Chapter 12

(This is story is written from Fitz's POV.)

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop."

As a child, Alice in Wonderland had been Karen's favorite bedtime story. Often, she refused to go to bed without hearing at least some part of it. Before long, she and I had memorized several lines, finding ways to insert them into everyday conversation. It had become our own private language, our inside humor.

When she had difficulty admitting her mistakes, somehow that one phrase was enough to persuade her to open up and confess. The memory suddenly came to me as a reminder that she and I once shared something unique; a way of speaking to each other that only we understood.

But that was a long time ago and I was no longer looking at the little girl who didn't want to admit to slashing her brother's tires on his bike as retaliation for barring her from entrance into his bedroom. She was a young woman now, with a complexity of problems for which Alice in Wonderland held no answers.

She chose Mellie to confide in. My rational mind told me this wasn't a parental competition, still her choice stung quite a bit.

Karen's apologetic cries reached me as soon as I entered OPA's conference room, "I'm so sorry Dad. I know you said not to but we really didn't think this would happen…We never…"

Immediately, Jonathan stood at attention; his lanky, angular frame, struggling for a brave front. "It's my fault Sir. I should've taken care of Karen. I take full responsibility for this and I know we should've told you but we…."

"It's not his fault!" Karen defended, fiercely. "It's not Dad. Don't blame him!"

In the chaos of murmuring voices and declarations of remorse the story eventually became clear: Someone was blackmailing my 17 year old daughter with photos of her underage drinking and smoking weed at a party with her 22 year old boyfriend. Or, correction, they had been blackmailing her. That is until, Olivia and Mellie teamed up to handle the situation and paid the blackmailer $2 million dollars. Cyrus, too, had done his part, intercepting the Secret Service report of how Karen ditched her security detail and was left unprotected all evening.

And just like that, between the three of them, they tied up all the loose ends, made sure the blackmailer – whomever that may be – was silenced permanently and the problem was solved, with me none the wiser.

For not the first time, I felt the stifling frustration of an oblivious fool who stands in a room where the same three people - Olivia, Mellie and Cyrus – demonstrate their superiority and wisdom by controlling my access to knowledge and setting their own terms for my enlightenment and my ignorance.

"So why am I here?" I asked testily. It made no sense for me to be standing in the middle of OPA discussing a family issue that by all accounts had been resolved.

Apparently, the problem had not been resolved.

Mellie fired more words at me with impatient condescension. The $2 million dollars withdrawn from her personal account was discovered during the vetting process in an audit by the Senate Committee. She was required to attest to the purpose of the withdrawal and true to her nature, she lied, claiming the monies were transferred as a donation to my son's charity foundation and now she needed proof, namely an Affidavit from me supporting her statement.

"Olivia has drafted up the document. Can you just sign, so we can put this all behind us?" Mellie finalized.

My eyes met Olivia's and rested on her as she laid the document on the table with a pen, then resumed her position standing next to Jake. Had he always been standing there – that smug look of entitlement and superiority on his face? So he was working at OPA. 'That figures,' I thought; where else would he go? There was no other place where he could accomplish his purpose of sticking close to Olivia while simultaneously taunting me. And he was still winning at that game.

Mellie and Cyrus' deceptive natures never surprised me. Their personalities often mirrored each other; cunning minds operating on the same wave length. But Olivia. Why did her actions, her allegiances and decisions, continue to leave me baffled? After all these years, had it just been a blind assumption on my part – that I knew her, what she would and would not do? The groundwork for trust between us seemed to crack under the slightest pressure, repeatedly.

Our silent communication was enough to create the most awkward tension in the room that neither of us paid particular attention to.

"Why didn't you come to me….tell me what was going on," my eyes said.

"You know I couldn't…but I took care of it. I fixed it…," her eyes widened with her stern, silent reply.

"You could have just forged my signature," I finally said aloud in a cold, detached voice, as I stared down at the document.

