Olivia goes to the offices next day and is assaulted with the scent of stale Chinese food. She also hears voices.
In the main room are Abby and Quinn, both with legs propped up on the table. Both of them ignore her as she enters. Olivia can remember a time when she used to strike fear into the hearts of the peons in the press briefing room. She longs for that time.
"But you do agree that there are merits to smaller government," Quinn says conversationally.
"Of course there are; I think it just sounds like a dumb thing to say when you're running for the most powerful office in the world."
Olivia stares at them. The strap of her bag makes a slow descent down her shoulder. "Please tell me the two of you showered at least."
"I was wearing orange yesterday," Abby says absently, digging into a carton with chopsticks. Olivia eyes her blue blouse and then the chopsticks.
"I asked you twice if you wanted any Chinese."
"We don't like the place you order from, so we waited till after you left to call our place."
Olivia blinks and decides it's too early in the morning to try to make sense of it. "After your—breakfast—the both of you are going out to get air freshener, clear?"
Abby gives her a little mock salute.
"We've been trying to figure out Levi Roman," adds Quinn. Her doe eyes shine and beg Olivia not to be annoyed with her. It's disgusting, how well that works.
"Any luck?"
"Not yet."
Olivia eyes the table and nods. "Meeting in an hour."
Once inside her office, Olivia switches on C-Span and pulls up the Senate itinerary for the day. She decides to place a call to Senator Carlisle's secretary to schedule a meeting to pick her brain.
Twenty minutes later, Huck strides into her office. She looks up from the news and makes a relieved sound. "Thank god, someone sane."
Huck stops dead. One eyebrow climbs up towards his hair and Olivia could kick herself for saying something so stupid.
"They still going at it?" inquires Huck mildly, and she says a little thank-you prayer to whoever might be listening that the comment didn't phase him.
She motions to the chair in front of her desk. "You don't like my Chinese food place, huh?" she asks as he sits down.
"General Tso's shouldn't be that salty and there's no egg in their fried rice."
"Everybody's a critic," she mutters. "Did you review the surveillance footage?"
He nods and holds up two fingers.
"Good. We'll go over it during the meeting." She studies Huck. "Do you ever miss the days when it was just you and me, Huckleberry?"
His brow knits. "We were doing very different work then," he says. "I like this better."
Olivia nods. She tries to imagine Huck on a beach, coconut drink in one hand and laptop in another. It makes her smile.
Harrison, as usual, is the last to arrive. Olivia and Huck emerge from her office to find him chastising Abby and Quinn.
"I've got the longest commute. Someone always beats me. Why is it so hard for one of you to get the damn coffee maker running?"
"Rotten egg," Abby says sagely.
"What the hell does that even mean?"
"It means you were born at age twenty-eight in a Gucci suit with a briefcase glued to your hand. Last one to get here is a rotten egg?" Abby explains, having the gall to look irritated.
Quinn giggles. Olivia thinks she might have to separate them. Harrison turns to her, expression crazed, and Olivia's suddenly glad he's an officer of the court.
"Sit," she directs. The coffee maker bubbles to life and Olivia cannot wait to learn what fresh coffee smells like when it is tainted by the scent of yesterday's Chinese takeout. Huck, the angel, reads her mind and opens a window before taking his seat. "So where are we?"
"After reviewing the courier surveillance, Huck and I were able to narrow down our search to two possible individuals," Harrison begins, opening a folder and taking out two blown-up photos. Both show men on the sidewalk approaching the courier service from different directions. Olivia squints; one of them has longish dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the other has a thick beard.
"Both of them came and left within the window of time that fits the drop-off of Carlisle's package. We checked back with the courier and they couldn't find information slips for either of them. The manager said it was common during peak rush hours for some contact information to get…misplaced."
"Nice," says Abby.
"So one of them is a misplaced slip and the other is our blackmailer crony," Harrison continues.
"Do we know who they are yet?" Olivia asks.
"Preliminary facial recognition searches haven't pulled up much," Huck says. He motions to the man with the beard. "This one approached from the south and judging by the way he's dressed, I'd guess that he's some kind of tradesman. Plumber or electrician, maybe."
"And this one came from the west. Businessman—something in finance, if the suit is anything to go by. That three piece Armani came into style just earlier this year. The only other thing we can get is that this one's married." Harrison taps the man's hand in the photo.
Abby edges closer to peer at the photo. She makes a noise. "The guy with the beard totally looks like a homophobe. Somebody who'd picket celebrity funerals and yell gay slurs in the street."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Harrison inquires dryly.
"I bet if you were to take that jacket off him, he'd have a dozen of those preachy tattoos down his arms. What's that one from Leviticus that all those conservative radio hosts like to use to justify their homophobia?"
