The next day…

Cyrus opened the door to the Oval Office to find his boss at work at his desk. Confused as to what was going on, Cyrus closed the door behind him and ambulated into the room. "Sir?"

"Did you know that a hundred acres of pizza is served in this country every day?" Fitz asked in greeting. "As if that isn't astounding, it says here that we eat eight billion chickens a year. Incredible."

When these proclamations were received with silence, Fitz looked up from what he was reading and over at his Chief of Staff. "Karen thought it would be helpful if I were more informed about the eating habits of my constituents."

"That's great, sir," Cyrus said, distractedly. "I just ran into Mellie and the children on their way out to some waiting vehicles. She said something about going to Santa Barbara? What's happened to Camp David? And why are they going anywhere without you?"

"My wife would rather not be cabin cozy with me at the moment, so she's going ahead to Camp David with the kids," Fitz explained. "After a few days, we'll be off to California."

"Now isn't the most opportune time for you to be on vacation, hence the suggestion of Camp David," Cyrus said carefully, his face showing his perplexity. "Talks between West Angola and her neighbors are set to begin in-"

"I'm aware of the schedule, Cyrus," Fitz cut him off. "And you know damn well this isn't a vacation. My daughter made a request to visit home and I am obliging her. The whole family is. We'll be out of the White House as suggested, and Olivia can do what Olivia does best to quiet the noise. Meanwhile, I'll be doing what I can to give Karen some normal."

"Pardon me, sir," Lauren said as she opened the door to the Oval Office. "Mr. Johnston is here to see you."

Fitz nodded his approval while stepping from behind his desk. Cyrus turned towards the door just as the man in question walked in.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. President," Mr. Johnston said with grave seriousness. "I understand that your time is limited this morning."

"It is, but I was told that you have more information," Fitz said as he clasped hands with the Inspector General.

"I do," Johnston replied as he looked over at Cyrus to acknowledge presence. "Mr. Beene."

"Harold," Cyrus responded with a slight tip of the head.

"So what have you got?" Fitz asked.

"During our previous meeting, we discussed a few red flags found during my preliminary investigation into the Secret Service," Johnston began.

"Tom Larsen."

"Yes, sir," Johnston replied. "Following extensive interviews of Miss Grant's former agents, I've discovered other schedule discrepancies that suggests that Agent Larson has a lot more to answer for than just his unauthorized presence at Fort Detrick."

"Go on."

"I have yet to confirm it, but I believe there may be a link between the unfortunate incidences involving your two children," Johnston stated, startling both Fitz and Cyrus.

Cyrus recovered first. "You do understand that you're saying that there's an active conspiracy against this President and his family."

"I've found no evidence to the contrary, Mr. Beene," Johnston answered.

"We're talking about a child who passed away following a brief illness and his sister's difficulty in coping with that," Cyrus added, his confusion obvious. "What involvement could Larsen possibly have had in either?"

Johnston's refusal to respond and the shift of his eyes over to the Commander in Chief made Cyrus realize then that Fitz hadn't said a word since the Inspector General shared this bombshell. Cyrus turned in time to catch his boss's countenance before the troubled expression it bore disappeared.

"It is my recommendation that security protocols be modified for you and your family while the investigation is ongoing."

"That's already been done," Cyrus replied as he continued to watch Fitz. There was something about this that he wasn't yet privy to. "Sir?"

Ignoring Cyrus's inquiry, Fitz addressed Johnston. "When you learn of anything more, you bring it to me. I don't care when that is or where I am. You find me."

"Yes, sir."

Fitz grabbed his jacket from where it lay on the sofa and slid his arms into its sleeves as the door to the Oval clicked shut behind Johnston. He shrugged the jacket up onto his shoulders and straightened out his shirt collar while heading towards his desk. There was something he had to retrieve, but couldn't remember what. His mind was congested with a myriad of dark thoughts, his heart weighed down by a decision he'd made in the heat of the moment.

"Sir?"

He felt ill. His body vibrated with an emotion so potent that it threatened to cripple him. He'd ordered the execution of Maya Pope for Jerry's death. He'd relied on circumstantial evidence to condemn a woman who was guilty of numerous other crimes, but not of this particular one. How did he get it so wrong? How'd he not see that his enemy had been standing right next to him the whole time?

"Fitz."

