A/N: Hi! So I was intending to update A Little Party Never Killed Nobody before I updated this again but that is still under some major construction and this chapter has been nagging at me. It's a little time jump, about 6 months. It's a little angsty but there's fluffier days ahead, believe me. I hope you enjoy it.

October 1963 · Los Angeles, California

Saturday

Olivia held two sweaters, one navy and one white, as she stood before her mirror. She could hear Quinn moving around in her bedroom, straightening up in anticipation of the photographer wanting some shots of Olivia's private quarters. She considered the navy one, a soft cashmere cardigan with pearl buttons, then put it down on the chair beside the mirror. It reminded her of something old ladies wore to the grocery store. She put on the white pullover, artfully designed with gold polka dots, and frowned then took it off again. Quinn appeared behind her with a black turtleneck. "Try this one."

Olivia put it on and looked at herself in the mirror. It went nicely with her black slim-legged pants and gold loafers. She went back into her bedroom, Quinn following, and sat at her vanity. She brushed her hair back, securing it with a headband, then took it off with a huff. Quinn hummed softly as she pulled her hair into a loose French twist and secured it with pins. "You haven't talked to him yet, have you?"

"No." Olivia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned her chin on her hand. "He's busy and I don't want to be needy. I miss him though."

Quinn squeezed her shoulders. "I bet he'd be happy to hear from you."

Olivia smiled as she stood. "If the reporter comes while I'm on the phone, stall him."

"Of course." Quinn left the room and Olivia could hear her moving around downstairs as she went to the settee that held her telephone. She dialed the number of the secure line he'd given her and held the phone to her ear.

Fitz answered on the third ring. "Hello."

"Hi," Olivia replied, finally smiling.

Fitz smiled as he sat down in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"Waiting on the Life people." Olivia was slated to do an interview with Life magazine where the reporter would follow her around for a week that finished with a recording session that CBS was eager to film and air as a special.

"I saw the commercial for your special on CBS. You looked beautiful," he replied.

"If you ask me, the whole thing in ridiculous. Who wants to watch me sing songs they've heard me sing a thousand times? I bet no one buys that silly live album."

Fitz chuckled. "I'm gonna buy it. I'm gonna watch you too. I bet the whole country will. I hear you're pretty famous."

Olivia smiled. "What's your day looking like?"

"I met with the doctor this morning. He's got some silly idea about me taking a break every day, like a nap or something. He says it'll help with the stress, but I can't just take a break from running the country."

"Why not? Literally everyone else in the world takes a break from their job every day. Why should you be any different? And if the doctor is recommending it, it's probably a good idea."

"What am I supposed to do for two hours every day? Sit around on my ass and pretend there isn't work to be done?"

"Yes."

Fitz sighed. "I can't."

"You should."

"I won't."

"Fitz."

"Fine. I'll try it for a week, but after that, I'm not making any promises."

"Good." Olivia smiled. "Have some lunch. Go for a walk. If I were you, I'd sit out in that beautiful rose garden for a little while."

"That sounds like fun. I'll sit in the rose garden and delude myself for a few hours while the rest of the country works."

Olivia smirked. "While I'm sure you could use the time to hone your sarcasm skills, maybe you ought to do something less annoying like read? I could send you some books."

Fitz chuckled. "I'd appreciate that."

Quinn appeared at Olivia's side. She whispered, "I've been stalling the reporter for twenty minutes. I think my charm is wearing thin."

Olivia nodded. "The reporter is here."

"Are you nervous?"

"Just a little hungry, honestly."

"Me too. Maybe I'll take my recess now."

"It's not recess. It's called a siesta. I learned about it in Mexico last summer. Apparently the whole country shuts down from 3 to 5 everyday so everyone can take a break."

"A siesta? I like the sound of that much better. It makes me seem worldly."

Olivia laughed, picturing his silly smile. "Well get to it, Mr. President."

"Yes ma'am."

They said their goodbyes then hung up and Olivia turned to Quinn. "How many people are here?"

"Just the reporter and the photographer. I think they're," her voice dropped to a whisper, "lesbians."

"Why do you say that?"

"Neither of them is wearing any makeup, and I'm almost certain the photographer is wearing men's pants. And she's got a little boy haircut." Quinn shrugged. "I'm not saying I have a problem with it. I just think a little eyeliner and lipstick could do them a world of good."

Olivia laughed as she stood. "Well are they nice?"

