to do what she could to push the Republican party to expand its tent.

#

"Now, we can talk!" Angela said cheerily. Her teeth gleamed like Vaseline in the candlelight of their U Street wine and dessert bar, Truffle. In that light Angela's deep brown eyes, two complimentary shades darker than her beautiful skin, sparkled with a slight nervousness as she looked over at Olivia.

Olivia's tongue darted out to savor the woody, black currant flavors of the Pinot painting her bottom lip.

"I thought we would have come here in the first place."

"I like to loosen up a bit after work with some activity. Don't you?"

Olivia's reply was a raised wine glass, followed by a sip.

Angela chuckled. "I get that."

"Where are my manners," Olivia suddenly realized. "The shine of the job has probably worn off by now, but congratulations are due to you, too. Angela Webster, Director of the FBI." Her sincerity was true in that moment. She lifted her glass. "The President is lucky to have you."

"Yeah," Angela said, blushed and bashful. Self-conscious suddenly, she began patting the bottom halo of thick, natural coils that framed her face and unapologetically took up professional space. "Thank you."

Olivia knew the dreamy-eyed look of a woman with a crush. The twinge of possessiveness she felt just thinking about it recognizable, too. "So, what did you want to ask?" She said as suspicion needled her in the gut, begging for the fulcrum of their evening to be exposed.

"It's not an ask," clarified Angela once more. Maybe Olivia was so used to people looking to her to solve problems, mysteries, get them out of a bind, that the statement flowed naturally off her lips. Angela did not think of her next words as an ask, but a clarification. "Since you brought up the President…"

Olivia felt herself stiffen, as her insides minced with trepidation. "Oh…," she nodded slowly waiting for more.

"Listen, I don't want to step on any toes. I respect you and we go way back, but President Grant is very…"

"Attractive, magnetic, charismatic…" Olivia chimed in. She could easily go on, she thought, as the characteristics easily flew from her mouth whilst giving Angela direct—less than hostile—eye contact. She thought about all the descriptive words for Fitz she had only ever uttered to him.

"Yes, all those things…and more."

Olivia gasped internally. Externally, she played it off with a bemused smile. "Okay."

"Nothing has happened between us," Angela dispelled with a reaching hand. "And it's important to me that you know that going forward."

Forward? What planet was Olivia on in this moment? This is what the evening had been about all along. Taking her to some inelegant place to do what passed for sport, to some people. So that Angela could proverbially dunk on her with strike after strike after strike. To show off her gamesmanship, before plying Olivia with good wine. All so that Olivia could grant her permission to—

"To be clear, I'm not asking for your permission…"

"Then what are you asking?" It came out a little more contentious than Olivia desired.

"Again— "

"Right, clarifying, then."

Angela sighed. Though she considered this a courtesy, she had not anticipated this energy from Olivia. Not two years leaving the President. At least that's how the press statement had read. "I know you two have a lot of history. If there are still feelings you have for him, or if the two of you are still— "

Before she could go further, Olivia interrupted, knowing where this was heading. Increasingly eager to be alone with her thoughts in a place where her face could be free of the plaster holding its cracks together. She said, "You should ask him out." Her smile was toothless and her eyes unvirtuous.

"I should? You think?" Angela inquired with genuine hope.

This shy schoolgirl act did not befit the Director of the FBI sitting across from Olivia. She did not know Angela in high school. By the time she met her as a whip-smart twenty-one-year-old with a generous smile and hair so plentiful it made her envious, Angela was one of the Black girls who became part of her crew, along with Abby. The one with whom she formed community, but not friendship like the other girls. She and Angela never shared clothing, let alone men. They dated in separate pools. Olivia was attracted to older sophistication who possessed power and access. Angela dated boys on campus, ones particularly enthralled with the 'S' curve of her body.

"Sure," Olivia shrugged. "If he says 'yes', of course. If you wanna take a shot, good for you. Go for it."

Too far gone with girlish excitement now that she cleared this unexpectedly awkward hurdle—the ex-lover of her current crush—Angela picked up on none of Olivia' s patronizing tone. 'Yes, go for it' made a complete sentence in Angela's mind, with no unnecessary words between. That's how she would remember Olivia's statement.