"I wanted to," Mellie boasted. She groaned in deep agitation at my reaction. "I knew you would make a huge deal out of this. I knew you would get your feelings hurt if we brought you in. I didn't want to tell you at all. We could've handled all of this without you. We didn't need you. I should've just forged your signature."

"Mom stop!….Please," Karen interrupted. Then turning back to me, she continued, "Dad, I wouldn't let her. That's why I came to Olivia for help…I'm so sorry."

"Whatever," Mellie dismissed, harshly. She had no patience for human emotions. "Just sign the damn form Fitz!"

As ridiculous as it sounded, my only thought was to escape back to my prison. Not bothering to read the document, I hastily scribbled my signature and turned to leave. I had done what I was told and there was nothing left to say. "Let's go Cyrus, I need to get back."

XXX

"Rumor has it; the President is in a foul mood. I've been warned to give you your space." She smiled widely at her teasing remark but it dropped immediately as my expression hardened.

"Did you talk to her?" my tone unapologetically sharp.

Michelle nodded once and sighed, "I did." She sat and I remained standing, looming over her in a way that demanded more than the answer she gave.

"Mr. President, I don't know what you want from me…"

"I want my daughter fixed."

"Your daughter isn't broken."

I continued staring down at her; the answer did nothing to ease my mind.

"There is nothing wrong with Karen. Sure, she had a rough time dealing with her brother's death but who wouldn't? She needed an outlet, someone to talk too openly without judgment and I am happy to give that to her…But, therapy doesn't take the place of parenting. She is still just a teenager who sometimes does reckless things. That doesn't make her broken or damaged; that makes her normal. You need to talk to her."

"She's not just any teenager, she's my daughter. Certain freedoms are not hers to have. The wrong decision could cost her life. I thought she understood that."

"She does understand that. She gets it. Just remember, becoming a White House kid doesn't simply wash away all her desires to be a normal teenage girl. She wants to be normal, even though she knows she's far from it….She regrets what happened…you know she does…especially because it could cost Jonathan his job."

Annoyed, I sighed deeply and dropped down into the seat beside her, "Every 15 minutes someone is asking me if I'm going to fire Jonathan." I already spent 30 minutes alternating between yelling and lecturing Jonathan on his irresponsibility and his lack of appreciation of the trust I've given him. Duly chastised, he apologized again, repeated how much he cared for Karen and retreated to some corner of the White House, clear out of my sight.

"Well he's a nice young man and Karen deeply cares for him," she surmised. Scrutinizing my body language, she inquired, "There's something else, what is it?"

"Her 18th Birthday Party and the trip with her friends….I feel like I'm just rewarding her bad behavior. She should be punished for what she's done."

"Well…it depends. What's the purpose of the punishment, for you to feel better or to help her understand the gravity of her mistake? Because I kind of think she understands what one thoughtless action can cost her, this family and Jonathan, don't you?"

I hesitated to admit how right she was.

At that moment I felt the acute loss of not having a partner to talk to about every day personal decisions and challenges. Mellie and I rarely got along, but every now and then, we could have sensible conversations especially about the children. Being a single parent was difficult and I missed having someone to discuss life with.

It was nice having Michelle as a friend; someone without a political agenda or purpose. Someone who personally cared, who I could trust and who didn't use my position against me. Someone who didn't try to handle or fix me. Someone who saw me, the man.

"Karen said Mrs. Grant and Olivia Pope handled everything…do you…do you want to talk about that?"

"There's nothing to talk about." It was a flippantly cool response and Michelle didn't deserve it but my emotions were still unsettled; not yet ready to be dissected.

"It's probably none of my business but Ms. Pope…is she….are you two…?"

"Honestly…I have no idea what we are."

"I uh…I was curious and I researched her." She was hesitant with her admission and her breath caught as she waited for my reaction.

My eyebrows lifted in surprise and confusion. "Why?"

"Because I care…I care about you and your family."

