The gunshot rips through the night.
Blood splatters against her hands.
She's running.
Fitz is falling.
She reaches for him, but the distance stretches, warping, twisting.No matter how fast she moves, she can't get to him.
She screams his name—but no sound comes out.
Another shot.
Another.
Another.
Mellie's voice cuts through the chaos—but it's not anger. It's fear. A chilling, gasping, dying kind of fear.
Then the blood is everywhere.
Drenching her hands, staining her clothes, pooling at her feet.
She blinks, and suddenly she's not outside the hotel anymore—she's in the hospital.
The beeping of machines.
The crushing weight of helplessness.
The doctors pushing past her, the shouting, the frenzied energy of trying to save a man who was never supposed to be in this position.
She knows what happens next.
She's lived it.
The blood.
The cold, sterile air.
The moment they told her Mellie was gone.
She turns—and suddenly, Mellie is standing in front of her.
But not how she remembers her.
She's pale, her lips tinged blue, her dress soaked with blood.
Her expression is vacant.
Empty.
She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out—just a breath, a whisper of a ghost.
Olivia stumbles backward, heart pounding.
She blinks, and Mellie is gone.
She turns back to Fitz—but the machines are flatlining.
A single, endless beep.
The air leaves her lungs.
She reaches for him—but her hands pass through his body like he was never there at all.
Olivia jerks awake.
The silence in her room is suffocating.
Her chest is tight, her breath too fast, too shallow.
Her sheets are damp with sweat, twisted around her legs.
She presses a hand to her forehead, dragging in a slow breath, forcing the air into her lungs.
It was just a dream.
She repeats it in her head, over and over.
Just a dream.
But the weight in her chest doesn't go away.
She sits up slowly, rubbing her hands over her face before forcing herself to stand.
The floor is cool beneath her bare feet, grounding her, tethering her to the present.
She moves to the bathroom, flicking on the light.
And then she sees herself.
The woman staring back at her in the mirror is aghost of who she used to be.
Her eyes are dull, rimmed with exhaustion.
Her skin is pale, drawn too tight over sharp bones.
Her shoulders slump, like she's been carrying the weight of the world—and she has.
She grips the edge of the sink.
For a second—just a second—she considers stopping.
Just stopping.
For one day. For one hour.
For as long as it takes for this pressure in her chest to lift.
But she doesn't.
She straightens.
She forces in a slow, deep breath.
She pulls her shoulders back.
And then she shuts it all down.
Because there's no time for weakness.
She has a war to win.
And she's not done fighting.
Fitz leans against the desk in the Residence, gripping the edge tighter than he should.
His body is failing him.
The ache in his ribs is deep, unrelenting. His head still pounds from earlier, the pressure behind his skull dull but constant.Hisleft hand twitches at his side, a subtle tremor that he refuses to acknowledge.
But Cyrus sees everything.
"You look like hell,"Cyrus mutters, stepping deeper into the room.
Fitz exhales sharply, not in the mood for this.
"And yet, you're still here,"Fitz counters.
Cyrus smirks, but it's thin, impatient.
"Because we have a problem."
Fitz doesn't need to ask.He already knows where this is going.
"Sally."
Cyrus nods.
"She's moving faster than expected. Making calls, shoring up support, keeping herself visible. She's still playing the 'reluctant leader' card, but don't be fooled—she's waiting for the moment to push further."
Fitz drags a hand over his face.His exhaustion is pressing in harder than before, but he won't let Cyrus see it.
"I already gave the speech,"Fitz says, voice low, measured."The public saw me standing, speaking, in control."
"The public isn't the problem,"Cyrus counters."The Cabinet is."
Fitz stiffens.
Cyrus steps closer, lowering his voice."The moment they confirm you're fit to lead, Sally is done. She can't challenge it. But if we wait too long, she'll make a case to extend her stay. And the longer she sits in that chair, the harder it will be to pull her out of it."
Fitz clenches his jaw.
He knows this.
He knew it when he stood at the podium, steadying himself more than he let on. He knew it when Olivia looked at him afterward, her face tight with worry.He knew it when his body nearly collapsed the moment he stepped off the stage.
But knowing and being ready are two different things.
"The Cabinet isn't going to reinstate me if I collapse in the damn room, Cy."
Cyrus raises a brow."Then don't collapse."
