Chapter 6
As she closes the gap between them, he can tell by the subtle change in her posture, something different from her Olivia Pope walk, a missing "pep", she is exhausted. He meets her halfway, arms wide, needing her touch, her warmth. Needing her. They embrace each other tightly, sighing as their bodies touch, releasing all of the day's stress; they sink into each other's love. Never wanting to separate.
He pulls back first, letting his hands slide down her body, taking her left hand into his own. "Come."
He gives her his personal tour of the museum, telling stories of the evolution of the space suit and describing the physical properties of lunar rocks. She listens intently, becoming lost in the sound of his voice, a soothing melody to her restless soul. She leans her head against his shoulder and he pulls her closer, wrapping his arm around her as he recalls the first manned space mission with such detail, one would think he had been there before.
He's telling her things she already knows, having been obsessed with science, specifically space, for much of her childhood and even into her college years. But it sounds so much better coming from him, his voice hitting all the right notes. She is always his most attentive audience member.
One night, early in their relationship, when they were discussing his first term priorities, he mentioned cutting the budget of NASA. He confessed he was never a big fan of the space program because he didn't see the use for it. There were much more important priorities for the nation than sending things into space, which is more for pr than actual intelligence gathering.
She shot out of bed, naked, at his unexpected words and went on to mount an impassioned defense of NASA. He'd rarely seen her speak passionately about anything other than pure politics, which she usually looked at from a purely intellectual perspective, but her defense of NASA was something else entirely. She talked about an alternate source of water, the slow destruction of this planet and asked what would happen in a hundred or two hundred years to humanity of things continued on their current course. That night, she did not tell him the entire story, so he could not possibly understand all that it meant to her. He did understand a sliver, which made him want to know more, but this time, from her perspective.
His defense was a joke at first; they wouldn't be around to see it. An evil eye prompted him to give a more serious answer; it was too expensive and space travel was so common now, it was no longer groundbreaking.
After their tour, he leads her to an area off to the side where a small table with two chairs is positioned, a table that had gone unnoticed by her. He pulls out her chair and drapes her napkin across her lap.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He takes his seat across from her. "I hope you're not disappointed it's not popcorn, but I promise it's more nutritious." He opens a bottle of wine and pours a glass for each of them. "To us."
"To us." They clank their glasses together and share a smile. They sit in silence for awhile, enjoying the quiet, taking in their surroundings.
She notices activity out of the corner of her eye. She jumps, but calms immediately when she feels Fitz's hand cover hers. He gives her a reassuring smile as she uncomfortably watches the flurry of activity around them. Trusted White House kitchen staff members appear to place plates, silverware and glasses in front of them.
She remembers their names and faces. Men and women who've helped them have some normal nights together, quiet dinners and intimate lunches. Though they've never say anything, it is the things they do that spoke volumes. The extra drizzle of caramel on her favorite dessert that is so frequently served at state dinners she attends. The special red wine that fills only her glass during others. Their kindness always rewarded with handwritten thank you notes, and at Christmas, small gifts to show her appreciation.
Where Olivia is thoughtful and kind with energy that inspires, Mellie is the opposite. She sucks the air out of a room, especially when she and the President have the misfortune of sharing the same space. He will visibly deflate at the sight of her. They are all rooting for this couple, and a few have taken bets on how soon into his second term the president will serve his wife with divorce papers. When that day comes, they will applaud and toast to this "first" because it will mean, for once in the White House where they serve, in a country with questionable morals in so many other areas, love has won.
They are happy to see Olivia and they greet her. Sometimes with words, sometimes a smile or squeeze of a shoulder. She's missed them just as they have missed her. Eventually, the room which was a flurry of activity, quiets. "You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to. You can't survive on wine and popcorn alone."
"So this is about my health?"
"Yes, that and, I wanted us to have a date."
"A date?"
"Yes." She never takes her eyes off him as she tastes the smoked ricotta, letting it melt on her tongue.
"How is it?"
"I can't believe you remembered?"
"Of course I did. Plus, if I ever forget anything you like, I have a whole staff to help me remember." She chuckles. "Our first late night in the Oval. Working-"
"We weren't really working."
"I was putting in work, Ms. Pope and your stomach growled-"
"That was your stomach," she lies.
"I asked the chef to send something up and you said you fell in love with it. I was a little jealous."
"Food only sates a temporary desire." The way her voice takes a deeper tone and her eyes become hooded, force him to shift in his chair as discreetly as he can.
For him, this is a first date. They are starting over and doing the things they missed the first, second and however many go arounds they've had. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me why I brought you here."
"Don't worry, the question was coming, but if you'd like to answer now, I'm listening."
"I couldn't figure out why you refused to consider cutting NASA's budget."
"Hey, my argument was sound."
"It was, but you gave me the intellectual argument. I knew there was more and you finally told me how much you loved space as a child. You were obsessed with it."