The sound of a chair hitting the floor startles Olivia. She turns to see Quinn on her feet, eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Oh my god."
"Quinn?"
She stumbles around the table, nearly knocking over Harrison's cup of coffee. "Oh my god, oh my god. I know this!"
"Quinn," Olivia calls again, watching her dash across the room to the bookcase.
"Caffeine's a hell of a drug," Abby notes, watching as Quinn's hands fly over the spines of books.
She suddenly makes a triumphant sound and she sprints back to them, slamming a book on the table—the King James version of the Bible.
"Levi Roman!" she says with an excited grin.
Harrison frowns. Abby arches an eyebrow. "Quinn?" Olivia tries for a third time.
Quinn looks around at them all and shakes her hands. "Levi Roman!" Silence. Quinn leans down and flips the Bible open. "Huck, what's Levi Roman's phone number again?"
"201-312-6127," he recites.
"And nothing's come up with it, right?"
"Not yet."
"Nothing will," Quinn says, "because it isn't a phone number. Listen: 'If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them'. Leviticus, chapter twenty, verse thirteen." She turns the Bible around to face them, tapping the passage with a perfectly manicured finger. "Levi, 201-3."
Olivia's eyes scan the Bible. "And Roman—"
Quinn scrambles to flip to the New Testament. "Romans, chapter one, verses twenty-six and twenty-seven. 'Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion'." Quinn raps the table with her knuckles. "We won't find a Levi Roman anywhere because it's not a name, it's a code. We thought the blackmailer didn't leave any message, but he did. Both passages condemning homosexuality along with incriminating photos of Carlisle and Quentin. He's telling us that he knows what the senator did and that he wants her to be punished for it!"
Silence reigns for a minute, and then Abby makes a noise. "Huh."
"Fantastic, Quinn!" Olivia exclaims, squeezing her shoulder. Quinn's face lights up like a Christmas tree.
"So we're looking for a religious nut who has it out for Senator Carlisle," says Harrison.
"Great!" Abby says somewhat manically. "That could literally be half of Congress."
Quinn is shaking her head. "Not if we look specifically for the people Huck and Harrison narrowed it down to from the surveillance footage."
"And then our guy would have to be stupid enough to do his blackmailing in person," Abby counters. "The man in the photo, whichever of them it is, is dollars to donuts a paid decoy. These aren't the droids you're looking for."
Harrison stares at Abby. "Seriously?"
"Decoy or not, they're still our best leads right now," says Olivia. "Two of you take one, two of you take another, turn their lives inside out and look to see if any of them have any ties at all to Congress, or to the church. Or to the Vice President," she adds.
"Aren't we forgetting something?" Abby looks around the table. "201 area code. New Jersey. Quentin was born in Jersey."
Quinn taps the Bible. "But that wasn't really an area code."
"Still, it's a little too convenient. And this whole thing with the passages and hidden messages sounds like something out of a good fiction novel. It could all just be a front for her to punish her ex-lover."
"I watched your recording last night," says Harrison. "I don't think it's her. She seemed pretty authentic."
"She's a writer. Writers make up lies for a living." Abby shrugs. "I'm just saying, she has the motive for blackmail."
Quinn shakes her head. "She doesn't need money."
"It isn't always about money," says Huck. "In fact, it's hardly ever really about money. It's about revenge. Power."
Olivia considers it for a moment before straightening. "My instincts say Quentin isn't behind this, but we won't write her off. Follow up on your leads. I'll be on the hill."
In the Senate office lobby, both flat screen televisions are displaying Senator Carlisle's face. Olivia settles into her seat and watches. She's heard, for the last few days, pundits and commentators dissect Carlisle from the inside out and call her cerebral and cold. Olivia watches Carlisle plead her case in favor of 179 and she wonders, definitely not for the first time, what the hell Chris Matthews is smoking.
Carlisle's eyes burn as she talks, and her throaty voice carries across the hall like the resounding knell of a bell. She's captivating there at the podium, demanding the attention of her peers and the world beyond. There is nothing detached or professorial in her delivery today.
The camera pans around the room and Olivia can see Sally Langston's pro tem burning a hole in the back of her skull with his eyes. The look only intensifies when the end of her speech is met with applause.
Ten minutes later, Carlisle enters the lobby. She greets Olivia with a smile. "Miss Pope. Come on in."
"That was quite a speech, Senator," she says, closing the door behind them and taking a seat in front of Carlisle's desk.
"A former governor of my home state once said you campaign in poetry and govern in prose," she says by way of explanation, opening the blinds behind her desk. "Contrary to popular belief, the most powerful tool we have as lawmakers is not money or political alliances. It's our voices. I wish more of my colleagues realized that."