Fitz exhales, turning slightly, bracing his hands against the desk. His vision tilts—just slightly—but he forces it back into focus.
"Fitz,"Cyrus says, more deliberate now."You don't have the luxury of waiting until you feel 100%. The country needs to see you back in charge."
"The country or you?" Fitz shoots back.
Cyrus smirks."Same thing."
Fitz shakes his head.
"The Cabinet will need more than just a speech."
"Exactly." Cyrus's eyes glint with something sharper. "They need to see you in control, leading, making decisions. We set the meeting. We get you in that room. And once they see you standing, sharp, decisive—Sally is done."
Fitz exhales slowly, gripping the desk.
His body is failing him.
But his country can't see that.
The Cabinet needs to believe he's strong enough.That means standing. Speaking. Taking control.
No matter the cost.
He straightens, ignoring the sharp pull in his ribs, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side.
"Set it up."
Cyrus's smirk returns.
"Atta boy."
Fitz adjusts his tie, his movements precise, controlled—even though his body is screaming at him to stop.
The ache in his ribs is sharp, unforgiving. His head still pounds, a relentless pressure behind his skull. Hisleft hand trembles subtly at his side,a weakness hewon't acknowledge.
Because there'sno time for weakness.
He moves to fasten the cuff of his shirt, but his fingers falter for a split second.The tremor flickers in his left hand.He grits his teeth, forcing the movement to steady.
The door swings open.
"You're not serious."
Fitz doesn't have to turn to know Olivia is standing there.
Her voice is sharp, edged with frustration—but beneath it, something else. Something dangerously close to worry.
He catches her reflection in the mirror—arms crossed, brow furrowed, eyes locked on him with the intensity of someone who sees everything.
"I assume Cyrus told you."
"That you're planning to go into the office and push for a Cabinet vote? Yeah, he told me."
Olivia steps forward, her heels clicking against the floor, her posture radiating controlled fury.
"Tell me you're not actually going through with this."
Fitz exhales, turning to face her fully.
"I don't have a choice, Liv."
"Of course you do,"she counters immediately.
"No, I don't." His voice is firm, unshaking."If I wait, Sally gets stronger. If I wait, she plants doubt. I can't afford to give her that time."
Olivia shakes her head.
"And what happens when you pass out in the middle of the damn meeting?"
"I won't."
She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"Oh, well, since you said it, I guess that makes it true."
Fitz grits his teeth.
"Liv."
"No, Fitz." Olivia steps closer, her voice lower but no less sharp."You're still recovering. Your body is still fighting to keep up. You can barely get through a full conversation without pressing your fingers to your temple."
Fitz's jaw tightens. He doesn't react to the accusation, but she sees the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side.
"You think I don't know what's at stake?" he asks, voice calmer now but no less firm."I know exactly what I'm walking into."
"Then you know Sally is waiting for you to rush into this,"Olivia presses."If you go in too soon, she'll have exactly what she needs to make the Cabinet hesitate."
Fitz exhales sharply,rolling his shoulders, pushing back against the pull in his ribs.
Olivia watches him closely.
She steps forward, adjusting the sleeve of her coat.
"I'll be back by noon,"she says evenly, grabbing her bag."Don't make any plans until then."
Fitz watches her.
"And if I do?" he challenges.
Olivia stills at the door.
Then she turns, meets his gaze without hesitation.
"Then you'll regret it."
Her tone is calm. Matter-of-fact. A promise, not a threat.
They hold the stare.
Tension hums in the space between them—not just frustration, but something deeper.
Finally, Fitz exhales, running a hand down his tie.
"Fine."The word is clipped, reluctant.
Olivia studies him for a beat longer.
Then, with a small nod, she disappears down the hall.
The moment the door closes behind her, Fitz exhales slowly.
He won't wait forever.
But the'll wait for now.
The hum of computer screens and rapid keystrokes fills the air at Olivia Pope & Associates. The office is quiet but charged, the kind of silence that means work is happening.
Quinn leans over the desk, eyes scanning data on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.
"I've pulled every security feed within a five-block radius of the shooting site,"she says, voice clipped, focused."Still no sign of Becky after the initial getaway."
Abby stands beside her, arms crossed, a deep furrow in her brow.
"She wouldn't just disappear," Abby mutters."Someone helped her. Someone gave her a way out."
