Cold Fusion

By Morganperidot

1.

Jake had been silent after Mellie's coronation at the convention and during the drive to Olivia's apartment, and he remained silent once they were inside. Olivia followed him to the kitchen, where he quietly took out a bottle of wine and a couple of wine glasses and then proceeded to deftly wield a corkscrew to remove the cork from the bottle.

"How long are you going to stay angry?" Olivia asked.

Jake set the corkscrew and cork on the counter and filled each glass half full with the dark red wine, then held one out to her. "Does it matter?" he asked, as she took it from him. Before she could answer, he took his glass and walked past her and out of the kitchen. She set the glass down and then watched as he went to the sofa, sat, and flicked on the TV, flipping the channels until he settled on an old sitcom.

Olivia walked over to the sofa but didn't sit. "Did you really think I was going to leave the campaign to play house with you?" she asked. He sipped his wine and didn't look at her or respond. "You know how much I've put into this campaign," she said. "I can't just walk away from that."

"Or the possibility of having the Oval," Jake said, his gaze still on the television.

"I'm not the one who is going to be President," Olivia said.

Jake looked at her then. "At least he's honest," he said.

"Who?" Olivia asked, but she knew. "My father," she said. "So now what, you regret asking me to get you out?" Jake smiled humorlessly and looked back at the TV. "Say it," Olivia said. "There's obviously some smart-ass…"

"I really believed that deep down you were different," Jake said.

His words hit their mark inside her, but Olivia sidestepped them. "You knew what was going on," she said. "We'd already announced you as the VP selection. We couldn't just go out at the convention and say there was no running mate…"

"Don't you mean Mellie couldn't say that?" Jake asked. He brought his steely gaze back to her. "This is why Cyrus will always be second rate. He thinks being the VP himself is going to get him the power back. But that isn't where the power is. It isn't even in the Oval. All of that is just the smoke and mirrors, deflection." He smiled again, a dark smile that indicated his twisted appreciation of something he didn't respect. "You were there, with him, the President," he said. "You could have been his wife. But that wasn't it; that wasn't what you needed. There is only one thing you've ever really needed, and it has nothing to do with love or any kind of future with anyone. All you've ever needed is what your father has, what he is. All you've ever needed is to be Command."

His words slid through Olivia like a cold blade. "You should go home to your wife," she said.

"Are those my orders?" Jake asked quietly. "I will do as Command tells me."

"Get the hell out," Olivia said strongly and evenly.

"I will obey," Jake said. He set the glass on a table, then stood and snapped his heels together before saluting sharply. Then he moved to walk to the door, and Olivia didn't think about; she grabbed his arm and turned him toward her. They were so close that they were almost touching. Her heart was pounding hard, and she could feel his cold fury flowing in tangible waves. For an endless minute they just stood there like that, staring into each other's eyes, resisting the pull between them, challenging each other to withdraw or give in. And then suddenly they were mashed together, lips crushing, hands moving fast to rip and tear. The combustion was fast and furious, angry and passionate, inescapable, and totally consuming.

2.

"Crap," Jake said, his voice calm. "I think I broke something."

Olivia laughed. "Nothing important," she said. They were lying on the floor wrapped in a soft, warm purple comforter that Olivia had yanked out of a closet. She slid a hand over his bare, muscular chest, and he closed his eyes. "Better?" she asked. He smiled softly, and the tightness in her heart relaxed a bit. "You want to tell me now how I'm like my father?" she asked.

Jake opened his eyes and looked at her. "No," he said.

"Good," Olivia said. There was silence for a moment, and she knew she had to give him something. "I'm sorry about the house," she said. "I shouldn't have been so dismissive."

Jake sighed and turned his gaze to the ceiling. "It was unrealistic," he said. He fell silent, and Olivia waited it out. "But I'd like something like that someday."

"I can't promise…"

"I'll take maybe," Jake said.

"Yeah?" Olivia said.

"I can hold on to maybe," Jake said.

"And that's what you want, to hold on?" Olivia asked.

"It's the only thing I want," Jake said.

Olivia thought about it seriously for a moment, about the possibility and hope of it. She knew she could crush that; she knew she had to crush the hope for it if there was no chance of it ever being real. She had to let go of him if the only thing deep inside of her was a heart rotted by her father's poisoned blood. So she searched herself for that one gleaming place inside where she could still hang a white hat.

Beside her, Jake's breathing was quiet and even. His anger was gone, but Olivia knew that hope could be more destructive. It was best to just tear it out by roots. It was more compassionate to destroy it in one fell swoop rather than let it wither on its own. She knew Jake would survive. He would be different, like she was different, but sometimes that was how things were meant to be.

Olivia closed her eyes and dug deeper, under all of the piles of garbage festering inside of her. She felt hopelessness lurking in a dark corner of her mind, waiting to pounce. She could be Command; she knew that. She could be cold to the bone. All she had to do was let go, and letting go was easy, so much easier than fighting. But was that what she was, a quitter, someone who caved to biology? Was she her father? And then she saw it there, under piles of lies and mistakes and misdirection. It was dim, and it was tarnished; but it was still there. Integrity. It was still there.

She reached for Jake's hand and intertwined her fingers with his. Olivia felt him tense in preparation for the blow. He didn't withdraw his hand from hers, but he also didn't move his gaze to her. Soldier, she thought, so strong and yet so vulnerable, so easy to break. It was a terrible thing to have that kind of power over someone. But love gave that power. Love gave everything. "I can do maybe," she said.

Jake looked at her, the surprise clear in his expression. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," Olivia said. She smiled.

Jake smiled then too. "Thank you," he said.

"It isn't going to be easy—or soon," Olivia said.

"OK," Jake said.

"You're going to have to have some patience…"

"I can do patience," Jake said.

"You're sure this…"

"Yes," Jake said. "I'm sure."

"OK," Olivia said. She moved closer to him and slid easily into his embrace. "Thank you."

"I love you," Jake said.

"I know," Olivia said, but she added quickly, "I love you, too." She sighed. "But you have to go. We don't want your wife dumping you as soon as you're on the ticket. That wouldn't look good for a Republican campaign."

"I know," Jake said. "Later."

"It's already late," Olivia said.

"I know," Jake said. "Later."

Olivia laughed and snuggled closer. "OK," she said.