Frémont Memorial Hospital

Mellie sits very still, on a couch. She's in a catatonic state.

Fitz watches. He's tempted to feel bad about this...but oddly, he doesn't know if he should. He was just being a human when he came home...and the Afroasian President was being TOO human...and not to mention too feminine. And to think that everyone back in Fitz's home state considers her too manly for the philogynist label...

The nurse hesitates, before approaching Fitz. She may have a job to do, but even she's human enough to realize that being in the presence of the President is a big deal.

Fitz doesn't look up. "You can tell me what's wrong with her, ma'am," he calls her. "I didn't join the military because I can't handle bad news."

Embarrassed, she scurries towards him. Her collar is unbuttoned. "There is none, actually," she hiccups, "Mr. President. Your wife is...uh, the First Lady, is just in a catatonic state, and we just have to wait until she resumes responding to her usual," she hiccups, "stimuli."

"And, what are the odds that this catatonic state isn't some sort of cocoon, that'll transform my wife into someone other than who I remember?"

She hesitates. "Ah well, I don't have much experience with this kind of thing, but based on my education, and my humanity as well, with your permission..."

"We're all humans, Nurse. You should never have to apologize for that." He looks at her. "I know I'm a rightist, but I'm not crazy...unlike my Chief of Staff, or a plethora of the men who elected me."

"Oh," she straightens her hair, and stares into his eyes. "Really?!"

Fitz glances down. "The diagnosis," he mutters, "if you don't mind?"

"Oh! Right. As for the supernatural transformation thing, your wife's got about a fifty/fifty chance. I don't know what the First Lady's biography is, no offense..."

"None taken. I'm actually starting to wonder if I even know what her biography is."

"Oh," she straightens her hair, and stares into his eyes. "Really?!"

Fitz sighs. "So you're saying that my wife is okay?"

"Of course," she clears her throat. "Sorry. I'll leave you alone with her." She nearly trips as she returns to her work.

Fitz sighs. "The imbalances of humanity," he mutters. "When will the hills ever be flattened? By someone other than Bo and Luke Duke in the General Lee, I mean."

In her catatonic state, Mellie continues to stare into space. Fitz can't believe no one's bothered to undress her, or better accommodate for her. She's the First Lady, after all. Fitz would sue the hospital...if he thought he actually loved Mellie, and if he wasn't in special protection.

Fitz won't be able to stay in the Grey House for a while, no thanks to that RPG that would've assassinated him if not for...if not for the Afroasian President. He won't be able to interact with the press, either. On the upside, he won't have to spend his time in protective custody with Mellie, unless she sobers up from her catatonic state before then. On the downside-which, to Fitz, doesn't really FEEL as down as it is-he will have to spend it with Ms. Ophir.

Guards stand at most of the windows in the hospital. As much as most of them probably hate the President, they get paid good money to make sure his heart keeps beating; and in one of those bags that keeps a heart donation alive while in transit doesn't count.

At last, Fitz leaves his wife alone. His attending to her, after all, is always more of a performance for those questionable rightists, who got him elected, who ever wonder if it's okay for a man to leave his wife. He gets nothing from it. He's seriously starting to wonder if he ever did.

He stops by a fish tank. An electric eel swims inside it. For the time being, he's helping the President with his security. Most cops and warriors don't have the self-esteem to communicate with the President directly (big surprise).

"My wife is fine," he tells the knifefish. "How am I doing?"

YOU ARE IN NO NOTICEABLE DANGER, MR. PRESIDENT, the knifefish says telepathically. BUT FOR SECURITY, PROTOCOL DICTATES THAT YOU MUST RETURN TO THE FORT IN A CONVOY.

"I understand. Will I be able to come back here and check on Mellie?"

WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT? YOU DON'T LOVE HER.

Fitz stares at him.

SORRY, MR. PRESIDENT. I'M A TELEPATH; I CANNOT HELP BUT OVERHEAR YOUR MARITAL DOUBT.

"I forgive you. Just...don't tell anyone."

OF COURSE NOT. I AM NOT QUALIFIED TO TELL.

"It's just that... I don't want her to stay here if she's going to get better, and I need to make sure she gets back to the Grey House after this is all over."

SHE'S THE FIRST LADY. DO YOU REALLY EXPECT HER TO GET LOST WHERE THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND?

"No. I just don't expect her to protect herself from terrorists, or rapists, if any of the above come hunting for her; not that I'd empathize with them, if it was sex they wanted." He looks around. "Can't imagine why it would be. She looks like Betsy Ross with CTS."

SHE WILL BE TAKEN BACK TO KENTUCKY AVENUE WHEN IT IS TIME. FOR NOW, YOU ARE THE HEART OF YOUR COUNTRY; AND DEPENDING ON THE SIZE OF THE THREAT TO YOU THAT R.P.G. REPRESENTS, IT WILL TAKE MORE THAN A SIMPLE RIBCAGE TO PROTECT YOU.

A convoy takes the President back to the fort, where he and Ophir will stay. They spread themselves out, to make it a little less obvious to passing locals that there's an ultra-sensitive person somewhere aboard.

From where he sits, the President looks out a small porthole, into the wilderness of where he's being hidden. Someone out there wants him dead...and he sure as hell hopes it won't come down to hiring Olivia Pope to find out who and why.