Harrison paces nearby, phone pressed to his ear."Yeah, I need access to travel logs from Union Station and Reagan Airport—anything flagged in the last three weeks under aliases we've already connected to her."
He pauses, listens, then mutters a sharp "Handle it" before hanging up.
"We've got nothing on flights or train departures so far,"he tells them."She's either still in D.C. or she got out some other way."
Quinn leans back, rubbing her temple.
"We're missing something."
The front door opens.
Olivia walks in.
The weight of the last few weeks is on her shoulders, but she doesn't let it show.
"Tell me you have something,"she says, walking toward them.
Quinn spins back toward the screen.
"Becky vanished after the hit,"she says quickly."No credit cards, no travel records, no trace."
Olivia tilts her head slightly."That's impossible."
"That's what I said,"Abby quips.
Harrison taps his phone against his palm. "Someone covered for her, Liv. A professional. Maybe someone inside law enforcement, maybe someone higher. But she's not working alone."
Olivia's jaw tightens.
She already knew that.
"Find out who,"she orders.
Quinn hesitates.
"There's something else."
Olivia lifts a brow."What?"
Quinn glances at Abby, then back to Olivia.
"I ran facial recognition across old case files tied to Becky's known aliases."
She swipes on the screen. A grainy surveillance still pops up.
"This was taken six months ago in New York."
Olivia steps closer.
A man stands beside Becky.
His face is partially obscured, but Olivia recognizes the outline immediately.
Her stomach tightens.
Harrison stares at the screen."Is that who I think it is?"
Olivia's eyes darken.
"Hollis Doyle."
A beat of silence.
Quinn swears under her breath.
"That explains the disappearing act,"Abby mutters."If Hollis is involved, Becky didn't just run—she was moved."
Olivia exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.
Of course it's Hollis.
Of course this isn't just about Becky.
This just became a hell of a lot more complicated.
Fitz paces the length of his room, rolling his shoulders back, trying to work out the stiffness in his muscles. He's been sitting too long. Resting too much. Waiting.
And he's done waiting.
Cyrus stands near the doorway, arms crossed, watching him carefully.
"You've got that look,"Cyrus mutters.
Fitz exhales sharply."What look?"
"The one that says you're about to do something stupid."
Fitz lets out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face.
"I told Olivia I'd wait until she got back."
Cyrus raises a brow, unimpressed.
"And why, exactly, would you do that?"
Fitz stills.
"Because she asked me to."
Cyrus scoffs.
"Oh, well, if Olivia Pope said to wait, then by all means, let's just sit on our asses and let Sally Langston waltz right into your chair and start redecorating."
Fitz glares at him.
"That's not what's happening."
"Isn't it?" Cyrus steps forward, his voice dropping into something lower, sharper."She's out there handling whatever crisis is next, and meanwhile, Sally is making moves. You don't have time to wait, Fitz."
Fitz's jaw tightens.
"I gave a speech, Cy. The people saw me. They know I'm back."
"The people aren't the problem,"Cyrus counters."The Cabinet is. And every second you hesitate, Sally is on the phone with someone else, whispering in their ear, making them think you're not ready."
Fitz looks away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His head still aches, his body still protests, but he can't afford to stop now.
Cyrus sees the hesitation—and presses in.
"You think waiting a few more hours is going to change anything?" His voice is smooth, dangerous."You think Olivia Pope will miraculously come back and say, 'Oh, Fitz, now's the perfect time'? Because let me tell you something, Mr. President—Olivia Pope is not the President of the United States. You are."
Fitz's hands clench into fists at his sides.
Cyrus lowers his voice even more, his words like a blade sliding between ribs.
"Do you think Olivia Pope would love a weak man?"
The air in the room goes tight.
Fitz's spine straightens, his gaze sharpening.
Cyrus smirks.
"That's what I thought."
Silence lingers for a beat.
Then—Fitz nods.
"Set the meeting."
Cyrus grins.
"Atta boy."
The Roosevelt Room is stiflingly quiet when Fitz steps inside.
Every Cabinet member is seated, waiting. Some faces are carefully blank, others edged with doubt—and he knows exactly why.
The country has been in limbo for weeks. Sally Langston has been maneuvering, testing the waters of real power.And now, the question in this room isn't just whether Fitz is ready—it's whether they want him back at all.
