AILIF: Epiloge to Their Tome

Part III (The End)

'People'


"Do you mean it?"

"Can I borrow that? I'm a bit unprepared. I didn't expect it to happen like this."

"Take it."

"Now you can ask me."


#

Monday Morning

It was 3:30 AM and Olivia could not sleep. Her mind was unable to quiet after what Fitz revealed to her last night. Her heart was colluding with her gut, and her brain was working overtime to sway the decision she had taken a weekend of indulgence to ponder. Well, so much for that. She had a good time instead. D-day was here now and continuing to lay on her back was futile. The recklessness of staying over another night did not worry her as much. Every time Fitz—sound asleep—looked at her, naked or not, the I'm-glad-you're-here was written all over his face. How could she deny it? She did not. She basked in it instead. His happiness to have her here imbued his every errant touch, reminding them both of her presence. It was his presence that had quickly become a habit she welcomed. He had made this house a home, just as he said he would. Filling it with him, her, them. Filled it together, this weekend-not just erotic exercises they performed with each other, in most rooms (and the grand piano), but with their laughter.

With their disagreements.

With their dreams.

She could never live her full time, but it would always be their oasis of timeout.

Olivia wriggled out of Fitz's grip, and gingerly withdrew from the bed. Before slipping on the silk-velvet robe sprawled over the chair in the corner of the room, Olivia retrieved from a drawer the device that was usually glued to her hand. It had been there the entire weekend. She turned it on and opened her email, resolved to be back in bed before dawn. She coveted one last cuddle before having to leaving in a few hours. A small smile tugged at her lips as she descended the stairs, toward Fitz's office, wondering as she did, if 'them' would equal more than the sum of their parts one day.


#

Sunday Night

Fitz looked across the water at the love of his life, over his champagne flute. "There is something so decadent and 80's about a bubble bath and champagne. It's comical, really."

Olivia agreed on the excess. "Very 'Dynasty'." Olivia took an indulgent sip of from her crystal flute. "Dominique Deveraux would be proud, and you should be proud, too!" She hoisted the glass toward Fitz before placing it on the windowsill. "Of these," she said, snatching another herbed Parmesan crisp Fitz made for her after they returned from their walk in the woods. "These ae so close to what my mom used to make." Olivia closed her eyes as she savored a bite. Her face took on a curious cast as she licked the saltiness from her lips. "Slightly more peppery, and a little less thyme. But I love them. Who would have thought they would go so well with champagne."

A flicker of a smile shone on Fitz's face. "After you mentioned them, you know I had to try. I like seeing you like this."

"And how is that?"

"Free…open." A sobering thought rippled across the water's surface. He tilted his head back against the bath. "I don't want to think about tomorrow."

Fitz stayed like that for moments before he felt Olivia's foot slide across the base of the copper tub and under his sac. She gently flicked it with her big toe.

"Hi." She said impishly.

"Oh no you don't," he warned.

Feigning innocence, she replied, "What? That was friendly, I promise."

Fitz observed her with one eye open, casting mild suspicion. Her toe remained beneath the softest part of his body.

"So, tell me more about this foundation idea you and Marcus are working on. You've been incredibly vague with me."

During the care ride back, Fitz had divulged the general tenor for the foundation he was planning, and for which he was immensely energized. But he had let her believe the planning was in its infancy, not revealing that its mission was clear; its programing agenda falling into place; its board of trustees nearly finalized. That it was farther along than the presidential library.

"Marcus has been really great to work with. When you're right, you're right," he said raising Olivia's foot out of the water to begin massaging it. She purred, leaning her head back against the gleaming, generously curved edge of the free-standing copper tub.

"Mmmm, keep talking to me. You know how I love it when you tell me I'm right."

He splashed water in her direction, and she brought her head up in response. Rather than retaliate, she placed her other foot on his abs. "Now this one."

He obliged. Continuing with his thought, he said, "I didn't do enough while I was in office."

"Fitz, every president feels that way after they get some distance. The good ones do, anyway."

"Have you ever had that feeling of being close to the end of something when clarity finally emerges? Marcus helped me see that about the people I pardoned as I was leaving office. For so many of them, it was the beginning of a whole new chapter of their lives, and too few resources exist to help them move forward. And where they do exist, they are chronically underfunded."

Olivia was no longer in repose. She now sat upright, her shenanigans with his body curtailed as she absorbed Fitz's post-Oval consciousness breaking through to the surface. Held rapt as he detailed the shared vision that he and Marcus developed, and the values underpinning it, including why he needed $960 million dollars to start. The synapses of her brain began lighting up with a bevy of possibilities for the foundation, though its full capacity was still unfolding. This was just the start for him.

His ambition had taken her aback. "So, this is much more than doling out financial grants," she said, understanding that advocacy would be a central tenet to this unnamed foundation. Without changing policies, their efforts would be less potent.

His silken chest puffed with determination. "That's right. This will be the rest of my life's work."

"A Jimmy Carter for the needs of the twenty-first century," Olivia dubbed the work.

"Jimmy, bless him, is still hanging in there. But, yes, he's certainly an inspiration behind this. I just want to chart a path that I fully believe in and to which I'm committed…the way I'm committed to you." He kissed the bottom of the foot he still held in his hands before placing it back in the water.

Olivia's eyes softened, not merely at the mention of his devotion, but at his passionate resolve. She did not know if it was possible to love him more than she did, but his ambition made her horny for loving him. But that feeling soon faltered, giving way to an emotional surge bursting through her gates of caution, despite her best efforts to contain it. "How long have you been working on this without telling me?" Her tone had an unfinished edge.

Fitz ran the weeks back in his mind. "Early March…maybe a bit before. You remember me telling you about Santa Barbara? How they rejected that reform facility on the outskirts of the city?"

"I remember."

"It stayed with me. Besides the general sense of disappointment in the town, I didn't completely understand why I couldn't let it go. After a week, I tried articulating my thoughts to Marcus. The next day he brought me that Michelle Alexander book…"

"The New Jim Crow."

"The very one," he nodded. "He said, 'read this and then let's talk again'. So, I did, and we did. We went from there."

Olivia's was buzzing with several responses, through which she cycled before opening her mouth. Abashed, her own wounded pride tripped over the one she felt for him, for his becoming, and fell out of her mouth. "I could have helped you, if you told me. We…" she caught herself. She did not regret the feeling, only the myopic taste of it as it left her mouth. So petulant and small in comparison to what he wanted to accomplish. A part of her—the one that had been wounded in battle before absconding to Vermont—knew that Fitz's reluctance to divulge his plans was different than Mellie's obfuscation. That sensible part was bulldozed by pride. Because to her, the reality faced at the hands of the two Grants was the same: Olivia being deliberately sidelined.

Fitz witnessed this dark storm cloud stirring above her head, and soon the deluge of questions was aimed his way. Not the ones he had expected.

"Or was me being involved the opposite of what you wanted? You know, to have my input, my voice. Were you afraid I would take over your project, steer it in another direction?" He did not deserve this prosecutorial barrage of questions. She knew this but knowing is only half the battle. She was still smarting from what she had uncovered in Washington. That from which she fled. The thing from which she was deliberately excluded, but for which she was conveniently needed, even after she told Mellie it would go wrong. "I get it. Being here, away from me, was your chance to be your own person. Stand on your own two feet." Olivia chewed on this realization. The man in front of her was stepping up to the mantle she knew, even ten years ago, he could inhabit. Knew it after the first time she laid eyes on him. He needed her back then to save his campaign. He has always needed her, hasn't he? Until now.

Before he could answer her pointed assumptions, Fitz observed a cold shiver run through Olivia. "Let me add some more hot wa—"

"Leave it," she interrupted. "I think I'm done. She gripped the sides of the bath, propelling herself upward. Before she could get to her feet, Fitz caught her mid-rise, inelegantly flipping her around, drawing her back into the water. Water clapped between their bodies as her back met his chest.

It was quick. It was messy. It was necessary.

Once Olivia was settled between his thighs, Olivia leaned back into Fitz, but the rigidity of her body held steadfast. Her face was still composed of consternation, and a tinge of embarrassment. The latter caused her to close her eyes, lest her salty tears of frustration with herself flow into their bathwater. "What?"

He spoke evenly into her ear as his chin rested on her shoulder. One arm draped itself against her glistening body like a seatbelt. "I know what you're thinking—"

"That's impossible," she said. Because I haven't told you, she thought.

"Maybe. But I do know that you're wrong."

She twisted her neck so that her face was a hair's breadth from his. The downcast slope of her lips was too tempting to ignore, so Fitz stole a kiss.

"You're so used to being right that being wrong is an affront to you, Olivia Pope. I know you. And it's why I need you to listen to me. Will you do that?"

"Fine."

"I'm going to ask you again. Livvie, will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Okay."

"Thank you."

After replenishing the freestanding bath with hot water, Fitz began. "You are the Chief of Staff to the first female President of the United States."

"That is a fact with which we are all familiar. Is there a point there?"

Fitz continued rattling off facts because he did not think the cumulative effect was as evident to her, as they had been to him. She was too inside her own world, unable to see the forest for the trees. "You barely see your friends. You work crazy hours and through many of your weekends. I've listened to you as your stress levels have risen—even though you won't let me in on what's happening so that I could be of help. Can we say irony..."

"That's not—"

"Shhhhh shhhh." He squeezed her against his chest. "Let me finish."

Her sigh was heavy, laden with suppressed comebacks, exceptions and justifications.

"My point is, where in all of that were you supposed to find time to devise a prospectus for the new foundation of your ex-boss and current boyfriend," he enquired. "Because I thought about that. Worse, I thought, if her name is anywhere near this, I couldn't trust some of these donors not to have this get back to Mellie. It would not impress, nor endear her to you. I don't care what she thinks about me. But I do care about you, and any negative implications it could carry for you. As much as I am here, in Vermont, to discover myself, I knew that's what you wanted for yourself in Washington—to rediscover your hopes, dreams, goals. But without me, my needs and ambitions obfuscating your purpose. I'm not making that mistake again—being that selfish." He lightly kissed the shell of her ear. He felt the tension in her body dissolve against him. He removed his arm around her, dipping both his hands beneath the surface of the water to find hers. He brought them both up to his lips. "That's what you wanted, right?"

Olivia gulped. There was little in what he said that she would refute. She could, but she would not. Because there was truth in it, however much it mocked her ego.

When she did not speak, Fitz continued. "You're right, though. I didn't want to need your help. I do want to earn your respect. That's more important to me…and yes, I want you to be proud of me, too. What you think matters to me."

Olivia squeezed his hands. "You already have my respect. You know that."

Another kiss. This time to her temple, and Olivia leaned into it.

"But there is a place for you, if you want it."

"What?" she asked, placated, but unresolved.

"The Board of Trustees."

"To put one in place?"

Fitz chuckled. "You're such a leader. It's so sexy…but, no. Marcus and I have done the hard work and vetted a list of potential trustees. But I won't say no to you looking at the list." He fabricated casual in his shrug, a contrast to his words. "I'm asking…I would love for you to chair the Board of Trustees. I want you to be a key presence in the foundation. I don't know if that's too much to ask…you're the Chief of Staff for Christ's sake. Or if it'll be a conflict of interest? Sometimes, it will be kind of—"

Now it was she who shushed him.

