Chapter 7
It is not going to be a good day. Those are the first words that come to Fitz's mind when he enters his office and spots Mellie sitting on the sofa, her back to him. Even with her back turned, he can feel the rage emanating from her body, ready go devour anything that gets to close. He almost hates her, for who she has become, or, more accurately, for who she has always been. It is only with newfound clarity that he can truly see her and allow himself to feel contempt without guilt, two things that used to go hand-in-hand.
He has to give it to her, she has always known how to play the game, known how to play him, but coward he once was is gone. And he is relieved. He considers turning around and walking back out, not wanting his mood to be ruined by her presence, but he would only be postponing the inevitable confrontation.
"Honey, I know you're back there. Come in, sit with me." She pats the space next to her and gives him her best fake smile as he walks toward her.
He takes very deliberate steps around her, practically circling, before redirecting his steps toward the Resolute desk, taking his power position behind it. "I have a very busy schedule. What can I do for you?"
She remains seated and tries to conceal the annoyance in her voice. "I figured I should make sure nothing happened to you since you didn't bother to come home last night. I'm glad you're still alive."
"Did you need something, Mellie? Because if you came here to goad me into an argument, it's not going to happen."
"How is Olivia?"
"Don't you business of your own to mind? I mean, since you think you're so indispensable to this administration."
She stares at the man whom she no longer recognizes. He is not flustered by her, nor is he the appeaser he once was. Usually, Olivia's name rolling off her tongue illicits some sort of response from him. The man sitting in front of her is far too calm, outwardly. It only serves as additional confirmation that she had better watch her back because he's up to something.
She sees now she hasn't given him enough credit. He can be cruel and ruthless when it comes to protecting HER, when it comes to being with HER, hell, SHE is the only person who seems to matter to him. At the end of his tunnel is Olivia Pope, a woman she will never be and it is eating her alive. She has earned her role as First Lady and she will damned well keep it. This husband of hers is about to make a move, she can see it coming.
"Mellie?"
"As a matter of fact, I do have some business to mind. Our children, you do remember them don't you? They're wondering when we'll spend the weekend together, as a normal family."
"I'm in no mood to play whatever game you're trying to play, so you may leave."
She watches him, blinking several times, trying to make the tears come. "You don't have to treat me this way. I gave up my life for you."
"Whatever sacrifices you think you've made for me, were because you wanted something out of it."
Her mask falters, just long enough for him to see it. She knows he's planning to divorce her. She knows he's started the process. As soon as she steps foot out of his office, she will call her attorney and the battle will begin. He needs more time. "Mellie, there's a lot going on here. A lot of fires. Can we discuss this later, please? I promise, we can have a decent conversation, just not right now." He's overly sweet, but if he can buy a day, two days, it should give Melissa enough time to file and beat Mellie to the punch.
It is a stare down, each unwilling to break eye contact as they attempt to read the other. Each knowing the other has a card to play; each struggling to maintain control.
"Fine. I have a meeting anyway. Have a good day, honey."
"You too." Each, equally insincere, rushes to plan their next move.
"Huck, what have you got?" Olivia doesn't break stride as she walks toward her office, removing her coat, while somehow managing to balance her tea and purse.
Huck, who has been staring at a bunch of rapidly changing numbers on his computer screen, rubs his eyes and he falls in step with Olivia, closing the door to her office behind him. "I've got cash withdrawals from his account matching deposits into hers."
"Dates and amounts?"
"Yes."
"Good. What else?"
"Trust fund set up in Justin's name."
"Can we make that connection?"
"I'm working on it."
"Great. I want to be ready to go with this within the week." She turns her attention away from him as she boots up her computer and powers on her television screens. She expects to hear the sound of his footsteps as he leaves, and is surprised to see him looking at her. "What?"
"Are you working with the White House?"
"Huck, we have one case right now. That is what we all need to be focused on."
"I don't think it's a good idea. He hurts you, Liv. I know he makes you happy sometimes too, but you get caught up just like I did...and it's not...he'll hurt you again."
He averts his eyes and she knows what he's thinking. About the night he watched her as her world fell apart when she resigned from the White House. About Becky and trusting her, and where that got him. About Jake and the concussion. People always hurt them; they are each other's constant.
"Have a seat." He shakes his head and she gives him a look that tells him he doesn't have a choice. She chooses her words carefully, so she leaves no room for doubt or interpretation. For far too long she has let what others say and think dictate the moves of her personal life, rather than doing what feels right to her. "I know you don't approve of the way I live my life. Neither do any of them," she points to the other gladiators who are deeply engrossed in conversation. "Just as I am loyal to all of you, I am loyal to that White House, including the President. What does and does not happen in our relationship, romantic or otherwise, is our business and our business alone."
"I don't want him to break your heart again."
"Neither do I. But I'm a big girl. So if I am working with the White House, it is because I want to. If something more is going on, it's because I want it. Okay?"
"Okay."
Fitz, sensing the pending disaster known as Mellie, pushes his morning meetings back an hour. He saw the look in her eyes, the determination, the fire that will engulf any and everything around it, if he does not act quickly.
The question he's been pondering, what Mellie wants, was answered this morning. It was in her eyes, the way she grit her teeth, her confrontational stance. All these years he thought what she craved was power, and that's an element of it, but the past couple of years, she's become bitter and angry. She's lashed out, wanting to make everyone as miserable as she.
She is not a woman who wants power to uplift or help; she is a woman who wants power to drag down and destroy. Specifically, him. And Olivia. What she wants, perhaps more than power, is to make them as miserable as she. He knows now that helping her launch her political career, which is what he's been contemplating, would never be enough; it has to be coupled with his complete destruction.
He picks up his phone and quickly dials Melissa's number, praying she answers. It is now a game of timed chess, who can back whom into a corner first. He taps his fingers against his desk rapidly as the phone rings three then four, then five times before she answers.