"Great. I'm gonna ask him out."

"Great!"

This time Olivia's smile was enthusiastic, but still forced. Inside she felt terrible. Not at the thought of Angela being with Fitz, but because deep down she pitied the woman's impending attempt. Would she expect Olivia to commiserate with her over drinks after the inevitable rejection? Angela was undeniably attractive, successful, smart, confident. The kind of woman Fitz liked, as far as she could tell. They had been working on their friendship, growing closer during the general election. The awkwardness had all but fallen away. Fitz had not dated anyone since the two of them broke up nearly two years ago. Playing Washington's greatest himbo for a spell, a blip of an infatuation with an ambitious journalist. Nothing of note, really. The prospect of Fitz dating, how foreign it seemed to her. So unimaginable, her brain refused even a sketch let alone a vivid painting. He wasn't ready for that, was he?

"Earth to Liv," Angela waved in front of her face.

"Was I away?"

"Far away. I guess you didn't hear my compliment."

Olivia's eyebrows raised.

"I said I know the media tried to trash you, but I was cheering you on back then. I thought, look at her, refusing to be the lonely Black lady who's only married to her career. Stealing the President for herself at that? Scared of you!"

"I didn't steal him, Angela."

She had not meant it that way. "I mean that you went for what you wanted. Who you wanted. Honestly, you inspired me."

Olivia lifted a brow. "To date the President?"

Angela gave her a chuckle in return. "No, it's just…" she adjusted herself in her seat, her soliloquy dancing in her eyes before she opened her mouth. "You know how it is to be us. The awkward, 'oh, you—a Black—is in charge?' Or the 'service entrance is in the back' dismissal. And the worst being the 'you didn't sound Black on the phone' eyebrow raise when you introduce yourself in the flesh."

Olivia nodded through all of it in solidarity, adding, "The 'are you sure you're supposed to be here' squint as they look for your boss?" It had been only six months since the last time that one happened to her.

"Yes!" Angela pointed in recognition. And for a moment, it felt good to acknowledge these things out loud with someone who keenly understood in a way to which others in her life could only be sympathetic tourists. Even Marcus, as a man, had his limitations in understanding the slights Olivia and Angela knew well.

"You get it. Of course you do. Because as a Black woman in this country, especially in this town, you spend your whole life being denied. People tell you that you can't do certain things as a girl because that's for boys. Then you're told to stay away from boys because you don't wanna be seen as 'fast', otherwise they'll ruin your life. Stick to those books, girl. You stick with those books, make the sacrifices, don't get knocked up, get those degrees. Then, boom, now it's when are you gonna get a man, settle down and have kids? And by then, so many of those men don't even want you. They're looking for women…girls really, if we're being honest. Barely legal, but easy. In bed and on their fragile egos. Women who aren't going to expect much from them because, as girls, they were taught—and believed—they never should expect too much. And I don't blame them. Chimamanda was right, we do teach girls to shrink themselves. These men don't want partnership with women who are equal to them; they want an accessory to their life. Like a luxury watch they wear because it tells everybody else the caliber of man they are. I remember seeing those pictures of you with the President on your arm. I think you were coming out of your apartment building in one?" Angela's forefinger tapped at her chin in consideration. "Or maybe I'm thinking of one of those date nights you guys took that was plastered everywhere. I remember you wearing a sleeveless, dusty rose top, "Angela said searching her memory.

Olivia vividly remembered. The discomfort of being mobbed by the media circus mixed with the simultaneous pride she felt being with Fitz in the proverbial light. "Both are correct," she said, as she silently crumpled the polyester napkin in her lap.

"Ok! That's what I thought. Anyway, my point is. I remember seeing you two and thinking, wow, she's wearing the watch! Go, Liv! Got eeeeem!" Angela was much amused by her own recollection.

Was Fitz a watch Angela buttered her up to borrow, Olivia thought? Her fingers indiscriminately flitting across the table, unnecessarily adjusting things, careful to avoid her refilled wine glass as her law school classmate prattled on.

