Still by HandsUpPunk08

Category: Scandal
Genre: Hurt-Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Characters: Fitzgerald G./Fitz, Olivia P.
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23 15:06:37
Updated: 2016-02-18 22:52:00
Packaged: 2016-02-19 05:46:15
Rating: M
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,221
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Summary: For once, Fitz was taking control of their relationship in a way that
she might understand. Post 5x09.
 1. Still
A/N: Obviously, most of us had some feelings about 5x09. I'm a Fitz-stan at
heart, and I this idea came to me. I couldn't let it go, so I let it expand and
wrote it out. This might not be super well-received and that's alright. I feel
like there's at least someone out there that will get it. As usual, I want to
thank those who supported me, gave feedback, and put up with my ramblings
as I worked through it: CMW2/trumpetnista, my amazing partner in crime.
Trininadz, for listening and doing the first read through for me. And
sugarsugar95 for letting me bounce ideas off of her for a segment that I was
having trouble with. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Still

I want every single piece of you.

Fitz had always adored the way her skin looked against white sheets. The
way she looked when she wore white in general, which was often. The dim
light of the room put that image on showcase for him as he moved over her
with an ease known only by long-time lovers. Her body was practically
humming beneath him, vibrating with desire as his hips thrust against hers.

"Mmm, baby, right there," Olivia groaned, kissing his neck as she
encouraged him on.

His thrusts were long and deep. Firm. Sure and unfaltering.

"You feel so good," he murmured.

He kissed her deeply, lovingly, pouring his heart out as he showed her
affection. She mirrored him, from head to toe, her mouth angling perfectly as
she returned his kiss. Her hips countered his rhythm, right in sync, never
missing a beat. He hitched her legs up higher where they were around him
and she gasped as the shift pressed him deeper. Her eyes rolled back as he
hit the spot over and over.
"Fitz…"

"Come for me, Livvie."

"Shit! Baby—"

Fitz woke with a start. His face and neck were flushed. Hot. His breath was
labored. And his cock was so hard it was throbbing. He was alone in his bed
in the Residence, with nothing and no one to comfort any of the aches that he
felt.

It had felt so real.

He had felt her there with him, her skin against his, as if she had really been
there. He had breathed in the scent of her perfume. He had felt the clenching of
her sex around him. He had heard her breath hitching as he made love to her.
He had felt her lips pressing to his neck.

It was bad enough that he longed for her everyday on an emotional level. But
when his libido got involved, his anguish for her peaked annoyingly. It had
been six weeks, almost to the day. Almost fifty days without her. He had gone
longer, sure, but it was different. The fight they had had before she packed her
bags and left. The harsh words they had said to each other.

"…live in this cage for you, and not breathe for you?! Tell me, what must I
do to prove that I am forever indebted to you for saving my father's life?!
Be your housewife? Your girlfriend? Your property?!"

"Fuck!" he snarled, flinging his pillow across the dark room.

How could he be so angry with someone and still want them so desperately?
They had done this before, over and over. Gotten together, been smitten over
each other, and then fought about something and went their separate ways. It
was a dance that they knew by heart, it seemed. They said things that they knew
would hurt the other. Some of those wounds Fitz was still nursing. She knew
him so well. Olivia knew just what to say to poke a sharp stick into his various
insecurities.
"So you're bitter. Is that it? After realizing how ineffectual you actually
are?"

He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding subconsciously as he hauled himself out
of the bed.

It wasn't the first time that he had been burdened by dreams of her. Dreams of
what they had. Of what they could have had. He wondered if she had them too.
Dreams about him. If she even cared about him enough after everything they
had been through to have such thoughts. He wondered if she was feeling so
conflicted inside, just as he was. Wanting her with every fiber of his being but
still so frustrated with her. He wondered if she still wanted him. If she could
breathe without him. Because despite the walls that had been thrown up
between them, Fitz couldn't still couldn't breathe without her. He was still
hanging on by a thread.

He knew how he could find out if she was still hanging on to him.

He poked his head out of the double doors to the Residence where he knew an
agent was posted.

"Phil, get the car ready. Just you and Bruce. As discreet as possible, please."

Phil nodded curtly and got out his phone, relaying the orders and handling the
arrangements.

He stepped back inside and got dressed. Pulling on a pair of jeans, Fitz
rummaged through the closet. He found a navy blue sweater and put it on. With
a glance in the mirror, he ran his fingers through his sleep-worn hair a few
times to tame it and grabbed his NAVY ball cap, snow boots, and peacoat. Not
only had the weather grown cold, but he wasn't trying to be seen and
recognized. The press had finally started to die down with all of the 'Poor
POTUS' articles that had taken over the new cycles for a few weeks after
Olivia had moved out of the White House. He wasn't about to get them stirred
back up into a frenzy over nothing.

Once he was bundled up, Fitz stepped out into the foyer and the agents nodded
that everything was ready to go.
He was thankful that he didn't have to wait.

He might lose his nerve.

His knuckles rapped on her door soundly. It wasn't all that late. He was sure
she was up. Olivia had always been a bit of a night owl, staying up late and
surviving on little sleep. He felt her presence on the other side of the door,
surely looking through the peephole, trying to decide if she would open it. Fitz
forced himself to hold onto the thin wisp of patience that he had left. What he
really wanted to do was kick the door in. To make his presence known. To
remind her that he still fucking existed. That he still wanted her. That he still
loved her, even when she didn't deserve it.

After a moment, the door opened and his heart accelerated in his chest at the
sight of her. But he tried to focus and didn't let the brilliant smile that
threatened to break his composure stretch across his mouth. She was beautiful
as always, but she looked exhausted in ways that he knew sleep couldn't cure.
Because it was the same kind of tired that he saw when he looked in the mirror
each morning. She wore her favorite white silk pajama pants with a black
camisole over them, her shoulders warmed by a thick knit grey shawl.

His eyes easily found the spot on her clavicle that he loved, open and bare.
Begging for him to kiss it.

"Fitz…" she cautioned him halfheartedly as he stepped closer to her, breaching

the doorway.

She didn't put up a fight and let him brush past her. Once inside, Fitz shrugged
off his coat.

"Close the door, Olivia," he ordered in a voice that was soft but taking charge.

She did as he asked and watched carefully, moving further away from him as
he hung his coat on the rack. Unsure of what was happening exactly. He turned
to face her and her knees weakened at the heated stare he set on her. His steps
were slow but confident as he walked to her, closing the distance. Stalking his
prey.
I love the way your body moves towards me from across the room.

He was all masculine dominance. Every movement. Every gaze and

expression. Every breath he took. She had missed the way he commanded her
body in a way that no one else could. She loved the subtle power that flowed
from his every pore. It never failed to make her wet for him. When he looked at
her that way. When he advanced on her with a slow precision that rarely failed
him.

They both knew why he was there.

Once he was close enough, Fitz moved her shawl aside, fully exposing her
neck and right shoulder to him. He brushed teasing kisses along the column of
her neck, descending to her collarbone, to her shoulder.

"Fitz, we can't—" she began in protest.

He challenged her, as he so often did.

"Tell me you don't want me and I'll leave."

They both knew she couldn't.

And she didn't try to lie.

She pulled him to her lips, her hands pushing his cap onto the floor in favor of
delving into his curls as she kissed him thoroughly. Holding nothing back. It
had been too long since she had kissed him. Since she had been that close to
him. She took in the understated scent of his cologne and pulled him closer to
her, feeling like she had arrived home after a long vacation in a foreign land.
He spoke her language. He was her shelter from the storm. Even when he was
the storm.

His hands shoved her shawl away completely. She was wearing too much. He
needed her bare and under him. Moaning. Writhing in response to his touch.

Jerking at the drawstring of her pants, Fitz untied them and they dropped to the
floor soundlessly. His fingers pushed at her panties. He pushed them down
over her hips just far enough until they dropped too. Wasting no time, he pulled
her cami over her head and tossed it aside.

Finally, she was naked for him.

Before he could do anything else, Olivia fiercely tugged his sweater upward
and off of him, uncovering his toned torso for her eyes to see. For her hands to
touch. Which they did. She smoothed her hands over his chest and stomach,
moaning at the feel of the planes of muscle there, which contracted as she
touched him. It was that easy for her to get lost in him. In his body. In the way
that he captivated her in every way.

He scooped her up in a firm grip and placed her onto the couch, kicking off his
boots as his body tumbled with her somewhat clumsily.

Let me fall into your gravity.

His mouth ghosted over her skin in delicate kisses before capturing one of her
nipples, sucking it softly. Her head fell back and she whimpered with need.
His fingers rubbed her, teasing her, testing to see if she was ready for him. And
she was. She was soaked. For him.

"Get inside of me, Fitz," she breathed in impatience.

She hastily shoved his jeans and boxers down just far enough to allow his
erection to spring forth and to free his hips.

Treat me soft, but touch me cruel.

He pressed into her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely and not giving
her time to adjust to him. With no notice, he started to buck against her roughly.
He sighed in the relief he felt at finally rejoining with her. Wincing at first as
he stretched her so abruptly, she grasped the back of his neck and pulled him
down for an eager kiss, clinging to him. Needing more. Needing him closer.
They might have been making love in his dream, but Fitz needed to fuck her.
His ability to be tender with her had walked out the door when she did.

It didn't take long for her to start moaning as she accommodated him, her body
relaxing some. He allowed himself the smallest proud grin. Proud of both of
them. Him for the skillful way he loved her. Her for letting him do it. Even if
she was only letting him in for that moment. Even if the threw her walls right
back up after it was over. He took her savagely, like he was starved and she
was the meal he had been ravenous for. Craving. Because she had been the
only thing for which he had hungered. Nothing and no one could so much as
scratch his surface when she was able to shatter it. No amount of scotch and no
ordinary piece of ass could distract him from the memory of her. He hadn't
even tried. She had wrecked him beyond repair.

They swallowed the groans they pulled from each other as they kissed
breathlessly, with a fervor that burned. Their teeth bumped and their tongues
danced with the want. The desire that had been building up since they had last
seen each other. Olivia gripped his shoulders and rotated her hips up against
each of his thrusts, countering him, pressing him deeper inside of her. He
gasped against her lips and moved faster, harder, losing control. He was
submerged in her, drowning. Her moans grew louder and she bit into his
shoulder, making him hiss and curse. It was nearly over, and Fitz didn't want to
let go of her.

Not yet.

Pull me in, hold me tight.

"Mmm, say it. Say it, baby," she panted, right there on the edge but waiting for
his words, the words he had so often murmured to her in their passion.

"Come for me, Olivia," He demanded in a growl, his voice low and dripping
with dominance.

No one has me like you do.

"Yes, fuck!" she moaned her back arching forcefully as she peaked.

Her nails clawed frantically at his back, which pressed him to his own release.
He grunted soundly through it and bit viciously at her neck, marking her. She
would see the marks he had left behind in the morning and she would know.
She would remember that he had been there if sleep had fogged her memory.
He was letting her know who she belonged to. Still. She still belonged to him.
She would always belong to him.

They both knew that they had ruined each other for other people.

For a moment, Fitz rested there in her arms like they were normal. Like they
were in their bedroom and he would roll over and hold her until they fell
asleep. Like they would wake up in the morning and go through their day,
knowing that they would go home to each other once it was over. Like they
hadn't let it all fall apart. She rubbed her hand up and down his back as he
caught his breath and he pressed sweet kisses to her jaw.

They were each holding onto the moment silently, without voicing how much it
would break them to let go.

Again.

"I have to go," he told her, ignoring the pang in his heart.

He gave her a breathtaking, deep kiss before he untangled himself from her and
started to gather the clothes that he had shed.

Don't let go, baby give me light.

"You…you're not staying?" she asked, her voice touched, just enough, by the
vulnerability that being with him brought on.

That, as simple as it seemed, told him what he needed to know.

She hadn't let go either. Not completely.

He looked at her and saw that his pain had spread into her, like his release.
That his presence there had brought some feelings to the surface that she had
been trying to forget. He could see it on her face, though she was fighting hard
to backpedal and conceal it from him. It was too late. She had been caught.
And he hated the part of himself that was gratified by that. By her pain. You
hurt the ones you love. Just as she had hurt him. The bigger, better parts of him
instinctively wanted to reach out, to comfort her, and to stay. To never leave.
To be there and love her, just as he always had before. But her words echoed
in the back of his mind, reminding him that it wasn't that simple anymore.
Reminding him that he needed to stay strong. That he couldn't weaken for her
anymore. He had to stand up for himself. She had spat in his face. She had
stomped on their dreams, calling them folly.

"There is no us! There is no this! There is no Vermont! There is no jam!

There is no future! Not anymore."

"Early meetings," he said sharply, pulling his sweater over his head and
buttoning his jeans.

A lie, but he wasn't staying. He could, but he wouldn't. He had already made
that decision before he arrived. She didn't deserve that from him. The after.
The real intimacy that she had discarded when she walked away from him for
what felt like the millionth time. She had lost the right to that. There was a
point when he thought she deserved everything. When he would have caught the
world on a string for her, given her everything he could. But that day had
passed. At least for a while. He wasn't perfect, by any means, but she had hurt
him in ways that only she could for the last time.

For once, Fitz was taking control of their relationship in a way that she might
understand.

"You want to do lunch one day next week?" she ventured, suddenly sounding a
touch desperate to see him again.

Baby don't let the lights go down.

Olivia wrapped the nearby throw around herself as she peered over at him
where he was putting on his boots, suddenly chilled without his body to keep
her warm. She made it seem like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't thrown
away his love like yesterday's garbage. It infuriated him and made him
nauseous, but he wouldn't dare let her know it.

"Maybe," he shrugged noncommittally as he tied his laces. "Call Charlotte

and see what my schedule looks like."
They both knew what that meant. If he really wanted something to happen, he
handled his schedule. He rearranged and made room for it. There would be no
lunch date. She wouldn't be getting back into his life that easily. If she really
wanted back in, she would have to earn it. She would have to create a place
for herself again.

We play so dirty in the dark. 'Cause we are living worlds apart.

Fitz stood again and ran his hand through his hair to settle it where she had
surely mussed it. He looked down at her, a flash of sincerity in his eyes before
he could catch it. Her lips were in a slight pout and he couldn't stop himself
from leaning down and kissing her, with more emotion than he intended behind
the gesture.

Even when he tried to be impassive with her, she seemed to draw his love out
from the corners of his heart. It was no simple task to hide from her.

"Nice couch," he remarked, as he straightened back up.

And with just a few steps to cross the room, Fitz grabbed his coat from the
rack, opened the door and closed it behind him, without so much as another
glance back at her. Leaving his ball cap abandoned on her floor.

She heard the elevator doors close, and it was only then that Olivia released
the sob that she had been holding back.

I miss you…
 2. Press Forward
A/N: Alright, guys. So Still was supposed to be a one-shot, but ctron164
(Tumblr) put some ideas into my head and with her 'ghost-writing' influence,
I wrote this. We have more ideas and plan on continuing with this wild, but
fun, project that we have started together. Also, the last chapter was inspired
by I Miss You by Adele. Forgot to mention it.

Hope you enjoy! Any and all feedback is appreciated!

Press Forward

When he left her apartment that night, Fitz had taken Olivia's whole heart with
him. There was no denying it. First, she hurt. She cried, sobbed, until she had
no tears left. Her eyes raw and puffy from releasing all of the emotions she had
pent up. It felt like he had literally shoved his fist into her chest and removed
her heart. The aching emptiness that he had left behind made her curl up in a
ball in her bed for days, wearing the NAVY sweatshirt of his that she had taken
from his closet. She only moved when a bodily function required it. She hoped
for a numb feeling to wash over her. To drown the hurt and cleanse her of it.
But it never came.

