#ftgiii

3 Days Later...

"I'll take care of him. Consider it Handled."

"Huck."

"He shouldn't have broken into your place. You're trying so hard to get better. You are getting better every day. You're learning how to be happy again and he wants to ruin it. He wants to drag you back down into the Dark because that's the only way that you let him be with you. Even if B613 and Rowan aren't a part of his life anymore, he won't ever leave you alone so someone needs to make him go away for good. I can do it. I'll be okay after, I promise."

"You're getting better, too and I don't want Jake to ruin your progress. He's not worth it."

"But you are. Besides, if I don't take him down, Quinn will after I tell her what happened. Charlie will help her get rid of him because he wants her to be happy and he really likes you. Marcus will run interference if anyone asks where he is and Abby still has her gun so..."

"Huck, don't do it. Please?"

"Ballard hurt you before. He put his hands on you and made you feel scared. He made you feel dirty and wrong. We all let him hurt you before and it wasn't right. It wasn't fair to you. We're supposed to be Gladiators. We're supposed to be a family. Family protects family. Always."

"I didn't protect my family when it counted most. I ran away."

"We forgave you and if Harrison was still here, he would've, too. He loved you. We love you."

"...I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Try not to do it. You all can go talk to him but just...try. For me?"

"...okay."

Olivia sighed softly and tossed her phone into the duffel bag next to her. The breeze was refreshing against her skin and she closed her eyes, already feeling tears sliding down her face. After what happened with Jake, she had booked an emergency session with her therapist. Linda Marbury had seen her first thing and she had taken the rest of the day off afterwards. During that off day, she had given her apartment a deep clean, both to calm down and to check for surveillance equipment. Jake said that he had left nothing behind but she would be a fool to take him at his word. She had found nothing but it didn't mean that she wasn't being watched.

Local news had brought up the fact that she was in counseling but she had been prepared. There was no shame in admitting that one needed help. With how stressful life could be, especially in Washington, getting help and support was crucial. Mental health was just as important as physical health, if not more important. After all, if one's mind wasn't right, then the rest of the body wouldn't be either.

The statement, along with substantial donations to local outreach programs, had quickly turned the narrative around in her favor. Olivia was a Fixer. She was the best in the business for a reason and it was nice to remember that she deserved help, too.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the couch. It was waiting near the quarry's small lake, looking both huge and small. She had been meaning to get rid of it since her abduction but she hadn't the time or the strength. But now that she was healing, truly healing, getting rid of it was just as important as taking her medicine on time and removing the toxic people from her life.

She had blocked Mellie's numbers. She had also put a strict policy in place for keeping her or her representatives out of OPA. True to Fitz's warning, a series of voicemails had been left by the embittered woman, dripping with alcohol laced venom. She had Huck save each one of them, added them to the black Kill Folder, and moved on with her life. Mellie losing her Election wasn't Olivia's fault. It wasn't Fitz's fault. It wasn't Cyrus' fault or the American People's. The loss was no one's fault but Mellie's. She didn't want to wait and build her brand. She didn't want to put the work in that her opponent had. She had felt entitled to Power and rightfully got a wake-up call.

Olivia had taken to letting Cyrus go to voicemail, too. Unless it was about Ella's wellbeing, she wouldn't take his calls. He was looking for her to get back into Kingmaking. He was looking for her to be The White House's personal Fixer again and Olivia wasn't interested. She wasn't interested in being called 'The Help' ever again. If Fitz needed her, then he could and would call her himself so Cyrus couldn't use that avenue to get her anymore. She wouldn't let him.

Just because he wasn't actively interfering with her life anymore didn't mean that he was trusted. Trusting Cyrus Beene would be just as foolish as trusting Jake. She was a lot of things but foolish? Not anymore. If she was really going to heal, she had to be firm. She had to be brave. Having support from her friends and Fitz was excellent but at the end of the day, it was up to her.

Reaching down to the large speaker, she turned the volume all the way up. Fighting back bile, Olivia lowered the needle to the record player and waited.

After a couple scratches, the music began.

Yeah, everybody's got a thing But some don't know how to handle it Always reaching out in vain Just taking the things not worth having but

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out, oh

They say your style of life's a drag And that you must go other places Just don't you feel too bad When you get fooled by smiling faces

Don't you worry bout a thing...

It needed to go.

The couch needed to go.

It was a constant reminder of what had happened to her, now. It was poison.

Yes, she and Fitz had their good moments on it. After hearing their first time on tape, he had held her for One Minute, comforting her and saying goodbye. When he came to her to run out the clock, the couch had been where he sat, looking at her with all the love in the world, all the trust in the world. She had fallen into his arms on the couch, letting herself be loved and letting go...