"They seem like it." Quinn frowned. "What if they think we're lesbians too since we live together?"

Olivia laughed as she headed for the door. "I could do better than you."

"You could not," Quinn replied, finally smiling as she followed her.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found the two women, a blonde with a camera around her neck and a redhead holding a notebook and a tape recorder, looking around the living room. The redhead was the first to notice her presence. "Nice house. Good bones."

"Thank you," Olivia replied, stepping fully into the room. She smiled at both women. "I'm Olivia Pope. It's nice to meet you both."

The redhead walked over and gave a firm handshake. "Abby Whelan. And that's my photographer Liz North."

The blonde looked away from the portrait of Olivia hanging over the fireplace and gave a nod. "I love your color palette. It's very Spanish."

"Thank you. I had just gotten back when I bought this house. I think their colors are so warm and home-y." Olivia sat on the couch and Quinn disappeared into the kitchen. "So how does this work? I've never done this sort of interview before."

"Over the next week, we're going to become best girlfriends." Abby gave a sneering grin. "Basically, we'll just go wherever you go and talk about whatever. It's supposed to seem like you're just living your life on camera."

Olivia nodded and Quinn reappeared, holding a tray with a pitcher of lemonade on it. "That's my assistant Quinn. She does what you two are doing all the time. We have this running joke that she'll have to die with me because she knows all my secrets."

Abby chuckled as she sat down. Olivia noticed that she was indeed wearing men's pants, and what she guessed were men's loafers as well. "It's the same with me and Liz. We wanna knock off a bank before we go, though."

Liz sat beside Abby, her arm casually draped over the couch behind her, and crossed her legs like a man, revealing a tattoo on her left ankle. Olivia leaned over to look at it more closely. "What's that?"

"It's called yin and yang. It's the Asian concept of balance in the world. Dark and light, good and bad, and all that. I got it in India when Abbs and I went a few summers ago."

Olivia wasn't sure if it was a business or pleasure trip, and she wasn't sure how to ask without asking what she really wanted to know. "I've never been to India. I went to Japan last Christmas. Apparently it's not a very big holiday there."

"It's not in India either. I think the concept is very western," Liz replied then sipped her lemonade. "This is good."

"It's homemade, from lemons from the backyard," Quinn replied proudly. She and her boyfriend had commandeered a corner of Olivia's spacious backyard to grow food "naturally." Olivia hadn't questioned them.

"You grow your own food? Cool. Can we see?" Abby asked, standing and picking up her tape recorder.

They all went out into the backyard, where Liz snapped pictures of Olivia's beach chair that she had left cluttered with her paint palette and a half-finished canvas. Abby stopped before it. "Whose are these?"

"Mine. I do a bit of watercolor painting. It's nothing special, just passes the days," Olivia replied.

"Do you mind if Liz shoots these?" Abby turned to Liz who was taking pictures of the house from a crouching position.

"Well these aren't finished. I have some better ones in my studio."

Abby nodded then looked back at Liz. "Just shoot the chair setup, Liz."

Liz photographed the chair from a few more angles then they moved on to the garden. Olivia smiled at the neat short rows of vegetables on the left side of the tree and the matching rows of fruit on the right. "Now this was all Quinn. I went to New York for a week and when I came back, this is what she'd done."

"So she's not just your assistant then?" Liz asked.

Olivia wasn't sure what to make of the question. "Well, no. Not exactly. My whole world would probably come apart without her. I don't even know how to book an airline ticket. And we have so much fun together. She's my best friend in the world, really."

"And I didn't know how to put on eyeliner before I started working for Liv. I didn't know anything about men, either." Quinn snorted. "Remember that awful lawyer I dated last spring?"

"The one with those terrible glasses?" Olivia snickered like a schoolgirl.

Abby smiled at them. "So it's all work and all play?"

"Is there any other way to live?" Olivia asked in replied with a smile. "Come on. Let's look at the rest of the house."

She took them through the back door into the laundry room, which Liz took pictures of with delight at its "normalcy." They took a tour of Olivia's "gown room," a former bedroom that Quinn had transformed into a mini-museum of Olivia's most memorable looks. Abby walked over to the gown Olivia had worn to Fitz's birthday party. "You met the president in this, didn't you?"

Olivia nodded, a small smile on her face. Abby looked it over again, reaching out to pull at the sheer fabric. "Oh so it's lined. I didn't think it was."

"Well the President isn't really someone you meet naked," Olivia replied, hoping she wasn't blushing. She could think of at least three occasions during which she'd met the President naked.