Snapping back to the present, Fitz registered Cyrus's meaty hand wrapped around his wrist and then noted his own knuckles turning white from the tightness of his clenched fist. He forced out a heavy breath and gradually unclenched his hand, leading Cyrus to in turn release his hold on him.

Cyrus had seen Fitz shaken before, but not like this. The man looked to be on the verge of collapse and Cyrus thought it best to stay close in the event that he did. Fitz instead leaned back against the front edge of the Resolute Desk, his head bent slightly as he took a moment to collect himself.

"There is evidence implicating Tom Larsen in the death of my son," Fitz quietly stated.

Cyrus stood in dumbfounded silence for a moment and then decided to take a seat on the nearest sofa. "I'm having a hard time making sense of that statement, sir," Cyrus said. "Tom's loyal to you. Always has been. Why would he hurt Jerry?"

Fitz was asking himself the same question. He had a sinking feeling that he knew the why and possibly the who, but after getting it so wrong before, he had to be absolutely certain as to his suspicions this time around.

"What's to be done now?"

"I go talk to him."

"That's not happening."

"He's embarked on a hunger strike and refuses to cooperate unless he speaks with me directly," Fitz explained. "I need answers, Cy. This is my family."

"And I understand that, but I would advise against this. The United States government employs highly skilled individuals who are trained to handle this kind of thing," Cyrus said to him. "The President-that's you-isn't one of them. Tom may not be talking now, but he will. There are ways to get him there that doesn't involve you dealing with him yourself."

Fitz stared at Cyrus as the man's words settled in his head. There are ways to get him there... Ways that Fitz had no business contemplating or even acknowledging, but the temptation was strong.

"We do this above board," he finally responded. "It all has to be above board. If we're getting anything out of him, it can't be under duress."

Cyrus considered Fitz for a moment and then nodded in acceptance of the dictate. "It'll be handled, sir," he said while glancing down at his watch. "Meanwhile, you do have all those leaders waiting."

The summit. In the wake of Johnston's revelations, Fitz had forgotten all about it. He had known that receiving the Inspector General before attending the meeting was unwise, but he also knew that he'd be unable to concentrate on anything with Johnston's information unknown. Now he wasn't certain that he could attend the summit at all.

That afternoon...

"You won't believe the number of dusty documents I had to sift through in the basement of that school," Quinn stated as she entered the conference room. She lifted the strap of her bag up over her neck to drop the bag into a nearby chair. "You'd think they'd never heard of the electronic revolution or at least of microfiche," she said with some annoyance.

Huck looked up briefly from his laptop at her rant, but soon returned his attention to what he was working on.

"What did you find?" Olivia asked as she emerged from her office.

"The school's physical documents matched their electronic rolls," Quinn told her. "There is no Courtney Jackson."

"Karen gave us a fake name," Olivia said with some bewilderment.

"And the why of that got me to thinking about the video. Someone looking for a big payday wouldn't have taken it to the tabloids. They'd have used it to blackmail the White House," Quinn remarked.

"This isn't blackmail. It's personal," Olivia said, almost to herself. "They went public to harm the Grants."

"They went public to harm the President," Quinn corrected as she handed Olivia a folder with a photograph clipped to the front of it.

Olivia looked down at the faces staring back at her and quickly identified Karen Grant, but not the girl she was photographed with. They were dressed in identical Andover Prep uniforms.

"And this is?" Olivia asked as she flipped open the folder to find another photo. This one featured the same girl and a young man.

"Alessandra Davenport, uncredited contributor to The National Star and its founder's first cousin," Quinn replied, causing Olivia's attention to snap back to her. "The guy is Mr. National Star himself."

"She's a student at Andover," Olivia remarked.

"And purportedly the First Daughter's best friend," Quinn added. "I lifted her iPad when she wasn't looking and discovered this," she said, presenting the screen to Olivia. "Karen Grant's journal. Check out the highlighted part."

"How'd you crack the passcode?" Huck asked. "There's like a hundred thousand combinations."

"Someone liked writing her passwords down," Quinn replied as she waved around a worn scrap of paper.

Olivia was momentarily silent as she processed the words on the screen. "How do we know this was actually written by Karen and isn't a made up entry?" she posed the question to no one in particular.

"I can confirm it," Huck told her as he held his hand out for the iPad. Once he had it, he motioned for Quinn to hand over the passcode and then he plugged the tablet into his laptop. His fingers went flying across the keyboard as they entered in an intricate set of characters.