With their hands still entwined, she brought both their arms across her body, and kissed his knuckles. "Can I think about it? I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Take your time…speaking of which," Fitz reached for his watch on the window's ledge. "Baby, it's nearly eight o'clock. What time do you need to leave?"


#

Monday Morning

When Fitz awoke, Olivia was not there. The bed was cold, confirming her place had been abandoned for a while. The quality of the light streaming in told him it had to be after 6 AM. Had she left and not said goodbye? Monday's cold reality was here. Sigh. At least he had new memories to sustain him for the final two weeks they would be apart. Back to this already. Where did they leave things? He was unsure. And would the final two weeks displace all the goodwill and reconnection this blissful weekend had set in motion? Before he could mourn Olivia's impending departure, Fitz's phone buzzed multiple times. He retrieved it and did a double take at the alerts he saw on his screen. He was slack jawed as he wiped to remaining sleep from his eyes, making sure that he was seeing clearly. How could his be, he thought. She had been with him all weekend, and now this? Trustworthy outlets were all broadcasting the same thing, using the same language. Not rumor nor conjecture, this was the language of a press release, so there was no mistake.

Fitz roughly cast back the duvet from his body, slipping on a pair of boxers before going in search of Olivia. Enough was enough. This warranted explanation. He looked at the time and back at his phone. 10AM was less than four hours from now. He trudged hastily down the stairs, spotting her nowhere in the great room. The light emanating from the cracked door of his office foretold her presence.

His entrance startled her, causing Olivia to drop the papers in her hands.

"Fitz!" she said, clutching a hand to her chest. "I was going to come back to bed for a few minutes before you got up. The time got away from me. I didn't want to leave be—"

"Olivia," he held up his phone's screen inches from her face. "What the hell is going on?"

"Chief of Staff, Olivia Pope, to hold press conference at 10AM this morning."


#

Day 81

Olivia's mind felt like a swarm of bees had invaded it. A hive of activity since Jake's unexpected visit last night, her brain was buzzing in its search for a possible honey pot. Or something sweet enough that it was worth being so protective over Kushman. Something that would warrant a visit from Mellie's sentinel, Jake. His intrusion into her apartment had rattled her. Not his vindictive presence, nor how he had gotten through the four locks, but the insistence of his words.

"The President doesn't need your suspicion clouding her judgment. Let. It. Go!"

He should know by now that such brutal insistence was mere invitation for her to do the opposite.

"Bethany, can you take me through some available dates in the President's schedule for May?" Olivia smiled. "I need to fit in a couple of events to commemorate AAPI Heritage month."

"Sure, let me see where she can slot you in," the President's secretary said. She chewed her bottom lip—already bruised and sporting patches of dry skin underneath transfer-proof matt lipstick—as she scrolled the President's schedule. She winced "It's going to be tight, though."

Instead of skipping to May, Bethany began scrolling week by week. Olivia's breath stalled as she saw repeated, twice weekly meetings marked 'private' in the President's evening schedule. After her usual 7:30 dinner.

"Are these appointments in person, or…" Olivia asked, hoping Bethany would be distracted enough to answer without thinking. She was not.

"Ma'am, I'm not at liberty to say" Bethany said without missing a beat in her scrolling or taking her eyes off the screen.

Olivia's smile was tight.

"When in May are you looking for?"

"There." Olivia indicated for Bethany to stop. "The second week is ideal. But…why are there three full days blocked off?" Ones she had not knows about. They were not marked private, so it was not a personal matter. Mellie had not indicated to her that there was something special being planned for that week. And yet, Olivia was certain this should be very much her business.

"I've only been told that the President will be at Camp David at that time."


#

Day 84

"Olivia," Mellie said as she swanned in brightly. "I'm sorry to be late. Can't stand it. But it couldn't be helped. Turns out the new CIA director is incredibly chatty. He really needs to work on being succinct." She sighed. "But I'm glad you're here. I'm all yours."

The Chief of Staff, clad in a crisp white pantsuit, with a blush-colored blouse underneath, was sat one of the twin silver-blue sofas in the Oval. The reupholstered furniture was just one of many feminine changes in tone made to suit the room's new occupant. Without the preamble of a greeting, or invitation to gossip about Director Finch, Olivia launched into reading aloud from the highlighted paper resting on her lap.

"…It's not unusual for lobbyists and special interest representatives to be milling about the White House. Of that sort, however, Colin Kushman remains a league above. The billionaire oil tycoon (and bachelor) is no stranger to governments near or far. The self-proclaimed Libertarian spreads himself among multiple political parties but has a penchant for Conservative (and fascist) governments worldwide. His expanding portfolio of investments in everything from Artificial Intelligence technology to corporate real estate development, one begs the question: is the title of 'oil tycoon' too restrictive? Whatever his title, one cannot deny how close to the new Grant administration he has become. Details of this relationship-building have yet to materialize, but the question remains: will cozying up to President Grant's administration help him change the 'oil tycoon' narrative? Watch this space."

"That's the one, wasn't it?" Olivia placed the piece of paper into the folder stacked with documents beside her—the culmination of her efforts over the last 3 days. discovery phase.

"The one what? "Mellie said, appearing blithe as her blue eyes embiggened.

"The one. The article that caused you to have Ainsley Frum's press credentials revoked. Do you know his bosses at The Washington Post, subsequently moved him to the Finance beat?"