Next was anger, which filled her completely. To the brim. From the crown of
her head to the balls of her feet. She raged for about a week. Furious that he
had the gall to show up in the middle of the night, fuck her, and then leave.
How dare he push into her apartment and touch her that way with no intention
of following through with anything more? If she could have stifled the negative
emotions she would have realized that it was simply karma, coming right back
around to bite her in the ass with a vengeance. She had been played and beaten
at her own game. That was really why she was angry.

But it was the overwhelming jealousy that really broke her. When photos of
him venturing out into the dating world with various female members of the DC
elite began to surface, Olivia was beside herself with envy. They were all
beautiful, she had to admit. Various races, surely to show that he didn't have a
'type.' All wildly successful or well on their way to it. Any of them would have
looked great on his arm.

But they weren't her, and that was a fact that she simply could not bear.

She didn't date. In fact, she hardly allowed herself to see anyone besides Abby
and her Gladiators. It was home and work on repeat. Anything else seemed
like entirely too much effort. She thrived on the monotonous routine. It wasn't
as if she didn't have date offers. Olivia had never lacked those. She was
attractive. It was something that she had allowed herself to believe after being
assured so enough times, particularly by Fitz. But she was not mentally on the
market, so she didn't allow herself to be distracted in that way by the men that
begged for her favor. And they tried. But she always declined their offers as
politely as she could manage. It wasn't as though she didn't long for something
to soothe her loneliness.

She just knew that no one could heal her but Fitz.

In the evenings as she watched the news, she would stare at the television
whenever he appeared. Her gaze fixated on him, tracing every detail,
wondering what he had been thinking and feeling in that moment if she couldn't
quite read him. All of her feelings would gather in the pit of her stomach,
weighing her down onto her spot on the couch as she watched him longingly.
Her hurt. Her anger. Her jealousy. They joined her party of pity, sidled up next
to her wineglass and bowl of popcorn.

She wasn't sure she had ever felt more alone, and she had no one to blame but
herself.

It had been over twenty years since Fitz had been a single man, but he found
that the dating game hadn't changed all that much. Even in his younger days,
because of his wealth and who his father was, women rarely saw him for who
he was: just a man with a big heart, looking to love and be loved. Just like
anyone else. It was even truer as a single and dating POTUS. Every woman
had an agenda. No one wanted to date Fitz. They all wanted to date Fitzgerald
Thomas Grant III, President of the United States. It was disheartening, but it
was all that he had. The one love, the one true love that he had found in life,
had broken his heart. She had been effectively benched.
Whether it was just for a season or permanently was yet to be determined, but
she had been taken out of the game nonetheless. She had ejected herself.

He had held onto a small scrap of hope that maybe she could come around.
That they could talk through the pain and eventually work things out. That she
would see that night at her apartment as a retaliatory punch back, that was more
than deserved, and call it even. That they could press forward, together.

But her silence in the weeks that followed told him everything that he needed
to know.

She had been given a taste of her own medicine.

He left her to lick her wounds and accepted a few of the date offers that started
to float towards him through professional channels. CEOs, prominent figures in
the Republican Party, even a couple of models who could barely hold a
conversation with a man of his intelligence. They distracted him, and that was
exactly what he needed. He didn't sleep with them, but their presence, their
attentiveness to him, was a comfort. Even if it was a façade to get to the
connections and image that he could provide them with. The press had been
there for all of it, snapping photos, writing speculation pieces, the whole nine.
They were calling him 'Grant the Gallant' because of his chivalrous nature
around women. Because of his seemingly brave approach to the life of a
bachelor after Olivia had left him

Since he had started dating, showing the nation that he wasn't going to let the
end of their relationship keep him down, his numbers had started to rise, just as
Cyrus predicted. Fitz used that momentum to get some of his ideas for bills
onto the floor of Congress and had been encouraged by the positive results he
had received. He felt like he had been a mockery for too long. President Grant
and his ineffectual reign with his inability to keep it in his pants. He intended
on reclaiming his legacy and ending his presidency on a high note. With his
proposals on bills that would strengthen gun control and reevaluate the testing
procedures in public schools, Fitz knew that he was well on his way to
creating actual change. It made the ambitious part of him dive into work, even
when his more personal, sensitive side wanted nothing more than to swim in
his scotch decanter until he didn't feel anymore.
Grace Anderson was the lucky lady who had managed to get more than a first
date with Fitz. She was just what he needed to get his numbers soaring higher,
to get fully on track with his Party, and to push through the last year of his
presidency. Which worked out, because Grace didn't seem to be in it for love.
They were in it for the optics, but at least she was nice to look at. She was tall,
well, taller than Olivia, but that didn't take much. Her skin was smooth and
porcelain pale, much to the Republican Party's delight. Blonde and with
dazzling green eyes to match her charming smile. She was a vision, if one
wanted to look at her that way.

Fitz, unfortunately, didn't.

As the CEO of the up and coming financial advising company called Here
Tomorrow, Grace certainly wouldn't shoo away the opportunity to link up with
the President. It was great PR for her and she knew it would bring success to
her company. But her thirst for success wasn't new. Grace Anderson was born
and bred in Georgia from old Republican money that branched all the way
back to the steam engine railroad days. A good ole Southern girl. She was
raised in a traditional WASP bloodline, with uncles and cousins who were in
the political game. It wasn't a new concept to her. And she pushed almost too
hard to gain his affections, even if they would be limited. She laughed a little
too hard at his jokes, which he knew were lame and corny because of Olivia
reminding him in the past. He wasn't a comedian. Grace accommodated him a
little too easily and to Fitz, it was almost desperate. She was so desperate in
wanting the influence and media coverage that came with being seen with him.
When given the choice, she chose to eat at restaurants that the press were
known to frequent or places where they could easily find them.

Regardless, politically, she was the right call. They both knew that. They had
mutual respect for each other, if nothing else, and while Fitz liked her
generally, he knew better than to think that they would ever be in love. Olivia
had looked at him as not only the man he was, but as the man he could be.
Whereas nearly everyone else saw him as a man who could do something for
them. He was sure that the love that he had for her, which he would
undoubtedly always feel coursing through his veins with every pump of his
heart, would never be replicated. She had, indeed, been the great love of his
life. He might find companionship if he was lucky, but he knew that he would
never love another quite as intensely as he had loved Olivia Pope.

God, he missed her. Her smile. It had been so infectious. A smile of such
brilliance that she rarely showed it outside of private moments that they had
shared. The way that they would communicate without words. How she could
look at him from across the room and know exactly what he was thinking. But
all of that had diminished towards the end. They had lost their grip on each
other. They had stopped dedicating time to the relationship. They had stopped
communicating at all until their feelings had finally exploded.

And she had slipped right through his fingers.

Again.

"Fitz?"

Grace's voice shook him from the spiraling thoughts that threatened to swallow
him. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. Not
entirely. If nothing more, some tiny detail or memory lingered in the dusty
corners of his mind, waiting to pounce on him in a moment of weakness. How
was it that he had a beautiful, willing, and available woman in front of him, but
he couldn't stop thinking about Olivia?

"Sorry," he muttered, offering her an apologetic smile.

He glanced over the drink menu that had been forgotten in his hands. His
stomach steeled against a wave of nausea.

Without her, he was nothing.

"I'll have the house red, please."

It seemed only fitting that he have her drink of choice since she was already
flooding his mind. Though he knew it wouldn't taste nearly as good coming
from the glass as it did when he tasted it on her lips.

Abby knew that something wasn't right. Sure, Olivia and Fitz had ended, but
they had done that repeatedly in the past. It was their routine. It didn't surprise
her all that much, frankly. But it felt different. It felt a little too real, even from
her outsider point of view. The balance that they had been holding in place for
years had shifted. She had seen Olivia here and there when she wasn't
swamped at the White House. It was clear that she was hiding behind her
layers, not wanting to appear as if she was affected at all. Her usual charade.
The President wasn't his typical, amicable self. He was back to butting heads
with anyone and everyone who dared to disagree with him. Irritable, to say the
least. It left his staff tiptoeing around him on eggshells, waiting for the next
breakdown that seemed to be brewing and bubbling under the surface.

Something was wrong.

Her intuition proved right when her phone lit up with Olivia's name as she was
locking up her office for the night.

"Hello?" she answered.

"I burnt my popcorn. I never burn my popcorn, and it's my last one, because
he ate it and—"

"Liv…" she started, but Olivia was on a roll, bordering on hysterical, but not
quite there.

"—he's walking around with that bitch on his arm and I can't—"

It was more than clear that Olivia was not in a good state of mind. Abby's
friend, who so often held her composure, even when everyone else around her
was cracking at the seams, sounded like a completely different person on the
other end of the phone. Abby needed to get to her. To see what damage control
she could do.

"Do you want more popcorn?" she offered.

"Yes. Did you know that her company has been investigated for fraud?"

"I did not. Do you need wine?"

"No, I have some. Abby, four times in just as many years."

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

Her best friend sounded manic. Her words were coming out in her fixer mode
rhythm, but Olivia wasn't fixing. It was all personal. All feelings. But as she
paused, Abby could hear her settle. As if the true weight of the situation had
found its way back onto her shoulders. The head gladiator was crumbling. She
needed someone to lean on. She needed support.

"Abby…I miss him…"

"I know, Liv. Hang on. I'll see you soon."

She used the key Olivia had given her to get in. It was no surprise that she
found her still in the kitchen, though it had been nearly an hour since they had
spoken thanks to rush hour traffic. Abby studied her where she was for a
moment, leaning against her flat palm on the counter, head bowed as she sipped
her wine. Pensive. Abby could feel her hurt floating in the air of the room,
thick and heavy. She placed the box of popcorn onto the counter and Olivia
opened it methodically, placing an envelope of it into the microwave and
pressing start. She watched it carefully this time, not wanting her comfort food
of choice to burn again.

"Popcorn isn't going to fix it, Liv," Abby pointed out, carefully.

"I know."

Olivia drained her glass and poured another, feeling the rush of alcohol warm
her. Abby remained quiet until the popcorn was finished popping and piled
into the bowl. They moved into the living room and settled onto the couch. As
usual, the news was playing on the television. It was too dense, too weary. All
of it. She had to at least try to lighten her mood.

"How is he in bed anyway? I can't imagine that you'd be this distraught over
mediocre sex," Abby mused.

Olivia coughed in surprise, her popcorn getting caught in her throat. She
glanced over at Abby in disbelief.

"C'mon. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she pressed further.

"Uh, I'll pass. I've heard enough about yours from what Kinky Sue had to
say. Are you sure you want to hear about your boss' sex life?" Olivia
inquired, raising her brow.

"I do," Abby confirmed.

Olivia sighed and placed the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table, shifting
into a more comfortable position and pulling her cardigan tighter around her
slim frame.

"Well…" she thought carefully, wanting to find an appropriate way to word the
phrase. "He might be a politician, but that's not the only way he knows how
to use his mouth."

Abby put her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, swatting at Olivia with
a throw pillow. Olivia grabbed one of her own and popped her right back,
laughing as well.

"You asked! Actually, it might be his best quality. He likes to use that
particular skill when I'm mad at him, and it usually works."

As she started talking about him in that light, she forgot that she was the
formidable Olivia Pope and that he was the President of the United States. For
a few moments, she let herself believe that they were just Fitz and Livvie. Two
people who loved each other so much that it hurt. So much that they repeatedly
broke each other. So much that she ran.

"Okay. Tell me more. How does he…measure up?" Abby questioned

suggestively.

Olivia rolled her eyes.

"You know that ridiculous purple vibrator you talked me into buying a few
years ago?" She waited until Abby nodded at the memory. "Fitz is bigger."
It was Abby's turn to choke on her wine, startled by the revelation.

"Lucky girl."

"Until I can't walk comfortably the next day," Olivia told her pointedly,
sipping from her glass.

Though she'd give anything for that post-sex soreness right then. The feeling of
being had, being possessed by him, in that way of his. There was nothing like
it, and it would definitely beat the emotional ache she felt.

"True. I shouldn't be so surprised. No man with a small penis struts around

like that."

"Abigail! But, that's funny…you're so right."

"Anything else I should know?"

"He's a biter," Olivia explained, thinking about how much she loved it when he
sank his teeth into her during sex.

"Well, that explains all of those scarves…" Abby snickered, giving Olivia a
knowing glance.

Olivia gave a shrug and they both focused back onto the television as Fitz
appeared on the screen. Speaking of the devil. Just the sight of him, not even
actually in the room, took Olivia's breath away. He was walking from Air
Force One with Cyrus at his side. She watched him laugh, but the expression
didn't quite reach his eyes. God, he was handsome. The man was in his fifties,
but he still had a youthfulness to his features. His strong jawline. His
prominent nose. The ears that turned bright red when they made love. His hair,
which had grown out in the back to form thick curls. She itched to feel them
between her fingers. No other man had left her as stunned by his physical
features as Fitz did. He wore a silvery blue tie that brought out his eyes. She
adored his eyes. They always held the depth of his feelings for her. They
always made her feel both weak and strong in a way that she couldn't describe.

"What happened?"
Her friend's question drew her back to reality, a place she would rather not be.
It made her frustrated, but mostly with herself for at least a dozen reasons.
Abby was seeing her in her moments of weakness, which were on display
instead of the way she normally hid her vulnerabilities from those looking with
the naked eye. He had left her so powerless. She didn't know if she would ever
reach her full strength again. Not after everything that had happened. Before
she could even speak, Abby handed her the nearby box of tissues, knowing she
would need them.

"It just…unraveled so quickly. I was so stupid, and I really messed it up.

When he moved me in, I felt…trapped. Like I was being punished. Doing all
of those First Lady duties, I should have known that I would have to step
into that role eventually, but I felt like it was suffocating me. I felt like I was
losing myself, my identity, the person I had worked so hard to become. I
thought that if I let Fitz set the path for us it would fix everything I had
done, everything that I did to him, that it would give us peace. But I
couldn't…I couldn't handle not being in control. I had to control
something…"

Olivia stopped short. She hadn't told anyone about the abortion. She couldn't
even bring herself to say it aloud. It wasn't even quite that she regretted the
decision, but it hadn't been her proudest moment. It wasn't a choice that she felt
she could hold her head high about. Knowing how Fitz felt about wanting
children with her. Knowing that it was once something that she had wanted too
until things had changed between them. Until the tension had started to warp the
love they felt for each other.

"He misses you too, you know. He's calling me Gabby again. Without you
there to keep him on track he's definitely distracted," Abby revealed.

Olivia watched the screen again as they played some recycled footage of the
speech he had given in the Rose Garden after their affair had gone public.
After they had started working as a team from the Oval. Before it had truly
started to fall apart. He looked so sexy. Confident. More than willing to stand
in the truth of their relationship, no matter what others thought of them. How
had she let that slip away? How had she been so selfish and reckless with the
pure love that he had offered to her on a silver platter?
"There's a gala next week for the Avon Foundation for Women. Fundraising,
a few speakers on domestic violence, the whole shebang. I could get you on
the list," Abby suggested.

She was listening, but by then, she was watching Fitz's lips as he spoke,
remembering how they had pressed to hers so passionately. Right there where
they were sitting. Even though the volume was turned down, Olivia knew what
he was saying. She had written the speech with him. They had tackled it
together.

…And I will work tirelessly to be worthy of that forgiveness…

Could he ever forgive her for the things that she had done? The things that he
wasn't even aware of yet?

Olivia couldn't bring herself to let go. She had tried over and over before, but
this time, she couldn't even try. Not really. Her grip was firm and white-
knuckled, unable to be loosened, not even by herself.

She needed to see him.

"Okay."
 3. Real
A/N: Alright, guys. Here's the next chapter! We're still loving this so much.
There's plenty more, so don't get too comfy with anything. We hope ya'll stick
with us!

