Author's Note: Thank you for your comments. I wish I could address everyone's comments and at some point, I hope to do just that. However, I couldn't let Guest's answer to the question at the end of chapter 4 go unaddressed.
I think you have a pretty good handle on who Mellie is, but what she wants now that she has no other options, is going to be an interesting question to tackle. I really have no idea. What I loved most about your thoughtful response, is you have a clear idea of where Mellie comes from. I always say I don't know where I'm going with anything I write, but I do know where the characters come from. I know their history. I go from there. You have largely put into words what's existed in my head.
Chapter 5
The once over through the eyes of Olivia Pope is more than just a passing glance at a potential client, it's the first opportunity her gut has to get a handle on the person she may represent; it is the first moment of judgment. She starts at his feet with his Prada shoes, freshly polished, moving up his perfectly tailored suit, cut accentuate his well-toned body. Armani. Tiffany cufflinks. A fresh haircut, manicured nails and a gold watch that all spell privilege. His body language gives a different impression. He is a man uncomfortable in his own skin. His eyes are sad and tell the story of wealth doing nothing to dull the ache in his heart. She's seen it before, the perfectly wrapped package that doesn't match the man inside; he is Harrison, years before, when they were fighting for his freedom.
She extends her hand, "Thank you Mr. Weston, for meeting with me today."
"It's Justin, Ms. Pope." His voice is quiet. He shakes her hand and smiles politely, but he can't meet her eyes with his. He is so young and so afraid.
"We can meet in the conference room. Can I get you anything?"
"No, m'am." She lets him walk in first, and sits next to him, avoiding the head of the table. This young man before her is not who she imagined. His record painted the picture of a troubled childhood, a boy who was caught in an endless cycle of arrests, pleas and sealed records; a spoiled rich kid who found amusement in being "bad". This man sitting in front of her has spent years crying for help, and finally, he's being heard.
"You can call me Olivia."
"Thank you."
"Tell me about yourself, Justin."
"It's all right there in your file."
"Tell me what's not in the file. I get the feeling it's just an extract, and nowhere near the person you really are."
"So you don't believe I'm a bad guy?"
"I know you're not a bad guy." She notices his nervous gestures, the tapping of one foot, the constant fidgeting and the shaking hands that play restlessly with his cufflinks. She takes his hands in hers, "The only way this works, is if you tell me everything, no matter how bad. I don't take cases I can't win, or don't believe in. So, make me believe." She doesn't tell him she already believes.
For the next two hours, he speaks of his life. His mother, Angela, one of the world's top pediatric neurosurgeons, raised him alone. She provided for him in every way possible, but she wasn't present. Not the way he needed her to be. She's always said her absence was about building a better life for him, making sure he didn't have to struggle the way she did. She succeeded. Money, after a certain point, wasn't a problem, but time always was. He could never get enough of hers.
When he learned his father was a successful judge in the juvenile system, he decided he had to meet him, look him in the eyes and ask questions, boy to man. He wrote a letter, which was returned with the handwritten words, "Return to Sender". He gave the still sealed envelope to Olivia, who noticed the telltale signs of dried tears that wrinkled the edges. Then, it became a trip to the judge's office, where he was told by his secretary, "Unfortunately, the judge doesn't just see anybody. You have to have an appointment." How could he tell her he wasn't "just anybody"? How could he tell her he was his son?
As he became more desperate, so did his actions. His first crime was petty, which would have landed any other child of his hue in front of a judge. It didn't. Then, it became another, more serious crime, a visit to a judge who was not his father. This pattern continued until he was eventually sent away to boarding school where he amused himself by writing and distributing computer viruses, nearly being expelled for his antics.
Somehow, through many "mysterious" interventions a strict schedule and constant supervision, he was able to graduate at the top of his class. Rather than take the same Ivy league of his mother, he elected to attend Georgetown where he graduated with a degree in International Politics. A degree that now hangs on a wall in his childhood bedroom, where he still sleeps, gathering more dust with each passing day. He is paralyzed, unable to move forward until this part of his life is resolved; until this ugly chapter of feeling useless and unwanted, is closed.
With each missed birthday and holiday, he's become increasingly bitter. His father's rise to the top was, in part, due to his strong advocacy for family values, even has he ran from his own truth.
His motivation isn't entirely selfish, if it's selfish at all, it's wanting closure for Angela. He's watched her grieve his entire life for something she can never leave. Though she tries to cover the sadness with laughter, an abundance of affection, love and material things, he can see right through it. The occasional date, goodnight kiss or meaningless sex is not the kind of life he wants for her. Without real closure, she too is paralyzed.
What she deserves, what they both deserve, is to be acknowledged. Yes, she was in love with a man in college, and they had a child together. Yes, it was a different time when interracial relationships were not the norm, but at one time, they thought what they had was worth fighting for. Yes, people deserve to know that this man who sits on the Supreme Court and spends his life judging others and made his career touting "family values", has lived a life to avoid being judged himself.
Olivia listens closely to his story. It's rare that someone comes to see her and lays all their cards on the table. She usually has to put on her lawyer's hat and peel back the layers one by one until she exposes the complete truth. With Justin, it's all right there and her gut tells her this is a case worth taking.
"What is your relationship with your mother now?"
"It's good. Really good."
"Does she know what you're planning to do?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because she'd try to talk me out of it. Ms. Pope-"
"Olivia."
"Olivia, I've tried to talk to her before but all she says is he loves me, but he has a job to do. But I know it hurts her just as much as it hurts me." He sounds almost desperate now, "You know the letters they wrote to each other? One day, he just stopped. How can you do that to someone? Just, abandon them and your own blood?"