Abby moved on to the white dress Olivia wore to the Inaugural Ball, running her finger over the glittering silver neckline. "And what's he like?"

"The President? He's a dream. He's very kind. I have a terrible habit of being late to parties, and I was late to his after my performance—I missed the cake-cutting and everything—but he was the sweetest thing about it. He even saved me some cake. And he's very smart too. And funny. You don't meet many genuinely funny politicians, but he's a hoot."

Quinn glanced at her shoes, realizing that Olivia gushing. She pointed to a black velvet dress beside the white one. "You know, that's probably the most famous dress Liv has ever worn."

Abby turned to look at it. "This is from last year's Oscars, isn't it?"

Olivia looked over the dress's plunging halter neckline and remembered the night she'd worn it. "Well, it's from the after party. I wore that red one over there to the actual ceremony. I wore this to Marlon Brando's after party."

"He kissed you that night, didn't he?" Abby asked as Liz moved around the room taking pictures of the gowns.

"Yes. It was just a peck goodbye." Olivia knew she was lying. Marlon had given her quite the kiss while showing her the balcony off his bedroom, a kiss that shouldn't have been known about except for his pride at sporting her lipstick.

"I hear he was quite smitten with you at the time," Abby prodded with a smile.

"I don't know anything about that. He was just nice if I recall."

"Speaking of being smitten, are you dating anyone?"

At this, Liz stopped her photographing and turned to be fully involved in the conversation. Olivia blushed, unable to stop herself. "There's a guy. That's all I'll say."

"A handsome guy? An old guy? A guy with glasses? A one-legged guy?" Abby grinned.

"A handsome guy. He's not very old, older than me but not old in the least. He does have reading glasses. And he's got two legs, two arms too," Olivia replied with a coy smile.

"Is he famous?"

"Maybe a little."

They left the gown room, headed upstairs to the former attic that Olivia had had gutted to turn into her studio where Abby and Liz went wild with pictures. After a light dinner, Olivia walked them to the door. Abby again gave her a firm handshake. "Honestly, I think I've got my whole interview here. Unless you want to be bothered with us for another week, we can just skip all that and wrap up with the studio session."

Olivia smiled. "I'll see you Saturday."

"Sounds good. Goodnight," Liz replied.

XXXXX

Sunday

Olivia sat in her studio, frowning at the lemon tree on her canvas. She wasn't sure if she should keep reworking it, or scrap the canvas altogether. Quinn's gentle knock at the door drew her out of her thoughts. "Come in."

Quinn entered the room, her already pale face a ghostly shade of white. Olivia looked at her with concern. "What is it?"

"Someone on the phone for you," Quinn replied.

"Who?" Olivia wondered what was the matter.

"The, um, First Lady."

The paintbrush in Olivia's hand dropped to the hardwood floor with a clatter. "What? Why?"

"She just asked to speak with you immediately. Should I tell her you're asleep?"

"No." Olivia stood, setting down her palette, and followed Quinn out of the room to her bedroom. She picked up the off-the-hook phone as she sat down. "Hello Mrs. Grant."

"Mellie, please," she replied.

"Alright then, Mellie," Olivia was sure she'd never been so uncomfortable saying someone's name," what can I do for you?"

"Have you spoken with my husband?" Mellie already knew the two had talked the day before. She had overheard Fitz recounting his day in the Oval office, grinning and talking in a low voice like a teenager sneaking on the phone after lights out.

"Yes," Olivia answered hesitantly. She wasn't sure where the conversation was going. Fitz had said that he and Mellie weren't traditionally married, but there was no rules when emotions could be involved.

"Then you know why I'm calling."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"I'm not sure what Fitz has been telling you but he's not well. He's not getting much sleep. His blood pressure is still too high. He's sullen and irritable all day. I've never worried about him before—Fitz is a real trooper—but I'm worried."

"I see. I told him to take it easy but I'm guessing he isn't."

"I'm calling because he needs to see you."

"Pardon me?" Olivia was sure this was a joke, or some terrible dream. She had to have nodded off against her easel. That was the only explanation for a call from her lover's wife to arrange a rendezvous.

"He's miserable. I think some quality time with you would do him some good. He misses you."

"Mrs. Grant—Mellie—I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Well we're coming to California Tuesday and I think if you're free you should see him." Mellie paused and gathered herself. She and Fitz were far from lovers but she liked to believe they had some semblance of a friendship. "I'm asking you to see him. He's a ghost with a beating heart right now. And I think you would make him feel better."