I didn't ask what impelled her to investigate Olivia as if she posed some type of threat. I didn't even want to know the results of her research, her conclusions or her opinions. My personal decisions would be my own without the undue influence of anyone else –well intentioned or not.

"I didn't know you…You've loved her for a long time."

It wasn't a question. Although, I never specifically told her how I felt about Olivia, she knew. She saw something and it was enough to answer the unasked question.

"I have. How did you…."

She shook her head, declining to answer. Boldly, she continued studying me, looking for signs of uncertainty and doubt. Surprisingly, I felt no awkwardness at her analysis. The trust had developed into an emotional bonding that was comfortable and easy despite the subject matter.

Standing, she waited for me to look up at her. There was a slight smile on her face. A secret smile like she knew something I had not yet come to understand. Her departing words were resolute. "We are both too old for games Fitz. If you realize that whatever you have with Olivia isn't quite what you want, don't settle for what's familiar. You have options."

XXX

Adjusting my cufflinks, I stepped out the closet and was startled to find her standing there. She was absolutely gorgeous in her black and white dress; a perfect complement to her shapely, sexually enticing form. The flawlessly, impeccable appearance nearly elevating her in divinity.

It never failed; that pull, drawing me into her. Whenever she was anywhere in my vicinity, the inescapable compulsion to be closer constantly threatened to override my sensibilities and diminish my power of reason.

Under the excuse of a hectic schedule, I kept her at arms-length for the past few days; distancing myself for the sake of clarity. Why did it seem like the closer we became, the more I questioned everything and anything? Days of solitude had sufficiently calmed my frustrations, while allowing me to think critically, honestly and realistically.

And I thought I knew the correct course of action but seeing her now, in the flesh, the stunning beauty, it all felt like an exercise in futility. Was I crazy? Why couldn't I just be happy with whatever she was willing to give? She chose me; shouldn't I be content with that honor?

"Do you already have a date for tonight?" She asked casually, a teasing icebreaker. I expected to see her downstairs at Karen's 18th birthday party but I did not anticipate her coming to the residence.

"No…I'm going alone. Sometimes it's better to be alone."

She gave me a hooded glare but didn't take the bait.

"Are we going to fight?" she challenged, as she took a seat on the lounge sofa.

"Fight?...Is that what you call communicate?"

She smirked and shook her head reprovingly. "You really are in a mood tonight, aren't you?...Have you talked to Karen?"

I continued buttoning up my shirt. "I talked to Karen; I talked to Cyrus; I talked to Jonathan…Hell, I even talked to Mellie, though I didn't want to. But you?….Talk?…Can't say we've done much of that."

My snarky comment went unchallenged.

Pulling my tie from the closet, I rejoined her in the bedroom.

Frowning at my selection, she easily corrected, "Not that tie, the red print is more festive."

Unquestioningly, I took her advice and retrieved the correct tie. She spoke up louder so I could hear her from the walk-in closet, "Well I'm here now…so let's talk."

From the reflection in the mirror, I could see her defenses rising; her body bracing for the argument. I schooled my face to remain bland but the passion was bubbling beneath the surface as it always did. She and I could go from zero to a hundred in seconds.

"Whatever we think this is or going to be…I don't think we're on the same page. And it's better we find out now before this goes too far and we realize, too late, that we've been going in two different directions."

Her head tilted and she regarded at me suspiciously. "Is this because of Karen? I did my job Fitz. It's what I do."

"And instead of letting me know…you did what you've always done; work with Mellie and Cyrus behind my back."

If anything, their actions were consistent – scheming and devising behind my back for as long as they could until eventually, they needed my help to clean up the mess made. And my role was always the same: never question, simply follow instructions and thank them for serving at the pleasure of the President.

She folded her arms defensively. "So now I have to clear my work through you…get your permission?!"

"You know damn well that is not what I'm saying…This is Karen, Olivia, and she's not your client; a 17 year old child can't sign a client contract. Your client was Mellie."