"This is Melissa."
"It's Fitz."
"What's wrong?"
"She knows."
"How?"
"I don't know but I can guarantee you, right now, she's on the phone with her attorney."
"How do you want to handle this?"
"Address the nation. Announce the divorce."
"When?"
"Tonight, unless you see a reason to hold off, but I'm warning you, we cannot give Mellie a minute more than absolutely necessary."
"No, we should be fine. I still have some paperwork to complete on my end, but I see no reason why you can't announce your intention. We'll file within the next day or two." Truthfully, she thinks it's a good idea and planned on suggesting it herself after learning more about Mellie and her background.
She's dealt with women like Mellie and men who are less shrewd than Fitz. They give the spouse the benefit of the doubt, thinking they can reason with the unreasonable, and they end up screwing themselves in the process. Her mind wanders to Olivia, who, whether she wants to or not, will be thrown into the center of this maelstrom. He will need her skills as a fixer, and her love as a woman, to survive the pending storm that is Mellie. He will need her strength and courage, and her strategic brain to stay ahead of the enemy.
"Do you want to vet my remarks?"
"I think I should."
"Done."
"And Olivia? Are you going to tell her?"
Olivia is the woman he will share the rest of his life with, but he already knows how this story ends. He will tell her his plan and she will give him every reason why it can't work. Why he needs to stay in his marriage no matter how much it breaks his heart, or hers, because that is who she is. But she is not always right and doesn't get to tell him what's right for him, for them, not this time. "I'll talk to her afterwards."
"Smart man."
"Melissa, thank you for everything."
"You're welcome, Fitz."
Olivia's morning was spent working on her case; her afternoon is dedicated to the White House. The televisions provide just enough background noise as she reads through her latest e-mail from Cyrus, her preferred method of communication with him now. The fewer in-person interactions with him the better.
Against her better judgement, she's shared her shortlist of potential high court nominees, without providing any details about the why. In fact, she tells him nothing other than the Court is getting older, and it's better to have a list ready just in case.
She is deeply engrossed in writing an outline of his State of the Union Address, where he will announce his hundred day challenge, when something catches her ear. She focuses on one screen in particular, turning up its volume.
"President Grant is scheduled to address the nation in primetime-"
She doesn't listen to the rest as she picks up the cell phone she uses for only him. Before she can dial his number, it vibrates in her hand. "What are you doing?"
"I take it you're watching the news."
"I'm always watching the news. Can I get a heads up?"
"It's nothing for you to worry about."
"That worries me even more."
"Olivia, let me handle it. I will call you right after. Better yet, I'll come and see you."
"No, you won't."
"Watch me."
There's no point in arguing with him because he is going to do exactly what he wants. It sends a warm tingle down her body, his determination a secret turn on. Before the conversation can take a turn that leaves her blushing, and wanting, she says, "Goodbye."
"Tell me you love me, Livvie."
"Tell me why you're addressing the nation."
"This isn't a secure line."
"It's not a secure line but you want me to tell you I love you?"
"I love you too. Goodbye." He disconnects with a smile on his face.
He's lost count of the number of times he's read and re-read his remarks. His nice, structured day was blown to hell in the morning, and he's spent most of it half-listening in meetings, and writing notes for what will be the speech of his Presidency.
He wishes he could talk to Cyrus, or even to Olivia, but he knows how this song and dance ends. A primetime address is usually reserved for issues of national security or important issues facing the nation, not announcements of divorce. This is a first.
He expects Mellie to breeze into his office, as though it's hers, so he's not surprised when she does just that. He discreetly slips his speech into his desk drawer, and begins shuffling other papers, knowing she will become instantly distracted by all of his movements. "What is it, Mellie? I'm working."
"You're addressing the nation tonight?"
He doesn't look up as he answers, "I am."
"About?"'
"Issues that affect the nation and now, if you will excuse me-"
"I will not."
"Mellie, unlike you, I have an actual job and I'd like to get back to doing it."
"You think you're so smart."
"I must be. I am President, after all."
"Harding, Coolidge and Bush...the second one...weren't...and they still made it."
"Mellie, I have work to do, so if you want to have a debate on the smartest and dumbest presidents, it'll have to wait."
"Fitz, what is this all about? What's going on? I don't deserve to be locked out like this." She adds a little crack in her voice when she says the last sentence. She gets a smirk in return as he stands and smooths the wrinkles of his suit.
"We'll talk after the speech. Right now, I have to finish preparing." It's his turn to manufacture a little softness in his voice which he does much more effectively. She even gives him a small smile because she believes, wrongfully, that maybe things are turning around.
"Fine, I'll talk to you after."
"Talk to you after."
When she leaves his office, it's with a sense of relief for both of them, but for very different reasons. She thinks she has him right where she wants him. He knows she's overly confident and that will be her downfall. She thinks she's been given a reprieve. He is solidifying his future without her.
He takes a look around the Oval Office as though it will be his last time. He feels good as he stands to his full height and takes a deep breath. As he leaves his office, the words "This time will be different" play over and over in his head.
He makes the long walk to the Green Room, chosen deliberately for the tranquility it represents. He gathers his thoughts and along the way, Cyrus falls in step behind him. No words are exchanged. As comfortable as Fitz is, and confident, Cyrus is just as uncertain, just as nervous because he has no idea of what's to come.
Right before Fitz enters the room where he will instantly be on camera, he turns to Cyrus. He extends his hand to the man who has been his mentor and adversary, friend and foe. "I'm sorry Cyrus, but I have to do it." He turns and enters the Green Room to flashing lights and rolling cameras, leaving Cyrus with his mouth wide open, waiting for the next chapter in the tumultuous Grant presidency.