"Alright. I've got to go, Mrs. Grant."

"Goodnight."

Olivia hung up, counted to ten, then dialed the number she knew by heart. Fitz answered on the third ring. "Your wife just called me. What's wrong with her? What's wrong with you?"

Fitz sat up in his chair, taking his feet off the desk. He wondered what had possessed Mellie to call Olivia. Where had she even gotten the number? Fitz would certainly have some questions for his agents the next morning. "Um, I don't know what's wrong with her. I think all that hairspray has killed some brain cells. And there's nothing wrong with me."

"She said you aren't sleeping as much as you should, and that your blood pressure is still too high, and that you're irritable. What's going on and why did you lie to me about it?"

Fitz sighed. His wife had ratted him out to his mistress. Never could he have dreamed of such a predicament. "I'm fine. I'm having a bad week again."

"And how many bad weeks have you had lately?"

"A few. I'm fine, Livvie."

"I don't believe you, but I'll see for myself soon enough."

"What? You're coming to D.C.?" Fitz felt his spirits lift at the prospect of seeing her.

"No. Your wife says you two are coming to L.A. tomorrow."

"Well I hadn't agreed to come, seeing as how it would mean flying with Mellie, but it appears she's made the decision for me." He smiled then frowned. "I'm sorry about Mellie. She had no right to call you. It won't happen again."

"It's okay. I'm glad she told you since you wouldn't have," she replied.

"Are you worried about me, Livvie?"

Olivia smiled. "Of course not. I'm a movie star. I don't have time for your silly running-the-country business. I've got cameras to smile for."

"Just for that, when we're married, I'm gonna come home with dirty boots every night and destroy the house."

"And every time you do, I'll refuse to make dinner."

"And I'll tickle you until you give in."

"And I'll bite you to make you stop."

Fitz chuckled. "I'm not sure what I'll do then because I like when you bite me."

"So I've found your weakness then, Mr. President? Good to know."

XXXXX

Washington D.C.

Fitz frowned deeply as he walked to the Mellie's bedroom in the residence. He didn't knock before he walked in, smirking when he found her wrapping her hair around rollers the size of soda cans. "You called Olivia."

"You need to see her," Mellie replied, not looking away from the mirror.

"That's not your business. I've never meddled in you and Andrew."

"I've never seen you look like walking death."

Sometimes Fitz was glad that he and Mellie's fights had lost their fervor. Other times, like this one, he wanted nothing more than to scream himself hoarse. But it wouldn't do any good. They weren't those people. They weren't fighting for anything. And she had done what she did to help him. He sighed. "Don't do it again, Mel. She didn't like it."

"I wasn't rude."

"Do you think Andrew would appreciate a call from me?"

"Mellie smirked. "Well you are the President. I think anyone would appreciate a call from you."

Fitz clenched and unclenched his jaw, wanting again to shout. "It's not your business. Or your place, Mel."

"I've got to do something. Even ornaments have their functions." She grinned evilly at him.

Fitz sighed. "Do you want an apology for that or something?"

"I want you to be your best so people won't start speculating about what's got you so looking so worn-down. Somehow it'll become my fault and I'd rather not read about how I'm such a lackluster wife. I live it. I don't need to read it."

Fitz ran his hand through his hair. "I appreciate the gesture but leave Liv alone…please."

"I won't call your precious girlfriend again. Please tell her I'm terribly, honestly, truly sorry for whatever grievance my call caused her. I wouldn't think such a feisty little thing would be so upset by little old me."

Fitz scowled. "Go to hell."

"Aren't we already there, dear?" Fitz hated her sinister little smile.

"Only when we're together." He turned and left, headed for his own bedroom. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon, but he wanted to lie in bed and look at his only picture of Olivia, a silly Polaroid of her wearing one of his shirts. The day wouldn't pass soon enough.

XXXXX

Tuesday

Fitz turned to look at Tom as they drove up Olivia's street. He adjusted the brim of his fedora. "I look like an asshole, don't I? Even if I don't, I feel like one."

Tom turned to consider him. "You look very inconspicuous, sir."

Fitz glanced around at the deserted street. He wore a simple gray suit under a trench coat. He wasn't sure how dressing like a 1920's gangster would make him less noticeable to anyone who might have seen him, but he didn't question anything. He just wanted to see Olivia. "There's no one around. This is ridiculous."