Mellie wore an uncharacteristically soft color, yellow. Still standing, she fingered her pearls often decorating her neck when she was not wearing pants. The act, or compulsion, make her unable to hide the mild irritation upon hearing the reporter's name. Mellie dismissed the topic with a hand. "Why are we meeting about him? I don't care about that man. In fact, I loathe him. Is that what you want me to admit? Well, there you have it. What you just read to me was speculative, sexist drivel. That's not the kind of dog whistling coverage we need. Singling out a male lobbyist, then deliberately mentioning Kush's lack of romantic attachment, and oh the kicker…'cozying up'?" Mellie emphasized with finger quotations. She was gearing up for a full defense, launching into a blow-by-blow of the article's crimes—the relevance of which she questioned only moments ago. "I don't need that imagery in the press. Not with a nation obsessed with salacious reality TV. As soon as the press starts speculating about my personal life, it becomes a distraction from everything we're trying to achieve, and everything for which we want to be taken seriously." She drove om, hand on hip. "You, of all people, Liv, know what it's like to have your personal life in the press." Her face was patterned with commiseration, an expectation that Olivia would see eye to eye with her.

Olivia twisted her mouth, tucking in the slight. For now. She had forgotten neither her truth-seeking mission today, nor a fact of yesteryear. That it had been Mellie who leaked to the press the gold heirloom ring Olivia wore on her finger for many years. The personal significance of which she was forced to defend on national television. Or the time Mellie went on national television to gossip with the American public about her husband's unfaithfulness. Olivia, too, was case building. She had to acknowledge, however, she hoped for one outcome over the other.

"You're right. Such coded language is…potentially harmful. But your reaction—having the man fired—did not fit the infraction." Olivia hitched one shoulder in cool detachment. "Unless… the codes of Frum's language unlock something true."

"I beg your pardon?" The President said indignantly. She was now sat on the sofa opposite her Chief of Staff.

Olivia leaned forward into the gap between them. "Colin Kushman has been canoodling with the administration. Frum got that right. What I need to know is, does it extend to Melody Grant the person, not the President?"

Through gritted teeth, Mellie replied, "Not every President you work for trades favors in that way."

"Mellie." Olivia warned.

"If anything, I'm getting more out of this than Kush is," Mellie said off-handedly. A note of pride filled her voice.

"The Kush thing…lay of it. Mellie knows what she's doing."

Jake's words came back to Olivia. They were a directive from Mellie. "The spectacle of a Camp David peace treaty with West Angola. That's what you get, right? All the phone calls. The Vice President's insistence that I leave this one to the two of you…"

Caught off-guard by Olivia's Olympic leap in deductive reasoning, The President did not address Olivia's accusations directly. She took her on a detour instead.

"Frum…since you brought him up. I didn't have the Vice President his press pass rescinded because of the article you just read. He thinks that was the reason, but it wasn't. That man has spilled no shortage of ink I despise. It was the piece he wrote after the International Women's Day event we held here that got stuck in my craw. The luncheon for the women CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. Since we invited such a select group, and I thought it would enhance the optics in the press, I decided to do the White House Tour myself. Big mistake. Turns out it reminded people of my inglorious past, not my present as their President. Frum was among those waxing poetic about the past. He wrote a glowing piece about me as First Lady. About how much I excelled at that job. Humph. 'Job.' More like unofficial, unpaid housewife. Frum used the First Lady bit to launch into some sophomoric metaphor that compared housework to domestic policy and landscaping to foreign policy. He praised me for the former and skewered me on the latter. It reminded America, and our enemies, of a perceived weakness in leadership. Of my weakness in leadership," she pointed in the center of her chest. "On the world stage." Mellie had worked herself into a lather at the memory.

"But Mellie you aren't weak. Or else you wouldn't be here."

"Of course, I know that" she drawled out, her voice low and emphatic. "But foreign policy was my weakest point during the campaign. And what that reporter did was remind America of that." Her voice surged. "He had to go. And I had to do something to take away that potential weapon of critique."

Every president was afraid of their shortcomings being revealed to a nation for whom the presidency was the pinnacle of what the nation represented. That part was not new. Neither was the paranoia that threatened those presidents in a town where being close to power was not enough for some. Nothing short of stockpiling the stuff would quench the thirst for it. Vampires and bloodsuckers, this town was full of them. Olivia could hand them, however. But only if she knew the threat and was trusted to handle it.

"We were supposed to be a team. It's my job to build you up in that department. But you didn't give me a chance. You moved on the matter of Frum without me. I thought we began the journey in alignment, and now…you've all but dismantled that and the very vision we set for this term."

Under a stimulus of defense, Mellie responded. "Not this term. My term. And I'm doing what is necessary to ensure there will be another of my terms. I can't do that if my ability to protect this country from its enemies is repeatedly called into doubt."

Olivia nodded her head placatingly. She knew this insecurity of Mellie's well. "You asked me to find a way to smooth over the Senate for you. I got Senator Benedict's cooperation on some of your more progressive items. To her, I added three more senators. Do you know how many that makes, Madame President?" Olivia asked rhetorically. "That's four. Four. Four Democratic senators whom I convinced to support some of the upcoming items on our agenda. An agenda that, if you had stuck with it, we could have pushed through, making us one of the most successful first-term administrations in modern history. Better than even Clinton. I got those senators on board because it's good for their constituents, and it's good for the country. People are tired of treating political parties like football teams, tallying winds for one side against the other instead of focusing on making lives better. I was trying to give you that." Olivia's swelling, patriotic register reached its apogee before she paused to lower it, conveying disappointment with her next words. ". And almost never counts. Even after…Did you know, by the way? Did you know that the Vice President was trying to revive B…the organization we no longer speak of? Until I put the kibosh on that. When Mellie did not speak, Olivia drew her body in, back against the cushioned sofa. "Of course, you knew," she said in horror.

"Honestly, I'm a little surprised you weren't the one to think of how useful B6-13- "

Olivia held up a finger and Mellie dismissed it with her hand. She refused to play games to a spy camera in her office.

