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Jake Ballard is a predator, an animal, a killing machine. And just because you've decided to turn a blind eye to that doesn't make it any less true. So, your boyfriend--your other boyfriend--is currently being interrogated in the bowels of the Pentagon, where he will eventually confess to his crimes after which, it is my profound hope, he will be executed. And the next time you need me, the next time you want to chat, you will find me dancing on his grave.
Fitz: Mellie's in the residence.
Cyrus: Respectfully, sir, she's probably drunk, and in a coma from too much fried chicken. You're safe there.
Abby: You make it hard for me to do my job. You undermine me here with Olivia Pope at every turn. You keep secrets from me. You make me feel...small.
Cyrus: Red, there are things that happen here in this big White House with this particular President that you will never, ever know about. Some of those things, many of those things, will involve Olivia Pope. Several of those things will make it hard for you to do your job, but you are a patriot. You are a fighter. And so you will soldier on. As for feeling small, I don't do that to you. I suspect jealousy does that to you. My advice on that is this. You are not Olivia. You will never be Olivia. Hating Olivia for your own shortcomings will not change that fact.
Red, you are not in the bubble. Stay out of the First Lady's business.
- Permalink: Red, you are not in the bubble. Stay out of the First Lady's business.
Cyrus: Liv's on it.
Abby: You're not even a little concerned?
Cyrus: Oh, I'm concerned. I'm concerned that Fitzgerald Grant's second term as President of these United States is about to be derailed because his wife won't stop eating fried chicken long enough to put on a cocktail dress. I'm concerned that our enemies are sharpening their long knives for the rapidly approaching moment when it becomes acceptable to point out that maybe, just maybe, the President's homelife has begun to affect his decision making. I am concerned that everything I have devoted far more of my soul to than has ever been right or healthy or appropriate is about to come crashing down on a 16 year old's grave. But no, I am not concerned that Olivia Pope will fail. I am never concerned that Olivia Pope will fail.
Mellie: 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.
Sorry to be such a bastard, Liv.
- Permalink: Sorry to be such a bastard, Liv.
Cyrus: You could call a friend.
Olivia: Are we? Still friends?
Cyrus: I need a favor.
- Permalink: I need a favor.
You really want to pretend we don't all know how this movie ends? It's not going to be a surprise, Sir. It's rather predictable, really, she's Olivia. You're Fitz. At a certain point in time, the two of you are going to find yourselves together in the same room. The ancipation relentless, isn't it? We all know what happens next. We've seen this movie a hundred times.
Do you need to validate your broomstick or can you find your way out on your own?
Olivia: How did we get like this? When did we stop being people?
Cyrus: Were we ever people? Or did serving at the pleasure of the President just help us to shed our pesky skins and unmask us as the monsters we really are?
Olivia: We're going to win the election now. They lost their child. America will rally behind them.
Cyrus: We're going to win. I hadn't really thought about it.
Olivia: I did. A child is dead and that's the first thing that popped into my head.
Cyrus: I was going to let that church blow up with everyone in it.
- Permalink: I was going to let that church blow up with everyone in it.