Fitz doesn't hesitate as he moves toward the head of the table. He can't.
He squares his shoulders, keeping his posture firm, controlled. Every movement is deliberate.
He will not show weakness.
Across the table, Edison Davis watches him carefully.
The moment Fitz meets his gaze, Edison gives him a small, polite smile.
"Mr. President."
There's no hesitation in the title, but there's something else. A challenge underneath.
"Senator Davis," Fitz responds smoothly, settling into his chair.
Cyrus sits just to his right, his presence calculated, controlled. Olivia isn't here—because she doesn't know about this.
And that thought sits heavy in Fitz's chest, but he doesn't let it show.
The meeting begins.
The Secretary of Defense clears his throat.
"Sir, I'll be frank. We're all relieved to see you on the mend, but there are concerns—"
"Concerns?" Fitz cuts in smoothly.
The man hesitates.
"With respect, sir, you've been unconscious for three weeks. A transition of power—even temporary—was necessary. The Vice President—"
"—is no longer necessary,"Fitz corrects sharply."I am here. I am in control. The transition is over."
A few of them shift uncomfortably.
Edison leans forward, studying Fitz.
"With all due respect, Mr. President,"he says evenly,"we're here to determine if that's true."
Fitz holds his gaze.
The room is silent.
Then—he leans forward, hands clasped on the table.
"Let's not waste time pretending this is about my health,"Fitz says smoothly."This is about politics."
The Secretary of State straightens."Sir—"
"Spare me," Fitz cuts in."I was shot three times in an assassination attempt. Yes, I needed time to recover. But I am sitting in front of you now, capable, ready, and unwilling to entertain any further delay."
The words are sharp.Final.
Edison doesn't look away.
"And if we disagree?"
Fitz lets a slow smirk curl at the edges of his lips.
"You won't."
Cyrus hides his own smirk behind his clasped hands.
A long silence stretches through the room.
And then—one by one—the Cabinet members nod.
"The President is fit to lead,"the Secretary of State finally says.
Edison sits back. His expression doesn't change, but Fitz can see it in his eyes.
Doubt.
The decision is made.
Sally is finished.
And Fitz Grant is back.
Sally Langston doesn't wait.
The moment word leaks that Fitz's Cabinet has confirmed him as fit to lead, she is already on the offensive.
By the time Fitz leaves the Roosevelt Room, the headlines are everywhere.
Breaking News: "A Rushed Decision? Critics Question President Grant's Recovery Timeline"
Langston Allies Speak Out: "The Cabinet Should Not Be Bullied Into a Hasty Decision"
New Op-Ed: "Does America Deserve Transparency? What the White House Isn't Telling Us"
Fitz sees it flash across the TV in the hallway, his grip tightening at his side.
Cyrus steps up beside him, phone in hand, already reading texts, already strategizing.
"She didn't even hesitate,"Fitz mutters.
Cyrus scoffs."Of course not. She's desperate. She was never going to hand the keys back to you without a fight."
Fitz exhales sharply, his frustration brewing."What's her angle?"
Cyrus's phone buzzes. He scans the screen, then smirks.
"Oh, she's going for the jugular, Mr. President."
Fitz looks at him sharply.
"She just called for a full independent medical review of your condition."
Fitz's stomach drops.
"She's demanding your doctors release unredacted records and allow third-party specialists to assess your 'readiness' to return." Cyrus lets out a short laugh."That woman plays dirty, I'll give her that."
Fitz drags a hand over his face.
"She's trying to stall me out."
"Of course she is," Cyrus says smoothly."If she gets the media and the right people in Congress on her side, she might just have enough momentum to force an extended delay."
Fitz grits his teeth.
"Not happening."
Cyrus's eyes glint."Good. Then we crush her before she gets traction."
Fitz straightens, his chest tight but his mind sharper than it's been all morning.
Sally thinks she can outmaneuver him?
Olivia paces the length of the office, her heels clicking against the hardwood in a steady, relentless rhythm.
Her mind is racing.
Becky.
Hollis.
Defiance.
It's all too connected to be coincidence.
Fitz's shooting, Becky's disappearance, Hollis's sudden reappearance in their orbit—it's starting to feel like the same tangled web she's been trying to keep buried for years.
She runs a hand over her forehead, her pulse pounding.