Real

The sight of him made her ache for him in every possible way. It had been
entirely too long since he had showed up at her apartment, but it hadn't been
anywhere near long enough to tame the desire, the love, that she felt for him.
Fitz had always known how to wear a tuxedo, and he proved that tenfold as he
made his way around the gala, schmoozing with various people of importance.
He looked damned good. His blazer was perfectly pressed, his shirt surely
crisp from being starched, his tie just right. He was smiling that charming
presidential smile. Handsome didn't cover it. It never would. He was beyond
that. To her, once she had really fallen for him, no other man had been able to
enamor her so completely. He was everything.

They locked eyes, for just a few seconds, but it was the realization that they
couldn't hide from each other. They had been seen by the other. There was no
hiding.

When Fitz saw her, he felt like the air had been restored into him. Like after
weeks of shallow breathing, he could finally take a full breath. Yet, his heart
raced. His hands formed fists, whether from residual anger or because they
itched to touch her, he wasn't sure. Her beauty awed him. She was radiant. His
attention went right to her and he didn't want to waver. He only wanted to look
at her, though the room was full of women. It had always been that way in the
past, but what was remarkable was that she had traded her usual black and
white for a crimson dress. It was strapless, showing off her collar and
shoulders. And as his eyes traced over the bare skin that was on display, he felt
himself twitch undeniably in his pants. He wanted to bite her. There, there, and
there. On her neck, just below her left ear. At the dip near the center of her
clavicle. Where her neck and shoulder met. Her lipstick matched and diamond
stud earrings sparkled in her earlobes. Simple and elegant. That was his Livvie
in appearance. But in nearly every other way, she was so complicated.

Olivia felt the eyes of men on her and it made her crawl uncomfortably. Her
usual clothing palette of neutrals helped her stay under the radar visually. It
helped her blend instead of stand out. The striking red against her skin did just
the opposite. A few men who, admittedly, would not be terrible suitor choices,
tried to get her attention but she wasn't interested. There was only one man in
the room that was worthy of her attention and worthy of her time.

The man she had once called her own.

Her eyes found him again across the room, seated at a table on a slightly raised
platform. He was surrounded by those, who she assumed, co-wrote the
domestic violence protection bill that he proposed that just got passed. And
her. Grace Anderson, looking like she belonged there in a satin hunter green
gown. Olivia's hackles rose at the sight. The woman was entirely too close to
him. Leaning into his space. Smiling far too broadly at one of his surely lame
jokes. But what really got her was that he was smiling too. A smile that she
used to love to see. But the fact that she wasn't privy to the moment, not really,
made it dig into her belly harshly. She was looking in on the moment as an
outsider.

She wasn't in the inner circle anymore.

As he talked, his hands gesturing in a somewhat animated way, his curl, the
unruly lock of hair that often refused to stay in place, slipped to hang down
over his forehead, slightly askew from the rest. Olivia craved the ability to be
near enough to tuck it back into place for him. Just as she had done a thousand
times before. She had taken those moments, those opportunities, for granted.
With a horrific feeling settling into her gut, she watched as Grace reached over
and adjusted it affectionately, which earned her a bright smile from Fitz.

Her stomach churned.

No.

No. No. No.

"I can't do this," Olivia murmured softly to Abby, pushing her chair out and
making huffed strides across the room before her friend could stop her.

It was too much, seeing him there like that. With someone besides her. She
missed him. She missed the sex. But more than anything, she missed the little
intimate moments like the one she had just witnessed. She had lost the right to
have them with him. She had lost the right to have him.

She had lost him.

Possibly for good, because in the past he would have found a reason to be near
her. He knew she was there. They had locked eyes. Yet, he had still made sure
to keep his distance.

What if he didn't love her anymore?

Fitz saw her move across the room, the muscles in her back clear from the
open-backed design of her gown. Tense. Her motions were reserved, but
forcibly. She was holding it together, but he knew. He could tell that she was
upset. To him, it was spoken loudly by the way her body swayed as she took
each step. And somehow, he was sure that it had everything to do with him.

"Shit, Livvie," he muttered under his breath.

His voice was so low, barely audible, but Grace heard him. She glanced his
way, but only for long enough to see where he was headed. Right after her. It
didn't surprise her. So often, his mind was elsewhere, and seeing him follow
his ex-girlfriend so quickly explained so much. A potential overseas client had
just started a conversation with her. A hopeful business prospect. One that
could open many international doors for her company. Instead of pausing the
conversation and following him, instead of investing in Fitz, Grace continued
her conversation without a hitch, choosing business over personal.

Olivia was stupid to show up. She was stupid to think that it would change
anything.

Her heels clicked down the deserted hall soundly as she retreated. It was early
in the night and everyone was still mingling. No one else had a reason to leave.
No one else had had the breath knocked out of them by jealousy. The sound of
each step echoed, and for a moment, the solitude made her feel like she could
breathe again. As if the further she got away from him, the duller the full-body
ache became. She tried to find strength within herself. Strength to erase the
image that had sickened her. But just as her body began to attempt to regulate
itself, she heard the unmistakable sound of his wingtips clacking against the
polished marble floor with the rhythm of his strutting gait. She didn't have to
turn to know it was him. She could sense him. She could feel him. His electric
presence behind her. No attempt was made to quicken her pace. There was no
point. He was right on her heels. Fitz reached out and grabbed her by her arm,
pulling her towards him.

"I can't do this shit again. This was stupid. Let me go, Fitzgerald," she
snapped, venom coating her words.

She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, only to have him grip her firmer.
When she gave him a look of disapproval at his uninvited, rough touch, he let
go and she stopped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"You can't do this? You chose this," he reminded her, his eyes darkening with
anger.

She had chosen to walk away from him. Again. He should be used to it. She
had certainly followed the same exit route enough times that he should be able
to see it coming. Yet, he always had hope that something had changed.

He always had restored faith that she was going to stand by him.

She always let him down.

"I chose freedom. You were controlling every detail of my life! My schedule,
my clothes, my words—" She started, all of her feelings regurgitating and
threatening to spill out again.

"Like I said, I was trying to save us…to protect you," he told her, in a voice
that was eerily calm.

The calm before the storm.

"Since when am I the kind of woman that needs to be protected?"

"Since you started making decisions about our relationship behind my back!
So since the beginning! I was protecting you, protecting us, from you. From
your constant need to sabotage us!" he explained to her, his voice raising as
he stepped into her space slightly.

"Well, one of us had to think rationally since your head is constantly stuck in
the clouds—" she spat, knowing his idealistic nature towards their relationship
would be a hard hit.

He had always thought the best of them, even when their history proved
otherwise.

He smiled bitterly before cutting her off by holding up his hand.

"You're right. I'm not doing this with you. I have things to do and Grace is
waiting…" he said dismissively, turning and taking steps away from her.

But she wasn't finished. Just the mention of her adversary made the jealousy
flare up. Hot and ready to destroy everything in its path. She was bitter and
sore that another woman got to touch him. That someone else got to live in
those small, but cherished, moments with him.

"Oh, of course. Perfect little Grace Anderson. I'm sure the Party loves her.
What do you think she's in it for? Hmm? Your hair? Those eyes? That Grant
smile? Fitz, she has an agenda, and all of Washington can see it. Open your
eyes."

Fitz whirled around, wide-eyed as his temper rose again, and he dragged her
into the nearby restrooms. The Secret Service agents that had followed him
flanked near the entrance to keep everyone else out, seeming to know where
things were going before the two of them could realize it. He couldn't believe
she thought he was that stupid. Hadn't he learned from the best? She had taught
him how to play the game, yet she was assuming that he didn't know the rules.
That he couldn't make the right moves without her. That without her by his side,
he would lose.
She walked over to the sink vanity and put her clutch down, knowing she
would need both of her hands to wave as she fought with him.

"You think I'm that naïve? Of course she has an agenda. I've got an agenda.
My dry cleaner has an agenda. The whole world has an agenda. I know what
her agenda is, Olivia. What's yours?"

She stared at him incredulously. Was he really trying to say that their
relationship had been nothing but an agenda? That hit her where it hurt the
most. He had tried to reduce them to a set of manipulative thoughts. He had
hinted that she, perhaps, never loved him at all, when in fact, she loved him so
much that it was tearing her apart. Clawing at her from the inside, begging to
get out so she could live.

Olivia stepped towards him, her eyes wide as they verbally sparred.

"My agenda?! All I ever did was try to keep you in office…try to make you
an honorable man the American people could count on."

"Oh no. Don't give me that bullshit. We're so far past the 'honorable man'
shit. I was an honorable man. You ruined me! You turned me into this
ineffectual mess!"

He took a step towards her, his fury, his hurt, building up stronger in his chest.
How was it that he could love someone so much when they made him so livid?
All of the hurtful things she had said to him rushed back into his mind and he
wanted to scream. He wanted to metaphorically punch back and let her hurt
like he had. To give her some truth.

It wounded her to think that he wasn't an honorable man. Because he was right,
she had done that to him. She had built him from the ground up and could claim
all of the positive changes that she had influenced, but she had influenced the
bad in him too. She had made him want to cheat. She had allowed him to step
out on his marriage with her. She had tarnished his honor. There was no hiding
from that.

"But you are honorable, Fitz. Look at yourself. Look at all you've
accomplished despite us being an obstacle. The Brandon Bill, The Equal Pay
Act, your work on gun control, and now this Never Again Protection
Initiative…You are anything but ineffectual. I was wrong. I shouldn't have
said that, because it's not true. Not at all. I'm proud of you."

He advanced on her then, getting further into her space with each word that
passed his lips. His voice rose as he went, all of his pain rising to the top of
the pot and boiling over, but staying hot, threatening to burn until there was
nothing left.

"You—You're proud? After all this, you're proud of me? Is that it? Do you
feel anything else but pride for the man that you've created? The man that
you put in office? You did this to me, Olivia. I am this person because of you.
You blind me! My love for you is blinding! I have lost so much…sacrificed so
many things trying to be what you wanted, Liv. And it has never been
enough. I have never beenenough for you. Nothing is ever good enough for
you. I'm tired of waiting for you to decide if I'll ever be enough. You don't
get to be jealous. You left me. There is no us, right? No future. No Vermont,
remember? I don't belong to you anymore. You don't have the right to be
jealous."

Fitz did belong to her, though. All of him. No matter how irritated he was with
her. No matter how hard he tried to lie and tell her, tell himself, otherwise.
They both knew the truth.

"I was reduced to next to nothing, Fitz. I've never felt so useless in my life.
My firm, my reputation, my goals, my dreams…my gladiators, all forgotten
and left behind. And for what?! To be able to investigate the ingredients of a
cookie recipe for a senator's wife? To smile, to wave, to endure small talk for
you?"

Fitz's grey eyes were stormy, conflicted. He was torn between arguing with her
and letting her go. Walking away. The exhaustion of their recurring situation
had started to get to him. It was a merry-go-round. The bright colors, the lights,
the nauseatingly happy music. It had been fine for a turn or two. Now it made
him weary and tired. He was ready to get off of the ride. Yet, it wasn't that
simple. It never was. Not when it involved Olivia.
"Oh, you think it was hard being the First Lady? You're miffed that it wasn't
all fun and games running the world in the Oval? Do you think I like every
single aspect of being president? No. I hate a lot of it, but I have to do all of
it to be able to enjoy what I love about the job. You couldn't handle being
First Lady, even if it meant you got to sleep next to me every night. You felt
like you were so above it, despite the fact that doing it meant that we could
be together."

"Poor, Mr. President. There are parts of being the leader of the free world
that you hate?"

She mocked him, but continued, still having a point to make.

"I speak six languages and I was knocked down to an ornamental

figurehead because you resented me. I know how difficult your role is, Fitz.
I was right beside you advising you when you allowed me to, but during
those state dinners, I was nothing but arm candy! You weren't the only
person trapped in that gilded cage, Fitz!"

She had felt like a trophy wife and it had made her sick. She was more. They
both knew she was capable and that she deserved more. That was what had
made her the angriest. Fitz knew how gifted she was in the political ring and
she had still been forced to run the more mundane side of things. It was
irrational in some ways because being on his arm meant being the First Lady,
at least in part. But it hadn't been comforting when she had tried to convince
herself that it was just the role that was expected of her. That wasn't the woman
she was meant to be, no matter how much she wanted to be at his side.

"We were supposed to be trapped together, Olivia! Until we could be free of

it for good! I wasn't making you my prisoner. I was asking you to be my
partner. I was asking you to stand beside me until it was over. Until my term
was over. Until my life was over. But all you know how to do is leave me. I
was stupid to think that you were capable of anything else!"

He had started yelling, the sound reverberating in the room. His face grew
flushed as he spoke, the emotions he felt heating him. So many things that he
had been thinking and feeling. So many things he had wanted her to hear for so
long. She controlled him, in the best and worst ways. Usually, without even
trying, and that was when it was the most fatal. Her natural pull that sucked him
in and owned him. Possessed him in even the smallest nooks and crannies of
his soul. Her grip on him was life-threatening, in that it was so intense that it
might cause him to perish from the pressure. However, if she let go, if she ever
really released him, that too might end his life.

He wasn't sure which way he preferred to die.

"I felt it. I could feel you resenting me. I couldn't stand it anymore. Who
wants to live like that?"

"Of course I felt resentment! Do you know what it feels like to be one of the
most powerful men in the world and have no control over your relationship?
No control over your personal life? No, you don't, because you control
everything, even when you don't think you do. I couldn't hold onto you, no
matter how hard I tried. You didn't want to be claimed, Olivia. I was yours,
but you were never mine, were you? Not really. So you're right. There is no
us. Maybe there never was."

He turned and started to walk away, truly ready to be away from her. Feeling
as if he could walk away from it. He had said so much of what he had felt and
held onto since she had left. But she was still standing strong. She wasn't
seeing it. She was refusing to understand his side of their story. Fitz couldn't go
on with her if he would continue to be unheard. If she would continue to be
relentlessly selfish and ignorant of his feelings.

His words sobered her. Did he really think that she wasn't his? That she never
had been? That she didn't love him with every breath she took? Had she really
done so many things to make him feel so meaningless? How could he think that
she hadn't belonged to him? That she didn't still? Because she did. Without him,
Olivia was a mere shell of the woman she could be. She existed, but barely.
She surely wasn't thriving. One could not survive on popcorn and wine alone.
He was a supplement to her life that she sorely missed. This 'it's over' had
broken her down in ways that she had never felt fully before. Being without
him had weakened her, when all she had wanted was to regain her strength and
independence. She wasn't capable of functioning that way, not anymore. He had
ended her ability to be self-sufficient. Without Fitzgerald Grant the Third, the
great Olivia Pope was just a person.

Without him, she had nothing. Without him, she was nothing.

He tried to push her away in her unwillingness, or at the least her inability, to
understand him. To use that as leverage to satisfy his need to be fine without
her. To tell himself that she didn't care enough. He needed the idea of being
without her, of being able to survive in the wake of her absence, to be
supported. If he could convince himself that he could live without her, he could
walk away. But when she spoke to his back, finally standing against him
defiantly in a way that supported them instead of tore them apart…

"I am yours, Fitz. There is an us. There will always be an us."

…he was swayed.

She always knew just what to say to make him change his mind, no matter how
sure he was that he had made his decision.

At the end of the day, no matter the words spoken or the cost tallied, Olivia
could always make him crumble.

He halted and slowly turned to face her. Her wide doe eyes were glazed with
tears, and he knew she meant it. He knew because he felt it too. The feelings
between them were too strong. What they had was too strong to be swept under
the rug. They weren't over. They would never be over.

It only took a few of his naturally long strides to get back across the room to
her. His lips crashed against hers, meeting her halfway in the kiss that they had
both been craving. He cupped her face gently with both hands, his thumbs
resting on her cheekbones. She sobbed into his fierce affection, anchoring him
to her with a hand in his hair, the other grasping his lapel tightly. All she could
do was kiss him deeper, as if her life depended on it. Because it did. He was
her life. She didn't know how to breathe without him anymore. Her tears
spilled over and wet her cheeks, the feelings finally coming to a head and
breaking through the surface for him to see. The salty trails dripped down over
his hands and he whimpered in reply, her crying tugging at his heart. One hand
moved to her lower back to haul her closer to him, the other wiping her face
clear of the tear tracks.