"I should stop drinking," Angela noted after her one glass of vino. She had to drive back to McClean. "That's just my crass way of saying you going after the President reaffirmed what caliber of woman you are. One who rose to the top echelons of this town and didn't feel like you had to deny yourself womanly pleasures. You've earned it. I've earned it. Good for us, right?! What good is all this power if I can't enjoy myself, too? Does one have to cancel the other? Listen, I'm as ardent a Black feminist as the next Sista, but let's be real. I have great friendships, but I don't want to have children with my friends. And I don't want to cuddle with them. No amount of self-love and self-care bubble baths and weekly massages are going to replace the desire for partnership, right? Toys are great, but they— "

Conversation ceased. For everyone. In unison, every patron, it seemed, turned around at the sound of the crash of Olivia's wine glass against understated white subway tile. The whiteness of them painfully emphasized the uninvited cranberry-colored liquid in which they were now splattered. Rivulets of ruby settled in the onyx grouting between the tiles. Two servers came rushing over. One gathered the shards and the other erased the stains.

"Oh, no," Angela said.

"It happens," said one of the servers.

Olivia looked up to find at least a dozen pair of lasers trained on her skin with their disappointing glare. This was preferable to Angela finishing that sentence.

#

"Have you got her? Do. You. Have. Her?!" Fitz barked down the line to Special Agent McCullough, head of the Secret Service. His face was flush with the heat of his anger, fear, and a debilitating sense of déjà vu. He could not sustain her loss. Not another one. He is, arguably, the most powerful man on earth, but also profoundly impotent in this moment. Fitz readied his lungs for another verbal bollocking, inhaling sharply but the effort was blunted by the voice on the other line.

"Sir, I have word that Firefly is secure. I repeat, Firefly is secure."

The repetition helped, for it was only upon the second utterance that the message registered. His only daughter, Karen, was safe, away from the danger of the active shooter inside her Dublin, New Hampshire boarding school. Despite a $68,000 a year tuition, and Secret Service agents, the problem that plagued America still made its way into his daughter's bubble. Into his bubble. Fitz's only solace was that having passed legislation preventing the sale of military grade weapons, the shooter's reign of terror had not, thankfully, reached its worst potential. Hunter Goodman's sawed-off shotgun was a deadly weapon, but it was not an AK-47 that could spray indiscriminate bullets with inhumane efficiency at his classmates and faculty. It was the day before Karen was to fly home for the Thanksgiving weekend.

"And her classmates? The teachers? Is the school secure?" He still hadn't moved from the spot behind his desk. His back crouched as he stood. A fist balled up tension pushed against the Resolute desk.

"We have everyone accounted for…except. Except Headmaster Wilson. Sir, he…We lost him."

"Damnit!" Fitz bowed his head. He could feel Angela's hovering presence. Her tepid uncertainty of the role (roles?) she should play in this moment.

Hoping to offer reassurance for seeking justice in the ensuing investigation, Director Webster spoke up.

"The Portsmouth office is assisting Dublin law enforcement for now, but I've also several of my best agents to push this along. The USA Jane Young, for New Hampshire, is on her way, Mr. President. It's going to be OK."

Fitz had begun roaming the room, away from his desk whilst Angela continued to speak from the spot by the window. He needed to be gone soon. His mind was everywhere at once. Karen. Teddy. Mellie. Charlotte and his schedule that needed to be rearranged.

"They'll meet you on the tarmac as soon as you land. But, Mr. President—"

Fitz held up a finger to Angela, urging her to pause. Charlotte's head popped through the slightly opened door. Before he could get to her, the phone rang, demanding his attention. He snatched it from its cradle.

"15 minutes." He looked at his watch. "See you there, Mel."

"Director Webster, I'm sorry. You were saying?" He never stopped moving, his mind fixed on seeing Karen. "Actually, can it wait? I need to get out of here."

"I know. I understand. But when you get to Dublin—" Angela was interrupted once more.

"Don't go directly to the school."