"The journal app she uses automatically backs up all entries to iCloud. It records the day an entry was made, the last time the app was accessed and the network the user was on when an entry was saved," he explained. "Finding the network associated with this entry should tell us who made it."

"Or not. That campus has password-free WiFi everywhere," Quinn countered with frustration. "How are you going to narrow it down then?"

"I won't have to," Huck replied as he sat back and gave Quinn a look of annoyance. "The entry was made from the White House."

Olivia stared at Huck for a moment and then glanced over at Quinn before turning towards her office. She soon reemerged with her coat and purse in hand.

"Send me that entry. And get me a connection between that girl and the release of that video," Olivia said to Huck. "Call me the second you find it."

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked, but Olivia was already out the front door. "I hate when she does that."

"I need to speak with him," Olivia said the moment she stepped into Cyrus's office.

"No, can't do. He's engaging in that leadership summit, and cannot be disturbed. Should not be disturbed and especially not by you," Cyrus said with a finger jab in her direction.

"You've breached your own wall, Liv. Don't bother denying it. I don't need eyes to see that you've breached that wall, and you know what happens when you do that? I end up with a distracted President, and a distracted President is no good for the American people. So, whatever it is you have to tell him, I will pass it on."

Olivia let out a breath. "Karen's attempted suicide and the video leak are connected, and they have everything to do with him," she stated and then added, "I need to talk to him."

"That's not going to happen."

"Cy!"

"Limited direct communication. Isn't that what you stipulated when you agreed to this? Or did sympathy creep back into your heart when Mellie opened her big mouth?" Cyrus asked.

"He tried to harm himself and you didn't tell me."

"How was I supposed to do that? Telepathically? I don't recall receiving a forwarding address to where you absconded with your boyfriend," he replied.

Olivia allowed him that point as she claimed a seat on the cushioned bench by the wall. After a moment, she quietly admitted, "I still care about him, Cy."

Cyrus came over and settled in right next to her. "I didn't have a leg to stand on when I came to you about Mellie and you knew that. You could've called my bluff, but you didn't," he said. "I know you still care. Fitzgerald Grant is a hard man to fall out of love with."

Olivia sat in reflection of the truth of his words, but could offer nothing in response. The emotional turmoil that Fitzgerald evoked in her was ever still perplexing, thrilling, devastating. The wall she had so carefully erected upon her return to DC now stood with a giant-sized hole at its core.

"Still giving a damn when you're trying not to is one hell of an inconvenience," Cyrus remarked with a glance over at Olivia who remained mum and continued to stare out into middle space. "I'd love to give you what you want, but you know as well as I do that you and him in a room right now, no matter that reason, isn't a good idea. Give me the specifics and I'll take them to him."

Lightly clearing her throat, Olivia looked askance at Cyrus and then down at the phone in her hand. With an imperceptible nod, she pushed on the phone's power button and said, "Karen orchestrated all of this. She was trying to get his attention."

Cyrus accepted the proffered phone and read the first few paragraphs displayed on its screen before handing it back to Olivia. He rubbed a hand roughly down his face and let out a long exhale. Recalling the intel received from the Inspector General, he wondered at how it connected to Olivia's discoveries. The situation was getting murkier by the hour.

As his silence stretched, Olivia started to worry. "Cy, what aren't you telling me?" she asked, drawing him out of his reverie. "What's going on?"

A short rap on the door was immediately followed by the door swinging open and Abby walking in. She did a quick glance about the office and was turning to leave when...

"Red."

Jumping at the sound of Cyrus's voice, Abby whipped around to find him and Olivia sitting at the other side of the open door. "Oh! There you are," she said a little too loudly and then forced a smile to hide the effect of her near stroke.

"What is it, Abby?" Olivia asked, noting the woman's paler than normal face.

Frazzled, Abby grabbed the remote control from Cyrus's desk and turned on the TV. "This," she replied once she set the channel to the BNC. "Mrs. Grant is talking to the press about that which we were all told to respond to with a 'No Comment!'"

Later that day...

Fitz watched from the other side of the one way window as Tom Larsen was escorted into the room beyond. Dressed in orange prison garb, the man had both hands and feet restricted by chained cuffs that rattled as he moved. He was pushed roughly down into one of the seats at the sole table in the room and the chain linking his wrists was locked to a thick metal ring on the topside of the table.

Upon the departure of the escorts, Tom looked about the room and then focused on the large mirror in front of him. Fitz felt a hot spike through the chest when his eyes connected with that of his former personal agent. He knew that Tom couldn't see him through the glass, but he was jarred nonetheless. He felt his fingers curling into a fist.