...but now? The couch had to go. The couch and the whole apartment, for that matter! Why was she still living there? Even before her abduction, there were so many bad times in the place, more than good. It had been a point of pride to stay put. Olivia had seen it as a sign of strength to stay but had it really been? It was something to think about. It was something to talk about, both with her therapist and her family. She had money. She had contacts. Finding a new place in or close to DC would be simple, even with the inherent hassle of moving.

She would have one less piece of furniture to deal with in the process.

Come on, everybody needs a change A chance to check out the new But you're the only one to sees The changes you take yourself through Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing...

After renting the truck and putting the couch inside, Olivia had driven to a small hardware store about 90 minutes away from DC. She had looked it up online, not wanting to deal with a large crowd. Not to mention that the sight of The Olivia Pope in a Home Depot or Lowe's would be instant Beltway gossip fuel. She didn't need that. She didn't deserve that. Over the years, she had become so protective of everyone else's privacy, everyone else's Reputation, that she had neglected herself. She had seen herself as a burden, as a Scandal, and it had led to some of the worst decisions she had ever made. That needed to change. Olivia needed to take control.

It was her life to live. It was her life to Fix so she could enjoy it again.

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out When you get it off your trip Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama...

The muscles in her body burned. Tears were falling and her body was shaking but with each blow of the sledgehammer, Olivia could feel more of the heaviness lift. The couch was going to be gone. She would never have to look at it again. She would still have the memories. She would still have the flashbacks and terrors but things would be better. Huck was right. She was trying. She wanted to be better. She wanted to be happy again. No one was going to stop her from being happy again.

Not Jake.

Not Mellie.

Not Rowan.

Not Cyrus.

And especially not herself.

Once she could lift the hammer no more, she let it fall to the ground and took in the sight in front of her. The couch was now a jumble of metal, fabric, and wood. There were cuts on her hands, small but stinging. She would take care of them soon enough. She wasn't done just yet.

Returning to the truck, Olivia got the red gas can and the engraved silver lighter. It had been a gift from Rowan. She couldn't remember exactly when he had given it to her but it was before she had realized the truth about him. She had found it during the deep clean of her apartment and it was only fitting to use it.

The remains of the couch ignited immediately and she threw the lighter into the flames, letting it all burn. Olivia knew that she still had a lot of work to do. She knew that her fight for joy was far from over but at the moment, she felt victorious. She felt vindicated and empowered.

She had taken back another piece of her soul.

She would never get them all back but that was fine.

She would always be more than a little broken inside but that didn't mean that she was unworthy.

It didn't mean that she was ruined.

There was hope.

As long as there was breath in her body, there was hope.

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out Oh don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing, I'll be standing by you

The End of an Era pt. 3

5 Weeks Later...

"...if I had known that your vouching for me would force me back on the road again..."

"Oh, stop it. You know you love being on The Trail. Besides, you're telecommuting most of the time, anyway. You'll be back here by Monday."

"Still..."

"Do you want Frankie and Susan to change their minds about keeping you around?"

"Hell, no!"

"That's what I thought. How's it going out there, really?"

"Damned good. People are really turning out for this one, already and Susan's appearance on Kimmel really gave things a boost with Millennials. Frankie's going to be meeting with a DACA recipient and we've all been invited over for dinner and dancing afterwards."

"Make sure you bring some Tums with you, gringo."

"Oh, you've got jokes...what are you up to?"

"More packing and Fitz asked me to help him choose who gets to paint our Portraits."

"...it's really coming down to the wire, isn't it?"

"You know how Term limits work, Cy. 8 years means just that and even if it didn't? It's time to pass the Torch."

"I just hope Frankie and Susan don't get it stolen from them. They're gonna do everything they can to Elect that asshole..."

Olivia shook her head at the likely scenario but held her tongue. Of all the people, a con-man disguised as a respectable businessman had decided to toss his Hat into the Race. Not only that, he had quickly become the only viable candidate against Frankie and Susan. It wasn't really a shock. His appeal to the lowest common denominators made for excellent joke fuel but the jokes would grind to a screeching halt if he actually managed to win. Although they had taken many hits over the years, the Good Ol' Boys were still around in DC and they were feeling scared. They were rich men with more money than sense and no melanin amongst them unless they were tokens or leeches. The "candidate" was promising a return to traditional values and to "make America Great again" ala Ronald Reagan.

Reagan hadn't made America great again. He had tanked the economy for the sake of the rich.

Plus, America had never been truly Great to begin with.

Yes, Olivia loved her country. She was honored to be a part of its history but there was no hiding from the facts. America had been built on the backs and graves of oppressed people, most of who looked like her. There were still remnants of that legacy everywhere, from the lawbooks to the sub-Reddit communities. It was clear that the "candidate" was unqualified. How could he run the Country if he couldn't even run his Empire correctly but still...

"All we can do is do our best and if the worst happens..."

"We all flee to Canada?"