Olivia's eyes widened.

"As I was saying…how useful they could have been to our agenda. Especially as it shifts. It's not ideal, but we must adjust as things change." Mellie had a moment's reflection, looking off to the side at nothing. "I guess it's true what they say: change is the only constant." Her gaze returned to Olivia, sobering in its intensity. "They planned to obstruct me at every turn, the Democrats. And you want me to trust that they won't set me up, just because you had a meeting and they pinky swore? I can't be the Grant with one term. B6-13 would be an insurance policy. Unlike Fitz, I have restraint. They won't be running wild as they did then."

"I'm going to say this only once: whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. Shut it down. You can command Jake to shut it down and he will. Did you ever stop to wonder why I didn't use…extra judicial force as muscle for your agenda?"

"Oversight?" Mellie coolly offered.

"It's because I know what it does to people. Because, unlike you, I've been hurt plenty by it, "Olivia said emphatically. "And so have the people I love.""

"People like your boyfriend? Don't think I don't know that you two talk about me. Collude on the best path forward for me. The campaign is over. I don't need you and Fitz's guardrails, or your caution," Mellie insisted.

It is always a difficult thing to convey experience when one is imparting knowledge because it is the thing that transforms information into wisdom. If the experience is not respected, knowledge comes across as mere information. A thing much easier to discard than knowledge. Mellie was not taking B6-13 seriously, having never faced the belly of its beast.

Olivia thought about the bus full of juror's slaughtered by her precious Huck because of Mellie's careless and too eager discussions with Command, back when he posed as a political doner.

Her face mildly frightened, Olivia said, "That. It does that to people. Makes them justify every end with whatever means necessary, just to ensure the reins of power never leave their hands. Like…reallocating money in the budget away from where it's needed. Where we agreed it should be."

Mellie blinked as Olivia's words reconfigure in her brain. Her face was mottled by a sense of foreboding.

"The budget we agreed on was not the one ultimately passed by Congress, "Olivia continued. "I already spotted the Vice President's pet project funding. Tiny little amounts from everywhere. Easy. No, where you were truly bold is funding the Justice Department's Violent Crimes and DEA Enforcement to the tune of $22 billion in discretionary funds. Worse, is the paltry $8 million change you threw at defending Federal Voting Laws," Olivia excoriated.

The president had sat as her non-plussed audience. Until now. The quickness with which her neck snapped could have caused injury.

Olivia, who was now standing, pacing the room commandingly, continued shedding light on all Mellie had tried to obscure from her and the nation.

"Is that because political gerrymandering works in your party's favor?" She quipped facetiously. "I racked my brain to think about why you would do such a thing, and what the 'pro' for that 'quid' would be. And then I realized that I already knew because I warned you." Olivia paused meaningfully. "The Streisand Effect strikes again. Frum thought he was removed because you didn't want him writing about Kushman's visits. Because, God forbid, he also found out about the phone calls. Frum dug in his heels on Kushman, stoking a vendetta by devoting at least one article a week to his investment portfolio and shady ties to titans of totalitarianism. He's been trying to find a smoking gun. But he's not as smart as I am.

"Kushman started small with privatized prison contracts in Britain—business is booming since they voted for Brexit. And then he made a play for the big dogs. The biggest dogs: the American Prison Industrial Complex. In exchange for the backroom peace deal Kushman helped you negotiate with West Angola, you've promised him." Olivia recalled the exact figures: "thirty percent of the federal prison's contracts; twenty-three percent of the detention facilities, and "Olivia paused from the tightness in her chest, the betrayal and disappointment, nearly vanquishing her breath. "And eighteen percent of the juvenile correction facilities." Olivia shook her head in a moment of irony. "Did you think you could mitigate this with money for Early Head Start programs?"

When Mellie was silent, her head bowed by what Olivia hoped was shame, she knew that everything she laid out was true. And she was devastated to know that she was correct.

Quietly, Mellie began. "I…" She cleared her throat. "I'm not putting them in prison. Any of them. The facilities already exist for those who commit illegal acts. The government can't provide all of these services. It's more efficient this way to let specialists handle it. We're keeping most of those jobs by moving that labor force to other agencies," she protested. "In fact, by privatizing the facilities, we'll be adding to the job numbers because there will be new hires."

At first Olivia could muster nothing more than a sad and scornfully slow shake of her head. Her now straightened tresses swept across her shoulders. The passive language, the detachment. Mellie had already written off the people whose lives were already, and would be, affected as problems to be handled. Problems for which she found the ideal solution as a 'gift with purchase' for the appearance of peace with one of American's enemies.

Olivia was swayed by none of Mellie's talking points. That's what they were. She had not done this naively, Olivia recognized. "It is a statistical fact that when prisons are privatized, the percentage of incarcerated people goes up by an average of twenty-one percent! And up until you, only eight percent of federal prisons were privatized. You've upped it to fifteen percent. You don't see it now, but what you have done will have an impact for generations. It's not simply outsourcing a solution. Not only will CK Solutions lobby for more federal contracts year over year, devoting less money to services, and more to their shareholders, but they will also leverage these federal contracts to get highly lucrative state-based ones. States where there are no regulations or oversight for building speculative prisons. Isn't that something? Build it and they will come." Olivia's laugh was ruefully dark. "I can think of at least fifteen states that CK Solutions will go after. So, in fact, you are helping to put more people in prison. That, Madame President, is not something to which I agreed, nor will I support it."

"Funny word that—'agree'." Mellie bucked back with a non-sequitur. "I remember you were desperate to win as much as I was. Maybe more. Desperate to prove your own power away from Fitz and your obsession with each other. Let's not pretend that I sit on the throne as a favor to you, or because of him. I worked my ass off for this!" She pounded the table. "The majority of the American public believe that America's standing abroad, and terrorism are still two of the biggest threats facing our nation. I'm leading them to a safer tomorrow. The people elected me. Me. My judgment. To guide them in the right direction."