"She's a movie star, sir. People take her picture all the time."

"Not at her house," Fitz grumbled. He knew he was just tired from his unrestful sleep the night before.

Tom again looked away from the road to his boss. "Bad night?"

"Kind of," Fitz admitted. He would never have admitted it to another agent, but Tom was the person he spent more time with than anyone else, including Mellie.

"You'll be better soon," Tom assured. He had seen Olivia and Fitz together. In his mind, there were no two people who were happier together.

Fitz finally smiled. No one made him feel like Olivia did. Tom turned the town car into Olivia's driveway and Fitz got out of the car, heading quickly to the front door. He knocked and a moment later, Olivia's assistant, whose name he could never remember, answered. It amused him that even though she'd seen him several times, she never seemed any less shocked by his presence. Even then, she stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Fitz only smiled politely. "Hello."

"H-hello," Quinn stammered. Every time she saw him, she swore she wouldn't look so star struck, but she couldn't help herself. "Please come in."

Fitz stepped inside the house and breathed in the scent of gingerbread. He looked at Quinn. "Where is she?"

"In the kitchen, sir," she replied.

Fitz chuckled. "You don't have to call me sir."

"I'll stop, sir. I mean, Mr. President. I mean—I've got to go." Aware that her face was probably crimson, Quinn scurried away, headed upstairs.

Fitz smiled as he walked to the kitchen. Olivia stood at the counter, wearing a large red sweater and cream socks. Fitz's smile widened as he walked over to wrap his arms around her waist. He rested his chin on the top of her head and looked down at what she was doing. "You're supposed to be making Halloween cookies."

"But Christmas cookies taste so much better," Olivia replied, putting down her frosting bag and turning around in his embrace. She stood on her toes and kissed his chin. "Hi."

Fitz leaned over to kiss her lips. "I've missed you."

Olivia reached up to run her fingers through his hair. It was grayer than it had been the last time she'd seen him almost two months before. He looked even more rundown than he had then, but she didn't say anything. It didn't matter so long as his heart still thudded happily for her. "Come see what I've got for you in the upstairs living room."

Fitz took a cookie from the plate and allowed her to lead him upstairs by his hand. She opened the door to the upstairs living room, a room he had teased her about having, and turned to smile giddily at him as he looked around. Multicolor Christmas lights lined the mantle above the fireplace and two stockings, one for him and one for her, hung below them. A decidedly stout Christmas tree sat in the far corner with a large brightly wrapped box beneath it. Two sets of pajamas, one small red one and one large green one, lay on the sofa in the middle of the room. Fitz smirked at her. "Do you know what month it is, Livvie?"

"Do you know how fun Christmas is?" Olivia asked in reply.

Fitz shrugged, not having an argument. "So it's Christmas for Halloween?"

"Yes. I even made egg nog." She smiled like a child. "Put on your pajamas so we can have fun."

"Couldn't we have more fun without them?"

Olivia laughed. "We're supposed to be having a Christmas sleepover. I don't think Santa would approve of what you're thinking about."

"But it's not Christmas."

Olivia laughed as she sat on the couch. "But he's still watching."

"I would hope Santa would look away when I'm changing."

"I hope he doesn't. My body is probably the only thing keeping me on the Nice list."

Fitz laughed as he began undressing. He picked up the pajamas Olivia had bought him, a forest green two piece set decorated with candy canes. "Where did you get these?"

"Quinn found them at Macy's," Olivia replied. She picked up her own pajamas. "Can you believe they make one piece pajamas for adults?"

"I can't believe there are grown men who wear pajamas with candy canes on them."

Olivia laughed as she took off her sweater. Fitz stopped pulling on his pants to stare at her body as she stepped into the red pajamas. Olivia turned to smile coyly at him. "I hope you aren't peeking."

"I'm not," Fitz replied. "I was staring outright."

Olivia laughed as she pulled on her pajamas and zipped them up. "So what should we do now?"

"I know what I want to do." He gave a suggestive smile.

Olivia smirked. "You mentioned in an interview that you're good at chess. Is that true?"

"Very. I don't think Stevie's ever beat me since I learned to play."

Olivia went to the room's closet and fished out a box from the top shelf. She set it on the coffee table. "I'm good at it too."

"Bet you're not better than me."

"Bet I am."

"Set up the board then, Mr. President. I'm gonna go get the rest of the cookies."