She stared, obviously not seeing the problem. "I can't believe we're fighting over this!" she said in irritation and disbelief. "You're taking all your anger out on me and that's not fair! I wish for once, you could try to understand my side. YOUR family put me in an impossible position. YOUR ex-wife and daughter came to me with a problem and I helped them. Did you expect me to refuse the case unless they got your permission? Or require that they bring you in to the discussion? Don't blame me because YOUR house is not in order." She scoffed at my foolishness. "Way to keep our professional and personal lives separate."

"And you don't see any problem at all with me not knowing that Karen's life was at risk without her security detail; that she didn't come to me with the problem but chose Mellie?!"

Her scowl deepened, "And how is any of that MY problem?! How does what Karen did or what Mellie did justify this attitude you're giving me?...You should be thanking me for cleaning up YOUR family's messes as I've always done. Instead you're going off on me and I have no fucking clue what you're so pissed off about!"

"I'm pissed because when it comes to Mellie and Cyrus it's always the same shit…we are always on opposite sides of the problem, with you standing with them and me left in the dark!...And it's not just professionally, this was personal Olivia."

"I didn't make it personal. This was a job for me and I did it. You're making it personal because it involved YOUR family and that is not my problem."

"YOU are my family!" I yelled, completely exasperated with her failure to get my point. Pausing to breathe deeply and calm my rising temper, I continued, "There is no separation between my children and you Olivia. You are ALL my family."

As if she were an open book, I could see the internal struggle; how to process the words, what they meant and how it affected her life. The responsibility of co-parenting, with a united front, had obviously not occurred to her. Fear and trepidation began to take over and I knew she was becoming overwhelmed with her own thoughts and speculations.

With resignation that stemmed more from weariness than acceptance, I gave her an out. "I don't think you're ready for a committed relationship."

I didn't dare question her about the discovery of Jake working for OPA knowing that would be like igniting a fire storm of fierce emotions rooted in the same argument – her being secretive under the guise of asserted independence and me being controlling, obsessing over every aspect of her life. If we started that conversation, we likely would not leave this room until we tore each other to pieces, literally and figuratively.

Offended by the weak assessment of her character, she exhaled sharply; the trance of vulnerability vanished. "Oh and who told you that, your therapist FRIEND?!...Have you both been sitting around discussing my character flaws?!"

Dismissing her accusations, I shook my head and asked instead, "What do you want Liv?...What do you want from this relationship?...Because I know what I want. I can see it clearly. But I'm not going to assume that you want that too….So what do you want?"

A few times she opened her mouth to say something but no words came. Watching the cascade of emotions across her face, it finally occurred to me that her hesitation was less because of uncertainty and more because she knew the words would hurt me. She was afraid to say them; afraid of their effect on me, on us.

Taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, my appeal became desperate. "What do you want? I need you to tell me Olivia…I can't read your mind. I can't guess and we will never go anywhere if we don't understand what each other wants."

Her unblinking stare intensified with her inward deliberations. "I don't want to get married," she finally said. And then, "I don't want children." Her voice was slightly apologetic but still bespoke the authority of uncompromising decision. "I know you've always wanted that – marriage, two babies. But I don't want it. I love you and I want you but I don't want….that. Are you okay with my choice?"

The unexpected admission hung heavy in the air; solid and thick, not dissipating. Like a vice gripping my insides, my stomach clenched with the anxiety of an uncertain future. Overcome by an invisible paralytic force, I couldn't speak, challenge or react.

I continued staring but no longer really seeing her; seeing past her to the visions of my last day in office, leaving this place, stepping out into the sun, feeling the grace of freedom and immediately driving to our church wedding to be joined completely to the love of my life.

Even when she left and I didn't know if she was coming back, even after I sold the Vermont home, I held the improbable dream somewhere safe inside, like a tiny flame in a small part of me that flickered but never extinguished. In unexpected moments, my daydreams made it seem so tangible and so possible.

