You know what happens if a bored nurse or arrogant doctor tweets that the President, same one who was shot in the head ten months ago, is in the hospital in the middle of the night? Markets panic. Reporters swarm. DEFCON levels change.
I'm asking you to be an adult. Stop holding your breath. Quit stomping your feet. It's time to pick up your toys like a good girl and act like the First Lady of the United States of America.
Tell Fitz he has 36 hours to convince me in person that he regrets the unfortunate choices he's made and truly wants to recommit himself to his wife and children. If he doesn't, he will have the pleasure of seeing the First Lady of the United States call her husband a whore-loving bastard on national television.
I just cannot believe, after everything the President has survived... That sad little bout with Amanda Tanner and Billy Chambers, an assassination attempt? Who would have thought it would be his own wife who finally brings him down? Well, you know what the Bible says.
Let me get this straight. Highly trained Black Ops assassins broke into your home and tried to kill you and instead of, oh, making a run toward reason, instead of the possibility of death making you decide that maybe it's better to be single, you have decided that the killers were merely firing heart-shaped bullets made out of bubbles and candy to signify that you and your boyfriend Fitzy are MFEO, made for each other?
I've moved Heaven and Earth to save you from yourselves. I have lied for you. I have stolen for you. I have cheated for you. I have killed for you. I have almost died for you. And you, you two are so stupid and romantic and high on your own doomed love, Romeo and Juliet, Dear Diary nonsense that you won't even save your own lives, but I am being dramatic? The love of your life is a red-handed, cold-blooded killer. That is what you're dealing with. That is who you love.
No, you listen to me. I may not have the Cytron card anymore, but I do have my conscience. And there's a hell of a lot of noise I can make if I don't think you're worthy of the moral sacrifice I made.
Of course I resent it. But somewhere in this head of mine, behind the fog, behind the anger, is my faint recollection that what we do is important, that my husband died for a reason, that his death matters. So, instead of going home and crying about it like I'm going to do, I need you to get back in there, back in that little white building with all those miserable people inside of it and do the job for both of us. Because it's not just that family you're putting back together. It's the whole damn country.
I'll tell him you call every day. I'll tell him you call, asking about him every day, that you're pining for him. Sorry to be such a bastard, Liv. Craving meat really brings out the worst in me.
It's not the same. My child. Your husband. It's not the same.
Cyrus
I keep hearing that. The loss of a child is greater. I resent that, never having lost a child. I resent having to feel like losing the love of my life, the only someone who ever made me feel like I was truly me, is less of a loss, is smaller than your loss. I am now broken. I'm not me. I'm forever changed. I'm undone. A broken heart is a broken heart. To take a measure is cruelty.