Author's Note: I am not pleased with this chapter. It's been on my screen for days being written and re-written. It's a bit of a transitional chapter. Thanks for being patient and continuing to read.

Chapter 4

When Olivia struts into OPA, there's a lightness to her that's been missing for months. The absence of weight that's dimmed the light they was accustomed to seeing. A quiet confidence, not the kind manufactured for the sake of her clients, the genuine kind that she built her career on. Maybe it's more of a subtle bounce. Something that's noticeable, but not quite definable; just...different. Gladiators share looks, communicating without words as they all ask, "What's going on?"

No one dares to speak to her until they're spoken to. Not to says she's created an environment where people can't speak their mind; they've always been able to do that. But this Olivia, the one with the erratic moods, who has neglected to nuture the individual relationships she has with each of them, she's a stranger; impossible to read. An unintentional consequence of her recent distraction. It's accepted though, because she has taken risks to save each of them, so they owe her their silence, loyalty and devotion.

She doesn't break stride as she barks orders to everyone in a way that lets them know it's going to be a good day. "Quinn, I need you to schedule a meeting with Justin Weston for this afternoon. Harrison, I want to get a look at his arrest records, can you get to work on that and take Abby with you? Huck, I need you to dig into the Justice's bank records, see if we can tie him to Angela."

"How far back do you want me to go?"

"From the time they met. We need to make sure whatever ties they had are solid. You know he's going to fight us on this."

Everyone scatters and starts working on their assigned tasks as Olivia enters her office, quietly closing the door behind her. As she does every morning, she takes a moment to herself gather herself. A few deep breaths, a silent prayer for the strength to get through another day. As she walks further inside, she has to admit she's feeling good. Well-rested. Optimistic even.

It's been too long since she's felt anything other than pain and despair; hopelessness. Even when she and Fitz came together after his inauguration, she couldn't move past those feelings because she knew they would be fleeting. Olivia is rarely in the moment; her mind is always on what will happen down the road. A remnant, she supposes, of being raised by parents who were obsessed with planning ahead; focused on the long game.

As she boots up her computer and waits for it to finish loading, she turns on her wall of televisions. She sees Fitz, as handsome as ever, as he surprises the White House Press Corps with an appearance at the daily press briefing. She closes her eyes and imagines his lips on her most intimate parts, his hands as the knead her breasts, his fingers as they tweak her nipples at just the right moment, sending her over the edge.

She shakes her head, pulling herself from her thoughts, focusing instead on his body language. Fitz has never had a great poker face, even for a politician. He can fool the casual viewer who's often too busy multi-tasking to pay attention to the little things, but never her. She will always notice the hunch in his shoulders, no matter how slight. Or the smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. As she watches him today, his posture is straight, his eyes are twinkling in a way that tells her he has some sort of secret; a happy secret. Something is up.

She opens the special encryption program Huck installed on her computer he swears is virtually unhackable. She takes a look at Fitz's calendar, which she does on a daily basis, and notices the two hour block that wasn't there the day before. There's no description other than "Meeting" and her curiosity is piqued.

Fitz is a creature of habit and a last minute change to his schedule is the kind of thing that makes him crazy. As she digs through her purse for her phone, it starts ringing. She rolls her eyes when she sees the name "Cyrus" pop up on the screen.

"What?!"

"Is that any way to greet-"

"What do you want, Cy?"

"How soon can you get to the White House?"

"I'm not at your beck and call. I have a job. I have clients. Send me whatever notes you have and I'll get back to you."

"The two of you work up this little scheme and now you're backing away?"

"I'm not backing away from anything."

"What's the matter with you, Liv?"

Her feelings for Cyrus are complicated. On the one hand, she misses her friend and the impromptu "pity parties" at her apartment over a fine glass of wine. On the other, he's betrayed her time and time again with his competing agenda. One think she knows is if she gives him an inch, he will take a mile. He'll meet with her at the White House, and run a number on her head, trying to convince her that his way, his vision of the first 100 days is right. He'll push all of her buttons and break her down, just when she's building herself back up again. She will not let it happen again.

"Liv?"

"I'll get back to you." She hangs up without letting him say anything else.

When Fitz is in a bad mood, a dark cloud hovers over the entire White House. People run for cover. Tip toe around him. Instant message screens pop up with various warnings to stay as far away from the Oval Office as possible.

On this morning, after his unexpected appearance at the daily press briefing, he is filled with something that can't be defined as happiness, nor can it be defined as sadness. It's something in between. Something closer to contentment. A level of relaxation his staff has rarely seen.

For much of his life, he's been unsure. Unsure that he's good enough. Unsure of his decisions. Now that he's made up his mind to divorce Mellie, he's more at peace than ever.

His decision to call Melissa wasn't only to get the wheels of divorce in motion, it was to have someone hold him accountable. Too many times he's said the words, threatened to do it, but never followed through. Maybe he wasn't ready before, but Melissa, she's not the type of person who will accept any excuses or let him back out because he's weak. Calling her was deliberate and strategic; there will be no turning back.