"Don't cry, Livvie," he told her, his voice raspy and catching sharply on his
own emotions, threatening to break.

"I can't help it. I just need you to know that you matter to me, Fitz. You do. I
know you don't feel like it, because I'm terrible at showing it, but you matter.
You matter so much. More than anything," she cried.

He mattered. As Cyrus had so eloquently stated once, all roads led back to
Fitz. So many of her decisions, right or wrong, had been made with him in
mind, in one way or another. She hadn't always been thinking clearly about it,
but he was, so often, at the forefront of her mind. She had done so many things
for him, made so many choices along the way, that in some ways she had lost
herself. Bits and pieces of who she used to be had been misplaced, both in him
and along the path of protecting him. She was not the woman he had fallen in
love with, not quite. She had changed. They both had. For better or for worse.
But in other ways, she had found herself in him too. Knowing him, loving him,
had allowed her to become the woman she needed to be. Despite her flaws and
some of the misguided, mistaken decisions she had made, she had found
growth. Better late than never. With him, she knew, she could continue to grow.
If he allowed her back into his life. Together, they could become the people
they were destined to be.

She was meant to love him. That was all she knew. There was nothing she
could do to change or reclaim that part of herself.

Fitz felt a sense of relief at her words. He mattered. He mattered to her. Deep
down, Fitz knew that, under all of his layers of pain and insecurity that she had
caused. But to hear her say it, to hear her vocalize how much he meant to her,
was everything. She had never been one to speak up on such matters, preferring
to let her actions speak for her. But she had opened up, just a little. With any
luck, it would be the start of a new way for them.

His lips took hers again, short sweet kisses turning to longer, fiery ones. Their
tongues played, bringing a deep, yearning groan from her as she felt her desire
begin to pool for him. The sound encouraged him and his hands moved to
squeeze her ass possessively. She caressed his down his torso, his abdomen
clenching responsively beneath her touch. Her grip on his belt tugged him
closer as she worked on unbuckling it, her fingers skilled and quick at the
practiced task. When her hand dove into his boxers and pulled him out, he
hissed at the feel of the warm, welcomed contact.

He needed to touch her. He couldn't stand it any longer. Fitz wrangled her dress
up and firmly gripped the thin lace of her panties, jerking hard. The fabric dug
into her hip for just a second before it ripped. Shoving the ruined cloth into the
inside pocket of his tux jacket, he hummed. She smirked as his 'caveman' side
made an appearance, reaching into her clutch where it sat on the counter behind
her.

Abby had been right in suggesting that she stow a condom or two away. It was
scary how well her friend knew her.

His fingers teased her, the pads of them tracing lightly over her clit. Her breath
hitched and she faltered slightly as she opened the foil of the condom. A grin
appeared on his mouth at her reaction, but he raised a brow at the item in her
hand.

"Really, Liv?" he asked curiously in a playful tone, the change of their routine a
bit odd to him.

But he was too involved in how wet she was to put too much thought into it.
His middle and index fingers dipped into her and she gasped and bit her lip,
glad to feel him right where she wanted him.

Almost.

The abortion had left her paranoid. There had been many reasons that had
influenced her decision, but one of them had been the fractured state of their
relationship. Their situation had not changed. They were nowhere near healed.
Not yet. She wanted him, but she had to protect them.

"Shh, trust me…" She breathed soothingly as she rolled it onto him.

Fitz pulled her back to his lips, kissing her with an intensity that sent a jolt of
arousal right to her clit, making her twitch, making her moan.

"You are absolutely fucking gorgeous in red, Livvie. You should wear it more
often."

"I might."

In fact, he loved the color on her. Maybe even more than he loved her in white,
which was a tall order. The rich red color complimented her smooth sepia
skin. The white always did the same, but she looked sexy beyond all reason in
red. He had noticed the pop of color the moment he had laid eyes on her at the
gala, immediately drawn in. When she had entered the room, she had outshone
all of the women there with her beauty. She had thrown him for a loop, sucking
him in, even when he wasn't sure if he was through being angry with her.

It made him a little crazy.

His hands gripped her hips and he turned her around in a snappy motion. She
caught herself from falling forward with her palms braced on the white
countertop of the sink.

"…damn, baby," she hissed in surprise as her body clumsily bumped the
counter suddenly.

"Mmm, sorry," he murmured, kissing her shoulderblades gently as he pressed

into her. "Fuck…"

He remained stationary, letting her body adjust to him. Brushing her hair aside,
his mouth found her neck and he pressed loving kisses there.

"God, I missed you, but I'm still so fucking mad at you," he whispered, giving
her shoulder a nip for emphasis.

"Mmm, me too," she replied, humming in approval as he began to move.

Dreams of him had plagued her for weeks. Some sex, but mostly the tiny
domestic things that she missed. Things that she wanted for their future. The
future she had proclaimed didn't exist. She had lied. They had a future. If
nowhere else, it was engraved in her mind, begging to be brought to life.
Vermont had been haunting her, the memory short but allowing for
embellishment. Thoughts of the ordinary. Making grocery lists together. Fitz
tickling her relentlessly on the couch as she giggled out for mercy. Adjusting
his tie before he left for the day. Olivia did miss being his lover, but she
missed being his love even more. She missed being his partner. She missed
being his best friend.

His breath was hot on her neck, the buckle of his loose belt jingling with the
quick but fluid motion of his thrusts. Fitz's hands fondled her hips in
appreciation of the curves, his eyes trailing over her perfection. He kissed
down her neck and over her shoulder, his teeth grazing her collarbone on the
way. His lips feathered kisses down her spine, from the base of her neck to
where the fabric of her dress began. If he had his way, she would be
completely naked and beneath him in their bed. If he had his way, he would be
taking his time, kissing every single inch of her. Tasting her. Loving her. But it
wasn't his way. Their life wasn't a fantasy.

"Harder, baby," she urged in a whine, needing more from him.

He was more than glad to grant her request, struggling to stay restrained. His
guilt at how savagely he had taken her that night on her couch had been eating
at him, which made him want to be tender with her. But it wasn't the time. They
had yelled and cried and released feelings that had been stashed away for too
long. Drawing it out was just prolonging the burn. She was right.

His hips jerked hard against her over and over, her hands gripping the
countertop to avoid colliding with it. He was rough, unforgiving, but she didn't
care. She needed him. She needed him to fuck her, just like that and more. So
she would feel where he had been inside of her for days after. A hand snaked
back to delve into his hair, nails gnawing at his scalp as he rubbed all of the
right spots. She bucked her hips back against him, countering his rhythm,
coaxing him to give her more. It pushed him deeper and he bit her shoulder,
groaning, his grip on her hips tightening.

"Mmm, shit. You want more?" he asked breathlessly, taunting her.

"Yesss, fuck me…ohhh!"

She cried out as he gave her exactly what she wanted. Her pleasure rose, the
strength of his efforts fanning her flames. He slammed into her, his deep growl
resembling nothing less than an animal. Her hand fought to keep steadying
herself against the sink, his thrusts forward jarring. Her hand left the counter to
hold his where it rested on her hip, squeezing it. He squeezed back.

"That's so good, baby," she encouraged him, panting.

Moving his free hand around to the juncture of her thighs, Fitz stroked her clit,
giving her that extra push. He was too close. She needed to let go for him.

"I'm—" she moaned out, louder than before, the sound bouncing off of the
walls of the room. "God! Fitz...I—"

Olivia shuddered, slumping forward slightly. His eyes found her face in the
mirror and her expression of complete and utter bliss did him in. He held her
so she didn't buckle, giving a few final, brutal thrusts before he finished with a
strangled groan that she could feel against her shoulder. He rested his brow
against her back for a second, catching his breath. The aftershocks of her
pleasure made her body jerk and he grinned a little as he pressed a kiss to the
nape of her neck.

Reluctantly, Fitz pulled from her and made his way over to one of the stalls to
dispose of the condom and clean himself up. She looked into the mirror,
smiling softly at how swollen her lips were from his kisses and how tousled
her hair looked. A moment later, the toilet flushed and he returned to her,
looking just as much of a mess. His hair looked wild. There were lipstick
smudges on his mouth and face. His jacket was crooked on his shoulders.

They knew just how to make a mess of each other, in more ways than one.

He sauntered up to the sink beside her and washed his hands. She handed him a
paper towel and he smiled as he took it

"Think we've been gone long enough for anyone to notice?" he asked with a
laugh, drying his hands.

"Depends on how obnoxiously attentive your date is," she retorted bitterly,
pulling him down for a brief kiss.

He frowned a little as the kiss ended, feeling her wiping at his lips to remove
the lipstick stains.

"Liv, it's just for the optics. You know that."

She nodded, but still looked uneasy. It wasn't a topic that she felt comfortable
discussing. Him dating someone else. Even if it wasn't real. She didn't want his
name written next to anyone but hers. Jealousy was a raging bitch.

"I know, but she's…my gut says she isn't going to go away quietly when the
time comes."

"So, a time is going to come then? For us?" he asked her, trying not to gag on
the hope rising up from his chest.

"We'll talk. We'll figure it out," she assured him.

They were ignorant to think that they could ever walk away from it. From their
love. From each other. Some things in life had a tendency to keep pulling you
back in. They were that for each other. They had never been very skilled at
getting the timing right, but a time would come for them. It had to. Neither of
them would be whole until it did.

He looked into the mirror and shifted his blazer to straighten it, turning his tie
slightly where it had gone awry. She peered at her reflection and made some
adjustments of her own, wiping off the make-up that had been blurred, tugging
her dress up where it had slipped down, and smoothing the hem of it out where
Fitz had bunched it up. They both tried to tame their mussed hair.

"How does my dress look?" she pondered aloud, still gazing at herself.

"Beautiful. You look beautiful," he told her, his smirky grin showing just how
lovesick he was for her.

Fitz always knew how to lay on the charm, but she knew he meant it. It was the
genuine part of it that made her want him again. His words tempted her with a
round two that she knew they couldn't have. It wasn't fair. She had gotten so
used to having him at will. It wasn't a comfort to go back to the stolen moments
that they had lived off of for years. But she had given up that choice. She had to
share him again, at least in some ways.

"Come on, Casanova. Let's get you back before they start looking for you."

He chuckled and took her face in his hands, kissing her with a patience he
hadn't had before. Gentle. Unhurried. But concluding. Their night was ending
before either of them were ready. Her fingers wove into his hair as she
savored every second of his kiss, not wanting to release him, but knowing she
must.

She pulled away, but gave him a last series of shorter kisses before taking his
hand. He brought her smaller hand to his lips and kissed just above the ring he
had given her.

There was hope.

They would do it.

He held the door for her and they stepped back out into the hallway where he
buttoned his tux jacket, dragging his feet. Their time started to close in on them
and he didn't like the restriction. He wanted to ditch the party and take her back
to the Residence. To hold her and listen to her breathing even out as she fell
asleep. But he couldn't. That wasn't their life anymore. She had chosen
otherwise, and while they still had a chance, they had to rebuild the path if they
wished to walk together upon it. They had to restore the ruins. Their ruins. Fitz
turned to face her and she leaned back against the wall, looking up at him.

"One minute?" she offered.

He nodded, a solemn tone settling between them.

"One minute."

Holding out her hand to him, Olivia urged him closer. He stepped to meet her,
taking her hand and pressing his brow to hers. She could feel each of his
exhales. He could feel her lashes fluttering against his skin. They existed.
Together. For just a moment. They tried to forget that they were back on
borrowed time. For one minute, they belonged only to each other. The world
around them dissolved. The hurt. Their problems. The other people involved.
None of it mattered.

For one minute.

He didn't want to move. He didn't want the time with her to end, though he
knew it couldn't go on forever. He wasn't ready for it to end. Not yet. He
wanted to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and her button nose. To shower her
with all of the affection he could manage. But he knew that that part of their
night was done. They were tapering off to nothing.

He pulled back and looked at her, the conflicting emotions apparent on his
face. They were in her expression too. They didn't bother trying to conceal it
from each other. It was pointless. The feelings were too strong to deny. They
were too far gone to keep lying to themselves and each other.

Olivia gave him a small, sad smile and reached up to smooth back his
wayward curl that had fallen forward. Her fingers trailed back through his hair,
threading into the curls in the back, unable to resist. Her eyes never left his.
Their hearts grew heavy as they knew it was over for the night. Her thumb
passed over his flag pin fondly, the one she had given him. She was glad he
still wore it and wondered if he thought of her when he saw it, just as she
thought of him each time she put on her ring. Their promises to each other that
still applied. The 'I love you's that were felt and seen instead of heard. The
commitment that lingered in the background, waiting to be called on properly.

Grace stopped in her tracks at the end of the hallway, and watched the
exchange. The very same adjusting of his hair that she had done earlier. It
bruised her ego. How could he be so hung up over Olivia Pope when he could
have her? But the intimacy in what she saw couldn't be ignored. Nothing
sexual at all transpired in front of her, but it didn't matter. What she saw, it was
real. He was in love with her. Grace had to compete with that. She pursed her
lips and returned to the gala, needing to regroup. Unsure how to proceed with
the knowledge she had obtained.

Olivia's lip began to quiver and she bit it to make it stop. Fitz's stomach
clenched and his face threatened to scrunch up to show his discomfort. He,
instead, took a deep, shaky breath.

"We'll talk," he reminded her, repeating her earlier words. "Soon."

She agreed with a nod, forcing herself to maintain her composure. They were
in a much better place than they had been. She held onto that fact.

"Goodbye, Livvie," he finally said softly, offering her his trademark smile,
though tinged with sadness, to survive on.

"Goodbye, Mr. President."

 4. Regret
A/N: Okay, guys. I want to thank you for hanging in there with us. I've been
struggling with family stuff and chronic pain which has been a big setback,
but writing this give me life! Kima and I have loved this project so much and
your support is greatly appreciated. A special thanks to my friend, John, who
offered a lot of great insight and perspective in what we're calling the
'mirror' scene. We wouldn't have done it quite as well without his input.

They were sitting in what appeared to be a playroom. A plush grey rug

covering most of the hardwood floor. Toys scattered here and there. The walls
painted a calm beige, surely a color she had chosen given her appreciation of
neutrals. She was seated in an antique white rocker, filled to her top with love
and adoration as she looked just next to her on the floor. Fitz was sitting there,
legs crossed and leaning back against the toy chest, holding their daughter who
was snuggled up to him in a pale yellow pair of pajamas. She grinned up at
him with wide, light brown eyes and Olivia's prominent cheekbones clearly
structured around her smile, under the chubbiness. Her thick, curly brown hair
defiantly refused to settle and stuck out wildly around her ears. Olivia was in
awe of how adorably beautiful she was. The life they had created together. In
essence, part of each of them. Olivia's lips. Fitz's nose. Her honey-colored
skin. And Fitz, the way he lit up when he looked at her. Olivia's heart swelled
at the sight.

"You're such a Daddy's girl, aren't you?" he cooed, and she grinned even
wider as if she understood.

"Daddy's spoiled girl," Olivia corrected, chuckling.

Fitz turned and looked up at her, smirking a little sheepishly.

"It's not my fault! She does that pout, just like you. I fall for it every time,"
he explained, as if that excused him.

"She's only six months old and she has you wrapped around her finger."
The proud father only hummed in agreement, knowing there was no rebuttal to
offer. It was the truth.

"Daddy, it's my turn!"

They both shifted their gazes to the doorway. A little boy, no older than three
years old, stood there wearing all white. His eyes and skin were the same as
the little girl in Fitz's arms. His hair was the color of Olivia's, but his facial
features looked so much like Fitz. His chin. His jawline. It took her breath
away.