"And this is where you take them?" Olivia argued. "Kushman gets you a peace deal with a tiny nation and you exchange that for prison contracts? Is a peace treaty with West Angola worth more to you than millions of American lives, just to prove to yourself that you could achieve something your ex-husband could not? The people of West Angola can't even afford toothpaste because their government cares more about persecuting LGBTQIA citizens than social care. They don't give a damn about a peace treaty with America."

"But they care about the lives of the loved ones they lost in a senseless war. A peace treaty with West Angola is about American lives. Not just one of them this time. Hundreds of millions of them who witnessed the former president stir up trouble by killing dozens of innocent Americans. And for what? That's not even what brought you back!"

Olivia saw fire dancing in Mellie's eyes. How could she advise a woman, a president who looked at her as so intimately connected to a wrong she must right.

"But back I am. And if I wasn't here, you wouldn't be in the People's office either. None of this happens without me. You are here because of me. You will not take that from me. Nor the memory of you begging me to help you." Olivia did not disagree that better relations with West Angola would be a good outcome. But not like this.

Olivia finally sat back down opposite the President. "I'm tired, Mellie," Olivia said, for the first time not using the President's title. "So very tired." This fatigue was not one of defeat. It was an exhaustion born out of self-respect. If their first—not even—one hundred days had been like this, what did the future hold? What disasters would be created without care because Olivia would be there on the other side?

"Olivia," Mellie softened when she saw the disillusionment in Olivia's eyes. "You're seeing only the bad in all this. I promise you; I can control for all the unsavory outcomes you fear. We have over seven more years to make sure of it. What I need is a Chief of Staff who will support me in making this a safer, more habitable nation for its citizens. I need you."


#

Monday Morning

"And what did you say to her?" Fitz listened carefully to the saga unfurling form Olivia's telling. All of this was she had brushed behind the curtain this weekend, in attempt to spare him.

"I told her I'd see her on Monday morning, then I left." Olivia had no memory of purloining her father's private jet or of arranging a driver—one who would be here to pick her up within an hour. "More than anything, I was so profoundly sad when I left the Oval. I've given so much of myself and for what?" A surge of hot relief washed over her. "I don't know how I got here. But it was where I knew I needed to be."

"Come here."

Olivia rose to her feet and Fitz picked her up into a big bear hug, which Olivia embraced fully by locking her thighs around his back. Detained in his arms, that was home. No matter where they were. They swayed together.

"This morning's press conference," he said, his words muffled by her neck. "Is that how she'll find out?"

"No, I wrote and signed my resignation before the meeting with her and locked it in my desk. I wanted to be sure. I asked Charlotte to retrieve it and put it on her desk early this morning, before I sent out the press release."

"I am so proud of you," Fitz said. "But I'm also sorry for how this turned out. I know how much this meant to you."

"I'm not sorry," she rebuffed. "I proved what I needed to prove to myself…about who I am. I know that I'm doing the right thing for myself."

"You must have known that before, when you wrote your resignation letter." He paused and thought about it before giving her butt a little squeeze. "Your second resignation from the White House."

"I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Until I spoke to her, that is, and she all but confirmed everything." Olivia drew her face back from his shoulder as her body remained suspended, wrapped around his. "It's not the same—this resignation—as before. The first time was me running away because I was afraid of how much I loved you, and what that could mean for everyone else. I'm not running away now; I have a destination and it's not the White House." Her eyes scanned his face. "I don't have to be there to help change people's lives, which has always been my most important goal." She said assuredly.

Fitz was giving her the biggest smile. "Should I come with you today? For moral support?"

Olivia loosened her legs from around his waist and he eased her back down to earth. "Fitz, you can't be there. What a circus it would be if I arrived with you. Just because I couldn't stay away from you for one hundred days doesn't mean you get to skirt tradition. You, Mister, are still under embargo away from Washington."

Fitz chuckled and agreed with her. "I'll be watching. I'm so proud of you. Will you call me after?"

"I will."


#

Monday Afternoon

"How did it feel?"

She heard him before she saw him, and the voice stopped her in her tracks. A swift turn of the heel and she was facing him as the sun shone down on them both. Olivia greeted him back, firm and glorious, dispensing with the urge to scold him for coming to Washington in rebuke of tradition. "Good as hell!"

Her choice of words belied the exact freedom she felt to be her full self. Uncareful with her words, she let the sun bless her with its radiance as she spun around absorbed in this benediction to era of her career. Life would go on as it had all along, but it was new with possibilities she let her mind ponder. She could do anything.

"It's about damn time," he said back, reflecting her casual joy.

"Care to take a ride with me? Since I'm here, I have something I want to show you."

#

She turned to him as they pulled up to a building. Gleaming, tall and new in the way so much of the architecture in Washington now was: grey, glassy, imposing, but devoid of personality.

They reached the penthouse floor, and Fitz opened the door to Olivia.

"Fitz where are we?"

"The Foundation's new offices."

"Fitz…this is…wow." She looked around with awe at all the potential for the space there were in. She saw visions of people milling about. The buzzing energy of change.

"What do you think of that?" Fitz nodded his head over to an unhung sign in the corner by a blank wall, behind a reception desk. "There's a whole punch card of things to finish with construction. The real sign will be hung weeks from now. That's just a mockup; the name's not final. But…" He spun himself around, with his arms outstretched. "This is it. What do you think?"

"I thought I told you not to buy any more buildings without me."

"I didn't. I lease it for five years," he winked. "I hope to need more space by then."