She instructed him to gather copies of all paperwork relating to his assets, both those that are jointly owned and those that he owns solely. One lesson he learned from his father, and he's grateful for, is to keep copies of everything in one place where others couldn't gain access. For him, it's a lockbox he keeps in private office off the Oval.

Periodically, he checks the box to make sure everything is as he left it. It's what he does this morning too. Meticulously going through every page to make sure he has the most recent copies of all financial statements. He's still flipping through the pages when the phone in his pocket begins to vibrate.

"Ms. Pope."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why?"

"A two hour 'Meeting'. What is it?"

"I just need some time to myself. That's all." He hopes he sounds convincing enough because she has a way of telling, even through the phone, when he's not being honest. So, he elaborates, "I'll tell you about it."

"When?"

"Livvie, don't worry. I'm fine. Have you talked to Cyrus?"

"Yes, I have and don't think I don't know you're trying to distract me, mister."

"I know you know." They share a moment of silence together, focusing on their breathing, calming each other.

This is something he's never felt with Mellie. Never the quiet calm, or the security of knowing there's always someone who cares about you, always someone who loves you, no matter how far apart you are. The small moments, they only reinforce that from last night on, he is living his life for him. No one else.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing. You haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I spoke with Cyrus not long ago. I'm waiting for him to send me his notes."

"Why don't you just come to the White House to discuss it with him? And you can stop in and see me."

"Nice try. I have a case and-" she stops herself from going any further, knowing Cyrus is an even touchier subject with Fitz.

Rather than rub salt in the very raw wounds that Cyrus has left, she says, "I can't really leave the office."

"Anything I should know about?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know when I know more." He doesn't push her.

They go on and on for the next fifteen minutes, until his next meeting. They're like an old, married couple, foregoing talk about the weather, reading between the lines of what's not said. Like how they miss and love each other. How, in their own way, they are each laying the foundation for the future.

As much as he wants her to work from within the walls of the White House, he knows it's an impossibility. As much as she wants to work with him, she knows all about the optics. So they remain content for the time being with what they have. Love. Communication. Honesty.

"What are you doing tonight?" The words are out before he can even think about them.

"Fitz-"

"It's just a question."

"It's never 'just' anything with you."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"I'll probably be working." The reality is, she'll probably be sitting in front of her television, hoping for a glimpse of him. She misses him, more than she'll allow herself to admit. "I'd better let you go."

"I don't like the way you phrased that."

"You have a meeting, Mr. President, and I don't want you to be late."

"Fine, Ms. Pope. I will talk to you soon."

They both hang up without a goodbye because their goodbyes somehow seem semi-permanent. No words leave it more open-ended. It's silly really, but it's the small, overlooked moments that make them...them.

By the time noon rolls around, Fitz feels as though he's worked an entire day already. Tension in his body is already building, to the point where his head feels as though it's getting ready explode. He is nervous about his meeting with Melissa. Nervous that Mellie will refuse to go quietly, which is why he's kept meticulous records of her actions over the past few years from inducing labor to lying about her pregnancy. He has all the ammunition he could possible need, but hopes he never has to use.

When Lauren announces Fitz has a visitor, she doesn't mention a name. Fitz doesn't miss the look she gives him, put off because she doesn't like not knowing. She's already been put in far too many awkward positions by him, by Mellie, and dragging her into this would be one more instance when she's unnecessarily put in the middle of their personal mess.

"Send her in, please."

"Yes, sir."

Moments later, Melissa follows her in. Before she can close the door, Fitz says, "We're going to meet in my private office. Please, only interrupt if it's an emergency or if Tom needs me."

"Yes, sir."

Melissa takes it all in as she removes her coat, her gloves and scarf, laying them carefully on the sofa. Even after all these years, and millions of dollars later, she treats every possession as though it's the most important thing in the world to her.

"Not bad, eh?"

"I knew you'd make it here one day."

"You thought I was undisciplined and unfocused."

"I did, but less disciplined and less focused men have held this office, just look at George W. Bush."

"Still hating Republicans, I see."

"Not all." She rummages through her briefcase, searching for her legal pad and pen. "You ready to get to work?"

"Of course." He motions for her to follow him into his private office. "There are cameras in the Oval."

They spend the next couple of hours going through the Grant assets, noting those he's willing to give Mellie outright, those he wants to split and those he absolutely must keep. When she gets to the house in Vermont, she can tell by his expression, almost wistful, there is a story.

Without prompting he says, "I built it for Liv and me. She doesn't know yet."

"Mellie going to hire her own investigator."

"She will. I'm handling that. Don't worry."

"Fitz, that's not how I work."

"If she knows the house exists, she will go after it. I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm handling it."

She eyes him for a long time, the wheels already turning. "Fine."

The bigger concern is keeping her quiet. What they have on their side is a public that is mistrustful of the first lady and some reporters have become openly contemptuous of her. Still, any scandal will affect Fitz's ability to pass meaningful legislation during his first 100 days.

Melissa suggests waiting a little longer for political purposes, but Fitz refuses. He has always put politics first and he's paid the price time and time again. Mellie craves power. So the question is, beyond being first lady, beyond being ornamental and beyond the dreams of her parents, what does Mellie Grant want?