But she didn't feel the same. It was a blow to my ego, my esteem and my heart. Gradually thawing from the numbness of shock, my head jerked in a single nod; it wasn't an agreement but a gesture of acknowledgement that my hearing was intact.

"All his plans for our future made me feel…trapped" – she said about Edison and the future he offered. Was the prospect of a shared life with me just as confining; a suffocating existence of entrapment – like a beautiful butterfly whose wings had been painfully ripped from its body and stripped of the ability to soar?

Faced with the startling disclosure of her true feelings, could I let the dream go? As long as I had her, did all the rest even matter?

XXX

The next day I left for Camp David.

Karen's Birthday Party went amazingly well, with little to no complications. Most importantly, she was thrilled and enjoyed herself immensely. She left for a weekend trip in Miami Beach with friends and two chaperones of my choosing in addition to her full security detail.

Teddy and I spent a few days in Camp David; tomorrow we would leave on our vacation to the West Coast – alone. By mutual agreement, Olivia and I decided that it wasn't a good idea for her to accompany us. We tempered any further discussions about our relationship in favor of undivided attention on Karen's event. We danced together, socialized and had a great time, unencumbered by burdening thoughts of the direction of our relationship. The night ended with a shared concession that we were moving too fast; there was no rush and time would not change how we felt about each other.

However, I refused to lie to myself and could not ignore the nagging thought that there would never be a perfect time to come into the light of day and date in the open. Our lives were high-profile and our personal decisions would invite public attention, whether I was in office or not. It was a delay of the inevitable and I could've challenged that it was better to address it now; overcome the hurdle of media exposure of the First Girlfriend. Get past it so that we could move on.

But, by a large degree, her sacrifice was greater and required that I concede to her wishes.

The trip to Camp David was unscheduled and nearly sent Cyrus into an epileptic seizure but I was insistent. The work I needed to review could be accomplished remotely, and now that Teddy had been put to bed, I attempted to do just that but soon grew restless. A midnight stroll in the fresh cool air would do me good.

A light knock at the door revealed a welcome visitor that made a walk under the stars even more inviting.

"Hi."

"Hi."

XXX

"You were trying to make me jealous."

Against the backdrop of a deep dark night, she cast the perfect contrast with her white winter coat, white knit cap, scarf and gloves. Light from the twinkling stars and a full bright moon were just enough to give her a simple, soft, beautiful glow.

In the silence, I treasured our isolation. Far away from the steady flow of political agendas in DC, we were just Fitz and Olivia, not the Politician and the Fixer. We could walk together, talk and laugh – our own version of normal.

Her statement held no anger, in fact, I detected a little mockery and tightened my grip on her hand.

"You once told me you were above all the petty games…I'm guessing that's not true anymore?"

My head hung a little lower, slightly abashed by the memory. She was right. I had been petty and disrespectful; determined to make her regret stalling our relationship. The movie actress had come to the White House twice before for state events. She openly flirted several times in the past and I dismissed it as friendly banter. At Karen's party though, I indulged her attentions and charmed her unnecessarily. The play-by-play sufficiently soothed my ego and allowed me to gain a measure of control.

Olivia witnessed much of our interactions and finally shot me a threatening look, censuring my antics.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know why I…." I began regretfully.

"You think I take you for granted; that I assume you will always be here when I'm ready," she interrupted and paused before admitting, "And maybe I do. I know you want to go public. But we can't, not yet. We need to do this right. We need to be stronger because once we let the world in; they will press us until we break. They will twist our love into something ugly and cheap. We need to prepare ourselves, our family and our friends for that kind of attack because once it hits there is no stopping it."

Recognizing the park bench at the far end of the path, underneath the tall lamppost and wide trunk Sycamore tree, I guided her over to the spot. Pointing to the base of the tree, she looked up at me in confusion until the memory returned and she smiled, giggling as she bent down searching for the letters I carved in wood so many years ago. They faded slightly, were not at all visible to unknowing eyes, but we could still see them – a jagged heart shape with F + O in the middle.