"No, son. It's your sister's turn. You don't get a turn," Fitz explained in a soft,
fatherly voice, directing his attention back to the now relaxed child in his arms.

Olivia felt the tension rising in the room, paired with her confusion. Why
would he say that? Why would he turn away their son? Why would he deny
their child affection?

"But why?" the boy asked.

"Because you don't exist."

Olivia looked at Fitz then, who was looking right at her. His gaze was full of
hurt and bitterness.

"Mommy killed you."

Olivia woke suddenly, gasping, her hand pressed to her chest in an attempt to
soothe the hollow, yet aching feeling there. Tears sprung to her eyes and she let
them fall, unwilling to bottle up the emotions that were rioting inside of her.
She hadn't truly allowed herself to grieve the loss. And it had been a loss. It
hadn't been an easy or simple decision for her. She thought of it often, every
day, wondering what their child would have looked like. Picturing Fitz holding
it. Loving it. And finally, her subconscious had provided her with a vivid
image of what it would have been like if she had acted differently. If things had
been different. Quietly, Olivia cried then. She cried for the life they could have
had together, wondering if she had completely ruined their chances of having it.
Her phone rang and when she glanced at it she saw Abby's name. She took a
few seconds to attempt to gather herself before picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Liv? Are you alright?"

"No, but I'll be fine."

"Liv—" she started.

Her friend was worried and she understood. Olivia had showed more emotion
outwardly in front of Abby in the last few weeks than she had in most of the
time they had known each other. Abby was just making sure she wasn't inching
towards a meltdown. Olivia wasn't even sure of that herself.

"I know, I know." She took a cleansing breath, forcing herself to let the tension
leave her body. "Do you still want to do lunch today?"

"Yes! But it's going to be busy. Can we just do delivery in my office? I doubt
I'll be able to get away."

That meant going to the White House. Conflicted feelings swirled in her gut.
She wanted to see him, terribly, but after the dream she wasn't sure if she could
handle it. That little boy. The resemblance had been striking. She would want
to tell him, but she wasn't ready. She needed to be stronger. She wished she
was stronger.

"Sure. Text me when you think you'll have a window of time and I'll come by.
Just order from wherever you want. You know what I get."

"Sounds good. Be ready to talk about whatever is bothering you. You know I
won't let it go."

At that, Olivia managed a weak laugh. It was true. Once Abby caught the scent
of something, she was relentless.

"I'll consider it. See you," she told her, ending the call.
The conversation had been kept light. They ate their burgers and fries and
caught each other up on the various tidbits of political gossip they had heard
floating around. The newest brewing scandals on the Hill. They laughed
together. Olivia needed the distraction. The dream from that morning had been
haunting her in sudden waves; specific snapshots from it would not leave her
memory. But, as she knew it would, the conversation shifted to her and Fitz.
Luckily, Abby hadn't been forced to bring it up at random. The talking point
had made itself known as Olivia's pastel pink, silk shirt slipped down from her
shoulder just enough to reveal the edge of a bruised bitemark on her shoulder.

"So the night of the gala resulted in biting. Good to know," Abby remarked
with a smirk.

Olivia blushed, giggling a little, and tugged the loose fitting blouse back up to
cover her shoulder. The reminder of the mark he had left behind took her back
to the moment his teeth had nipped her so sharply. How deep and raspy his
voice had been. How quickly he had gotten hard for her. How he had filled her
completely, perfectly. She needed to stop herself from going down that rabbit
hole of thoughts or she'd end up over in the Oval bent over the desk. They
needed to talk. More talking, less fucking. No matter how much she wanted
him.

But god, did she want him. And it had only been a few days.

"Mmm, don't remind me or I won't be able to think straight," Olivia warned.

"See? I told you the condoms were a good idea."

Olivia nodded as she nibbled at the last bit of her burger, savoring the taste.
Abby had chosen well. A new burger joint that was rising to the popularity of
Gettysburger. But better, in her opinion. She tried to focus on the food. On
anything but the guilt that bubbled up at the mention of the condoms. The
reminder of why she had wanted to use one. She took a deep breath and sipped
at her tea.

But Abby wasn't done questioning her, which was something Olivia expected.
After her last meltdown over burnt popcorn, she knew that Abby was coaxing
her to talk it out. She was trying to avoid a repeat of those bottled up feelings
spilling over. She was trying to contain the chaos.

"So...you talked and then you 'talked' so where does that leave things?"

"We…I…I don't know. I don't know where that leaves us. Sex has always
been like breathing to us. It's the one thing that we know how to do well. I
felt so hopeful, but there's so much baggage between us. Old and new issues
to work out. He has always been the more open of the two of us and he still
tries with me….I've done a lot of things that hurt him, Abby. Sometimes I feel
like that's all I know how to do. He said that. That all I know how to do is
leave him. What if he's right?"

He had been right so far, calling it as it was. At the first sign of trouble, Olivia
had a tendency to bolt. She left before she could be left. But this time, she
knew something had to change. She couldn't keep repeating the past and
expecting a different result. But it wasn't that simple. Nothing about them, their
relationship, was easy. If it was easy, she probably wouldn't cling to it so
tightly.

"Liv, what's going on? I thought you said you two discussed Defiance and
releasing your father…"

"There's more than that. I've been going behind his back making decisions
for him for too long. Too many mistakes made with good intentions. I don't
know if he'll ever really be able to forgive me. I sure as hell wouldn't forgive
myself."

It was a pounding inside of her being that she wasn't sure would ever fade. The
representation of her guilt, throbbing in the hollow dip of her belly. Stinging
and burning through every inch of her at times. She wondered if she was
capable of forgiving herself. If she was lucky, incredibly lucky, he would
eventually forgive her. But would she be able to find the strength to forgive
herself? Could she let go of her regret for long enough to excuse her actions?
She couldn't even bring herself to say the words aloud, to confess what she had
done. How could she dream of forgiveness when she couldn't even speak about
her sins?

"Forgive you for what? You're beating around the bush, I can tell."
She had to give Abby credit. When everyone else was fooled by her masks,
Abby knew how to see right through the bullshit. It was something Olivia both
loved and hated about her friend.

"Abby..."

But she continued to press her.

"You'll feel better if you talk about it."

"I really won't. Trust me. Not this time."

Because she wouldn't. It was true. No amount of girl talk, alcohol, or greasy
food would soothe the ache she felt in the deepest parts of her. The guilt. She
snagged a few of Abby's fries, needing the comfort of the carbs. She had eaten
hers already.

"Are you really stealing my fries right now? Jeez, it must be bad."

"They're good! But you're right. It's bad."

"Alright, fry thief. Spill it," Abby pressed, knowing that her friend needed to
talk it out.

Olivia took a slow, deep breath and released it, preparing herself for how she
was going to finally let out the information she had been sitting on. She wasn't
ready, but she probably never would be. She hadn't been ready when she had
been there on the table with her feet in the stirrups either, but she knew that it
had to be done. It was something she needed to talk about. Abby just wasn't the
person she really needed to tell. But maybe that was where she had to start.

"We conceived. Fitz and I, when we were together. But the timing...it wasn't.
I had been so stressed out playing First Lady that I didn't even blink at the
missed periods. I had been drinking a lot. Wine, sometimes scotch, all of that
champagne at events. I didn't even realize that I was pregnant, Abby. But I
started getting sick in the mornings and..." She covered her mouth, trying to
conceal her sob. "I couldn't keep it. There was too much risk with the alcohol
involved. It was my fault. I couldn't subject a child to consequences that
were my fault. I drank for weeks, not knowing. But even if I hadn't, I don't
know what I would have done. We weren't in a good place. We wouldn't have
been good parents then..." she trailed off, looking away as she blinked and her
tears fell silently down her cheeks.

Abby was quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in. She handed her friend a
tissue before she ruined her make-up.

"Does he know?"

Olivia shook her head, willing away another round of sobs that tried to spill
forth. That was most of the issue. He didn't know. The decision had been heart-
wrenching for her, yes, but the fact that she hadn't been able to share the burden
with him was the hard part. He was right. They were supposed to be partners.
They were supposed to be in it together. She hadn't let him share her load.

"No. And I hate myself more every day I don't tell him."

"You really need to start talking to him if you want it to last, Liv. It might be
your last chance."

She sighed. It wasn't a new idea to her. She knew she was on borrowed time. It
was a chance that she didn't deserve. She didn't deserve Fitz. It was probably
why she ran so much. She knew, she felt deep inside of her gut, that she wasn't
enough for Fitz. He was too good to her, despite everything she had done to
hurt him. But he had given her another chance. They were going to try. She
needed to do things differently if she really wanted to hold onto him. And she
did. She was tired of having to let him go. If she opened up. If she was honest,
then maybe, some day, she wouldn't have to.

"I know. I know. I just...if I thought the thing with my father was bad...this is
so much worse. This will break him in the worst way. He talks all the time
about having kids together. I should have told him when I did it, but we were
already at each other's throats and I wasn't about to add to the pile. But it
fell apart anyway. We said some terrible things to each other that day. I
don't know if we can come back from all of it."

The memory of their argument stung. The thing about knowing each other so
well, so intimately on both a mental and physical level, was that they knew just
what to say to hurt each other the most. That day had been no exception. She
had packed punch after punch and swung at him, colliding with his ego, with
his heart, in the worst way. Could they survive that? Could they survive the
blows she had yet to throw?

"Liv, he loves you. Like, gross fairytale love. He has been so different since
the gala. Back to himself. He smiles. He's much less broody and irritable.
I'm Abby again. I don't know what magic happened, well, I do, but still. All I
know is that he's better. You did that."

It was a good point. They made each other better in so many ways. She knew
that he made her better. He made her days brighter. But Olivia looked for
trouble naturally. She saw a glimpse of it and saw the worst case scenario. It
was the fixer in her. She tried to fix their relationship in the professional sense.
Over and over. Instead of feeling, communicating, and handling it correctly.
She never let herself feel how great it was. Not really. Not for more than a
moment or two. And it had been great. She had walked away from something
great. She had let it fall apart, not realizing just what it had been until it was
lost.

"I know, but I can't get out of my own head long enough to appreciate that.
That's the issue I'm having. And I have to tell him. I know I have to, but I
don't know how," she explained.

"If you don't relax a little, you really will mess it up. Let it happen. When
you're ready, you'll tell him. And the way he looks at you, the way you make
him feel…Liv, it will be okay. It might take time, but he will accept it. But
you need to try with him. Really try, harder than last time. Talk to him."

Olivia sighed, trying to release the built up tension with the breath. She hoped
Abby was right. Fitz had told her once that he would forgive anything she
could possibly do. He had implied that their love was strong enough to handle
anything. She hoped, with all of her heart, that it was true.

"You're right. But we're back to living in the shadows. I'm not sure how to
feel about that."
But it was what she had chosen. Olivia couldn't blame him for the path their
relationship had taken. She had made the decision to move out. They were
back to stolen moments. They were back to hushed conversations and lingering
glances. They had survived that way for years before they had been outed, but
she didn't find comfort in that. Openly, Fitz, the love of her life, was somewhat
exclusively dating Grace Anderson. But behind closed doors, he was hers. It
was bittersweet at best.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I have it on good authority that he has been
avoiding Debbie Debutante's calls since your little gala reunion."

They were laughing softly a few minutes later as they left Abby's office. Abby
was headed to meet with Cyrus to coordinate notes about the Paris Peace
Summit. Olivia was headed to meet with a potential client. As it usually
happened, she felt him before she saw him. That familiar pull that alerted her
when he was near. His voice confirmed it. The smooth baritone that could
easily bring her to her knees. She turned and looked down the hall and sure
enough, there he was, standing there talking to a staffer. As if he somehow felt
her too, it only took him a few seconds to turn and look her way. The two of
them locked eyes and Abby took it in, always a little taken aback by the
connection between them.

"That's my cue. Behave yourself," Abby murmured softly as Fitz approached

them.

Abby's heels clicked down the hall as she left the scene smirking. Olivia
barely heard her. She was too busy staring. He looked so good. Abby was
right. His mouth held a smile that made it all the way to his eyes as they made
their way towards each other. The inevitable draw.

"Livvie!" he said, greeting her cheerfully.

They shuffled into the side hallway, not wanting their presence to interfere with
other traffic. It put them just out of sight, but not entirely in privacy.

Her head was full of questions as she looked at him. Had he been thinking of
her too? About their intimate reunion? Was he questioning the condom in
hindsight? Was he happy that they were a thing again? She wanted to reach up
and kiss him, right on the mouth, in the middle of the hallway. In a way that she
used to be able to, but never did. She ached for the small moments, the
opportunities that she never took advantage of. The kisses and touches that she
should have indulged in.

"You look entirely too happy to be coming from the Oval," she mused with a
smirk.

"You got me. Hide and seek playdate with Teddy," he told her with a boyish
grin.

"Oh yeah? How is Teddy?"

She leaned against the wall behind her slightly, crossing her arms over her
chest as she looked up at him.

"Mischievous as ever. I actually had to try to look for him today. He's
getting better. He asked about you, actually."

God, the look on his face when he talked about Teddy. The joy. The pride. The
man was made to father children, and that reaffirmation dug into her empty
womb viciously. She felt the twinge bite sharply inside of her. It made her want
to give him children so badly. It made her ache for motherhood, with him by
her side. She could tell him. She could just spit it out, let the words roll right
out of her mouth and into his heart, shattering it. No. She wasn't ready. She
hadn't grieved enough on her own. Not yet. She deserved more silent suffering.
She deserved all of the suffering in the world for keeping it from him. For
making the decision without him. For breaking his heart in a way that he had
yet to feel.

What if they never had the chance again? What if their time ran out?

She steeled herself against her inner turmoil and smiled.

"Tell Teddybear I said hi. I miss him."

And she did. The little boy was so much of Fitz. The playfulness, and even the
charming Grant smile that he already knew how to use. She had grown fond of
him in the little time she had been able to spend around him. She had loved
hearing the two of them play when Fitz got back to the Residence early enough
in the evening. Teddy's squealing giggles and Fitz's chuckled reply. It had been
a glimpse of Fitz, of their lives, that she treasured. The life they would have
had. Maybe they still could if she got it together. If they could weather the
storm that waited for them. The storm she had created. If he could forgive her
for what she had done.

"I will. It's great to see you, Livvie. I'm sorry, I've been meaning to call.
There's just been so much going on lately here and with the kids."

"It's fine. I know you're busy."

Because she realized that they're back to that life. The stolen moments. The
sneaking around to see each other. The loving each other quietly. She had given
up the extra time she had gained with him. The moments that no one knew
about, but ones that she was no longer privileged too now that they were
publically apart. Standing next to each other as they brushed their teeth,
showering together, waking up in the middle of the night with his arms around
her. While she loved their sexual chemistry and everything that came with it,
she also missed the quieter, intimate moments that she had grown used to. The
little things. It was always the little things that broke you, or at least that was
what people said. Olivia hadn't known how true that was until she had given
them up. Until she had given Fitz up.

Then he saw it, and his eyes widened a fraction. A portion of skin on her
shoulder that had been exposed when her shirt slid down. His vantage point
from where he towered over her gave him a full view of the light bruise he had
left behind in their passion. He licked his lips, the sight of it bringing that
encounter to the forefront of his mind.

"I love that shirt on you, but you should probably put your coat back on if
you don't want anyone else to see my handiwork…"

His voice had deepened a fraction as his mind veered into naughtier territory.

"Dammit," she hissed, but allowed herself to smirk as she adjusted her shirt to
recover her shoulder. "Abby saw it too. I wasn't thinking when I was getting
dressed this morning."

But the damage was done. He was reeling with thoughts of their bodies joined.
The softness of her sweetly scented skin. The way she clenched around him
when he was inside of her. The sounds she made as he moved. He wanted her
again. Badly.

He chuckled.