Olivia waits for Carlisle to sit down before she starts. "Senator, we traced back the photographs through the courier's office. Whoever is blackmailing you seems to have a Christianity-based vendetta against homosexuality."
Carlisle's expression doesn't change. "I assumed the blackmailer's goal was to take me down for S-179."
"I'm fairly certain that's a peripheral interest," says Olivia. "If the blackmailer's motivation is fueled by religious ideology, then it would be in his or her interest to cause you as much damage as possible. They had the photos for over a year but they waited until this moment to bring them to your attention." She leans forward. "Senator, whoever's doing this knows you well, well enough to know how much 179 means to you. This isn't political; it's personal. Someone wants to hurt you, not the bill."
Carlisle mulls that over, rubbing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes flit back to Olivia's. "Do you still think Rebecca's behind it?"
"We can't fully rule her out," Olivia says, aiming for diplomacy. "You can think ending a relationship is friendly, but sometimes the other person—"
"Did you speak to her?" Carlisle inquires quietly.
Olivia nods. "She wanted me to tell you that she's sorry about all of this."
"And did she give you any reason to believe that she isn't?"
Olivia lowers her eyes and considers her next words carefully. "Senator Carlisle—"
"No." Carlisle's voice is as hard as steel. "Rebecca is not responsible for this, Miss Pope."
And then Olivia knows as surely as she knows that her phone will ring at ten PM precisely tonight, that Carlisle still loves her.
"All right," she concedes. "Then think. Anyone in Congress who is religious, who is fervently anti-gay and anti-179."
"You could start with the Vice President," Carlisle says wryly.
"Someone who knows you well," Olivia presses, "someone who has butted heads with you in the past. Even as far back as your days as a state senator."
"There are too many," the senator returns, shaking her head resolutely. "The list could wrap around this office twice."
"Make it anyway," says Olivia. "We need every advantage we can get."
"Yes, of course." And Olivia knows that expression. It irritates her.
"Senator Carlisle."
"We're running out of time," she murmurs, running her hand over her mouth again.
"Senator, I've got everyone on my side working on this. We're fully committed and we won't stop until we figure this out."
Carlisle doesn't speak for a moment. Then, she nods to her phone. "Just before I went into the Senate hall, I was speaking with Marisol Mendez, a housekeeper from Houston. She wanted to tell me about her twenty-year-old son, Carlos. Marisol is undocumented; she crossed the border in the late eighties because she wanted her children to have a better life here than they could get in Mexico. Carlos is an amazing boy—smart, has a good head on his shoulders. He graduated from high school with a 4.0 GPA but couldn't afford to go to college, so like so many of our young men and women, he enlisted in the armed forces. Because he wanted to continue his education and serve the country he loved at the same time. His country.
"New numbers of military service members who died in Afghanistan will come out tomorrow morning. Carlos's name will be on the list." Olivia swallows. "Miss Pope," Carlisle continues, clasping her hands in front of her, "I know you aren't a genie. If you can't stop the photos from leaking…at least try to postpone them until after the vote on 179."
Olivia returns to the sound of AC/DC rattling the windows of the offices. She finds Harrison in his office, one foot propped up on a chair, wailing on an air guitar. He doesn't even have the good sense to look embarrassed when she walks in.
"I am the magic man!" he announces over the music.
"Why don't you turn that off and tell me why, Tony Stark?"
A quick twist of his wrist and the sound vanishes, thank god. Harrison tosses the remote on the table and grabs his folder.
"The guy in the suit is dirty," Harrison says, holding up a photo of the man with a ponytail. "Oliver Davis, forty-two, works at United Funds Ltd. He's some senior loan adviser to the board of directors. Every business decision he's advised in the last five years has screwed over people you'd consider liberal," he adds, complete with finger quotes. Olivia arches an eyebrow. "His denial list includes entrepreneurs that are Jewish or Muslim, minorities, gay couples wanting to buy a house. A grade-A asshole. And get this: Huck pulled up his bank accounts. Money donated to churches, to pray-the-gay-away clinics, and a big fat campaign contribution to Sally Langston."
Olivia skims over the evidence he's collected. Harrison's smirk is incredibly self-satisfied. "Good. Where's Huck?"
"At United Funds, bribing the surveillance people to see who he's had business meetings with in the last few weeks. If any anti-179 Congressmen and women show up, Davis's ass is grass." Harrison strums a few more chords on his invisible guitar. Down the hall, the elevator dings.
"Olivia Pope, I demand a raise!" Abby yells. Olivia moves around Harrison and leans her head out of the room to see Abby and Quinn approaching, wearing smirks similar to Harrison's.
"We demand a raise," Quinn corrects. "We found the beard guy. Addison Cross, fifty-two—and a plumber. Huck's gonna have to teach me how to do that."
"Arrested in 1978 for beating and raping Sarah Delaney, an openly gay college student. On the stand, the reason he gave was and I quote: 'All dykes need is a proper dick to straighten them out'. Truly charming," Abby says with a sneer, handing Olivia the file.
"He went to jail for seven years," says Quinn.
"Not nearly long enough," Abby says softly.
"After he got out, he attended trade school. He's a member of Our Savior's House, a church in northern Virginia well-known for being anti-gay. Also an avid supporter of his district's Congressman, Tony Richards—also vocally anti-gay."
"Richards is a graduate of the Sally Langston School of Let's Aerial Drone the Southern Borders, by the way." Abby grins. "I think we've got our man."
Olivia glances to Harrison, who has completely deflated. "Son of a bitch."
Quinn looks at both of them, a frown creasing her pretty features. "What?"
Wordlessly, Olivia hands her Harrison's folder. Quinn flips it open and Abby leans over her shoulder to read it with her. After thirty seconds, they both look up.
"What the hell—?"
"How is this even—?"
Olivia heads to her office and looks over her shoulder. "If you're here all night again, no Chinese."
When Olivia finally gets home, it's to a ringing telephone. She actually makes a mad dash for the end table and feels mildly disgusted with herself.
"Sorry," she says. "I just walked in the door."
"A likely story," comes the dry response. "Who is he?"
Olivia tumbles to the couch, tossing her purse on the other end. "Well, he's tall. Gorgeous blue eyes. Sexy lips. Big hands. And he has his own airplane."
"Well I don't stand a chance, then, do I?"
"'Fraid not," she says with a sigh.
"So how are you?"
"Exhausted. Do you know what it's like to be in charge of a group of people who are utterly insane? To have to depend on these people to solve problems all the while wondering why the hell they're allowed to walk the streets without medical supervision?"
"Why no, Olivia. I have absolutely no idea what that's like at all."
"But there's one big difference between you and me, Mr. Sarcasm," she continues. "Do you know what it is?"
"One of us actually has power to do what she wants when she wants and the other is a glorified servant for the American people?"
"I don't have the strongest military force in the world at my disposal," she concludes wistfully.
"I also can pardon convicted criminals," Fitz adds helpfully. "Just in case you get any ideas." Olivia laughs. "Word on the grapevine is that a gladiator in a suit was seen wandering the halls of Capitol Hill this afternoon."
"Stalker."
"Concerned ex-boss," he corrects. "That was quite a rousing speech Senator Carlisle gave on the floor today. You'd never know anything was wrong. How's she doing?"
"She's doing as well as can be expected." Carlos and Marisol and Carlisle's defeated expression flit through Olivia's mind. "She's—getting discouraged. That bill is her baby. It means so much to her and she doesn't want anything jeopardizing it."
"I'd hate to lose her. She's a powerhouse in the party. But if we have to see her go, then the least we can do is get this damn bill passed," says Fitz. "Cy's been working on a plan B all day today."
"Has he climbed into the sandbox with the minority whip yet? Because that's what this'll take, since all the Senate Republicans are burning you in effigy right now."
"And there's Sally Langston, passing out the matches," he replies with a snort. "Cyrus is giving the party loyalty angle with the majority leader another shot. Reaching across the aisle on bended knee is his last resort scenario."
"Mmm," says Olivia. "Bipartisanship. The apocalypse is nigh."
"You scoff, madam, but you know what this'll cost us. It doesn't matter that I'm with the left on 179; I'll be paying back favors for this for the rest of my term. But if the whip can wrangle the few outliers in his party, it'll be worth it."
"You noble, self-sacrificing thing, you," she croons, earning her a deep laugh from Fitz. They are plunged into a silence, still warm and comfortable and Olivia is glad that they can still have this, after all that's passed between them. "Hey, what do you think about AC/DC?"
"I won't say no to tickets if you have them but Guns and Roses is more my flavor. And Pat Benatar; I had such a thing for her in high school."
"Pat Benatar," she deadpans.
"Love is a battle—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"Sleep well, Livvie," he says sweetly before the line goes dead.
Olivia puts the phone back in its stand and imagines Fitzgerald Grant with obnoxiously big hair, in ripped jeans and a leather jacket. She laughs and laughs.
Her phone rings again just as she's getting ready to climb under the covers and nod off. Her hand flies out to her nightstand; she knows instinctively that it isn't Fitz.
"What is it?" she says sharply.
"Miss Pope?"
Olivia jolts up in bed. "Senator Carlisle? Where are you, are you okay?"
There is a strange, snuffling noise. "Someone just broke into my house."