Angela turned at the sound of the voice she had not seen in nearly three weeks. "Yes, exactly what I was trying to say," she reiterated.

Seized with paternal impatience, Fitz was truculent. "My child is traumatized by what just happened in her school. I am her father—"

"And the President of the United States. Showing up with her mother, the President Elect. This story will become about you and your family instead of the other students in distress, who don't have presidents in their families." Olivia took a step towards him. The words were stern, but her voice was even, its edges soft with empathy. "Fitz, I know you know that." She knew he would be emotional, considering what both he and Karen had already been through. Olivia had come as soon as Mellie told her, arriving at the White House moments before the news was leaked. Abby readied herself to address the press corp.

"Go to her, Fitz. Of course. Just not to the school. Not right away." Unconsciously, Olivia's hand found its way to Fitz's forearm as she said this, her eyes roaming his face with concern. Standing inches apart, the formed a circle of their own making.

Angela cleared her throat, reminding them of her presence. Olivia slipped her hand away from Fitz, taking a step back.

"I have to go," Fitz said to Olivia as he grabbed his suit jacket. "Thank you… for coming. You didn't have to."

Olivia gave him a weak smile in return. Her eyes always said more than her lips ever would.

Joined with Angela by his side as he headed toward the door, realization dawned for Olivia. She saw as Fitz leaned in for the briefest of kisses with Angela. Her head turned away from them, involuntarily singed with the feeling of being an outsider in a room only for insiders. Flooded by thoughts of her last meeting with Angela, her own words slapped her in the face.

"If he says yes…"

Men, she thought.

"I don't suppose I'll see you tonight?" Angela posed to Fitz on his way out. She should not ask, but her insecurity got to better of her before pride could grab hold.

"I can't say when I'll be back. You probably shouldn't wait up." Fitz replied in a hushed voice as he grabbed his coat.

"I should probably sleep at mine. But I'll leave it to you to call me when you can."

"No, no. Stay here," he insisted. "It'll be nice to see you no matter what time I get back. If I get back. But if it makes more sense for you to…"

Angela smiled like a brightly, perhaps inappropriately. Even in this moment he was charming. "It does make more sense to stay in my own bed tonight. But I'll miss you. Now, get out of here," she teased.

Olivia and Angela were left in the weighty absence of Fitz. Olivia grabbed her Kelly-green bag off the sofa, making it clear she was leaving. Since the President was no longer in his chamber, she motioned for Angela to do the same.

"Did he…call you?" Angela searched generously for the reason behind Olivia's presence.

"No, not at all. I came as a friend. That's all."

"A friend who didn't know he's had a girlfriend for two weeks." Angela said, as she followed Olivia toward the door. "Interesting."

Olivia let Angela go ahead of her out the door, making an excuse that she needed to see Abby. She asked him out, and he had said yes. For three weeks he's been saying yes. She stood with her back against the closed door.

Standing with her back against the closed door, the word 'girlfriend' repeated in her head. Insistent and loud like a dot matrix printer, Olivia's brain could not escape that word. Of course he moved on with this part of his life as he was readying himself to do in six weeks. What had she been hoping for? Sometimes the answers to those question were so sad; they aren't worth asking. Fitz's face and body were worthy of being meticulously carved into Italian marble. But he was not a statue, timeless and forever suspended, existing in the same place to which one can dependably return for a visit when convenient. Because people think only of themselves as changing. That the people in their lives are like game pieces they can move for their pleasure, or needs, or fear. And one day the game piece becomes a person. Alive. Moving and wanting. How utterly stupid to think otherwise.

#

Mid-December

"But Stover will pass through committee easily."

"Is that what you want? Easy?"

"If by that you mean, do I want a controversy-free pick for my first Supreme Court nominee? Then, yes. Easy does it. Do you know how many fights I'll have to have with Congress? We lost the Senate by two, and we're hanging onto the House by a thread with some of these looney tunes recently elected."

Olivia needed no reminding. Neither did she think the SCOTUS appointment needed to be a fight. Not if they played the right card. "Mellie, what if this is the only Supreme Court nominee of your administration? You have to think that way and be bold."