"I kept my promise to you," I said.

XXX

"This is not the way to my cabin, Mr. President….I think you're drunk," she was going for a reproving correction but her own inebriated state made her words slur and she giggled from the sound. She swayed into him and he caught her. The kiss on the top her of head now came by instinct; the habit of touching her had to be repressed in the sight of others.

But now they were alone, in the dark, he could touch her and kiss her as they both wished. The dozens of Secret Service Agents footsteps away were invisible.

"Wait, I thought we were going to my cabin, Ms. Communications Director," he teased. He was a little drunk, but only a little. He still had full control of himself, though he had no idea where they were going and didn't care, as long as he was with her, it was all that mattered. The hours and days they spent trying to pretend they were nothing but friends, co-workers, were draining and times like these felt like freedom.

They nearly stumbled and fell, finally crashing onto the park bench. Their laughter echoed through the trees and floated back to their ears like a joyous melody. The impulse toward reckless abandon came without conscious decision; as soon as the moment of isolation presented itself, they took advantage of every second to be the true selves they reserved only for each other.

Olivia sighed and snuggled closer into his chest, feeling the vibrations of resonating happiness tickle against her cheek. Her own smile widened; she loved watching him like this, when the pressure of who he was and who he needed to be didn't weigh him down into insecurity and sadness. She could see the tension ebbing away from him at the party. She watched him dance and drink with friends, his body relaxing as he disconnected from the life he temporarily left back at the White House with his wife, Mellie. And when the party was over, she would have him all to herself.

There were days where she deliberately isolated herself; testing her resilience, the will to remain apart from him; to resist the magnetic pull of his existence. But he was like a hurricane – powerful, ravaging and she was standing in the middle of the storm - helpless, yielding and swept up over and over again.

"I wish you had let me lose," he suddenly said.

She tensed at his words and abruptly sat up to look him in the face. Her breath caught and she held it as panic gripped; a disturbing fear of the implication of his words rapidly channeled through her. His face remained impassible. Was it an off-hand remark or did he really mean it? Did he know what they had done to secure his place in history, as President of the United States? How she committed a heinous crime for his happiness alone?

"What?" she croaked.

Her anxiety was unmistakable and seeing it, he immediately sought to ease her worry. Caressing her cheek, he explained, "If I had lost, I would have divorced my wife and married you as soon as you would let me."

Olivia visibly relaxed, nearly collapsing in relief. She resumed her position, more so to hide the emotions on her face, which she was sure betrayed the guilt she felt. "You are where you need to be Fitz…And I'm here, right beside you."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Of course it bothered her. She didn't like going home to her apartment alone, sleeping alone, waking up alone, knowing that her heart belonged to the man who couldn't share a real life with her. She didn't tell him that some nights her mind persecuted her so relentlessly for falling in love with a married man that she barely slept. She never told him how often she cried for a future they would never have. She never told him that she loved him.

"It's fine Fitz," she breathed. "Let's just be who we are in the moment and enjoy what we have." Her voice shook with emotion that she prayed he would ignore. She found herself constantly trying to stray away from the serious conversations she knew he wanted to have. In honesty, she was afraid. Afraid of who he was to her and who she was to him; afraid that if it became too much, too deep, he would try to give it all up for her; afraid that she would never measure up to his sacrifice.

Him being married was safe. It didn't force them to analyze whatever they had too closely because there was nothing they could do to change it anyway.

With one swift move, he suddenly lifted her into his lap, bringing her face to his and kissed her hard. The taste of him was heavenly and she yearned for more. She clung to him as she always did, as if it were the first and the last time. As if the stolen moment might not ever occur again.

When they finally broke apart, his eyes immediately went to her swollen lips. He loved the look of her; flushed with desire. He loved that she so willingly gave her all to him. He knew she loved him, even if she never spoke the words. He told himself he didn't need it; he didn't have a right to hear it, not until he could offer something in return.