"I have no doubt," she said as she continued walking around slowly, observingly, until she stopped at the mock-up sign.

"Hmmm," she frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"The name."

Fitz picked up the sign and scrutinized it. He read it aloud "The Fitzgerald Grant Foundation." Everything was spelled correctly. "Should I add the 'T' or 'Thomas'? Or maybe the full Monty: 'Fitzgerald Thomas Grant, III'?" He groaned. "No, that's too much. That's what the Library is for."

"We need a better name," Olivia began as her hands entwined, her two index fingers, pointing showily against her chin in thought. "Something that hints at our bigger remit, of the foundation's soul."

"So that it has room to grow..." he cottoned on.

"Exactly, but we can't be too generic."

"Generic? My na—" Fitz paused. His incredulousness turned to bemusement turned to a new understanding. Her earlier words configured and reconfigured in his brain. So not to make his preferred assumptions, his neck snapped back up to Olivia and away from the sign. "We. You said 'we'. 'We need a better name'. Olivia…what are you saying?"

Olivia took two steps toward Fitz. "I'm saying that not only was this weekend the best time I've had in a long time, but it also gave me a lot of clarity. Especially this morning. I'm sorry about my reaction to the foundation yesterday. To all that you were able tot do to get it this far." Her small hand rested against his sculpted jaw as she looked up into his face. "I am immensely proud of you—the man that you are; the man you are becoming. The truth is, I was jealous. And when I searched the bottom of that feeling, it became so clear. Especially after I read the Foundation's founding documents. I realized that everything I had been trying to manipulate in Mellie's administration was pointing me towards this work. I want to make real impact in the lives of people who need it."

"You still want to change the world."

"I want to change the world. With you." She pointed around the room. "Here, together."

He scooped her up and swung her around the room. Their joy reverberated around the room at dizzying speed until Fitz put Olivia back on firm footing.

"This is what I wanted all along, but only if you wanted it. I never want to put you in a compromising situation again, or make you feel small because of my goals."

"Speaking of compromise…" she reached into the Prada briefcase resting on a nearby office chair. From it she pulled a sheet of paper and handed it to Fitz.

"You bought a building without me?"

"We can't live in my apartment, can we?"

"When did you—"

"I've been looking for weeks. I keep coming back to this one. I printed this in your office…right before making an offer, and they've accepted. But it's not a done deal unless you want it to be." Olivia watched Fitz closely. "It's not one of those suburban monstrosities you've sent me links to, but…"

He perused the single sheet, taking in its details of four bedrooms, four stories of an end-property, 19th century renovated row house in Georgetown.

"You weren't kidding about being productive this morning."

She blushed. "I think it's a little much for—

"It's…it's perfect," he interrupted.

"I was going to say, it's a little much for just us right now, but room for growth is good."

"Growth is good." Fitz smiled and nodded at her inference. "You are full of ideas, you are."

"I've got one more tiny idea," she said, her eyes clear, her face beaming in anticipation. "About the name. Tell me what you think of this..."

Olivia could barely conceal her smile. She whispered something in his ear. When Fitz turned to her, his blue-grey eyes were wide at the suggestion before were misted by the unmistakable sheen of overwhelm. By the time words came out of his mouth, his voice was a rough choke. "Do you mean it?"

She nodded her head.

"Can I borrow that? I'm a bit unprepared. I didn't expect it to happen like this."

Olivia extended her left index finger so that it pointed to the ceiling. "Take it."

He took that finger into his mouth and used his teeth to remove the gold ring that she had begun wearing again after the parted on Inauguration Day. As he descended on one knee, Fitz held Doux Bébé while looking up at Olivia. Olivia shook her head, laughing. She extended her hand to help him up. "Get up here."

Once he was looking in her face, she spoke again. "Now you can ask me."

As he held the ring at the tip of her fourth finger, Fitz said, "I never wanted anything until I met you. Things I should do, should want. Things with which I was expected to be associated, sure. But you—you…I wanted you. You made me realize what that feeling is like. Not as a thing or possession I wanted to secure for myself, but as a partner. Life is just better with you…Olivia Carolyn Pope, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the third, I have never wanted to be with anyone more than I need to be with you. Yes, I want forever with you."

She was squeezed in his arms and spinning in the next breath. Neither of them could not contain their joy. Fitz kissed Olivia all over her face and neck as she squealed in delight. It was pure music to him; the kind that made his heart thump. The pair continued to kiss for minutes on end, under the fluorescent awing of their future creation. The Light Foundation: A Fitzgerald & Olivia Pope-Grant Project.


#

2 years later

The last two years have been a whirlwind for Olivia and Fitz. A flood of changes and challenges marked their personal and professional lives, which have only further been entwined. Because their love has glistened on the edge of whatever they have encountered thus far, it has made their bond Teflon. No disagreement, delay, or disappointment could disrupt the commitment to each other, or the world they were building with the substance of their values.

After returning to Vermont to see out the final weeks of the one hundred days, their priority was to bring their new baby to life. The Light Foundation would serve as just one of the future Fitzgerald and Olivia Pope-Grant projects. As Co-directors, they worked with Deputy Director, Marcus Walker, to build out a full program, including transition and reintegration services for federal offenders facing release. The program is filled with practical help such as help with housing, relocation, job seeking and skills training, mental health services, and cultural reintegration for those who have been incarcerated 10 years or more and face a rapidly changing world. They have even managed to begin piloting, in the Maryland system, a state-based version of the transition and reintegration service. From there, TLF's advocacy wing will advocate for the same in other states, even providing the language for writing the policy. TLF intends to act as a progressive counter to conservative organizations like the ALEC which focuses on taking away rights under the guise of family values. As more F&OPG projects come to fruition, the focus would always be on making the lives of the most marginalized better.