"Oh, please," Mellie dismissed. "I'll have another stab soon. Einhorn is 84 and increasingly incoherent. She won't last long. She'll be retiring within the next two years, and we'll have a chance to get some younger blood in there."

"Don't count on it. Justice Oliver Wendel Homes, Jr. was 90 before he gave up the bench."

"That's an anomaly from nearly a century ago. We're in a new era. I'm sure Einhorn would love to have the first female president decide her replacement."

"Maybe, so. But not by you."

"Excuse me?"

Olivia stood firm in a navy-blue suit, patterned with barely perceptible celadon green stripes in a chevron pattern. She rested a fist on the thick glass table of the small conference room of their interim headquarters.

"Mellie!" Olivia said. The warning tone was all too familiar to the President-Elect by now, six weeks after the election. "We've talked about this. The category of woman isn't universal. That's not enough for Einhorn. She cares about your politics. Your Republican politics. She's an old-school, progressive Jew with civil rights bona fides going back to the fifties, in Louisiana of all places. One of the few Democrats there that didn't become a republican after '68. She will never entrust you with her retirement. She'd rather drop dead first. Unless…" Olivia paused for Mellie's attention.

"What?"

"Unless our pick appeals, partially, to the legacy she wants to leave behind.

Mellie huffed, thinking about that battle-axe of an 84-year-old woman. "Fine." Turning away from the whiteboard of faces, Mellie walked to the back of the room and looked at the board from a distance. Safe picks above the red line, harder sells underneath it. She began to feel the weight of this pick on her untested shoulders. She was about to be President, the one onto which everything would fall, whether she was directly involved or not. No longer could she be envious and critical of the one in the position because that person was going to be her.

"I'm glad you caught wind of Prentiss's impending resignation. It gives us time to prepare rather than springing it on us that first week." Mellie fingered her pearls before checking her watch. "I guess your ex-gang of goons are still passing you intel. What are you doing about them anyway."

Olivia's smile was mirthless upon hearing the description of her Gladiators. "The goons," she said sarcastically, "that got you elected?"

The mounting tension was soon dispelled by the din both women heard. Ooohs, ahhs, many voices, greetings, laughter, coos, and then a fit of tears. A baby, Olivia thought, her face scrunching with mystery as she moved toward the door to investigate.

Moments later, the baby was no longer crying. And maybe it was because of who had taken possession of her. Fitz? He was here and she did not know? Olivia had asked him to come down as they discussed their choices in nominees. Fitz had personal and professional experiences with a few of them, having appointed several candidates to Federal Circuit Court positions during his 8 years in office. She watched him and her staffers from a distance.

"Wow, you've got some kind of magic," Caitlyn, the soon-to-be assistant press officer, and mother of four-month-old Madison marveled as she watched her daughter decorate the expensive suit of the President of the United States with her spittle. So comforted against Fitz's chest, Madison dozed off easily, even with a small crown gathered around her and the sentient pillow holding her.

"I love babies," Fitz said to Caitlyn, as he continued looking at Madison's fluttering lashes.

"I think the feeling is mutual," Caitlyn responded. One that was said a little too dreamily for one man's liking. He gave Caitlyn a nudge, reminding her of his presence.

"Mr. President, I didn't introduce you to my husband. This," she pointed, "is Paul. He brought my little angel for a visit."

"Mr. President, I'm a big fan of yours," Paul said, holding out his hand. Caitlyn looked askance at her husband.

"Babe," he said. "Would you mind grabbing what you pumped for Maddie? She's due for a feed in half an hour and I want to get back home in time."

The two men exchanged pleasantries whilst Caitlin stole away to the mini fridge in her office.

"Do you need your daughter back?" Fitz joked, not looking at Paul, but at the bundle peacefully attached to him. He could see the red hues in her strawberry blonde wisps of hair on an otherwise bald head. Fitz's finger stroked at the baby's tightly balled fists which, at the feel of his touch, opened briefly only to snatch Fitz's finger into its coils.