"I really got you good, didn't I?" His eyes darkened, the blue growing richer, as
he looked at her. "I've missed you. You know, we could duck into one of the
empty offices down the hall…"

He longed to feel her skin against his. The urge to kiss the breath out of her
was blindingly strong. He'd draw the shades and lock the door, lift her onto the
desk and take her like he had on Inauguration night in the Oval. Rough but
thorough.

"Fitz, we have to talk before we jump back into that," she reminded him with
a grin, looking around them to make sure they haven't attracted any attention,
then putting her eyes back on him.

Her gaze found his mouth as he shifted the mint she could smell on his breath
around to the opposite side, the hard candy clinking against his teeth. How
could he make something so simple so sexy? Just a simple movement of his
tongue and she became a little weak in her knees. It had been too long since she
had felt his mouth on her. On her there, where she felt herself growing wet for
him far too easily. A lustful attractiveness that intense should be illegal. He had
always had a way of drawing her in that way. With seemingly no effort at all.
The man could do nothing but breathe near her and she would want him. He
was that good. They were that good together. Oh, what she would give to be
that mint. What she would give to taste the spearmint flavor in his kiss. On his
tongue.

"We can talk. Before...during...after..." he teased, moving a little closer to her.

They both knew once he invaded her space her resolve would cave. His
proximity had that effect on her. It had been proven, over and over.
"Mmm, as tempting as that is, I'm sure you have more presidential things you
should be doing."

"No. There are more presidential things that you should be doing…"

"You are shameless," she giggled softly, putting a hand up against his chest to
stop his advance.

He gave her his trademark grin and winked.

"Only for you."

He tried to step closer to her, moving against the placement of her hand. He
didn't really care that they were in the middle of a hallway in the West Wing in
the middle of the day. The woman he loved was right in front of him, her hand
against his chest in half-hearted resistance. It would be an opportunity missed
if he didn't try to persuade her.

She spoke quietly, not wanting any passersby to overhear her.

"Seriously, Fitz. We have to figure us out. We need to discuss our future."

He was relentless, for just a moment. His knuckles brushed lightly across her
stomach.

"Or…we could work on making one…" he hinted, that familiar romantic gleam
in his eye.

Her smile dropped, but she fought to recover and hide her reaction. Inside
though, she died a little. Part of her that had flourished with hope and giddiness
moments before withered and fell limp. The former hint of desire that had been
brewing hot in the lowest part of her stomach froze over. Her guilt swelled and
filled every nook and crevice of her. It stole the breath from her lungs, the
moment heavy and adding pressure to her sternum. She felt weak from it.
Exhausted and ready for a week long nap. But she stayed on her toes,
miraculously, maintaining her expression and pressing forward with the
conversation.
"We'll talk when you get back from Paris. Face to face. And then maybe we
can…not talk…" she hinted, a forced smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Fiiiiine," he finally relented, still grinning softly, knowing she was right.
"We'll set something up. You're right. I do have a very presidential meeting I
need to prepare for."

He sneaked a kiss to her cheek and darted off before she could scold him.

POTUS seen sharing a private moment with Pope at the Never Again
gala. Are they on the mend?

Pope caught leaving the White House. Business or pleasure?

POTUS doing Paris solo. Were both of his potential First Girlfriends busy?

For the first time in a while, Olivia found herself smiling when she saw Fitz on
the news coverage. It wasn't much because he was abroad, but what she did
see made her glad. He was alone there, but she knew that in his heart he was
hers. He looked good. He looked happy and hopeful, just as she felt, despite
the nagging deep in her gut that reminded her of what she must confess to him.
Soon. Perhaps when they met to talk when he returned from Paris.

Huck knocked on her door softly, a large white box and a small, neatly
arranged bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"This just came for you."

Her heart skipped in her chest. There was only one person who could be
sending her flowers and he was almost four thousand miles away. Could it be?

"Thanks, Huck."

She took the parcel from him and sat down at her desk as she began to open it,
anticipation stirring in her belly. Inside was another box, but she was drawn to
the hand-written note first. Olivia felt nothing short of giddy as she read the
tight, masculine scrawl.

I won't be back for a few days, but I saw this dress in a storefront and
thought of you. You had to have it. I miss you endlessly, sweet baby. I can't
wait until our 'minutes' become a lifetime. Let's meet on Monday evening. To
TALK. Only yours, F.

It was amazing how he could be on another continent and he could still manage
to make her day.

The bow-wrapped white box read 'Yves St. Laurent' and she knew Fitz had
gone the extra mile to spoil her. The dress was a deep crimson, so similar in
color to the one she had worn to the gala. It was simple and elegant. Sheer
fabric crossed over the shoulders, leaving the back and collar open. It would
fall to her knee, the silky fabric halting there to leave her legs open for his
view. He would love her in it, which had to be why he had chosen it for her.
Her grin was wide and uninhibited as she took in the gift.

It gave her hope.

She was putting the bunch of white tulips into a vase when Quinn poked her
head into the office.

"Our client is ten minutes out."

"Okay, thank you…"

She didn't even know that they were expecting anyone, nor did the realization
register with her. She was too distracted by the affection that was radiating
from the gifts that Fitz had sent. For a moment, everything was okay. They were
okay.

"So we're doing—wait, is that Simone Hamilton?"

"Shh, don't point. Olivia doesn't like it when we point and whisper about
clients," Huck replied, clearly not as excited about their client as Marcus
"I didn't mean…it's just…wow. She's big in the philanthropic scene in the
area. She seems so well put together and her brother. #32. Wow, man. What
could they possibly need from us?" Marcus mused.

Huck shrugged and resumed tidying up the conference room. It needed to be

cleared and prepared for their new case, whatever it may be.

"Dude, #32 though!"

"Thirty…two?" Huck questioned, oblivious to the reference.

"Yeah! #32. Martin Hamilton. He's the best player in the NFL right now.
Well, besides Samir Wilkins in San Diego. I hate that team," Marcus
explained.

"Football is for men who don't have it in them to kill. That's a real sport."

Marcus' eyes grew wide at Huck's words.

"Wait…what? You know what, don't even tell me."

Huck chuckled and signaled to Quinn that the conference room was ready
whenever they needed it.

Quinn guided their client into Olivia's office and quietly shut the door behind
them, giving them some privacy.

"Liv, girl, you look amazing."

The women hugged firmly. It had been entirely too long since they had seen
each other. A few years at least. Time flew.

"Thank you. It's been way too long."

Olivia had met Martin and Simone Hamilton on the playground in the third
grade. They had waged imaginary war during an intense game of freeze tag and
had been fast friends. Even when her father had put her in boarding school,
Olivia had stayed in touch with the twins. They were a steady part of her
extremely small circle of friends. She knew people and had connections, but
Olivia Pope did not have a plethora of friendships. They had remained as thick
as thieves and she had no doubt that they would remain so. Helping Marty, no
matter the severity of the problem, was instinctual. The twins were the closest
thing that she had ever had to siblings.

Simone and Olivia had determined during their high school years that Marty
was gay. He hadn't said it aloud to them until years later, but they knew him
well enough to gather and accept his sexuality. Nor had he been able to have a
great 'coming out' moment then. The Hamiltons were a conservative family.
The father, Martin Hamilton IV, was a federal judge. Marty knew that his father
would not openly embrace a homosexual son, so he kept quiet about it and
continued to shroud his sexuality as he made his way through college and onto
his career in the NFL. Despite subtle coaxing from Simone over the years, he
had remained steadfast in the act of hiding himself. He hired women who
signed nondisclosure agreements to stand by his side for public appearances.
Beautiful women. Models, athletes, actresses. Many of which became close
friends with him. But behind closed doors, Marty spent time with his long-time
lover Kenneth Walker. They had been on and off since they met in college
when Marty stood up for him in a fight. A group of fraternity boys had been
beating him up because he was gay and one of them thought he had been hitting
on him. Marty had saved him from being beaten further. His knight, as Kenny
called him, even years after. Even when he wasn't willing to stand with him in
public.

But Kenny had grown tired of waiting in the wings for Marty. He had grown
tired of loving him only behind the scenes. He wanted Marty to come clean and
be open about their relationship. He wanted him to give it meaning.

Once they were secured inside Olivia's office and seated on the couch side by
side, Olivia started to inquire about what had brought her friend to her
business.

"Alright. What's going on? Is it you or Marty?"

"Liv, be serious. You know I'm the well-behaved one. It's Marty." Simone
sighed. "Well, it's Kenneth. He's tired of Marty hiding their relationship, and
I can't say I blame him."
"Let me guess, he's threatening to out him?"

"You got it. I'm actually surprised it took this long to happen. They've been
together forever."

Olivia shook her head in disapproval. She would never understand how
people thought that forcing someone to be openly committed was a viable
option. Fitz had tried to force marriage on her because of the impeachment and
it had felt so wrong. Then he had moved her into the White House somewhat
forcibly. He had all but taken away her choice in the matter. When you took
away the person's right to choose, the forced decision felt constricting. How
would it be fulfilling for Kenny to force Marty to bring their relationship to
light? Shouldn't he want him to reach that decision on his own? Wouldn't it
mean more if it was an independent decision? So many things in life were
forced. Especially the things that could mean the most. It wasn't fair.

"And I know Marty is digging in his stubborn heels. I wish that boy would
just come out already, honestly," Olivia said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Me too, but he doesn't see it that way."

"So when am I reaching out to Marty? Why is he being so cryptic with this?"

"He's just really on edge with the media scrutiny since the last Super Bowl
win. He felt that showing up here would lead to immediate suspicion."

Of course. She should have known that. Fitz really did have her mind
elsewhere. Marty was an A-list celebrity due to his success in the NFL. His
face was recognized everywhere, surely. If he was seen going into Olivia's
office, it would stir up a media frenzy, despite their long-term friendship. She
understood where Marty was coming from by sending Simone in his place.
Since being outed as Fitz's mistress, and then confirming it herself, Olivia had
been more in the public eye than she cared for. Even a couple of months after
their break-up, it wasn't unusual for her to spot a paparazzi member poking
around in her vicinity. Her life was no longer private unless she made great
efforts for it to be. It was exhausting. She missed her privacy, but not as much
as she missed Fitz.
Olivia nodded, conveying her understanding.

"I've been there myself, so I understand."

"You still are. I don't know how you deal with it. By the way, Liv, I'm still
rooting for you and the President. I don't know what happened between you
two, but I know love when I see it."

Olivia smiled and it lit up her face as she thought of Fitz. Simone was right.
She was undeniably in love with him. And for a moment, she allowed that to
show in her expression.

"See what I mean? Your whole mood improved when I mentioned him,"
Simone pointed out gleefully.

"Let's see what we can do for Marty first, and maybe we'll get into that later.
That's not a discussion for today, trust me."

"Oh, so there is hope for "Olitz"?"

Olivia rolled her eyes at her friend's use of the corny nickname that the public
and media for her and Fitz.

"I…we'll see," she said with a short chuckle.

Simone crossed her arms over her chest, the tell-tale sign that she was about to
get honest.

"Let me get a little blunt, girl. I don't think Grace Anderson looks nearly as
good on his arm. I worked with her once and God, she is something else."

Grace was waiting in line for seats that were already sold. Fitz was Olivia's.
He had said it himself. Grace was only around for the optics. And while Olivia
still knew better than to cast aside all worry concerning the other woman, it
was laughable in a way. Grace was far from Fitz's type. The public might
believe it, but they didn't know Fitz. The real Fitz. The Fitz that Olivia knew so
well.

"He doesn't even like blondes…" Olivia said with a slight smirk.
"And you're his favorite brunette from what I can tell," Simone said, boosting
Olivia's confidence.

"I'd like to think so. He's certainly my favorite blue-eyed Republican," she
allowed herself to say, that dreamy look back in her eyes for a moment before
she brought herself back. "You're still with Alex, right?"

Simone sighed.

"He thinks I spend too much time looking after Marty. He thinks me being a
good sister takes away from us, but you know…family first."

Yes, Olivia did know. She had put Fitz on the back burner more than once
because of her allegiance to OPA. They were her family. Fitz would be her
family if she would allow him to though. She needed to learn to let him in and
to put him before things that mattered less in the long run if she wanted him in
her life. She needed to change the order of her priorities.

"Don't let him go. You'll regret it."

They shared a knowing gaze and Simone nodded, the message clearly
received. Olivia knew from experience. She didn't want Simone to have to feel
that loss too.

"Okay, Liv. I have to go. Marty is going to call you by end of business today
to set up a meeting. It's been great seeing you. Maybe when things cool off
we can do lunch?"

"I'd love that. We need to be better about staying in touch."

They hugged, both glad to be embracing after a meeting that was long overdue.

"Take care, Simone."

Once Simone was gone, Olivia stepped over to where the box Fitz had sent
was behind her desk. She opened it and brushed back the thin tissue paper that
covered it.

Red could quickly become her favorite color if she wasn't so in love with the
color of Fitzgerald Grant's eyes.

They had agreed to meet two days later after Marty had called her that
afternoon. The location was a barbecue joint off the beaten path in hopes that
they would avoid the majority of the press that often lingered around them both.
Olivia had trouble dodging paparazzi day to day and she knew they swarmed
Marty because of his recent Super Bowl win. Neither of them were anywhere
near in the mood to deal with the media, so avoidance was paramount if they
could manage it. They dressed casual in jeans on purpose, to give the
appearance of two old friends meeting up for lunch if they were seen.
Personal, to not give the impression that Marty needed her professional
services. Being that they were indeed friends, it wasn't difficult to appear as
such. They were more than comfortable around each other and it was clear in
how they interacted. No awkwardness or tension floated in the air between
them whatsoever.

Martin Hamilton V was a well-known, successful athlete who played wide

receiver for the Richmond Bulldogs. Proudly, he had earned six Super Bowl
rings in his career, the last four of which were won with Richmond. He stood
at 6'3" and was broad-shouldered and muscular in build. He was popular and
well-liked by the public because of his consistent philanthropic efforts in the
greater Richmond and Washington D.C. communities. But he was in his mid-
thirties and approaching retirement. His spotless reputation was important to
him and he wanted to maintain that image on his way out of the league. He had
made extra efforts to conceal his homosexuality from the public by keeping his
love life quiet. While he was known to regularly be in the company of various
statuesque female models and even a few athletes, Marty never publicly
claimed to be attached to anyone long-term. Yet, he didn't obtain the usual
'playboy' label. He didn't flaunt the women around unnecessarily, attracting
only the needed amount of attention to distract from the buried layer of who he
truly was. It was smart, but his lover, Kenneth, had become restless with the
situation, and it was Olivia's job as both a fixer and Marty's friend to diffuse
the situation.

Olivia had fond memories of growing up with Marty and his sister Simone
before Rowan shipped her off to boarding school overseas. He was like a
brother to her, which brought out a certain level of protectiveness. She didn't
have family, so Marty and Simone, along with Fitz and her Gladiators, were
the next best thing to her. While she hadn't kept in touch with them nearly as
well as she liked, they meant a lot to her and held a steady place in her heart.
Marty needed her help, and she would do anything she could to get him out of
the situation he was in.

They ordered their food and engaged in some small talk before the heaviness
of the subject came up.

"Liv, I love your trench. Is that Burberry?" he gushed quietly.

"Ooh, I see Kenny has been schooling you," she teased.

He scoffed in disbelief.

"Please, I taught him how to dress. He'd still be wearing bucket hats if it
wasn't for me."

"Uh, no, honey. You could barely piece together your suits before he came
along. Now you're wearing prints and bowties. Stop."

He grinned and admitted defeat.

"You got me. He's always been the fashionista. I love that about him."

"So why am I here breathing in pig grease and stepping over cornbread
crumbs? Simone gave me the run down, but I want to hear it from you."

Marty chuckled at the prissiness of her statement and took a sip of his sweet
tea.

"Always such a girly girl. Some things never change."

"Very funny. Now, tell me what's going on with Kenny...it must be bad if you
had to come to me, though it's good to see you."