"If I'm right, this all leads back to Defiance,"she mutters under her breath.
The team looks up.
Quinn frowns."Defiance?"
Olivia barely hears her.
"Hollis has been too quiet for too long,"she says, more to herself than anyone else."And Fitz refusing to sign off on his oil drilling project? That was the breaking point. It had to be."
Harrison steps forward, arms crossed.
"So, you think Hollis went nuclear?"
Olivia exhales sharply.
"I think he tried to remove the one obstacle in his way."
The room is silent.
Abby exchanges a glance with Harrison.
Quinn looks back at the screen displaying the surveillance photo of Becky standing next to Hollis.
And then—
Olivia's phone buzzes.
She doesn't think. Just glances down, thumb swiping across the screen.
And that's when she sees it.
Breaking: Sally Langston Calls for Independent Medical Review of President Grant
Her breath catches.
The blood drains from her face.
Because just like that, the political firestorm has arrived.
And Fitz is standing in the middle of it.
Olivia storms through the West Wing, her heels clicking against the marble with purposeful fury.
The staff moves out of her way instinctively, their eyes darting between her and the phone she grips so tightly it might snap in half.
She doesn't stop.
She doesn't breathe.
Because Fitz went against her.
And now, Sally Langston is circling like a damn vulture.
She pushes through the doors to the Oval Office without knocking.
Fitz is standing by his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up.He looks up just as she enters—and he knows.
He already knows.
"What the hell were you thinking?"she snaps, slamming her phone onto the desk.
Fitz exhales slowly, steeling himself.
"Olivia—"
"Don't 'Olivia' me!"she cuts in,her voice sharp with something that isn't just anger—it's worry, it's exhaustion, it's everything all at once.
She paces in front of his desk, dragging a hand through her hair.
"I told you to wait."
"And I told you I couldn't."
Olivia spins around to face him.
"And now look what's happened!" She grabs her phone, jabs at the screen, holding it up for him to see.
Breaking: Sally Langston Calls for Independent Medical Review of President Grant
Fitz's jaw tightens, but he doesn't flinch.
"I handled the Cabinet, Olivia."His voice is measured, controlled, too damn calm for the chaos he's caused."They confirmed me as fit to lead."
"And now Sally is trying to rip that apart!"Olivia snaps.
She moves toward him, voice lower now, but no less intense.
"You shouldn't have done this without me."
Fitz studies her.
And for the first time since she stormed in, her mask cracks just slightly.
The anger is still there—but beneath it? Concern. Fear.
"You're pushing too hard, too fast,"she says, softer now.
"I don't have a choice, Liv."
"Yes, you do," she shoots back."You always have a choice."
Fitz steps closer.
"Would you have let me go through with it?"
Olivia stills.
Because they both know the answer.
No.
She wouldn't have.
That's why he didn't wait.
She lets out a slow breath, blinking hard, pushing back everything she wants to say.
This isn't about her.
This is about fixing the mess he just created.
She straightens, shoulders pulling back, mask slipping back into place.
"We need to get ahead of this."
Fitz watches her, expression unreadable, before he nods once.
"Then let's do it.
Fitz tries to steady himself.
The moment Olivia shifts into crisis mode, laying out the next steps, his vision tilts—just slightly.
He grips the edge of his desk, fingers pressing hard into the wood.
Olivia doesn't notice—not yet.
"We need to control the narrative before Sally gets ahead of us," she says, scrolling through her phone."A statement rejecting the medical review outright makes us look defensive. We need a counterplay that reinforces your authority but doesn't give her more ammunition."
Fitz nods—then immediately regrets it.
A sharp pain shoots behind his eyes, the pounding in his skull intensifying. His ribs protest with every shallow breath. His left hand twitches at his side.
He exhales slowly, blinking hard.
Focus. Keep it together.
But Olivia finally looks up from her phone.
And she sees it.
"Fitz?"
Her tone changes instantly.The sharp edge of frustration is gone, replaced with something quieter, sharper.
Concern.
His grip tightens against the desk."I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
She's already closing the distance between them, her eyes scanning him like she's cataloging every sign of weakness he's trying to hide.
Fitz straightens stubbornly."I'm fine, Liv."
Her eyes narrow.
And then—his left hand twitches again.
Not much. But enough.
Olivia sees it.