Paul is too starstruck to feel threatened by the sight in front of him. "If the President wants to hold my kid for a few shakes, who am I to stop him. I can't wait to tell her this story when she's older. Do you mind if I take a picture of the two of you? And one with all four of us when Caitlyn comes back?"

With his dark, tousled hair and matching, overgrown beard, and round, horn-rimmed glasses, Paul stood there, outfitted with an empty baby Bjorn strapped to his chest. He looked tired. Exactly as he should since he was the active, working-from-home-father of a four-month-old baby. Soon there are pictures. A lot of pictures. More chatter-some of it meaningful, most of it polite passing of time. Olivia, still observing surreptitiously, could not make out what was being said between the two men. Paul is a close talker, standing directly in front of Fitz's face. Deciding that was her cue to get out of there, she headed back to Mellie, sure that Fitz would join them any minute.

"I was sorry to hear your daughter was caught up in the that school shooting. Thank God it wasn't worse."

Fitz winced slightly thinking of the psychological scars the event left on Karen. That his child had to question if her life was going to end that day. "Thank you. She was more fortunate than some." Fitz had never been more grateful for Karen's interest in theater. She and two dozen other students were in rehearsals for Oklahoma! They hid beneath the stage.

Caitlyn returned with a supply of freshly pumped breastmilk in small bottles, presented to Paul like a six pack. Instead of taking the milk, he grabbed his phone from the navy-blue bag hanging from his shoulder, so that he could get a group selfie with all 4 of them. The bag is the kind that couples in their early thirties buy because they are too cool to walk around with garish, pastel colored diaper bags. But it is still a diaper bag. The man knows he will never again have a moment like this. He did not vote for Fitz either time but did vote for his ex-wife because this may be the only chance to elect a woman in his lifetime. Paul wants to tell Maddie, in the future, that he voted for the first female President. Pictures of Mellie with Maddie already dotted their Meridian Hill condo.

Snap, snap, snap. Everyone was now taking pictures of Fitz and the baby. Just Fitz. Fitz, the baby, Caitlyn, and Paul. There would be no shortage of images and videos plastered on the internet for Maddie to look back on when she is old enough to care.

Paul reached out his hand. "Well, Sir, now's the part where I insist you give her back to me." He chortled to himself.

Fitz humored him, and the rumble in his chest caused Madison to shift. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she remained unbothered, fast asleep on a fluffy presidential cloud. "She's lovely," Fitz said as he separated the infant from his body and into the contraption decorating her father's chest.

In a shameless attempt to extend his visit, Paul asked, "Planning on any more of these?" He was now pointing both index fingers down at his daughter as Fitz settled her into the harness. Her sleep had started to turn fitful after her location shifted.

"Oh, right," he smiled wistfully. "Safe to say that ship has sailed for me." Aware of the time, and the reason for his visit, Fitz tried to end the conversation. "You take care, Paul" He began walking toward the conference room.

"Don't count yourself out! Men have their whole— ". Paul was cut off by Caitlyn's forceful hands on his back as she marched him toward the exit.

"Honey, I think it's time to take Maddie home."

#

"That man loves babies," Mellie said. She was both amazed and incredulous. The latter was due to Fitz's little schtick in the hallway, which was wasting her time. Soon, Mellie would have to leave.

A campaign memory flashed through Olivia's mind. The first time she saw president, father, man all at once in him. He had been holding someone's baby at a pancake breakfast. "Don't most people like babies?"

Mellie scoffed. "No one who has to take care of them likes babies. They are exhausting. They come in that adorable packaging to remind us not to completely give up the endeavor. Give me a child that can articulate his wants, walk on his own, go to the bathroom by himself, and best of all doesn't need my body for food."

Olivia thought about the help that Mellie must have had. Help she knows Caitlin and Paul don't have.

Mellie stopped her tirade for a moment before she softened. "That's when I start to enjoy them. Parents live in fear of the teen years. Those, I can handle. That's when I shine."

"How's Karen?" Olivia asked.

"Quiet and clingy. I was always the one pushing boarding school, but it's been good to have her back. Teddy is over the moon, of course."