"Likewise. Anyway, Kenny saw one of the hired girls grope me at a party. She
was drunk, I was well on my way to it. It was a mess, but he got in his
feelings and now he's demanding that I come out and legitimize our
relationship…"

Olivia's gut clenched as she thought of all of the times that she must have made
Fitz burn with jealousy. The very same thing could have happened between
them. She had dated Edison for a while, knowing it hurt Fitz. Jake had been a
whole different situation, but she knew that Fitz still held onto feelings
regarding him. They hadn't discussed it, but she knew. Now, after seeing Fitz
with Grace at the gala, she understood how he must have felt. Seeing another
person touching the one that you love was not easy. She had hurt him, over and
over. She only hoped that she would have the chance to make it up to him.

"When did this happen? How long as he been stewing over this?" she asked.

"Dammit, I got sauce on my shirt. Pass that wet wipe, please?"

She helped him dab the spot lightly, trying to save the crisp purple button down
that looked so nice with his skin tone. To her, it was nothing but a gesture
towards her gay best friend, but to a potential onlooker who didn't know his
secret, it might appear as something much different...

"You're still a sloppy eater. Some things never change," she said, mirroring
the teasing he had served her moments earlier.

"Hush. My shirt was hungry."

"So, you were saying?" she coaxed, wanting to hear more details about the
debacle.

"Yeah, so we were celebrating our Super Bowl win over the Chargers when
Janae crossed the line. She got a little too touchy for his liking."

She thought to herself how her Chargers fan and presidential lover must have
been livid that his boys had lost. He got a little too into his sports and it
amused her.

"What did she do that crossed the line? I'm sure you've had your fair share
of clingy ones through the years."
"I was calling my driver to pull around and the next thing I knew, she was
trying to stick her hand into my pants. When I tried to dismiss it, she
laughed at me and said, 'oh, so you really don't like girls.' She told me I was
broken. She laughed like it was nothing and then tried to kiss me. When I
pushed her away, she told me it was my loss because I was missing out..." he
explained, trailing off and looking away, clearly a bit overwhelmed by the
memory.

Olivia placed her hand over his on the table in an effort to comfort him. She
knew he was being consumed by a lot of conflicting feelings, but they had to
discuss the full story if they wanted to form a plan to overcome his problem.

"I could just hear my Pops laughing when she said that. Just how I imagine
he'd laugh if I came out. I'd be less of a man in his eyes. It made me feel
dead inside, Liv."

Did I not raise you better?...You know to aim higher...You have to be twice
as good to get half of what they have...Do you have to be so mediocre?

She was no stranger to parental disapproval. Her father had repeatedly

reminded her how disappointed he was that she hadn't reached the potential
that he had predicted for her. There was a certain kind of pain in not having the
approval of a parent, even if you knew you were right. Even if you knew that
you couldn't change if you tried. The people you love are often the ones whose
words cut the deepest. Her father had left more than a few verbal wounds
behind, just as she had sliced into Fitz's heart with her own cutting insults.

"Marty..." she started, trying to find a way to soothe his hurt.

"It's not a choice, Olivia. I can't change who I am or who I love."

"I know, sweetie. Trust me. I know."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before ending the contact. She got it. She
really did. He felt like the whole world would see him as 'broken' if he came
out as gay, just like Olivia had felt like everyone would declare her as a
homewrecking whore for falling in love with Fitz. As she had said publicly, if
she could change falling in love with him, she would. But she couldn't. It
wouldn't be done, and she knew that because she had tried over and over. She
had denied his love time and time again in an attempt to rid herself of how she
felt. She had failed. She understood how terrifying it must be for Marty to think
about coming forward and being open. It was easy to try to encourage someone
to be themselves, but it wasn't easy to talk them through the fear of what others
might think of who they really are. That was an inner battle that could only be
conquered within. Marty grew quiet and she knew she had to press him. He felt
cornered, but she knew that part of him wanted all of the pressures of hiding
his true self to end. Wasn't that what everyone wanted at the end of the day? To
be able to be themselves? It was unfair that the skewed views of the world
forced so many people to fabricate cover stories for themselves in order to
maintain a certain acceptable image. The world was cruel that way.

"So, are you going to keep running from who you are forever? Are you going
to live your happiest moments behind closed doors? Is it worth it?" she
asked softly, asking the difficult questions that he had to consider.

He sighed and took a bite of his collard greens, mulling it over for a moment as
he chewed. Marty ran his ass off on the field and he had done a stealthy job of
running from his personal life too. Neither could go on forever.

"I don't know. The world is…has changed…but it's different for me. I'm a
brother who plays football in Richmond in one of most male dominated
career fields. What would my team say?"

"You're a person too, Marty. You deserve to be happy, no matter what

everyone else thinks."

He teared up a little but took a shaky breath, fighting back the display of
emotion.

"I'm tired of hiding, but I'm afraid. There's so much at stake here. My
endorsement deal with Adidas…my youth leadership programs…"

Olivia couldn't help but notice the similarities. She and Fitz had struggled with
that same issue. For years, he had begged her to let him love her in the public
eye, but she had always found reasons to deny him that luxury. For so long he
had been willing to give up everything he had for her. Yet, she hadn't been able
to shift her life, shift herself, enough for him. She hadn't been willing to let go
of part of herself, of the things she had accomplished, in favor of saving her
relationship. Every excuse in the book had been used and she had chosen
everything over Fitz, even when her heart had been screaming its discontent
towards her decisions. She didn't deserve him, truly. His love for her was so
pure, so selfless. Would she ever be able to return it in full?

"Shh, breathe. I understand where you're coming from, but you still deserve
more than you're allowing yourself to have. All of those things are great, but
are they worth having if it means letting Kenny go?" She paused. "Marty...do
you love Kenny?"

She already knew the answer, but he needed to say it. He needed to realize that
he had something worth fighting for. Olivia had taken too long to learn that
lesson herself. She didn't want him to fall into the same fate.

"With all of my heart. I did from the moment I saved his tiny ass at that
party." He smiled at the memory; the night that had changed his life forever.
"People left him alone after they realized I was friends with the scrawny
light-skinned kid with freckles." He paused, shaking his head. "But he was
supposed to wait. He said he understood and we agreed."

Her friend was clearly fighting within himself and she hurt for him. She knew
he loved Kenneth, but the fear of facing the public was one that she knew well.
He was a star football player. The media already tracked his every move,
glorified his actions, painted him as a figure of society. How might all of that
change if he brought his relationship with Kenny into the light? He was afraid
of tarnishing his image. He was afraid of ruining the progress he had made in
his career. But would he face that fear for love? Yeah, Olivia could relate.

"Forcing yourself to try to be someone you're not isn't fair. It's not about
what your father wants or what the public wants. I'm asking you: what do
you want, Martin? You know I'll do everything in my power to get it for you."

"I want to talk to Kenny. See if we can reach an agreement. I don't want to
lose him, but if I come out I don't want to feel like I'm being forced to do it. I
want it to be on my terms. I want it to be my decision."
She nodded. There was a certain power in being able to make that sort of
decision willingly. She wondered how differently things might have played out
if she and Fitz hadn't had the footage of them together in the Residence leaked.
Would they have survived if they had went public on their own terms? She
would never know.

"When he contacts you, set up a meet and I'll mediate. Let's see if we can
reach some sort of compromise," she said with confidence.

"Soooo, enough about my disaster of a personal life. How've you been

holding up since you and POTUS broke up? I don't like him with that blonde
chick I've seen him with. She's clearly a rebound…and she doesn't look
nearly as good on his arm as you did," he said with a smirk and a wink.

Olivia rolled her eyes. Marty had always known how to stroke her ego, even
as only a friend.

"Simone said something very similar. I have a feeling the two of you have
been gossiping..."

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "For a white boy, honey, he is fine. I don't

know how you let that go."

A bright and genuine laugh erupted from her, lighting up her entire face.

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you..."

"He really seems to love you…I've seen the press footage. The way he looked
at you...you never smiled like that with Cosby kid…what'shisname?"

"Oh my god, Marty, really?" She laughed again. "His name is Edison. He's
actually a great man, he's just—"

"Not Fitz," he finished for her.

And all she could do was nod.

"New Power Couple: Pope and Hamilton. Sources close to Pope say
'These two couldn't be happier.' A friend close to Hamilton says they have
been together since mid-February and the homebodies recently decided to
dine publicly for lunch, looking more than a little cozy."

"Is there no hope for Olitz? Olivia moves on to famed NFL champion while
POTUS dates blonde socialite turned bigwig. Continued on page six…"

Despite their efforts to dodge press, it was right there in high-definition color.
A photo of Olivia working on the spill on Marty's shirt. A clear shot of her
laughing with no inhibitions. One of her hands over his on the table. To the
average set of eyes who didn't know the real story, the headlines were
believable. And a certain pair of eyes believed them. The only eyes that really
mattered.

His posture was rigid as he sat upright in the seat on Air Force One. He
enlarged and shrunk the photos over and over of his Livvie, who presumably
appeared to have decided out of the blue to move on with another man. Again,
as was her habit. At least in her prior infraction with Jake the media hadn't
cared enough about her love life to take much interest in her and the traitorous
prick. She had always been a prominent figure, but until she had been publicly
tied to Fitz, her love life had remained somewhat under the radar. That had
changed, clearly. He was pissed, feeling the all too familiar sting of her
betrayal and her affectionate attention slipping away from him. For a moment,
he considered that he might be jumping to conclusions. He did see glimpses of
a conscience from her recently. But Olivia was a runner. It was in her very
nature and her track record, pun intended, showed that. She had left him to pick
up the increasingly broken pieces of his heart and pride over and over again.
So why would this time be any different?

"God, I'm a fucking idiot..."

Fitz groaned into his hands, tempted to hurl his iPad across the plane. Didn't
she feel the urgency in his words after they hurriedly made love at the gala?
When he had promised he'd call so they could talk about their future? Had he
missed the signs that she was ready to bolt away from him again? He checked
his phone for any missed calls, thumbed through their texts (the few there
were), and checked every folder of his personal email. There was nothing. No
indication that led to her hurtful behavior. Why was she so intent on humiliating
him? He was so upset and distracted that he jumped visibly when Evan tapped
him on the shoulder, signaling that he had a call. He mumbled his thanks and
took the cellphone, his greeting to the caller less than enthused.

"Hey there, handsome. I saw the footage of you leaving Paris. Do you have
plans for dinner tonight?"

Grace, of course. Even on a good day, Fitz wasn't usually in the mood to deal
with her, but his wounded pride welcomed the ego boost. Olivia might not
want him, but there were women who did. Namely, Grace Anderson, who did
have an agenda but was willing to give him her attention. He had dealt with
less generosity for the duration of his marriage, so it was at least a step up
from that. It was nice to feel wanted, especially when he was broken down
inside about Olivia. A distraction from the heartbreak was warranted.

"I don't. Did you have something in mind?"

"Actually, I do. I was thinking about making a pot of my Nana's gumbo. Does
that interest you at all?"

So many times Olivia had turned to other men when she held Fitz's heart in her
hand. Fitz, however, had only strayed once. One desperate, lonely time with
Amanda Tanner, and the guilt had nearly eaten him alive. Was the love of his
life incapable of feeling that guilt? Was that why she stepped out and stomped
on his emotions repeatedly? He was ignorant to think that she had changed.
Perhaps she wasn't capable of that either. If he allowed it to go on, they would
be stuck on the same circling carousel ride forever. He was ready to leap off of
the ride, still in motion or not, uncaring in that moment if he ended up injured
further.

"Gumbo sounds great. Text me your address and I'll let you know a
timeframe when I land."

Yes. Grace would, indeed, be a suitable distraction.

Grace had to admit she was quite pleased with herself lately. She had landed a
newly single leader of a nation, which was a proud first for her. And a
handsome one at that. It hardly mattered that he was still licking his wounds
and pining for his ex. She'd linger as long as he was willing to let her. CEOs
and the like had become so passé to her, and she had hit a dry patch that lasted
about two years, not coming across anyone who had seemed even remotely
worth her time. However, just when she decided to stop dating men that
worked in and around politics Fitz had become available. It had been an
opportunity too sweet to resist.

It felt weird for Fitz to be dressed in casual clothes. Usually, it was either a
Brooks Brothers suit or something that resembled pajamas. Anything in
between usually fell by the wayside unless he was at Camp David or
somewhere equally relaxed. He wore a navy blue cardigan layered over a
white oxford shirt, paired with a pair of pressed khaki slacks. Wearing blue
made him feel confident, and with the recent blow to his dignity, he could use
any help that he could get in that regard. Grace looked lovely, he had to admit,
in a black cocktail dress that was somewhat modest but allowed a hint of
cleavage to come into view where the neckline dipped. Casual and relaxed had
been the point, the goal, but Fitz had needed the assistance of wine to settle
him. She had picked up a couple of bottles of red, recounting the times he had
ordered it when they had dined together. It was a touch of irony that he didn't
miss. Even when he was trying to distract himself from her, Olivia always
found her way into his thoughts. Her and wine went hand in hand, just like they
had once upon a time.

"It's looks like we've managed to finish off two bottles," Grace pointed out,
her pale cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol.

"We have. It was a good choice. An excellent vintage," he remarked,

complimenting her taste.

Though he knew better. Because of his closeness with Olivia and growing up
in California with extensive wine choices, he knew that Grace's wine choice
was mediocre at best. There she was again, invading his mind. Would she ever
work her way out of his thoughts and allow him a moment of peace? He
doubted it. For a moment, he let himself be consumed by his dreams of taking
Olivia traveling to various vineyards and letting her taste as much as she
wanted. He loved how touchy she got when she was drinking. Her affectionate
side, which was often subdued, came to life and it made him feel so secure. He
might never have that with her again. It made his face fall.

"Are you alright? You got quiet on me..."

Shit. He had been a million miles away, hadn't he? Daydreaming about walking
hand in hand with Olivia, deep in the wine country of California. Or maybe
Italy. God, he'd love to take her to Europe. To shower her with all of the love
that she had never known. Even when he was so desperately trying to get her
out of his head, she seemed to take an even more permanent place there. He
couldn't escape her, even when he was more than halfway to drunk and with a
reasonably attractive woman in front of him. But he could have Miss America
herself in front of him and he'd still prefer to have Olivia. In his heart, there
was no competition.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a lot on my plate. Bipartisan gripes, the usual bullshit
on the hill…" he told her, choosing a safe but believable answer.

"You sure that's it? Nothing Olivia Pope-related? I know there has been a lot
of speculation about the two of you lately…" Grace prodded, clearly itching
for information.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. She really had to take it there. It was
bad enough that he had Olivia on his mind, but the fact that Grace brought her
up made it that much worse. If she expected him to discuss her she was crazy.
She didn't deserve to know or understand the depth of what he felt for Olivia. It
wasn't something that she would ever be privileged to hear him discuss.

He had to get her off of the subject. The entire reason he had accepted her
invitation was to have something else to occupy his mind. So far, his plan had
done nothing but backfire.

"I don't really want to get into it. You don't need to hear that," he told her
dismissively.

Grace was usually laser focused on her company because it taught her much
about human nature. With years of schmoozing with potential investors, both
domestic and abroad, and with the heading up of hostile take overs under her
belt, she had learned all she needed to know about men. Seeing as they were
the vast majority of her competitors, knowing how to soothe or further
perforate their often fragile egos was one of her specialties. Fitz's ego was
clearly hanging on by a thread after his split from Olivia Pope. Grace, like the
rest of the country, had followed the epic romance through lobbyist gala
gossip. To her, his heartache was curious. Had the man never been heartbroken
before? It seemed impossible as he was nearing sixty. How had he managed to
become POTUS with such thin skin? Regardless, she was on his arm now. She
would work his naïve nature to her advantage.

"Oh, honey, we all bump into our exes in this town. It comes with the
territory. Just the other day I saw a college boyfriend of mine. Dan Fields.
The two-timing bastard."