"I can show you in now, Mr. President."

The United States government employs highly skilled individuals who are trained to handle this kind of thing. The President-that's you-isn't one of them.

Fitz brushed those words aside as he was led to the door of the interrogation room. As right as Cyrus was, Fitz was impatient for answers. Waiting around for days or weeks for additional information was not an option, especially where the safety of his family was concerned. Sitting on his hands while others handled the interrogating did not appeal to him at all.

Strolling into the room as if the meeting was inconsequential, Fitz made his way over to the only other available chair in the room and dragged out from under the table. He sat across from Tom, crossing his legs as he settled into the chair.

"Thank you for meeting with me, sir."

"I do so against the advice of those well-versed in handling threats to our nation," Fitz replied. "You recall our fine folks over at Homeland Security, don't you? You should. They've been interrogating you for days now with no luck."

Tom said nothing to this.

"The evidence against you is damning," Fitz affected a casual tone. "From the little I saw, it suggests that it was you who killed my son."

"The evidence is lacking context," Tom spoke tightly, his face flushed red.

"You were caught on camera at a facility where you had no business and your ID used to swipe into the lab that possessed the highly virulent class 4 biological agent that killed my son, and you say that the evidence is lacking context," Fitz said to him. "Do by all means provide context. I'm all ears."

Hesitating briefly, Tom said, "I'd like to ask for pardon before I proceed, sir."

Fitz's face went carefully blank. "You of all people should know that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists."

A fleeting look of offense, worry and disgust crossed Tom's face at the accusation. "All due respect, sir, but I've never once committed a crime against this great nation," he said, his tone aggrieved. "Not ever. Everything I have ever done since the day I enlisted was to protect it."

"Protect it?" Fitz asked as he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat. "Jerry wasn't a national security threat-!"

"You losing your reelection was," Tom said, completely throwing Fitz for a loop. "You had to stay in place or I'd have had to take you out. Those were my orders. He didn't give me a choice."

"Who didn't give you a choice?" Fitz asked. "Who is he?"

Tom didn't reply to that inquiry. Instead he continued on with what he'd been saying. "It was either you or the boy, and I went with the boy," he spoke. "I am deeply sorry that you lost your son, sir, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Jerry was sacrificed for the the greater good. It was either you or him."

Disturbed by what he was hearing, Fitz stood up and stared at Tom in confusion. The greater good? It was either himself or Jerry?

Tom sounded fanatical. Had he never knew this man? He had been guarding him and his family for four years. He had been the one agent Fitz trusted above all others. He had been the agent he trusted with Olivia.

Fitz felt his stomach lurch as the final piece clicked into place. Despite his suspicion of the possibility, the realization still slammed into him like a brick wall.

"You're B613," he whispered in appalled amazement. Tom stared blankly at him and said nothing.

Fitz turned for the exit and banged loudly on the steel door. "Let me out!" he demanded. If he didn't leave the room at that very moment, there was no telling what he'd unleash upon his former agent. The buzzer sounded and the door swung open outward.

"Mr. President, you can't leave me here! He will kill me!" Tom yelled out in desperation, but Fitz continued out the door. "Sir!"

Tom watched as the heavy door started to swing shut upon the President's exit. His window of opportunity was quickly vanishing. "Ms. Pope leaving was by design!" he offered. "It had been in the works for months! He knew she wouldn't leave without the right inducements, so he bided his time and came up with some. Jerry was-" The door slammed closed. "-one of them," he finished with a frustrated curse.

Almost immediately, the door behind him creaked open and he heard the guards coming into the room. The sound of heavy boots and jangling keys filled the hollow space as one of them worked to unhook the ring from its harness on his belt. The men were set to release him from the table when the front door reopened.

"Give us the room."

The guards left Tom as he was and exited through the door in which they entered.

Once all doors were shut and he was once again alone with the President, Tom said, "I need immunity."

"What you need is to start talking," Fitz countered with lethal calm. "You will start from the beginning and you will tell me everything."

That was quite the hiatus for me, yeah? Forgive me? Lots of factors contributed to that, but I'm back! I hope you all enjoyed this installment. Any theories as to what's going on here? What's Mellie doing?! Is Fitz on the right path with his suspicions? Is Olivia's information solid? Hmm. Stay tuned! And thanks for reading. :)