Mellie was conscious of the time because she was quickly approaching the two hour block she reserved for her and Karen to choose in which D.C. school she would be finishing her final semester before Yale. After what happened at her school, Karen wanted to be closer to her mother and little brother.

Fitz walked into the room, and before he could apologize, Mellie spoke for everyone. "You're late."

#

Two Nights Later…

"It'll be seen as a bold decision by some. A pro-choice pick is just the half of it. But I see what you're doing-setting the tone, the expectations for your administration. Setting yourself apart from the past."

"It wasn't such a bad past," she smirked.

"No offence taken. I get it." Fitz smiled back. "You'll get some Democrats to vote for her, but hardline Republicans will absolutely hate it, and her on principle." Fitz took a sip of his drink. He continued to look at the picture in his other hand.

"The same ones that hated me for being with you?"

Dusk reigned over Washington. The salmon and aubergine laced skyline was as beautiful as the air was cool on this late afternoon in December. Just warm enough for Olivia and Fitz to sit on the Truman balcony, ostensibly to finish the meeting that had to be cut short two days ago due to time. Olivia was wrapped up in a most elegant black and white coat. After zipping around town all day, in meeting after meeting, she had insisted on the fresh air. Insisted that she was fine out there. That the temperature wasn't so bad. Fitz, clad only in a deep grey suit, after five minutes on the balcony, retrieved a lavender wool throw from his closet and placed it over Olivia's lap. She was grateful.

"I don't think they hated you. They hated your entitlement."

"Entitlement?" She repeated, nonplussed.

"That you dared to feel entitled to be here with me. Openly."

She ran that word over in her mind, testing its fit. "I felt a lot of things back," Olivia looked down at the dissipating streams of steam in her half empty cup of green tea. "Entitled to be here, as your girlfriend, was not one of them."

"Really?" Fitz looked at her, wanting her to go on. He still had questions he wished to ask her about that time. What were some of the things she felt? Not just about the night they careened into a brick wall of an ending, but before. In the days, weeks that led up to that. The times she refused to look him in the eyes.

Olivia felt what Fitz wanted, but if they started rolling that ball, where would it stop? "Oh, let's not talk about old times. You're dating someone else now. You have a…girlfriend." The word felt so foreign in her mouth when it was about someone else. "Dating. I cannot believe you, Fitzgerald Grant, are dating. Wow."

Their eyes locked and the penny dropped. They're discussing dating. Dating other people. What a tragedy of their own making.

Fitz was the first to break eye contact. "Is it OK to say it's strange? I've wanted to say that to someone. I've been off the market for well over twenty years. Everything is so different now. The expectations…" he became aware of himself. "Maybe I'm just old and out of the loop. I guess it's different for you?"

How could she not equivocate. Their friendship grew each day, but talking about who they were bedding was not part of her plan for friendship. Eject, eject, eject.

"I'm not really dating these days. Just giving my all to this administration. But, you. You. I'm…" she forced a smile "happy. For you. You get to date while being president, finally. Without it being a circus." She could barely finish. A bitterness simmered within her. Had she not broken him in, suffered all the lashes in the press only for Angela to swoop in and no one care about her presence? She felt like a real-life Beyoncé song. Ring the alarm, if only to stop this train of conversation.

"Fitz, you have a wonderful girlfriend now. You must feel relieved." She was zero for two on word choices. What was it about the balcony and the thoughtless, but true, things she found herself confessing.

"'Now'?" Fitz looked at her pointedly.

"I just mean a girlfriend without all the complications."

"Complications? Is that what you think you were to me?"

"I'm just using your word," she was quick to say. Fitz was utterly dumbfounded.

"From the bar. The night we celebrated Mellie's win."

"Mellie's White House will be your White House, but without all the complications."

"I meant me. I was a complication to your life. Me. My marriage, my job. All of this," he made a 360 degree turn. "This complicated your life. I wish we had met under different circumstances. Less complicated ones."