He laughed, feeling himself loosen up a little. The warmth from the wine
certainly helped.

"You can talk to me, Fitz. We've been on a few dates, and I feel there's
something tangible here."

She couldn't be more wrong there, but he didn't want to tell her that. The
attention he was giving her was half-hearted at best. If she didn't know that, she
was naïve. He had no intention of opening his heart up to Grace Anderson, or
anyone for that matter. While his wounds may be on his face and visible, he
wouldn't elaborate on the war stories or trauma behind them. Not with her.

"It's just complicated. Stressful. I want to not think about it, any of it."

He sipped at his wine glass, hoping that she would drop it.

"I think I might be able to help with that," she told him, a playful smirk on her
mouth.

She leaned over into his space, her hand cupping his jaw as she pressed her
lips to his. Fitz hesitated at first, but after a moment, he relented to the
sensation of the kisses. He so craved the full softness of Olivia's lips against
his mouth. He ached for some sort of sensual intimacy, and the thoughts of the
way she sucked on his lower lip as her way of arousing him floated through his
mind. The thoughts were so consuming that he hardly noticed that Grace had
shifted over to straddle his lap. Her hips began to grind against him and he
started to get hard. Her hand reached down and she caressed his growing
erection through his pants.

"Mmm, Mr. President…I'm impressed…" she murmured against his lips with a
pleased grin.

Instead, he heard Olivia's voice echo in his head. Her pleasure at how aroused
he had become. For her.

Mmm, you're already so hard for me, baby.

Grace guided his arms around her, coaxing him to embrace her, to touch her.
And he did. He did and he tried hard to ignore how she felt so different in his
arms. Her shoulders were broader. Her torso was longer. It was wrong, all of
it. None of it felt safe. None of it felt familiar, but he pressed on. He couldn't
give up. He had to move on, because she had, even when he was sure they had
made progress. Fitz sighed and deepened the kiss, using his hands on her hips
as leverage to press against her. With nimble fingers, Grace unbuttoned his
cardigan and shirt. Fumbling only slightly, Fitz unzipped the zipper on the side
of her dress. Her nails lightly raked down his bare chest and he hissed softly,
standing with her in his arms.

"Where's your bedroom?" he asked, his voice lowered from arousal.

"Straight down the hall."

It was always a miraculous event when Fitz and Olivia actually made it to bed
before he was inside of her. Their lovemaking had started in the hallway the
first time they had been intimate in her apartment. Fatigue setting in had been
the only thing that led them to the large California king sized surface in her
bedroom. They were always so insatiable, so desperate for each other that it
couldn't wait. There was usually an impatience in the way they touched each
other, their need so palpable. It was so starkly different from what he felt as he
carried Grace down the hall, kissing her mechanically as he maneuvered them
through the doorway at the end.
He sat her down onto her feet and shrugged off his shirt and sweater. Grace
flicked on the light switch on the wall and stepped out of her dress. Pressing a
hand to the wall for balance, Fitz toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks.
He swallowed the seed of regret as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his
slacks to the floor, kicking them aside. She returned to kissing him and nudged
him backwards towards the bed until she could push him down onto it. He
grabbed her ass and pulled her onto his lap, but quickly moved his hands
elsewhere. It wasn't the same, not at all. She didn't have the same shape as
Olivia and it made him yearn for her even more. He flicked open her bra and
tossed it aside, allowing him to focus his attention on her breasts instead. His
hands occupied themselves by palming them and eventually he kissed his way
down her neck and over her chest. His teeth nipped at the flesh there before his
lips covered her nipple, sucking firmly.

Grace arched her back and moaned softly, her hand on the back of his neck
encouraging his efforts. His normal instinct would have been to lay her down
and go further, kissing his way down her body eagerly until he was doing what
he was best at in the bedroom. But the thought of doing that with anyone
besides Olivia sickened him. No matter how skilled he was with his mouth, he
couldn't bear to use it that way on anyone else. He shook away the thought and
switched to tease her other breast. She snaked her hand down into his boxers
and started to stroke him, causing him to gasp. Swiftly, he flipped her over onto
her back, looking down at her. Giggling, Grace reached over into her
nightstand and pulled out a condom, handing it to him. He was thankful. There
was no way in hell that he could fuck her without protection. The last thing he
needed was that sort of scandal hitting the press. Fitz pushed down his boxers
and tossed them onto the floor, rolling the condom down over his cock while
she discarded her panties.

"C'mere, big boy."

Don't tease, c'mon, Fitz.

Again, he heard Olivia in his mind. Maybe he was going crazy, losing his
mind. It wasn't normal to hear your ex talking to you when you were about to
fuck someone else. Was it? Was that a thing? Would he be doomed to hear her
coaxing him onward in his mind in every sexual situation he had from then on?
It wasn't fair.
However, he smirked a little, his ego swelling at Grace's praise. The dynamic
didn't have the depth that he had with Olivia, nor would it ever, but the concept
of pleasuring a woman for the first time had its thrills. He couldn't get her out
of his head though. She was the afterthought to everything he did, everything he
heard, everything he felt. He had to feel something else. Anything.

He pressed into Grace, slowly, stretching her and watching her face as her
reaction played out.

"Mmm, fuck…you're so big…" she gasped, biting her lip as she adjusted.

He was definitely impressive inside of her, with more girth than she had hoped
for. Even though it wasn't clear if the tale was true, Grace had always been
curious about how big Fitzgerald Grant's cock was after reading Jeannine
Locke's book recounting her sexual encounter with him. In an interview, she
had referred to it as a 'baguette' and Grace had to agree. Wholeheartedly.

A smirk formed on his lips at her compliment, his confidence boosted a notch.
It wasn't something he didn't already know, but hearing someone say it never
hurt. He settled down over her, propped up on his palms, and began to rock his
hips. She kissed him deeply and he received it, returning it as well as he could
while he tried to focus. It was foreign. The motion of her tongue moving
against his, the way she felt inside, the brush of her hands on his back. He tried
so hard to relax, but it wasn't an easy task. He had grown so used to knowing
his lover and falling into that familiarity that anything else was a burden. It
made him unsure of himself.

It was difficult for Fitz to read her, to gauge what she wanted. He hadn't been
with a woman besides Olivia in a long time. Something he used to be proud of
until she had made a fool of him. He always knew just what she needed from
him. How she wanted him to fuck her. Her hips would jerk against his in a
particular way, the motion tinged with a certain neediness, if she wanted him to
move harder. However in contrast, when she wanted tenderness, her hands
mimicked that thought, smoothing over his skin with such delicate care, as if
she could feel his love for her seeping through every pore. He knew her like he
knew himself. At least he thought he did. He had never wanted to know another
lover, but it was too late for that.
"You're holding back, Fitz. I won't break."

She tried to take control, her hands pressing against his chest in an attempt to
push him onto his back. But he couldn't let her do it. Olivia loved to ride him.
He'd never come if he let Grace have the upper hand. Who was he kidding?
There was no control. Grace didn't have control. Fitz didn't have control. It
was Olivia who held the reins in a vice grip, calling all of the shots. Before
she could follow through, he pulled his hips back and flipped her over, his
dominance flaring as he pressed into her again from behind.

Harder, baby…fuck me…

He was rough then, the internal Olivia encouraging him. It was entirely too
rough for a first time with anyone, but he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere,
and thankfully, by her whiny mewls, Grace seemed to be more than satisfied.
They were fucking. There was no love in that bed. No affection between them
at all. It was the means to an end. The way he was working out his frustration
and jealousy.

But she was a poor substitute for who he really wanted to fuck.

"Yes…yes…like that…just like that…" she panted, fisting the blanket beneath
her.

Right there, baby. Mmm, yesss.

It wasn't too different from how Teddy was conceived. A forced, yet mutual
sexual encounter. He had been drunk then too. His mind had been full of
thoughts of Olivia, which was the only reason he had been able to release. He
had focused on the way her body felt and pretended he was making love to her
instead. Creating a life with her…

He wasn't close, not close enough, no matter how roughly or deeply he

thrusted. He just couldn't get there on sensation alone, and there was no way an
emotional connection with the agenda-driven woman beneath him would aid
him at all. Usually, he had no trouble. He would hold right there on the edge,
listening to his sweet baby moan out her pleasure. When he and Olivia made
love, he always gave her his all, making sure she finished at least twice. He
had no choice. He would have to use memories of their lovemaking to get him
through. Taking Olivia in the Vermont house in front of the fireplace came to
mind first, and he felt a sharp, hot jolt of pleasure shoot through him, sending
him in the right direction.

His body demanded release. The tension rose to levels that threatened to break
him in two. His focus left the room and centered on Olivia, letting his mind and
body fall into the memory. He hovered over her trembling body, the flickering
flames from the fireplace causing light to dance across her perfect skin as he
plunged into her over and over. Her cries were hearty and desperate, letting
him know that she was so close. Right there on the cusp of her bliss. Her hand
moved back to clutch at the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer for
a kiss and she breathed a desperate plea against his lips.

Come for me, Fitz.

And he did. While buried to the hilt inside of someone he barely liked, much
less loved, Fitz grunted and bit his lower lip, releasing with his mind on no
one but Olivia Pope.

He felt Grace clenching around him and heard her loud, high-pitched moans as
she peaked, his hips still bucking but slowing. The shrill sounds she made
brought him back to reality, not even allowing him to enjoy the afterglow. At
least he could still manage to pleasure a woman, even if he was fucking
someone else in his head.

Pulling away from her, Fitz took a deep breath, trying to hold it together as all
of his emotions started creeping back up. Grace rolled over onto her side,
smiling blissfully and clearly satisfied.

"Are you staying? I promise I won't hog all of the covers."

But that was the thing. Olivia always stole the blankets from him. Always. He
wouldn't know how to handle anything different.

"I can't. I have early meetings."

"Call me later?" she murmured drowsily, seconds from sleep.

He chuckled a little, trying to push back the guilt, and pressed a kiss to her
brow. It wasn't her fault. She was just along for the ride.

"I will."

He walked casually to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, clothes in
hand. Ever the professional politician, he'd shown no sign of the shame and
regret he felt, damn near hiding it even from himself. But as soon as he closed
the door behind him, he allowed the mask of casual bliss to fall from his face.
He didn't think about what replaced it. He didn't think about much at all, in fact.
Nothing but Olivia and that football player. And what he knows they're doing
together, maybe even at the same time he was—

A sudden wave of nausea hit him at the thought

He ignored it, everything that was trying to rise up within him, and pulled the
used condom off, dumping it unceremoniously in the toilet bowl and flushing
away all trace of his mistake. As he turned, he glanced a stranger in the mirror,
and he froze to look at him. Sweat glistened on the stranger's naked body in the
pale light of the bathroom. His chest rose and fell steadily, still trying to
regulate his breath. He put his hand down on the marble countertop, resting his
weight upon them as he leaned in to peer deeper into the stranger's eyes. His
arms trembled as he felt his pulse quicken, and he realized his heart was
racing. Racing faster than it had in Grace's bed. Who was this man he saw, this
traitor?

Was that the man he had become? He felt sick. Like he had committed a crime.
Was that how Olivia had felt when she had slept with other men over the
years? When she had slept with Hamilton after giving him hope that they could
talk out their problems and be together? Was she even capable of the depth of
guilt that he felt? He wasn't sure how she could do it, how she could bear to
look at herself in the mirror every day, after repeatedly betraying him the way
he had just betrayed her.

Fitz had cheated on Mellie, sure. Drawn to Olivia like a moth to a flame.
Driven by a deep lust and eventually a love that tore them both to pieces. But
this, this hadn't been anything like that. His actions in the next room had been
driven by anger. By his jealousy. While he loved Olivia with every bit of
himself, he hated her for betraying him. Over and over. But this time, with the
fucking football player, had a stronger bite than the previous infractions. She
had given him hope. She had smiled at him in that way. That unspoken promise
that everything would be okay. It wasn't. Everything wasn't okay.

Fitz had betrayed Olivia, and in doing so, he had betrayed himself.

And as he looked into the mirror, he finally he saw himself, perhaps for the
first time in a very long time, as the man he truly was. The man behind the
masks he wore. For Olivia. For Grace. For the press. For the public. The
masks had fallen. Finally he saw who he truly was behind it all, and the shame
and regret and disgrace and disgusthe had tried to hide from himself was laid
bare upon his face. In every graying hair, in every sweaty pore, in every weary
wrinkle. And in those sad, tired eyes. The eyes that she loved. There, right
before his own eyes, was the real Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III. In the flesh. No
make-up for the cameras. No sparkling smile to charm the world. The lines on
his face were clear there as he frowned, almost grimaced, at his own
reflection. He looked every bit of his age. The world, his presidency, and his
love for her had aged him. He had nothing to hide behind, not at the end of the
day, when he had only himself to face. He could sweet talk and schmooze his
way through the day and win the approval of anyone else, but when it came
down to it, he had to earn his own approval too. Fitz didn't approve of the man
that was staring back at him. He felt remorse. He was disappointed.
Disappointed in himself. Disappointed that she had pushed him indirectly to
act against his heart. The man he saw was not the man America voted for. The
man he saw was not the man she voted for. The man he saw was not the man
she fell in love with.

He washed his hands and got dressed quickly, glad to see that Grace was
sleeping soundly when he emerged from the bathroom. He felt everything begin
to press against his chest, the feelings buckling him down. He couldn't get back
to the White House fast enough. He needed a shower. He needed to get Grace's
scent off of his skin. It felt wrong. Artificial. Like he had used the generic
brand instead of the real deal.

When he returned to the Residence, he went straight for the mason jar of hooch
in the closet. After Olivia had left, he had returned it to the closet but placed it
on a shelf where it could easily be found. Somehow, he had known there would
be a time when he needed it. He unscrewed the lid and took a hearty swig,
wincing at the sharp burn as he always did. It would get the job done quicker
than anything else. The feelings, he wanted them to stop. Not forever, like he
had felt after Gerry died, but at least for a little while. Three more gulps and he
felt the heat coursing through him, forcing him into a fake state of relaxation.

He ran the shower water as hot as he could bear, wanting every trace of her off
of him. As if that would cleanse his conscience. He scrubbed himself hard for
a long time, unable to rid himself of the sickening layer of his filthy actions.
His skin was red from the effort and the near scalding water when he stepped
out. Taking the towel to his skin, he wiped himself dry of the residual water
droplets. But as he moved, the phantom, left behind scent of Grace's perfume
hit his senses. The less familiar floral scent that was not the sweet and subtle
fragrance of the woman he loved. He retched and barely made it over to the
toilet before the contents of his stomach spewed from his mouth uncontrollably.
His shame gagged him, and he heaved until there was nothing left for his body
to give. Weakened, he rested there on the floor for a moment. His torso rose
and fell with his slowing breaths, trembling from the ruckus of getting sick.
Eventually, he made his way to his feet. Though he would have gladly stayed
on the floor in his naked misery. As he brushed his teeth, he avoided the mirror,
glad that the glass was still partially fogged from the steamy shower to prevent
him from seeing himself. He had endured enough self-reflection for one night.

Clumsily, he pulled on a pair of boxers and ambled into the darkened bedroom.
He crawled into the bed, on her side, wishing that he could still take in her
scent on the pillow. It had faded weeks ago. He ached for her painfully. Right
as his semi-drunken haze began to blend into sleep, he could almost feel her
touch on his back. He could almost hear her soft whisper.

"I was wondering when you'd come to bed."

But his heart clenched because he knew she wasn't next to him. Her absence
was felt as strongly as her presence. He knew her soothing voice was only in
his head. The silence was louder than her words. He might never fall asleep
next to her again.

And then, before another thought could wound his heart, he was taken over by
his waiting slumber.
A/N—YEAH! We went there! But trust me, it was no cake walk to write! Hang
in there, we've got more on the way!