Fitz smiled as he set up her chess board, thinking that he'd be much better about remembering to take his siesta if Olivia was in the White House with him. Taking a break to stare at her for a little while each day would be all the rest he needed.

xxxxx

"Did you always want to be famous?" Fitz asked as they began their fifth game. They were tied four to four.

"I wanted to be a dancer. I took ballet until I was 18. Everyone said I wouldn't make it—my breasts being their main concern—but I could keep up with the best of them. Then I moved to New York, and no one would hire me because I wasn't 8 feet tall with a 10 inch waist. And I was colored to boot. Most people didn't too much mind that though since I'm not dark-skinned and my hair's not kinky, but I just didn't "fit" the ballerina look so they all passed. So I came back here and got hired at pharmacy. The owner made me his poster girl, kind of like that little girl on the sunscreen bottle. We got married—which we shouldn't have been able to do since I was only 16—but we divorced a year and a half later. After that, I got serious about modeling and the agency sent me to an acting coach to help me emote or something. People just kept saying I'd never make it—being colored for one and a little bigger than most girls for another—but the agency's owner insisted on keeping me. And a few months later I got a part in Ladies of the Chorus and people found out I could sing. That got me a little part in The Asphalt Jungle that got me the part in All About Eve. Then my agent and manager decided to take a different direction and put me in Roman Holiday then Funny Face. And then Breakfast at Tiffany's came along. It was the craziest thing. No one thought a little colored girl from Fresno, California could be a movie star." Olivia chuckled, realizing she'd practically told him her life's story. "So to answer your question, no. I didn't always want to be a movie star."

"You were married before?" Fitz asked.

"Twice. Once to the pharmacist in 1950. Samuel was his name. And again to an amateur baseball player named Lou in 1955. It only lasted a few months but I almost didn't get out of that one. He didn't want to sign the papers, expecting me to follow him around the country while he tried to find a negro team that would keep him. Of course nobody would. He was a drunk. Samuel didn't want me to leave, but he had no intentions of holding me to him. Lou wasn't so easy going." She shrugged and looked down at the board, carefully planning her next move.

"I could see not wanting to let you go, Livvie." He smiled at her. "You're perfect."

Olivia laughed and shook her head. "Far from it, but my mama always said I had the kind of fickle love that would drive some man crazy."

"I don't find it fickle at all. I think addictive is a better word."

Later that night, after pizza and apple cider, Olivia lay awake on the palette she and Fitz had made of couch cushions, watching him sleep peacefully. She didn't want to believe she was the cure for his bad week, but the quickness with which he fell asleep beside her made her think she was at least helpful to whatever was weighing him down.

XXXXX

Thursday

Fitz frowned as he sat on the presidential plane. He looked out the window then glanced over at Mellie, sitting on the opposite aisle, already drifting off to sleep. He and Olivia had said much lighter goodbyes and he had been feeling better until he boarded the plane.

"Mel," she stirred at the sound of her name, "do you have any more of those pills?"

She dug through her purse and produced the little bottle then tossed it to him. "Take two so you can sleep."

Fitz took two of the pills then sat back in his seat and sighed. He hoped he could sleep on the plane but knew he probably wouldn't. Something about sleeping in the air made him uneasy.

xxxxx

Mellie frowned as she watched Fitz descend the plane's stairs. "What's wrong?"

She could see his eyes grimacing though he was smiling dutifully for the cameras. "My left arm hurts. I think I slept funny."

Mellie reached for his hand. "You're all clammy. Stand still a minute."

Fitz stopped and Mellie reached up to feel his forehead then his cheeks. "Your whole face is clammy."

"My chest is killing me." Fitz could feel the weight on his chest, coiling around his lungs and making his breathing labored. He rubbed his left arm, hoping to soothe the shooting pain, but it seemed to only worsen. "Mel, I think I'm having a heart attack…"

That was the last thing Fitz remembered saying before his legs gave out. He heard Mellie shout his name but he couldn't reply as he wheezed. His mind clouded over and he called for the only person he could think of, the only one who could save him. "Liv…"

When his mind cleared up, he was in a hospital bed. Mellie was asleep in a chair beside the bed. "Mel? What happened? Why am I here?"

Mellie blinked awake. "You had a heart attack when we were getting off the plane. Don't you remember?"

Fitz shook his head as he sat up. "I remember getting on the plane, then getting off. My arm was hurting."

"You had a mild heart attack and you collapsed on the stairs."

He pulled at the collar on his gown to try to see his chest. "What?"