Fitz moved from the railing to take a seat on the lounger. He patted the place next to him. Olivia was sitting in the chair cattycorner to it. But looking at the lounger made her think about when they made love there in the wee hours of the morning. When the newness of them was all that mattered. When there was sun on the horizon, and 'whatever we want' was full of easy, blurry promise, not the jagged pill of delusion they eventually had to swallow.

Olivia looked at the seat next to Fitz. Was it right there that two became three? Or one of the other three times earlier that night? She got up and sat next to him, adjusting her blanket back into place.

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't," she said. "If we met under different circumstances, everything else would be different, too." She abandoned her now cold tea to the table. "The clean slate approach isn't always the best."

Fitz absorbed, in silence, what Olivia said. A host of memories visit him, ones that might never have existed were their circumstances different.

"You looked very cozy with Maddie the other day," Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd been thinking for the last three months about how she should bring this up.

A beat passed as Fitz registered the subject change.

"The baby."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize how much time had passed. Her father kept going on and on. I think I just liked holding her." He flashed that endearing crooked smile of his remembering Maddie's face. "What a peach she is. I miss when Teddy was that age."

A lullaby of hush enveloped them. Olivia reached for the decanter of Scotch, refilling Fitz's glass and pouring a finger for herself.

"Do you want more children?"

His face was inscrutable at first. And then the curtains over his were drawn in protection. "It doesn't matter." Now he was the one changing the subject. "If you're set on Johnston then, that's a choice I support, not that you need it. The SCOTUS bench could use its first Black woman. One of several in the future, I hope."

Where Olivia was unsure of going down this road, his response, almost identical to one from months ago, in his office, settled her thoughts.

"You…" she thought about choosing her words carefully, but it came tumbling out like a belch. "You know, don't you?"

The sun had all but disappeared. Night was falling quickly, and the air grew frosty. Fitz did not speak. The uncertainty of silence ornaments the air. Fitz rose and ambled over to the railing, his face jutting out into the crisp, December sky. December, December, December. Another December. They both knew so much more now than they did two Decembers ago.

"How are you not freezing?" Olivia said, desperate to break the silence. She could see the words coming out of her mouth.

"I came across a folder on Abby's desk," Fitz began. He, too, was thinking, of how he should begin. Because he knew not where she would take this. "It said campaign intel. I didn't realize what I was looking at. Not at first." He turned around to face her, his back to the wind, mitigating its assault on her. "But I had no intention of telling you that I knew because it seemed obvious you didn't want me to know. That's where I eventually landed after my initial disbelief."

"I was…afraid to tell you." She did not know what else to say but the truth.

Disappointment was the perfect word to describe the look on Fitz's face. "Was your opinion of me that low?"

"Fitz, that's not—"

"That by telling me I'd somehow force you to go through with a pregnancy you didn't want. Like some medieval monarch?" He placed the rest of his drink on the table, decidedly done with drinking. He sat in the single seat she had been in earlier.

"No, It wasn't that at all. I didn't want to hurt you, Fitz. If you knew that I had been pregnant with your child and ended that pregnancy, you would be hurt. I know you." Her words were a whisper.

He heard her. He absorbed her. He looked at her.

"I came to understand your decision about your body and your life. I think what hurts is that you didn't trust me…or us enough to let me decide how to feel. You decided that for me. It became another secret you kept from me, to protect me. Without trust, Olivia, nothing we have—"

"I do trust you, Fitz. It's just…" What had been held in for so long between them came bursting out only to hit a wall. Olivia had conjured it to be worse than it was. Not that it was easy. Like now. The words did not come so easily now. There were more, if only she could access them. She had pulled on the frayed edge of their relationship, and there was so much fabric to pull apart. But she was stuck. A million-dollar education and she could not buy even a vowel right now. It was too late.

"Yoohoo!" Came a sing-song voice from inside the Presidential bedroom. "I wanted to be here earlier, but I got pulled into—." Angela stopped at the doorway. "Oh, Olivia. You're here…again."

TBC…

A/N: Sorry for the delay. It's now 6 parts instead of 4 and coming to a close this week. It gives me some breathing room.

What say ye? What do we think of Angela? Does Olivia have a right to feel the way she does? What does she want? What else from their relationship needs to come up?