Thank you all for continuing to read and review this story. I love reading all of your comments. I would like to update more than once a week, but I have another project that's taking up most of my time. I will try to do better.

Cleo, Mellie can't talk to Fitz because he shut her down. Mellie knows Fitz listens to Olivia, so she believes she can use Olivia's conscience to get what she wants. It's a strategy that's worked in the past.

Chapter 11

Olivia's eyes appraise the First Lady, whose fake smile falters, whose makeup is flawed, whose clothes are slightly askew, whose hair is out of place; she sees a woman who has come undone in a most visible way. There is nothing holding her together, even for the sake of appearance. She watches two Secret Service agents position themselves outside of her office, closing the door to give the women some semblance of privacy. This visit is not unexpected, though unwelcome.

"What do you want, Mellie?" There's not a hint of bitterness or anger in Olivia's voice. Any trace of exhaustion is gone; Olivia Pope is at her best and on high alert because Mellie is always looking out for Mellie.

Mellie makes herself comfortable on the sofa in Olivia's office, and takes time to run her fingers along the expensive fabric, impressed by its quality, though she shouldn't be. She takes a moment to fluff the pillows and for the first time, looks around the office. It's size and location, along with Olivia's impeccable in clothing and shoes, speak to the younger woman's great success.

"I'm a very busy woman, so if you came here to silently judge me, you can turn right back around and leave," Olivia says in the most pleasant voice.

"I thought congratulations were in order. You finally got what you wanted."

"And that is?"

"My husband."

Olivia rolls her eyes, but doesn't bother to dignify the statement with a response. She refuses to give Mellie the satisfaction. She turns her attention to her computer, treating Mellie like the minor nuisance that she is.

"Nearly thirty years of marriage, gone. My children don't have a father all because he couldn't keep it zipped and you couldn't keep them closed." Mellie moves closer to Olivia's desk and hovers above, thinking her height and imposing presence will cause Olivia to shrink. Usually that, combined with the guilt card, generates the desired response from Olivia. She is predictable, and so easily manipulated; for all of her education and alleged "brilliance", Olivia's weakness is her heart. Mellie intends to use it against her.

"Did you actually have a purpose for your visit? I mean, other than to insult me?" Olivia looks up at her and really takes in her entire appearance. Her eyes are bloodshot and the wrinkles in the corners are filled with layer upon layer of makeup. The lines around her mouth are deep and no amount of makeup can conceal the obvious. Even the edges of her hair are thinner with strands of grey peeking through.

Mellie shifts from side to side, self-consciously tugging at her clothing and tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I just want to know how you did it, for future reference."

"How I did what?"

"Went from being a common whore-"

Olivia stands, as calm and cool as ever, but the look she gives Mellie stops the older woman dead in her tracks. She does not raise her voice when she speaks. "Whore – a woman who engages in sexual acts for money or a venal or unscrupulous person. I realize you went to Yale and, as you're so fond of telling everyone, you graduated at the top of your class, but it's quite alarming that you don't know the basic definition of a word you like to throw around so freely. If you knew the meaning of the word, you'd know there is only one woman in this room who fits that definition and I am looking at her."

"How dare you!"

"You will not come into my place of business and disrespect me. This is my territory. This is where I earn my living. You will not come in here acting all high and mighty when you have quite the history."

Olivia can see by the expression on Mellie's face that she's struck a nerve. Mellie's legs seem to give out as she falls into a nearby chair, pale and in shock. "Yes, Mellie, I know about all of your affairs. I have the times, dates, whos and where. You are dealing in my area of expertise. Are you ready to re-think your use of the word 'whore'?"

The affairs are only a few of the cards Olivia has to play. Her kill file is nearly an inch thick, filled with dubious dealings and questionable decisions by the soon to be former first lady. She watches every move Mellie makes, from twisting her wedding band, to her heaving chest; it all spells "panic".

Mellie clears her throat and closes her eyes for a few long beats. When she opens, them, they are shining with unshed tears. "You don't understand."

"What is it you think I don't understand?"

"I've given my entire life to Fitz and his career and the children he wanted me to have. I was on partner track when he decided to run for Governor."

"No, no, no. That's all on you. You chose to give up your career to ride his coattails."

"Olivia, you've never been married. Never had a family. You give and give and give and they take from you and when they've sucked every bit of life out of you, they throw you away. It happens to all of us. It'll happen to you too."

Olivia pauses before answering and for a moment, Mellie thinks she may have struck the right note. That is, until Olivia opens her mouth to speak. "Don't act like you and I are the same. I fought for, and earned every single thing I have. I can stand on my own two feet. Can you say the same?"

The words hang in the air, never falling like some others. They linger and twirl. To Olivia they speak a truth that she's longed to express for far too long. To Mellie, they bite and haunt, tapping on nerves she never knew existed.

She stands a few inches above Olivia, but never has she felt so small and inadequate. Mellie barely manages to put one foot in front of the other as she begins to try to come to terms with her new reality. Secret Service agents open the door and walk next to her as she makes her way toward the elevator.

Olivia watches from her doorway, arms crossed over her body, and Huck does the same, standing in his. Mellie faces them as she waits for the elevator doors to close. Two foes lock eyes; expressions unreadable. It is one round of a battle that will go on for the foreseeable future. This round is won by Olivia, but her guard is still up.

When the elevator disappears from view, Huck joins Olivia in her office, waiting for instructions. She doesn't look up at him as she says, "We need more. She's going for blood."

"We've got everything covered."

"Not me. Him. Do opposition research."

"Okay."

"And Huck, don't tell me anything unless you think it can bring him down."

Huck stares at Olivia, trying to read her. He hears the words she will not speak to him or anyone else. The sacrifice she is willing to make for him, leaving herself uncovered, tethered to nothing. As long as he's safe and protected. She is willing to sacrifice it all.

Years before, when she was under siege by someone else who was powerful and determined to tear her down, they worked to cover her tracks, hiding the secrets of her past. But nothing can remain hidden forever, and everyone has a forgotten skeleton rattling around in their closet. He worries because of how hard she's worked to build OPA from the ground up and it can be taken away. With her history, if anyone finds out, it will destroy everything she's built.

His furrowed brows tell her exactly what he's thinking. She worries too, but she's a survivor. If she loses it all, she will rebuild. She is, after all, the person people turn to on the worst day of their life. If necessary, she will just fix herself.

"Come here, Huck." She opens her arms to him, knowing in advance what his reaction will be. And she doesn't take his stiffened body personally. She squeezes him tightly, until he has no choice but to return her embrace. And she whispers to him, "I always land on my feet. I will be okay because I know I've got you and you've got my back. It's you and me, remember?"

He closes his eyes as the memory takes over. After so many nights of sleeping on the street, and begging for money during the day from strangers who did not see him, only the useless beggar asking them for their hard earned cash, she saw him. She saw his eyes and the sadness in them. She talked to him and listened to whatever he wanted to say; she earned his trust and when she took him in that first night, she told him, "It's you and me." He repeated those words to her that day, and says them again now.

Melissa peeks at her clock, wondering where the day has gone. She intended to call Olivia much earlier, but that plan went up in smoke pretty quickly as Mellie's attorney seemingly called every five minutes, playing a shell game of moving demands. It's all by design, to prolong the inevitable so Mellie can continue to wear the last name "Grant" as a proud badge until it is pried away from her.

She already knows they will attempt to bury her in paperwork, from useless requests to pointless filings. An operation of one will not do, not for this case. Which brings her back to Olivia.

She picks up her phone and dials the number she knows by heart.

"What?!"

"I keep telling you you need to answer the phone like you have some sense."

"I'm a busy woman. I like to get to the point."

Melissa can hear the shuffling in the background, and beeping of Olivia's newly installed alarm as she opens the door. "You working half days now, or are you just getting old?"

"Neither. You wouldn't believe the day I had, but I'm guessing yours was much worse." Olivia drops her purse on the sofa and hangs up her coat as she continues her conversation.

"You could say that. I'm going to need your help, and when I say I, I mean you'll be working with me, not the White House."

"My team is already on it."

Olivia and Melissa have joked that they're the real life dynamic duo, a force too powerful for any enemy to defeat. They have a short hand when it comes to communicating. They don't need long, planning sessions because they think in a similar way. In this instance, they know they will have to be prepared to attack Mellie from every angle, from her fitness as a mother, to the source of her family's wealth, to her numerous indiscretions; the walls have to close in on her. With the promise to reconnect the next day, they hang up.

Melissa glances at the clock one last time. She's tired. Needs to get home, although there's no one waiting for her. Hasn't been for quite some time. She shakes off the thought and gathers her things. She will go home to a spotless apartment and nearly empty refrigerator. Maybe she'll have a shot of cognac and a hot bath, then call it a night. Only to return here in a few hours, to start all over again.

After firing off an e-mail to her team, Olivia decides to take a long, hot bath. Being single, at least publicly, is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she can come home to peace and quiet, and work if she chooses, or relax; or anything else she chooses. On the other, she wishes she had someone to talk to, to hold her, or just to sit around and do and say nothing.

As she sits in her tub, surrounded by candles with soft music playing the background, she feels no tension. She leans back, resting her head on the wall. Free.

She's carried the burden of "the other woman" for years and with that burden came the guilt. She was taking a man away from his children, helping him break the vows he made to another, time and time again. She walked around angry because there seemed to be little more than sex, and talk, just talk, about getting a divorce. For so long, they were just words and she held her tongue. Forced herself to swallow what she so desperately wanted to say to his wife because at the end of the day, she was the woman who shared his bed. To some degree, Olivia had to respect that.

She'd been called a whore time and time again, and stood mutely as she was demeaned. It ate at her. Intellectually, she knew she didn't fit the definition, but the word's connotation, that is what got to her. When she looked in the mirror, she didn't see the woman who was loved by the most powerful man in the world. Nor did she see the woman men lusted after, chased for years or desired, she was a secret whose every need, even those unspoken, was met by one man and that one man did not belong to her.

So, each time she was called a whore, it cheapened her and what she and Fitz had. Really, what did they have? Prior to this step of divorce, they had lofty ideas of what their life together could be, if only. Things they shared after making love. Late night pillow talk and laughter and smiles, but nothing tangible. Nothing more than dreams of "someday".

Today though, she let it all go. Because his actions were finally speaking louder than his words and the woman in the mirror, who is loved by the most powerful man in the world, the woman men lust after and chase, the woman who is desired is no longer in a dead end relationship.

As she dries herself and takes her time pampering her skin, she feels an enormous sense of relief. Her day, which began with an unusual January thunderstorm, warning of things to come, ends with a calmness she didn't anticipate. It is going to be okay. And the price she will have to pay, and there will be a price, will be worth it. She has existed without love and joy; she has existed without a mission or direction for what her life will be, who she will be, outside of her work. Now, she is ready to live.