"You're basically fine. You've got to start an aspirin regiment, but you'll be home in a few days." Mellie stood. "You should go back to sleep."

"I'm hungry."

"I'll have the nurses bring you dinner. Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"I think I can manage that alone. Thanks though." Fitz pulled his covers off and lowered the bed's sidebar. Using his IV pole for support, he schlepped to the bathroom and shut the door. Mellie left the room and asked the nurses to bring Fitz his dinner then went to the bank of payphones with Tom behind her.

"Do you have a quarter?" she asked when she took the phone off the hook. Tom gave her a quarter and she dialed the number that she unexpectedly remembered. She was surprised when Olivia answered the phone instead of her assistant. "Olivia? Mellie Grant. I know you didn't enjoy hearing from me last time but this was something I thought you should know before everyone else. Fitz is in the hospital."

There was a long pause and Mellie wondered if she was still there. "How is he?"

"Fine. Back to being his cheeky self already. He had a mild heart attack—barely a heart attack, really—when we were getting off the plane."

Olivia sat down on the settee beside the phone's table. "Wha—Should I come? I can be there in the morning if he's—"

"He's fine, Olivia. He's having dinner right now. He'd probably wring my neck for worrying you."

"But he's okay, right?"

"Yes. You don't have to worry."

Olivia wondered how Mellie could expect her to not worry, or to sound so calm. "I'll try not to. Thank you for calling, Mrs. Grant."

"You're welcome. Goodnight."

Mellie hung up and Olivia sat back in her chair. She wasn't sure what to think or feel. She knew that Fitz wouldn't want her to worry about him, but what was she supposed to do? She couldn't lose him, not when the memory of him singing Sam Cooke as he scrambled eggs in her kitchen was so fresh. She went to her room and changed into his shirt then took a picture of them from her nightstand. They looked so happy, sitting in front of the fireplace in their Christmas pajamas. She was glad she'd had Quinn take their picture, and even gladder that she'd had them developed so quickly.

XXXXX

Saturday

Olivia frowned as she looked at herself in the mirror of the open recording room where staff milled around her, preparing the finishing touches for her session. She'd never been filmed while recording but Life magazine wanted snapshots of her in action, and CBS was eager to advertise "an evening with Olivia Pope." So there she was, sitting on a stool, listening to the orchestra shuffle into place. She had never had a full orchestra to back her, but she's always dreamed of it. Now it seemed silly, compared to the dream on the other side of the country that hung in the limbo of life and death.

"Everything's ready, Liv," Quinn assured, drawing Olivia out of her thoughts. Olivia nodded and walked into the center of the intricately designed chaos to perch on a stool.

A man in a dark suit approached her sheepishly, running a hand over his pomaded hair. "Ms. Pope, I'm the orchestra conductor. It's an honor to work with you."

"And with you," Olivia replied. "I have a question that might sound rather strange. Are you by any chance a fan of Judy Garland?"

"A very big one as a matter of fact." The man smiled.

"Well I'd like to sing one of her songs for a, we, friend of mine. Does your orchestra know 'What'll I Do'?"

"I'm not sure. But they can follow your lead better than any other group."

"Alright. I think that's how we'll finish."

"Everybody all set?" the director, a bespectacled man with a mop of silver curls not unlike Fitz's, asked.

Olivia straightened up on the stool and the conductor took his place at his podium. The cameraman moved into place and the lights dimmed, cloaking Olivia and the orchestra in darkness. A spotlight illuminated the tuxedoed host as he stood below the stage. Olivia could only half-listen to him talking about her as she thought of Fitz. She wondered if he knew she would be on television, if he was watching. She knew it was silly, that he certainly had bigger things to worry about having just had a heart attack, but she wanted him to see her. She needed him to hear from her, even if she wasn't talking directly to him.

Fortunately time seemed to pass quickly as she ran through the dozen songs from her movies. When they reached the end of her set list, Olivia looked at the conductor. He nodded and instructed the orchestra to follow her lead.

"This song is an old favorite of mine and it's dedicated to a very special friend of mine," she said into her microphone as the camera moved closer to her face. In her peripheral vision, she could see Abby and Liz paying close attention, hoping to discern who the man was from the song choice. Olivia only smiled, knowing they'd never guess in a million years as Liz snapped her picture. She closed her eyes and hummed the song's melody in the mic so the musicians could pick it up.

xxxxx

Washington D.C.