Her lips press into athin, unforgiving line.
"Sit down,"she orders.
"Olivia—"
"Sit. Down."
The authority in her voice brooks no argument.
Fitz hesitates—just long enough for his vision to waver again.
He swallows back a curse and sinks into the nearest chair.
Olivia kneels in front of him, her fingers lightly touching his wrist, her gaze searching his face.
"When did it start?" she asks, quiet but firm.
Fitz clenches his jaw."It's nothing."
Olivia's eyes flash.
"You're lying."
A muscle tics in his jaw.
Because she's right.
It's been building all day—the dizziness, the exhaustion, the way his body keeps trying to betray him.
He knew this was coming.
But Sally is moving, the country is watching, and he doesn't have time to fall apart.
Olivia's grip on his wrist tightens slightly.
"You can't keep pushing like this,"she says, voice lower now, nearly breaking."Your body has limits, Fitz. You need to start respecting them."
Fitz exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
"We don't have time for this, Liv."
"Make time."
He looks at her then, really looks at her.
She's tired. Not just physically, but down to her bones.
They both are.
But before either of them can say another word—
Cyrus bursts through the door.
"We have a problem."
Fitz tenses. Olivia rises instantly.
Cyrus tosses his phone onto the desk.
On the screen—a breaking news alert.
Sally Langston Calls for Congress to Intervene: "We Must Put the Nation's Interests First"
Olivia stiffens.
"That's not just about the medical review," she mutters.
Cyrus shakes his head, his expression dark.
"No. It's not. She's making a play for your office, Mr. President."
The air in the room turns suffocating.
Fitz clenches his fists.
His body might be failing him.
But he isn't going down without a fight.
The buzzing of phones starts slowly.
A vibration here. A muffled ring there.
Then—all at once, the room erupts.
Fitz watches as Cyrus's expression shifts. His phone lights up like a Christmas tree, one notification after another. Olivia's own phone vibrates violently in her hand.
Something is wrong.
She barely has time to glance at the screen before Abby bursts through the doors, eyes wide.
"It's out."
A single beat of silence.
Then, chaos.
"What's out? "Fitz asks sharply, even as a sick feeling twists in his gut.
Abby tosses her phone onto the desk. The screen is still lit with a breaking news alert.
Exclusive: White House Sources Confirm President Grant Still Suffering Major Health Complications
BREAKING: Medical Insider Reveals President Grant's Struggles—Is He Fit to Lead?
Leaked Report: Tremors, Pain & Cognitive Impairments—The Hidden Truth About the President's Condition
Olivia feels the ground tilt beneath her.
"No," she breathes, already scrolling through the article.
Her worst nightmare is now headlining every major network.
Fitz's condition.
His physical struggles. The tremor in his hand, the lingering neurological effects of the gunshot wound.
His weakness.
And now, the whole world knows.
Fitz's jaw tightens, his grip turning to iron at his sides.
"Who the hell leaked this?" Cyrus snaps, his face red with fury.
Abby shakes her head."A medical source. Anonymous, but vetted."
Olivia closes her eyes for half a second.
They're done.
Sally doesn't have to fight anymore. She'swon.
Game. Set. Match. Checkmate.
And Fitz?
Fitz just lost his presidency.
Edison is waiting for her when she steps into his office.
He doesn't stand. Doesn't move. Just watches her.
The last time they were alone, he walked out on her.Now, he's letting her come to him.
The power shift isn't lost on Olivia.
"Edison."
"Olivia."His voice is steady, unreadable.
She moves further inside, keeping every step measured, controlled.
"I need your help."
Edison lets out a short, quiet laugh.
"Of course you do."
She doesn't react.
He leans forward, lacing his fingers together."Tell me, Olivia, why should I even be entertaining this conversation?"
She meets his gaze without hesitation."Because you don't want Sally Langston in that office any more than I do."
Edison exhales slowly, shaking his head."No. What I don't want is to be dragged into your mess again."
"This isn't my mess."
"Isn't it?" His tone is sharp, challenging."Because I remember standing in your office, asking you for the truth, and you let me walk out with a lie."
Olivia doesn't blink.
"That was then. This is now."
Edison leans back in his chair, studying her."So, what's the ask?"
"You convince the Cabinet to hold off on permanently transferring power to Sally while Fitz proves he's fit to lead."