Under the dim shadow of lamplight, he searched her face, "I promise you one day…one day we'll be here, in this spot and I'll be free. Able to love you like you deserve Livvie, able to give my all to you."

They fell asleep on that park bench and when she awoke he showed her the carving in the tree; proof of the vow he made.

XXX

"I have loved you for so long Livvie, I can barely remember a time when I didn't love you. You said were ready…to give your all to us. But I don't think you understood what that meant to someone like me… I've wanted this for too long. I won't be placed in a box. I can't be some small subsection of your life, placed in a neat compartment, that you only pull out and play with when you feel the need…THAT is not a real relationship, at least not one I'm willing to have. I want all of you."

For years, I had no right to demand anything. I wasn't free to love her; we had no real relationship. There are few words of commitment in an affair; no promises, no vows, no demands. Transitioning from what we were to what we could now be was risky and unpredictable; there was no controlled environment to experiment and test theories. Everything was real-time - trial and error, win or lose, fall and rise.

"You're afraid to lose yourself in this…in us; afraid it will suffocate you and change you for the worse. I don't want to take away your identity, Livvie; I only want to love you. Love makes us better people; we may lose a little bit of who we once were but we can find a better version of the person we want to be."

Our relationship was a living, breathing entity. We could make of it what we wanted. We could give it life, mold it, nourish it, watch it flourish and become a thing of beauty. Or we could suffocate it, starve it, ignore it and watch it die a slow painful, torturous death.

Her arms came around my waist pulling me close; the feeling of contentment so strong that I wondered how it was that our relationship was still so fragile. She didn't agree, consent or contradict my words, instead implored patience, "I know how rare it is to find a love like ours…That it has survived this long is unexplainable. It's worth it Fitz."

She may have been speaking aloud to convince herself, nevertheless I believed. It was worth every endeavor, every effort. It's what everyone wants – to have someone know everything, the darkest parts of us, and fearlessly choose to stay, to still find us worthy of their love.

She pulled back and looked up at me; rounded doe eyes beaming with hope and promise. Pulling my head down to meet hers in bold invitation she whispered, "I'm cold….warm me."

And I did.

It had nothing to do with the chill of the night air or the dampening mist. It was the coldness of soul, stark sterility, a disconnection from the love that fills hollow spaces; love that radiates warmth from within, setting a fire that blazes bone-deep.

XXX

"Sir….Sir we need you to come with us now, please. You and Ms. Pope must come with us now," Secret Service Agent Daniel Rawlings urgently pushed us along until we were practically running back to the Aspen Presidential Cabin.

As soon as we came inside, another agent ran up the stairs to get Teddy and Marta.

"Tell me what's going on!"

"Sir, there's been a breach at the White House. An intruder came over the gates and almost made it into the mansion. He was apprehended but there is….an additional threat."

At least eight agents crowded around us inside the cabin, only a fraction of what was present, on alert, outside.

Abruptly snatched from a deep sleep and sensing the anxiety from everyone around him, Teddy alternated between crying and whining in the arms of the agent bringing him downstairs. Marta would be down as soon as Teddy's bag has been packed.

"Come here baby boy," Olivia cooed as she took Teddy from the agents' arms and held him close to soothe him. Gently she patted his back and rocked him until he calmed.

Daniel rushed to explain further, "Terrorist threat against the White House and two F-13 aircrafts have been sent up due to unidentifiable planes invading the air space of Camp David. We don't know if the events are related but until all is clear, we need to get you to the bunker."

In a matter of minutes, we were all inside the elevator, traveling 200 feet below the cabin to a secure location.

(A/N: Thank you for reading. I know it has been quite a while since I've updated any of my stories. I will not abandon them; I continue to work on them every chance I get. And I appreciate any of you who indulge me by taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it. Have a great weekend.)