Scene 1 – Setting the stage

Author´s note: Not sure yet whether or not this is going to be a one shot, so far this is more an attempt to delve into some minds, flesh out some thoughts and get the tact to which the characters tick. However, this might develop into more of a steady storyline, mostly Fitz´ point of view on how his relationship with Olivia started out, based on a series of ´missing scenes´ and scene references.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing these guys for some good fun. I´m gonna put them back to where I found them unharmed. Mostly.

„I do not buy it. I do not buy it even one minute."

"Well and there I was, thinking that I had quite some impressive acting skills."

Her response to his words, slightly drawled and accompanied with a lazy smile, maybe just to put her on edge a little, was a stern glance and he could tell the only reason Olivia Pope wasn´t rolling her eyes was that she might see that as something immature. For a moment she just gave him that look. That are-you-kidding-me-look that nobody else dared to give him any more. Except his father who had other ways of putting him in line and telling him about the role he had to play. When exactly had people stopped daring to cross him? Did it come with the title? Candidate? Or earlier? Senator? Was it enough for people to be able to imagine you sitting behind the Resolute Desk that made them stop giving you the cheeks, dreading the consequences, hushing out of intimidation or some inbred kind of respect that came with a title? He doubted it was the latter and he hated that kind of thing. It made him feel isolated. But she was giving him none of that bull crap.

Which was why he was so often trying to bring it out some more in her. That spirit. With a little defiance in his voice. With the ghost of a smile, giving her an impression that he was taking things maybe just a tad too lightly. His attempt at loosening her up whereas he knew that she wouldn´t. She was a professional through and through.

"Sir," that one word sounded ernest, focused. Entirely professional. He didn´t like her calling him that. Sir. So distanced. Putting herself at the same distance towards himself as almost everyone around him did, including his wife even though she called him different. Sir. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly, lifted his shoulders in the hint of a shrug. "It seems staged." she continued. "It´s a puppet show put on for the viewers, it doesn´t seem real, it seems like you´re some awkward kind of prom couple matched by others because you look good together."

Another of those things that nobody else would dare tell him. Not even Cyrus. But then again it was something Cyrus would never say. He had liked Mellie immediately. ´The wife´s perfect.´ In a way she was. Too perfect. Like a pretty picture in a frame.

He was wondering what to say but not too much, because he had learned by now that sometimes it was easier to let her vent. It made her glow, made her eyes vivid. He liked that about her, the way she was so passionate, the way she got so into what she was doing. His smile might have broadened a little, because he could tell from the spark in her eyes that she was not pleased. That she might be thinking he was making fun of her. His smile sobered and her eyes softened a bit. Not entirely.

"The interview went well, the pictures look good, good enough for a mostly conservative high gloss magazine audience but when we go out there this afternoon you have to be more convincing."

"And how do you suggest I do this, Olivia?" He had gotten to his feet, walked towards the edge of a table clustered with paperwork and grabbed a water bottle, unscrewing it while looking at her. She had answer for that at the ready as well. "It is just important that it doesn´t look staged. It´s little things. Little touches, things like that, smiles, looks. Do not keep that distance between each other like you can´t even stand to be around each other. Take her hand, turn towards her and you're your body language. You´re not … friends who have become estranged, you´re a potential First Couple and people do like fairy tales so whether or not it´s the truth if you want to get the voters you have to get their hearts. If you want women to vote for you, at least pretend to be in love and make it look real." Her words were fast. He had noticed she used to speed up her words when she wanted to make a point. A little faster but very enunciated just like she wanted to make sure every word was understood.

"Who tells you I´m not?"

"Sir?"

"Who tells you I´m not in love?" He placed the water bottle aside and turned towards a small mirror, adjusting his left cufflink. Raised his eyes to meet hers in the mirror. She kept his glance for not even a second, then looked away. "Senator…" That word could mean many things. It might mean "I don´t want to talk about this." or simply. "Don´t." Right now though it might be that with a good deal of "Get a move on, we´re running late" thrown in. In any of those combinations she was not in a mood to be messed with. He gave her another glance and she still wasn´t meeting his gaze, she was checking her watch, then briefly glanced at him. He smiled back at her and the corners of her mouth briefly twitched upwards before she regained her control. Part of him, the part he knew he needed to keep stored away, wondered whether he could make her lose control if he wanted. If he really tried. He shook his head slightly, a move that would look slightly out of context to her, but he couldn´t help it. "…we´re running late." She ended the slightly awkward silence and he decided not to torment her. "All right." He grabbed his suit jacket that had been draped across the back of a chair. "Let´s do this." A few steps towards her with no intentions at all, even though his mind briefly played them out and she stepped aside, not to avoid contact (or maybe that´s just what it was?) but to let him pass, right now just the professional girl he had hired then fired then rehired and who had somehow, impressively and inescapably become the driving force behind his campaign. As he stepped past her he wondered how he managed to adore that about her and at the same time despise being pushed. Pushed again. Do this, do that. Smile for the cameras. Hold hands with your wife. Smile again.

Did the path to the White House really have to be paved with little, staged moments like this? Was that what really mattered? Why not just be himself? What if he just did things his own way? Would he fail? Was he really that incapable to achieve things on his own? He pushed the thought aside. Failing was no word that was even supposed to be in his vocabulary, there had been someone that had seen to that even though he had kept the threat of failure as a constant, uncomfortable reminder at the edge of his mind. Smile for the cameras. Wave. Be charming. Choose the right moment to smile, to wave, to pat the head of a child, to give a lady in the crowd a wink, to use a second hand to clasp the hand of someone you meet, the right moment for a pat on the back, a nod, the right kind of intonation. How was she even different from all the others in his life he sometimes wondered.

He tossed her a glance and this time it was met with the hint of a smile. "You can do it." A small nod to accompany that as she walked past him. "It´s not you you have to fake. You´re good as you are. The rest you´ll easily be able to pull of, Sir." No, he answered his question to himself. You can do it. You, Fitzgerald Grant. I believe in you. She was so not like the others. Not at all.