A silence stretches between them.
Then—Edison laughs.
Not loud. Not amused. Just a slow, knowing sound that makes Olivia's stomach tighten.
"And how exactly is he supposed to do that?"he asks, tilting his head."Because from where I'm sitting, the President of the United States can barely stand on his own."
Her fingers tighten slightly at her sides.
"He'll be ready."
"Will he?"Edison raises an eyebrow."Or do you just need time to figure out how to make the country believe that?"
She doesn't answer.
Because they both know the truth.
Edison exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw before looking at her again.
"You're asking me to stick my neck out for a man I didn't vote for, for a woman who lied to my face, and for an administration that may not even survive this scandal."
Olivia lifts her chin slightly."I'm asking you to do the right thing."
Edison lets the words settle between them.
Then, slowly, he nods.
"I'll hold them off. For now."
It's not a victory.
It's a delay.
But it's enough.
She turns to leave, already moving on to the next battle.
Then—his voice stops her.
"Olivia."
She pauses, but doesn't turn.
"Is it him?"
Her breath catches for half a second.
"What?"
Edison stands now, watching her carefully. His voice is quieter, but no less powerful.
"Is he the reason?" He takes a step forward."Is he the reason you won't let me—or anyone—love you?"
The air in the room thickens.
Her fingers tighten around the doorknob.
"I don't have time for this."she murmurs.
Edison lets out a bitter chuckle."Yeah. You never do."
She exhales, her jaw clenched, before finally walking out.
And this time, she doesn't look back.
Fitz is waiting for her.
The moment Olivia steps into the room, she can feel it—the tension, the storm brewing behind his carefully controlled expression. He's seated on the edge of the couch, one elbow resting on his knee, his fingers pressed together.
She knows that look.
It's the look of a man who is barely holding himself back.
She exhales, shutting the door behind her."I talked to Edison."
Fitz's jaw tightens."And?"
Olivia walks forward, keeping her pace measured, steady."He's going to help us. He's going to hold off the Cabinet while you prove you're fit to lead."
Fitz lets out a sharp breath, running a hand over his jaw.
"So, he gets to decide whether I get my job back now?"
Olivia crosses her arms."No. We do. But we have to play it smart."
Fitz shakes his head, his frustration evident."Liv, I already gave a speech. I already won over the Cabinet once. What more do they need?"
"Proof." Her voice is firm, unwavering."More than a speech. More than one meeting."
Fitz stands now, pacing."So what? We take a poll? Let the public weigh in?"
Olivia steps closer, her voice quieter, but no less sharp.
"We take small bites."
Fitz stops.
Olivia holds his gaze."We don't rush this. We don't let them see you pushing too hard, too fast. We do this in phases, deliberately, carefully—until there's no question that you're in control."
Fitz exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
"And what happens if Sally moves faster?"
Olivia doesn't hesitate."Then we move smarter."
Silence lingers between them.
Fitz looks at her, searching her face, measuring her words against his instinct to fight.
Finally—he nods.
"Alright,"he says, voice low."Small bites."
It's not surrender.
It's strategy.
And right now, that's the only way forward.
Fitz takes a slow breath, his hands braced on the edge of the desk, his frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.
Olivia watches him carefully, knowing exactly what he wants to say—that waiting isn't an option, that every second they hold back, Sally is tightening her grip.
But this isn't about waiting.
This is about playing it smart.
"We start with Mellie's funeral."
Fitz's head snaps up, his expression shifting.
"Liv—"
"It was always going to be public,"she cuts in smoothly, her voice even, controlled."The world was going to watch no matter what. So we use it."
Fitz's jaw tightens.
"You want to turn my wife's funeral into a campaign event?"
"No," Olivia says firmly."I want to turn it into a message."
She steps forward, her voice soft but resolute.
"A grieving husband. A devoted father. A leader stepping back into the public eye—not because he has to, but because it's his duty."
Fitz's shoulders rise and fall with a slow, heavy breath.
"This is something Mellie would have approved of."
That lands.
A beat of silence stretches between them.
Because they both know it's true.
Mellie was many things, but above all—she was a strategist.
She would have seen the power in this moment, in using grief as a weapon, as armor, as proof.
Fitz closes his eyes briefly, then nods.
"Alright." His voice is low, rough."We start with Mellie's funeral."