"I don't know."
"I'm not trying to hurt anybody. I want him to do right by us. Just this one time."
"Okay." She stands and extends her hand and he follows her lead, only ignoring her hand and pulling her in for a hug. At first, her arms remain glued to her side, and slowly, very slowly, she returns his kind gesture.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. We'll be in touch."
At the end of a long day, she needs the help of the elevator wall to keep from falling over. Her blinks become longer; she can fall asleep right there. She watches the numbers in the elevator light up, then go dark again, wishing it would move faster. As the elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open, she sees Tom standing in front of her door. She gives him a tired smile, "Tom."
"M'am."
She doesn't even bother protesting as she lets out a heavy sigh. "Where are we going?"
"I'm under orders to not tell you."
"Right."
Tom takes her out the back exit, something they've become accustomed to doing since she was ambushed by the press. She pulls her coat closer as they walk to the car in silence.
Being summoned used to annoy her, but now it's become slightly endearing. After all they've been through, he still wants her.
He couldn't spend one more night away from her. Hearing her voice is one thing, or e-mailing her, but seeing her is quite another. He's well aware of the risk he's taking, but he's tired of being at the White House under the microscope of the American people, and even worse, being stuck with Mellie.
Mellie. She knows something's up, the way she seems to always be around, watching him. Searching for the slightest sign that he's up to something. He's giving the performance of his life, pretending he can still tolerate her presence. In a way, he feels sorry for her because the divorce, it will take her by surprise because no matter how many times he says he is in love with another woman, and doesn't want a life with her, she never hears him. She never believes him. When she is served, she will be surprised and she will fight it and she will lose. What makes him slightly sad is Mellie has never defined who she is outside of a man, so it will be a difficult adjustment for her, but that's not his problem.
He is more concerned about Olivia and planning their future together. She brings a smile to his face. The thought of what they did at the National Archives makes him blush.
"I love you," the words ring over and over in his head. He almost doesn't believe he heard her correctly. Though he's known for quite some time she loves him, hearing her say the words, it makes what they have all the more real.
He wants to wrap his arms around her, pick her up, spin her around shouting, "I love you! I love you!" He must exercise restraint because there are eyes watching their every move. So, he does the only thing he can, touch his fingers to hers. An indescribable calm washes over him and it's love; it's her love giving him life.
And she's so vulnerable standing there next to him, so youthful looking and so afraid of what she's feeling. He knows he will love her forever, whether she lets him or not. Those eyes, god those eyes when they look at him with all the love and pain of her entire lifetime, the fact that out of all the men in the world, he is the one she has chosen, well, there are no words.
He motions for them to start walking, away from Secret Service, seeking privacy because this moment deserves more than a discreet caress of two hands. They find their way to the administrative office of the Executive Director and it's unlocked, just as Fitz instructed.
They barely make it inside before he turns to her and kisses her with everything within him. Words cannot be spoken now, by either, so they pour everything in to the kisses, the touches, the moans. Dancing tongues slide against each other with a rhythm that is distinctly theirs, representative of the give and take of their relationship. They suck on lips, tongues, kiss and lick ears. It's desperate because time is so short and their passion is so great, they rush to their release.
Neither knows how their clothes come off. Neither cares. They somehow make it to the sofa and he has to stop to calm himself. It's so easy to lose control with her. He steps back and stares at her as he struggles to control his breathing.
Now she's feeling self-conscious shrinking under what she perceives as his scrutiny. She covers her breasts and averts her eyes.
He kneels before and speaks to her in the quietest, most sincere tone, "Livvie, look at me." He ever so gently guides her face toward him, so she can see his eyes and everything that's in them. So she can see him. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever known." She tries to look away, but he holds her face in place, "And I love you. God, I've waited my entire life to feel something and with you, I feel everything and I just want to savor it, you and me, before we have to go back out there."
Words fail her again, so she pulls him into another searing kiss, one that has no beginning or ending, one that is her soul speaking to his because she needs time to form words. Time to find her voice. When she pushes him away slightly she says, "I love you, Fitz. You're," the words get stuck in the back of her throat because she doesn't like feeling vulnerable. She doesn't like feeling anything but he's safe. He's got her. She kisses him and whispers, "Everything."
He kisses down her body. He worships her. He loves her.
Fitz had never been a man who enjoyed giving oral sex and Mellie had never been the kind to demand it. But when he found Olivia, he couldn't get close enough to her. He always wanted more, more, more.
The first time he tasted her, it was nothing less than heaven. There was a sweetness, but there was something else, something in her taste that was intoxicating. He never wanted to stop.
As he makes his way down her body, kissing, licking and nibbling toward his goal, he lets his tongue taste her. Then opens his mouth wide to take in as much of her as she can. He responds to her moans as her hands grab onto his hair and guide his mouth and pace exactly as she wants. He could die here, he really could, and his whole life, every sacrifice, all of the pain, would be worth it because it brought them together.
That night was the best, the sweetest love they've ever made. The way they moved each other and how they whispered to each other in the darkness. The words of love and vows of a future together.
One of the happiest nights of his life, one he remembers with great fondness, it was a night of promise, followed by broken promises. Pain. Little laughter. Who they were that night was replaced by their more cynical reality.
As he stands in the in the dim lighting and flickering candlelight, waiting for her, he is surprisingly confident that this night will end differently. And the following days will be different. Because they are different.
As he hears her heels clicking across the floor of the Air and Space Museum, then sees her face, he feels the inner peace only her presence brings. She takes his breath away. When she sees him, her breath catches. They both think of a single word, "home", though the speak one other.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi."