Ugh, I am an idiot. I just realized after all this time, my section breaks haven't been showing up. It's confusing! I uploaded a version, but I had to replace it with this one. I hope the breaks show up this time. I'm sorry!
Chapter 13
Harrison's life is his work for reasons beyond a paycheck. More than being a way out, it is his way of life, a "thank you" for what could have been much different outcome if he didn't have the right person in his corner. Sleep is a foreign concept, and relationships are reduced to occasional hook-ups with women he rarely sees more than once and that's okay with him because ever since...ever since they ended...he finds that emotional detachment is the only way. This may not be the life he envisioned, but it's the life he lives and has grown to love.
He was on the same path as so many young, black men, caught in a justice system seemingly designed to keep them in a in a circle with no exit; entrapping them in an endless cycle of jail to home and jail again. That's what happened to his best friend, Darren, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and, facing a long jail sentence, made one wrong decision that has ruined his life.
As he recalls clearly to this day, Darren was eighteen and filled with so much hope for his future. He was preparing for graduation and would attend a trade school in the fall. All he talked about was making some money so he and his girlfriend could get out of there, and maybe take his mother with them if she agreed. He even started looking at rings and dreaming of a future for them. High on life, he focused on building a better life for his family. Until that day when he stopped to talk to the wrong guy, a guy who was being watched by the police and it all happened so fast. He was on the ground and police were searching him and the guy was on the ground, talking back, telling the police they were "done". And his face was pounded into the cement because they said he was fighting back, but he wasn't. And his arms were yanked harshly, and his shoulder dislocated. When he arrived at the jail, he heard something about drug charges and he was told the guy was talking and said they were his drugs and something about a deal if he cooperated.
He was told no jury in the world would acquit him and when they declared him guilty, he would serve twenty years. The public defender from an overworked, underfunded office assigned to his case, told him he had "great news," which he presented with a victorious smile. The DA was offering a deal in which Darren only had to serve one. He accepted, without understanding the repercussions that would keep him going in that endless loop forever. He could never return to public housing. He could never find a job because he was a felon. He could never get government assistance or a hand up. So what did he do? He went back to a life of crime because he had to be a man and help support his family. When he was arrested again, he served five years. The last Harrison heard, he was serving life.
Harrison recognized, even as a young child, he possessed the gift of gab. He didn't talk just to hear himself speak, he fast talked himself in and out of situations, and his intelligence left people in awe, unable to respond to any argument he presented. He was "gifted", that's what teachers used to tell his parents, and his grades reflected his high intelligence.
The first to graduate college in his family, there were high expectations for the boy who "sho' could talk". Harrison's weakness then, as it is now, is money. When the opportunity to make more of it, fast, presented itself, he jumped, knowing full well what would happen if he was caught for insider trading. By this time, he'd pushed Darren's cautionary tale to the back of his mind. What mattered was the lifestyle of fine cars, finer restaurants and the finest of women. When he was arrested, Darren't story came back to him. Those visits to see his friend in jail, and the conversations about surviving in prison, came back to him in a flurry. And as those material things he accumulated over the years of fast living disappeared, and he was left alone, his family whom he had helped lift, fell right back into poverty.
Olivia has never told him how she came to rescue him. He has never asked. After serving six months, she was there to help pick up the pieces, encouraging him to pursue a career in law. He owes her more than a debt of gratitude; he owes her his life. That's why she can ask him to do anything, and he will.
Harrison loves to read and his command of the English language makes his eyes the last to see a report before it is given to Olivia, or a client. She stopped double-checking his work long ago, a sign of trust she affords very few. She jokes that the world around him could burn to the ground and he would still get lost in the words on the page. Olivia is proven right, yet again, when a long legged, sexy, ethereal beauty wearing four inch heels appears in his doorway, startling him, taking his breath away.
"Hello, Harrison." Two words from those perfectly shaped lips, in that tone that has haunted him for years. Kept him awake so many nights. Left him feeling regret and pain, and a kind of hunger that only she could inspire.
"Good to see you, Melissa."
She was twelve when all that she knew to be true, the secure love of her parents, the comfortable, upper class upbringing, the endless supply of books and money, suddently ended. She didn't understand, before that day when everything changed, why her mother showed her the lock box which was hidden in the back of a closet, covered by a faux wall. Nor did she understand the significance of the key she wore around her neck, something to remind her of her idol, Janet Jackson. That's what Maya told her.
There was a conversation, seemingly insignificant at the time, a conversation of "what ifs". If you could have a different name, what would it be? She answered Olivia because "Grease" was her favorite movie and Olivia Newton John was her favorite actress. Pope was a much more random selection, having more to do with timing than impact.
There was an assassination attempt on the Pope's life in 1981, and when she would think about it later, she remembered the prayers she sent up each day. And how closely her parents watched the news. And how the world, even a little girl who was barely six, seemed to change in an instant. It was when she realized there was true evil in the world, some of which could not be explained and there seemed to be an edginess in her home from that day forward.
That day, that day, she tries not to think about it; she can't not think about it. It was one hundred four degrees. July. She was walking down the street sipping from a bottle of water that was sweating just as much as she. There was a heaviness in the air, an almost suffocating heaviness with the humidity reaching nearly one hundred percent.
What struck her then, was the quiet. There were no jump roping children laughing and playing in their front yard. No loud music coming from the neighbor who had an affinity for Beethoven. Even the birds were hiding, their voices silent.
She heard the footsteps behind her and as she sped up, they moved in faster, catching up to her. The bottle hit the ground with a thud, splattering water around her. Her parents warned her and she thought it was a joke at first. They said if anything happened, "they" would come and get her. But she didn't know who "they" were or where "they" would take her.
The man grabbed her hand, squeezing harder than necessary. He leaned his mouth close to her ear and said the secret word. Her life of safety and security was gone in an instant and there was nothing she could do about it.
She never talks about what happened, not even to Huck. His instructions are to maintain her cover. So every few months, he conducts his own investigation on her. Searching for holes, or something he may have missed.
OPA is calm and quiet, exactly how he likes it. He allows himself a few minutes to remember his family, casualties of the bad decisions he's made. As his computer runs its normal check, he hears the faint beeping of a security breach.
He leans closer to the monitor, squinting at the letters and numbers that fill his screen. With a few keystrokes, he heads the breach off at the pass, quickly erecting a temporary wall designed to conceal. He will take his time to find a more permanent solution.
The West Wing is the ultimate prize for every political junkie. There is no other place in the world where the decisions made can affect so many lives. If someone were to ask her to describe walking through those White House doors and stepping from the public area, into the private, into the West Wing, words would fail her. Because each and every time leaves her in awe.
There hasn't been a day in Olivia's life that she wasn't trying to make someone else's life better. As early as she can remember, she was helping the bullied, fighting on behalf of the less popular, using her words to defend the defenseless. Now, she is walking down the hallways as she's done countless times, with renewed purpose, confidence and oddly enough, peace.
Familiar faces nod and greet her, and she does the same. There is almost a parting of the sea when she walks down the hall, powerful and dominating. There seems to be a different kind of energy in the air, a lightness that she doesn't remember.
She doesn't stop when she approaches Cyrus' office. In fact, her steps may quicken. Cyrus looks up and is rewarded with only a passing glimpse.
There is a flutter in her stomach as she approaches the Oval Office. She greets Lauren with a nod of her head and her signature line, "Is he in?"
"Yes," and Lauren begins to stand, but Olivia stops her with a wave of her hand.
"There's no need."
"Yes, Ms. Pope." Lauren is well aware of who Olivia is and most people in her position would defer to the President, or the First Lady; she defers to Olivia Pope.
Olivia opens the door quietly, hoping to watch him discreetly as he does the job he loves. He doesn't look up, but she can tell from the smile on his face that he senses her presence. She enters fully, closing the door behind her. "Am I interrupting?"
"Nope," he answers, pushing his work to the side and walking over to her. His breath catches; rarely has she looked more beautiful. He takes her in, and notes the way the light shines on her flawless skin, giving her the glow of an angel. She does the same, focusing on the way the light catches wide and innocent eyes. The job ages most presidents, but to her eyes, he has never looked younger or happier.
To him, her outer beauty matched only by her inner beauty, makes all the pain and suffering worth it. A younger Fitz would not have fully appreciated her. A younger Fitz would have given up on her long ago, choosing an easier path. But this Fitz, who has known the pain of wanting but not having, of loving and losing; this Fitz who has mastered the art of pretending, understands how lucky he is.
"I had the chef make lunch for us."
"What makes you think I haven't eaten?"
"I know you haven't eaten." He opens the door to his private office, letting her enter first. The aroma of so many different spices tickles her nose.
"It smells delicious."
"I know how much you love shrimp."
This is how it should be with them. Working lunches. Flirting. Random kisses and touching. He has never enjoyed his working life more than when they worked together on the trail the first time. Her mind challenged him at every turn and he didn't mind because it made him better. He did the same for her.
When they finish eating and the dishes are cleared, they remain in this quiet space that gives them complete privacy. They get to work and he delivers the words she wrote masterfully. Perfect pitch and inflection, and just the right amount of emotion. He is sincere and she sees the man America fell in love with; the idealistic man who wants make the world better.
In another time and place, he would be a Democrat, and maybe the newspapers and party leaders, those who whisper behind his back, are right. Maybe he is a Republican in name only. He doesn't care about what others say and think, this is his time and opportunity to do what he came to do.
There is no one Olivia admires more than Fitz. The strength and dignity he has shown during a tumultuous first term, and now, dealing with a wife who has only her interests at heart, makes her respect him even more. He is her hero. If things had been different, the things they talked about in bed, the dreams they had for their lives and the country would be reality by now. He wanted her by his side in the White House, but she wasn't strong enough. She loved him enough, more than enough, but her soul was dying. The deception was eating away at her.
She feels guilty for it to this day. Not for the affair, she feels guilty for leaving him. The days they lost and will never get back because she wasn't brave enough to stay with him through thick and thin. To think, life is so fragile, either of them could have died without the other knowing how much they love the other.
She takes a deep breath and focuses on the here and now. She is still gathering herself and almost doesn't hear him when he says, "Cyrus has got to go."
"What?"
"I can't trust him." His voice breaks a little; there is so much history between them.
"I know."
"I can't run the country and do everything we planned if I'm looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to stab me in the back again."
"Who do you have in mind as a replacement?"
He smiles at her in that way, the way that makes her melt and agree to almost anything. The way that freezes her brain and blocks any sort of logical thought. He takes her hand, and kisses her fingertips, and she knows exactly what he's doing. And so does he. "We're a good team."
"We are a great team, but I'm not working for you."
"With me."
"With you. For you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy at the moment."
He massages her wrist and moves a little closer. "You're the only person I trust."
"I'll help you find someone, and I can continue to advise you on an informal basis, but I can't work at the White House."
He kisses her. "I want you to."
"No." She returns his kiss, pulling him closer and breathing him in.
"Why not?" He pulls away, his eyes trained on hers.
"I have a business to run. I have to deal with the Mellie situation. I have to continue advising you on the the various policies we want to implement."
"Why are you always right?"
"I'm not. I'm just practical."
Huck "hunts and pecks" his way across the keyboard, setting more permanent cyber traps filled with viruses, false leads and malware, all designed to thwart anyone who comes after Olivia. Then, he focuses his attention on the who. It's almost too easy. He traces the IP address to a private investigator. A few more clicks and he makes the link to Mellie.
He wishes he had taken care of Mellie a long time ago, but Olivia wouldn't let him. She said it wasn't the right thing to do, but sometimes you have to go into the darkness for the greater good. He licks his lips, and inhales deeply; the scent of "whisky" in the air. He promised Olivia he'd always take care of her, and Mellie doesn't play fair. Mellie doesn't feel things like Olivia. She is rabid and it takes someone like him, someone who is equally wild, to eliminate her.