Their wedding was a small, destination affair on their Vermont property, Primrose Valley, a year after Fitz proposed. On the eve of their honeymoon to Bali, Olivia left a positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter for Fitz to find.

"Sir, Mrs. Grant is on her way up," Charlotte confirmed as he approached the doorframe of Fitz's Foundation office. Olivia, who was on er way from their Georgetown home, had her office next door to his. There was an adjoining door between them. Sometimes it was open; other times it was closed.

"And I think this little package is ready for you," she smiled. "I smell a little something."

"Fitz chuckled as he rose from his desk. His face was a vision of a man who was completely besotted, despite the obvious stench the closer he moved toward Charlotte, the Foundation's Office Manager.

"Phew!" Fitz was taken aback by the fetid and unholy smell. "Noah, you stinky little angel." He grabbed his son form Charlotte's outstretched arms, showering his chubby cheeks with kisses and raspberry noises. Noah was full of squeals, despite the discomfort in his diaper.

"Let's get a good look at you," he said chatting away to the baby as he approached the back of his office. "Your mother will be so upset if you've ruined your clothes. You can't show up like this, buddy. There are gonna be cameras. It's your debut. You want to make a good impression."

He flicked down the latch on the changing table attached to the back all in the room. The whole southwest corner, in fact, belonged to Noah. Olivia's office contained the same. "Uh oh," Fitz sang. "Baby, made a mess!" Fitz mouth hung open dramatically and he made his eyes large. 6-month-old Noah's lips curled into laughter as his chubby legs stiffened.

"Nooo—aaaaah, you cannot be serious right now," Fitz said as his shoulders dropped. But Noah was very serious about pushing out a little more mess for his father to clean up.

Olivia had arrived and was standing silently in the doorway, deciding to watch this father and son duo. She slid her head to the side and a smile tipped out.

Fitz pulled apart the Velcro strips of his son's diaper to survey the full damage. But he could already see some of it well before doing so. Noah's back and the sides of his legs were coated in baby poop. "What am I going to do with you?" he said as he reached for wipes, another diaper and clean onesie.

"Just like his father," Olivia intervened from behind Fitz as she shook her head. "Mommy has to come to the rescue. Luckily, I anticipated this." She smiled. The hanger swung back and forth on her right index finger, just above a gold ring. Attached was an adorable baby set that imitated his father's navy suit, minus the jacket. Doux Bébé had been moved to the right hand after Fitz commissioned a proper five carat cushion-cut diamond ring to be made for her left hand. Olivia wanted nothing else on that hand but the engagement ring and diamond eternity wedding band.

"Look, mommy's here!" Fitz said, to Noah, but he was looking at Olivia with all the gratitude he could muster.

Olivia greeted him with a quick kiss before handing him the clothes. "Hello, mommy's handsome boy," she said as she greeted Noah with a kiss on the top of his curly head. She would let him father finish the job of cleaning him up.

When Noah was finally cleaned and changed, Fitz held him in one hand and when to pull up his wife from the sofa she sat on. "You look stunning. Ravishing, in fact." He spun her into his embrace for a proper greeting.

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. President." She smiled into their kiss. It was slow and full this time. With a quick pat to his chest, she added "Are you ready to see how you look in portrait form today? I hope you're prepared for how large it's going to be."

"Wait, do you know something?"

"Maybe," she smiled coyly. "You shouldn't be nervous."

"I'm not. I trust that that Emily did a good job. If it is anything like her other work, I know I'll be blown away. You wouldn't have suggested her if you didn't believe she'd do a good job."

"I'm just grateful she agreed to do both your portraits. I know how Mellie feels about being depicted as First Lady. Emily understood that. As for you, I always want the best for you. You know that."

"You're the best for me." He booped her nose with his, making their lips temptingly close. So, they indulged. Until Noah began to fuss. "See, your son said don't start."

"Ok…will you hold him for a sec."

Fitz returned with a deluxe Baby Bjorn contraption that he began to fasten over his chest. "I'll take him," he said as he reached out for Noah.

Olivia was befuddled, as she scratched the side of her temple. "Fitz, we are going to the unveiling of your and Mellie's portraits. You cannot show up like that, with your son strapped to your chest."

"What? I'm going to take it off before we leave the car," he said incredulously. "I do this all the time."

When Olivia looked over at her husband and her first born, the picture hit her in the softest part of her heart with its tenderness. Her chest had grown a hook, on which Noah hung his smile, joining that of his father's.

Olivia chuckled and groaned. "Will the two of you just come on!" Olivia reached behind her for Fitz to grab her hand. This was a big day for them as a family. A rare public outing. It would be Noah's first time being in the public eye, and she intended to keep this exposure few and far between. A far more endearing thought was the three of them escaping to Vermont immediately after the unveiling and press interviews. This visit, too, would be a first for Noah. They had not been there since Olivia was in her second trimester. They had been at a crucial point in TFL's development, after opening several months before Noah was due.

Olivia shook her head and sighed at her husband. "You have another suit in the car anyway."

"Me or Noah?"

These very special people are lucky to have found and held on to each other. Knowing it his half the battle; working at it will be the rest. Love will surely deepen its mystery, and from it, their light will shine on others and make a path where there was only darkness.

Fin


A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this journey as I re-wrote, deepend and re-purposed Olitz's story from seasons 5B-7 (and beyond). If you have not left a review (even if you have!), they are incredible for me to read. This is espcially true when I need reminders of what I can do. So, indulge me: what have been your favorite parts?

I'm taking a little hiatus after completing this story in less than 6 months! Amazing. I think I'm gonna get it printed as a little for myself. Motivation to create a 'real' book of my own characters one day.