It's not just an acceptance.
It's the first step back.
And Olivia knows—this is how they win.
The weight of the moment is too heavy.
Karen and Gerry sit side by side on the couch.
Gerry's hands are clasped so tightly together his knuckles turn white.
Karen is small, her arms locked around her waist, like she's trying to hold herself together.
She doesn't look up.
She doesn't move.
Teddy is in the medical wing nursery, too small to understand. But even without him, his absence is loud.
Fitz exhales, his voice careful, quiet.
"We need to talk about the funeral."
Karen flinches.
Just a little. But Fitz sees it.
She doesn't say anything.
Gerry shifts beside her, voice flat, almost too calm."It's going to be a circus, isn't it?"
Fitz exhales."Yes."
Olivia steps forward, her tone gentle but firm.
"We want to walk you through what to expect. Not just what's going to happen, but what you need."
Her eyes scan their faces.
"Whatever you need to get through this, we will make it happen."
Karen's fingers clench tighter around her sleeves.
Then—her voice snaps out, sharp and quick, before she can stop it.
"I don't care. I just don't want to talk to anyone."
It's too loud. Too harsh.
Her own voice surprises her—like she wasn't planning to say it that way, but it just burst out.
Fitz nods immediately."You won't have to."
Karen breathes out through her nose, hard, like she's trying to push everything back down.
Gerry shifts beside her."People are going to be watching us, aren't they?"
Olivia's voice softens."Yes. But you don't have to perform. You don't owe them anything."
Karen sniffs sharply. She rubs her sleeve against her nose, quick and angry.
Then—a sudden, sharp question:
"Are they going to ask about Dad?"
It's flat. Blunt. Too direct.
Like she already knows the answer.
Fitz exhales,his jaw tightening."Let me worry about that."
Karen clenches her fists.
Her voice wobbles, just slightly, before she forces it to be hard and sharp again.
"We're not okay."
She swallows hard, blinking fast, like she's trying to push back tears she doesn't want to fall.
Her next words come out cracked, shaking, too much all at once—
"We're never going to be okay."
Fitz goes still.
The words gut him.
Gerry shifts beside her, his fingers twitching—like he wants to reach for her but doesn't know how.
Karen sniffs again, sharper this time, like she's angry at herself for feeling this way.
Fitz closes his eyes for half a second.
Then—he nods.
"I know."
Karen's chin wobbles.
She presses her lips together hard. Like she's holding it all in with everything she has left.
Gerry clears his throat, voice small."Can we sit with you?"
Fitz nods immediately."Of course."
Olivia feels something tighten in her chest.
For everything that's been lost—there's still this.
Still them.
Fitz exhales, voice thick with emotion.
"We'll get through it. Together."
And for the first time, Karen nods back.
Fitz doesn't know how long he's been sitting there.
The room is dark except for the faint glow of the city lights bleeding through the window. His hands rest on his knees, his head bowed forward, and his chest feelshollow.
The meeting with the kids should have made him feel stronger—like they were united, like they could get through this together.
Instead, he feels like he's breaking.
He's been pushing forward, making decisions, preparing for the next step, but he hasn't stopped.
Not once.
Not to grieve. Not to let himself feel.
Mellie is gone.
Gone.
The reality of it—the permanence of it—slams into him like a blow to the chest.
And suddenly, it's too much.
His breath stutters. His throat tightens. His hands curl into fists against his legs.
He tries to swallow it back.
Tries to hold on, hold steady.
But the grief is relentless.
And before he can stop it,his shoulders shake.
A broken sound escapes him, raw and painful, and once it starts, he can't hold it back anymore.
His chest heaves.His face falls into his hands.And for the first time since waking up, he lets himself fall apart.
He doesn't hear the door open.
Doesn't realize he's not alone.
Not until a gentle hand settles on his back.
He stiffens, trying to pull himself together, but then—
"Fitz."
Soft. Familiar.
He doesn't lift his head, but she moves closer, kneeling beside him.
"You don't have to do this alone."
Olivia.
Her presence—steady, unwavering—undoes him all over again.
He turns toward her, and without thinking,she pulls him in.
His face presses against her shoulder, and he shudders, his breath ragged as his arms tighten around her.
She says nothing.
Just holds him.
And in that moment—with the weight of his grief crashing over him—he lets her.