"...we keep going. People don't have to be in the Oval to get things done. It's just faster that way."

"True...so, The Fitzgerald Grant Foundation? That's what he's going to do next?"

"Mm-hm. After everything with Brandon Parker and the research he's been doing into the prison systems, Fitz really wants to focus on social reform, especially for Communities and People of Color. The main base is going to be up in Vermont with the Library but he's already looking for office space around town."

"Isn't there room in your building?"

"There is but it would be better for him to have his own domain. That way, there are less chances for a conflict of interest and the Optics would be better. You know, they're still pushing the henpecked puppet thing? It's honestly pathetic...funny but pathetic..."

Before Cyrus could reply, the sound of personal cell phone ringing got her attention.

"I'll call you back, okay?"

"All right. Bye, Liv."

"Bye...this is Olivia Pope-Grant."

"Mrs. Pope-Grant, this is Ms. Rinkus from Thomas Jefferson Academy. I'm calling about your son, Gerry..."

"Is he okay?"

"He isn't seriously hurt but he was in a physical altercation with another student during recess today. It's likely that he won't be suspended but if you could come down..."

"I'm on my way."

/

"...I'm sorry, Momma."

"Don't be. I'm not mad."

"I just wanted Todd to stop. Siddiq and his family are good people and Todd had no right to talk about them like that. Just because someone is Muslim doesn't mean that they're terrorists. Actually, most terrorists are white men nowadays..."

"That's true. I'm glad you stuck up for your friend, Fitzgerald."

"Even if he wasn't my friend, I would've done it anyway...you're really not mad?"

"Not even a little. Although, next time, try using your words before you start punching, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do I have to go home? Ranza and I are supposed to do our project today..."

"No, you don't have to go home. You do need to keep the ice pack on your hand for the rest of the day, though...and I have to tell your father what's happened."

"Nah, let me do it. Real men own their actions."

"You're not a man yet, Ger."

"I'm getting there. You know I'm gonna be 13 next year. An official teenager..."

"Stop it!"

"Your firstborn is getting old and so are you..."

"Get outta here, Muhammed Ali. Your friends are waiting and you've got a rocket to launch. I'll see you at home."

Before he could get out of reach, Olivia hugged him and pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek, making sure to leave a bright red lip print.

"Mom-ma...not in public..."

"Yes, in public! You may be getting teenager-y on me but you're always gonna be my dulce."

The pout on his face reminded her so much of Fitz, Olivia couldn't help but grin. The grin broadened as Gerry rejoined his waiting friends, including Siddiq Miller. Siddiq was the only child belonging to Amir and Mariah Miller who had moved to DC from New York City in 2009. They were transcribers for the press corp and wonderful people, genuinely sweet and loving. Their boys had met during a State Dinner, becoming instant best friends over their shared love of Super Smash Bros and parkour. Siddiq was teaching Gerry Arabic Sign Language and Gerry helped him out with Algebra.

Todd Allen was the son of Butch and Carrie Allen, two oil money millionaires hailing from conservative Texas. They didn't have Hollis Doyle level of money but they definitely had his viewpoints, apparently. They had passed said viewpoints to their son and Gerry was right to punch him out. Well, more accurately, Gerry had grabbed the swing he was on and after momentum had done its job, he had tackled the boy. Since Gerry was known to be a calm and well behaved child, he had been able to get quite a few blows in before the shocked aides intervened. Gerry's knuckles were scraped and swollen. Todd's nose was swollen and he would have a hell of a split lip for a while.

Good.

Few things were more satisfying than seeing bigots get their due, regardless of age.

Mr. and Mrs. Allen had arrived to the principal's office, ready to unleash hell until they figured out just who their son had offended.

As much as being known as The Olivia Pope-Grant could be annoying at times, it certainly came in handy. They had hastily collected their sullen son and assured her that no charges would be pressed. It was just boys being boys, after all. They also said that they would be giving Todd "a stern talking to about his horrible behavior" but Olivia was certain that it would be more about scolding him for not being subtle instead of for being hateful.

Such was life in the US Capital...

Her phone rang and she immediately answered, the call coming right on time.

"Hello, Mr. President."

"Okay, you don't sound worried or angry so it can't be too bad...is Gerry okay?"

"Gerry's just fine, love. He was just being a good best friend with some punching involved. He'll give you all the gory details later. He wants to be a man about it, apparently."

"I see...who'd he punch?"

"Todd Allen."

"...did he put his weight behind it?"

"Fitz!"

"Well, did he?"

"He did. "

"That's my boy."

"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III..."

"Don't you legal and Christian name me, lady! The Allens are a couple of racist, obnoxious idiots. The apple didn't fall far from the tree."

"No, it didn't...shall we let our warrior pick dinner tonight?"

"Sure. Get him some ice cream, too."

"Will do. How was your morning briefing?"