"It got me through many dark days," she says quietly, shaking her head, fending off bad thoughts. She takes a moment to recover. "We were in Florida and you went without me to that event at the Kennedy Space Center. I've never forgiven you for that by the way."
"I tried. Cyrus needed you in Orlando."
She sighs. It's always Cyrus. And Mellie. He can see she's going to a place he doesn't want her to go, so once again, he soothes her with his touch. "I know," she says.
"I promised myself I would give you a piece of that when I could. I was thinking about what you said to me, why you were so interested it, especially the first moon walk. You said it was because of the sense of possibility in that era. No one had ever walked on the moon. People said it couldn't be done. But all these great minds got together and worked on it and people began to believe. It was something to shoot for and we did it."
"Even though I wasn't alive, I watched news footage-"
"The life of Olivia Pope as a child."
"I own my nerdiness, Mr. President. Seriously though, it was a first."
"It was a first."
"So, why are we here?"
"I want you to have hope. I want you to believe in a first."
There is so much meaning behind those words and as she looks across the table at the man she loves more than life itself, she wants to believe. The problem is, their history. Something always gets in the way and right now, even though they are in a good place, there's always a shoe hovering above, waiting to drop.
"Livvie, I need you to believe in us and even if you don't believe there will be an us, if you can't see that right now, believe in me."
She has to. She believed in Fitz, the candidate, long before he believed in himself. She believed in him, the man, before he saw how great he could be. His optimism, his commitment, it's infectious. He is the man who still believes in Santa Claus and Easter Bunny, this charming, loving person who loves her back. It's almost overwhelming for her.
"What do you say, Ms. Pope?" He lowers his voice, "Can you believe in me?"
Everything in her is screaming "yes", despite all they've been through. Oddly, it is one of the few things each can count on. Their love. She nods as he takes her hand into his and kisses each finger. The air between them is light again, as their cards are on the table; they are both going to fight for their future.
They reminisce about their time together and the conversation, so leisurely and unhurried, flows easily between them. But that's them. When they're together, everything seems easy because they have overcome obstacles that have brought down lesser couples.
He notices a sudden change in her demeanor. Not anger or discomfort; she is wearing her thinking face. He gives her time and watches her face as her mind races. It's not new to him, he's always known that most people can focus on one or two things at a time; Olivia tends to handle many more, and never misses a beat. It is something to behold and he lets her continue a little while longer, before re-claiming her attention. "Livvie."
"Yes?"
"Be here with me."
Those are the words he knows will bring her back to him. She taps her fingers on the table as she contemplates how much to tell him about her current case, or if she should tell him anything at all.
"What?"
"I think you should be prepared for another Supreme Court vacancy."
"What?!"
"Just...be prepared."
"Do you have a shortlist?"
"Remember what happened to my top pick last time."
"I believe in you. Besides, I know you keep an emergency list."
They talk and laugh into the early morning hours, ignoring their tired bodies. They walk through the museum again, this time, Olivia tells him stories about the people behind each space mission, and shares anecdotes that make him see space through her eyes.
Olivia has always been a ball of energy and a formidable intellectual; an extraordinary love and a beautiful friend, but rarely has he seen the childlike side of her. Her walk is with a bounce, not a strut. She speaks quickly, but animatedly, like she's conducting an orchestra. To him, it is a preview of the life they will have together.
Their steps become slower and their hands, which have been glued to each other, have a slightly tighter grip. They both know their time together is coming to an end, it's something they dread. He stops walking and pulls her to him.
He holds her and doesn't have to wait for her to return his gesture. She clings to him, drowning in his warmth, his scent. He kisses the top of her head. When she pulls away and looks up at him, he gives her a simple peck on her lips. "We should go," he says, resting his forehead against hers.
"Thank you for tonight."
"We'll have many, many more. What are you doing on Friday?"
"Eating popcorn, drinking wine and watching the news? Why? Are you courting me?" She says it in a joking way, but it's a serious question. It's what she wants, but can never ask.
"What if I am. Would you like that?"
"I would. I really would."
He kisses her once more on the lips, then leads her to the waiting car. "Call me when you get home," he says as though it's the most natural thing in the world. She waves as the car pulls off.
By the time a freshly showered Olivia crawls into bed, she can barely put one foot in front of the other. She grabs her cell phone from the nightstand and checks it, hoping no emergencies popped up. She grabs her other phone, the one she uses for Fitz, and dials his number.
"I'm calling."
"What are you wearing?"
"Mr. President, we just went on our first date. What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"A beautiful, classy, intelligent, sexy, irresistible one."
"While I love the flattery, it's still not appropriate."
"Fine."
"Anyway, I just called to tell you I made it. And to thank you. And to tell you goodnight."
"Goodnight, Livvie."
"Goodnight, Mr. President."