Stephen sat beside his brother on his bed, watching as Fitz angrily paced as he read over the doctor's care list. "I am not gonna start exercising. I'm 45 years old, I haven't run since prep school, and I have no intention of starting. And I'm not gonna stop eating bacon. I'll take the aspirin but that's it."

"Stop being a brat, Gerry," Stephen replied as he flipped through channels. "I'll tell you what, I'll run with you in the mornings."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because you're my little brother and I'll be damned if you die before me. I came first and I'll leave first. It's only fair."

Fitz sat on the bed beside him and smiled. "Well now I have to beat you to the grave."

"Like hell you will." Stephen gently punched his brother's shoulder as he stopped on a show. "Isn't that Olivia?"

Fitz turned to look at the screen where sure enough Olivia sat before him. He then remembered that she'd been involved in a week-long interview that would end with a live recording show. The camera zoomed in on her face. "This song is an old favorite of mine and it's dedicated to a very special friend of mine.

What'll I do?
When you are far away
And I am blue
What'll I do?

What'll I do?
When I am wond'ring who
Is kissing you
What'll I do?

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?

When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?"

Fitz watched her blink rapidly and frowned, knowing she was crying, as they strings section picked up the song's melody.

"What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?

When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?"

Fitz sat, captivated, as he watched the lights fade, cloaking her in darkness.

xxxxx

Later that night, he awoke in the quiet Residence wing and slipped out of bed to go to his office. He sat in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk as he picked up his phone. Olivia answered on the second ring. "You should be in bed."

"I'm just a bad boy, I guess," he replied with a smile. "I saw you tonight on television."

"What did you think?"

"I'm very curious about this special friend of yours who you dedicated a song to."

"He's alright, a bit stubborn though." Fitz chuckled then sighed. Olivia frowned. "What? I can hear you frowning."

"I feel like I'm not getting anything worthwhile done."

Olivia had a good idea of where the conversation was going. "That doesn't mean you throw in the towel, Fitz."

"I don't want to. I didn't run twice—I didn't win twice—to throw in the towel, but Liv… Livvie I'm breaking. I'm killing myself. The next heart attack won't be a little one. Every day I wake up with this weight in the pit of my stomach because I know it won't be any better than the one before it. I feel like I'm fighting alone, and it's breaking my heart. And I feel weak for not being able to suck it up and go on."

"You're not fighting alone. I'm here," Olivia reminded gently. "I'm always here. Do you want me to come to D.C.? I can be there in the morning."

"No!" It came out harsher than he'd meant and he sighed. "This is what I'm talking about. I'm whining about not wanting to do my job like a child. I'm sorry I even called you with this."

Olivia waited a long moment before she spoke again. "Who told you that you couldn't be human?"

"My father used to say that some men were born to be happy, and some men were born to be great. He always said I was the one, the Grant who would go all the way."

"All the way where, Fitz? You're not a gladiator. You don't owe your life to anything or anyone."

"But I…" He sighed again. Olivia had never heard him sound so human, so broken.

"Am a person. You're a person. You deserve to live like everyone else. The world isn't yours to save, Fitz."

"Do you think I could do it? Leave all this behind and be okay with it?" He wasn't worried about the country. Things had a way of working themselves out. But he didn't want to disappoint anyone.

"I think you can do anything you want."

"I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna walk away and leave this behind, Livvie. I have to before it kills me."

"When?" She wouldn't let herself imagine what Fitz not being president could mean for her, for them.

"The first of the year. I'm gonna throw all my support behind Derek and I'm gonna walk away." He frowned when Olivia didn't immediately reply with her support. "What is it? I can hear you frowning."

"Give it a year. Let Shepherd do the heavy lifting while you further your own agenda. Get the Civil Rights Act passed. It's the only campaign promise you made. Once you fulfill it, you're free and clear."

"The states are fighting it tooth and nail."

"You're a rich, white man with an unfair percentage of power. Do what you're meant to do: throw your weight around."

He laughed then, and Olivia could feel him becoming himself, her Fitz, again. "Maybe you should challenge Shepherd when I step down."

It was her turn to laugh. "No thank you. I'm powerful enough. The presidency might just go to my head."

He gave a light laugh. "I love you."

"I love you too."

A/N: So Fitz is making some serious plans. But things don't just fall into place so easily. The next chapter will have some drama but I promise to always balance it out with fluff.

And I promise to update ALPNKN and YAINTGB soon.

Don't forget to review! XOXOXO