This chapter was so much fun to write! Little Evie is a mystery, for those of you who have yet to figure that out. So much is to be revealed. Keep in mind that the devil is in the details.

We've seen Evie's world, now it's time to kick it up a notch, delving into the world of OPA, post-humorous.

Old Friends

February 6, 2015-

A simple fact of life: History is his story, changing all the time. It wasn't a matter of fact, but rather perspective that could reveal events as they were. Even in D.C., in a court of law, verdicts aren't reached with facts or dates or time stamps, but rather unearthed by names, faces, his story.

At first, he couldn't talk about it. Her death was so gruesomely tragic that he, like the others who found themselves without, couldn't find the words.

For his presumed role in the event, he served time. He could handle jail. He could. He was good with routines, wake up, meal time, rec time, meal time, solitary, meal time, sleep. He kept to himself in prison, and, for whatever good it did him, he was a model inmate. No fuss. Though, if one listened carefully, such man could be heard whispering to himself in his sleep a prayer of sorts night after night:

Seven fifty-two, seven fifty-two, seven fifty-two. . .

Backwards and forwards, the man with the saddest eyes and scruffy beard would hum it to himself every night until he grew hoarse or fatigued, whichever came first.

Today, he had a visitor, an old friend. And this old friend would come every week to torment him, because he could.

"So, Huck, you going stir crazy in here yet?"

He said nothing, only gripped the phone in his hand to his ears with a grip so harsh his hands went white, then red. He burned a hole through the glass, staring down the enemy.

"It must be a real struggle keeping your sanity in a place like this. I gotta say, it's a brave thing you're doing in here, man." he said viciously, putting false a hand to his heart.

He shook his head in mock reproach, "What would our alma mater think of you now? Guess B613 won't be coming to the rescue this time around, huh?"

He was met with an uneasy silence.

"I liked your boss, Huck. I did. She was just so, sexy. I can see what you saw in her. She had the long black hair and the smooth skin and that ass of hers, perfection." he marvelled. " But what can I say? Shit happens. That's what you get for trying to go straight. That was where you made your mistake, trying to make friends with the good guys, the white knights. You're no white knight. You're a warrior, but you're no good at taking orders. You never have been. And look where you are now. You're a killer, Huck. It's in your nature to kill. People like us can only afford to make friends in each other, and even that's dangerous. We can't be trusted. You stayed loyal by her side for so long, I thought maybe," he trailed off, his lips stretching thin as he 'tsked', "Though, I would have thought I'd taught you better than that. The scene of your handiwork was quite sloppy at best."

Huck continued to bore into him like prey.

"Did she scream? Or did you kill her softly, one clean slice to the throat." he studied him with fascination, his face revealing nothing, "She screamed, didn't she? I knew she was a screamer." he chuckled.

Huck's anger gurgled in the pit of his stomach. He fixated on the bright red lollipop that continued to poke in and out of his mouth. He sucked at it, slurped at it, until it whittled down to nothing but a soggy white stick.

"Olivia Pope's that kind of kill that sits in your stomach, giving you indigestion. That's why you're looking so green, Huck. Stomach troubles." The man with the ice blue eyes and mischievous smile stood up from his uncomfortable chair, gesturing to the guard a subtle nod. "But don't worry," the alarm of the prison door droned noisily, "It'll all be over soon." he winked before leaving. He secured a dark baseball cap over his head.

On his way out the door, he bumped into a familiar face, but wasn't recognized becasue the man was preocupied with getting inside to talk to Huck. He was asharp-dressed man. He wore a navy blue suit and a cobalt tie over a checkered shirt. He twiddled his sleek new cell phone in his hand.

"Sorry, man." the baseball-capped man apologized. He quickly unwrapped another cherry sucker and plopped it into his mouth. He stepped into the elevator and smirked contentedly. He would be back next week and the week after that and for the rest of the weeks to come. It was routine, and it was fun. A new-fangled type of torture.

When his old friend was safely out of the cold, metallic room, Huck howled like a mad man before being escorted back to his cell.

"I need to get into see him." the sharp-dressed man insisted.

"I can't let you do that, sir." the guard said gruffly.

"I'm his attorney."

"I have orders, Mr. Wright."

"You have an obligation to abide by the law, Mr. Hanover. Chuck, can I call you Chuck? I am his lawyer. He is my client. Whatever your orders are, are overridden by the law. Open those doors."

"You haven't been cleared, sir."

"At least tell me why. Do me that courtesy."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, you are wasting your time. Your client in there, isn't seeing you today or tomorrow."

Harrison continued to fiddle with his phone in his hand. His nostrils flared as he grew more and more frustrated. "We'll see about that. You have a good one."

When Harrison stepped out of the cold, colourless building, he decided to get creative, and he telephoned an old friend. Everybody in their line of work seemed to have a rolodex two-feet in girth, filled with the names of old friends. Never current ones. "Harrison Wright for the Attorney General, please."

"Harrison,"

"David, how are you these days?"

"Me? I'm just fine, but I suppose I don't have to ask how you're doing if you're calling me so chipper at 9 o'clock in the morning. I'm barely in the door. It's too early for this."

"Look, man, I need a favour."

"Of course you do. But, I've told you before we're even, we've been even. You and me and your team don't do business anymore."

"This isn't a business call."

"Oh, really? You could've fooled me. Look, I'll have Alyssa set up a meeting for you on Thursday, at eleven."

"Sounds good." Harrison said briskly before hanging up.

/

"Still no luck?" Quinn inquired.

"They aren't letting me in to even see him."

"What? Can they even do that?" she asked, outraged.

"Of course they can, Quinn. Or at least whoever's giving the orders can." Harrison said dismissively.

"B613?"

Harrison nodded.

"His hearing starts in a month, Harrison." Abby sighed.

"I'm very much aware of that, Abby. Thank you." He took a seat at the conference room table and sank into his chair as if it were his final resting place.

"Well, what's next?" Abby asked.

"I scheduled an appointment with David Rosen for this Thursday. Hopefully, it'll do us some good. In the meantime, we have a case of our own to work, so let's get on that." he ordered, clapping his hands together and standing up.

Abby followed Harrison out of the conference room as he walked into his office which to be Olivia's old one, "Maybe I should take that appointment on Thursday in your stead."

"Rosen doesn't want to see you."

"How can you be so sure?" she said, slightly hurt at the suggestion.

"Are you two screwing again?"

"No, but-"

"Then, he's not interested." Harrison chortled.

/

They operated like a well-oiled machine. She would have been proud. Even before she died, Harrison had promised himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure the immortality of the name on the door. Without the team's most valued members, someone had to take over, be in charge. Harrison oversaw all cases, made new hires in Casey Steiner and Emmaline Geoffries. They were young and naive and fresh faces. A bit troubled as well, but hadn't all of them been that way at one time or another? Harrison kept Pope and Associates going. He gladiated. And she would have been proud.

Every day Abby, Quinn, Emma, Casey and Harrison, too strided over the ugly blood-brown stain in the wood-panelling where Olivia drew her last breath. It couldn't be washed away or bleached out. They considered closing up shop, moving to another location to avoid ghosts, but they couldn't leave. They were all irrevocably tied to that location. Funny, she had always put her blood, sweat and tears into her work, but no one really found the humour in the irony.

Any questions? If so, inbox me.

I hope at this point it's clear why Huck's in jail. . .